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“Just call the number.”
He gave me a wary look, then picked up the handset on his landline and dialed.
A few seconds later, his eyes went wide.
I knew it was because he’d gotten reception at my work –
And they had identified themselves as the Secret Intelligence Service.
“Ask for Sean Cooper in Operations,” I said.
“Um… Sean Cooper in Operations,” he repeated into the phone. Then he frowned at me. “They’re asking for authorization.”
“Tell them 297 Griffin.”
He repeated the low-level clearance code and was impressed when the operator patched him through.
I heard Sean’s muffled voice a few seconds later.
“Tell him there’s a woman in your office named Rachel Bauer,” I said. “Ask him to describe her to you.”
“Um – there’s a woman in my office who says she’s Rachel Bauer. Could you, uh, describe her to me?”
There was an angry exclamation on the other end, and the manager held out the phone to me. “He says he wants to speak with you.”
I grabbed the phone from him. “Hello, Sean.”
“Rachel, what the fuck are you doing?!”
“You couldn’t help me, so I’m doing what I can. Will you please just – ”
“This is insane – what do you think you’re going to – ”
“SEAN!” I shouted into the phone. “Will you please just do this ONE FUCKING THING for me?!”
Silence on the other end.
Then –
“Hand it back to him,” he snarled.
“Thank you,” I snapped.
I gave the phone back to the manager, who seemed terrified after my outburst.
He listened to Sean for about 15 seconds, then said, “O-okay… that’s her.”
“You can hang up now,” I told him.
“Th-thank you… goodbye,” he said to Sean, then hung up the phone.
“Do you know why we just went through that dog and pony show?” I asked.
The manager shook his head no.
“Because now you know I have a connection with SIS – or MI6, as you probably know it. You called the main switchboard and spoke to someone who accurately identified me. You see, I don’t have identification or a badge – because I’m the kind of person who doesn’t GET identification or a badge. Feel free to interpret that however you choose. I am gathering intelligence on Lars Henriksson’s whereabouts, and I would greatly appreciate your cooperation. Am I understood?”
“P-perfectly, ma’am,” he said as he started typing on his computer keyboard. “Um… it would appear that Lars Henriksson is no longer a guest at this hotel.”
