Meredith strode into the Sofitel Hotel on 15th Street and approached the reservation counter. She paid cash and booked for two nights. She provided a credit card and Canadian driver's licence for identification. Though she had never worked in the field, she'd read enough field reports to understand the need for deception. And after years of perseverance she had mastered the practice. Now the skill was being put to the ultimate test. Her life depended on it.


She located the television remote and found CNN. She wondered how long she'd have to wait. More than an hour had passed since they'd spoken on the phone. Having observed the man for years, she knew his routine. He would be making calls, gathering his forces and building his case. He'd not go public without the support of his senior colleagues.

Meredith made one more phone call. She hoped it wouldn't go to voice mail. Her hopes were dashed; she heard the recorded message. 'Daniel Andrews. I'm currently unavailable, leave your name and I'll get back to you at the first opportunity.'

"It's been a long time, Dan."

She wondered if he would respond. They'd not crossed paths or spoken in weeks. She had no doubt he would, or perhaps already had received a summons from her deputy demanding his support.

She lay back on the bed and waited.



Fifteen miles away in a rundown off-the-highway motel, far less luxurious than the Sofitel, Jess, Tyler, Arthur and Kenni sat around a table eating a pizza. Conversation was minimal. The death of Martin Paslow had removed the final vestige of hope.

"Come on guys," said Jess. "We can't give up. There has to be proof somewhere."

"Stop talking, Jess." Urgency was obvious in the voice of Kenni. "Can someone turn up the television?" All eyes swept to the screen. Below the pictured face sat the name Meredith Paslow. Arthur found the volume switch.

"...Paslow is missing. Her father's death is now under investigation. Hospital surveillance cameras indicate Director Paslow was her father's final visitor. The time of death is yet to be determined. It is possible Martin Paslow was deceased prior to his daughter's visit." A panel of five, four men and one woman stood behind the Deputy Director as he spoke. He was seated at a desk and reading from a teleprompter.

"In an endeavour to maintain the Agency's integrity throughout this enquiry, Director Paslow has stepped down and I have, in her absence been appointed as Acting Director.

"Meredith, we all sympathise with you in your grief. Losing a parent is never easy, but I call on you and your professionalism to come forward. You are our Director, our leader and we need you in this time of crisis. You are not, and I stress this unequivocally, a suspect but rather a crime witness.

"Lastly Director, I would like to quote the adage you so frequently invoke; 'Only the guilty fear the truth.'

"Meredith, as your colleague I urge you to come in and talk. As your friend, I assure you, I am here to help. Please contact me. You have my personal number."



"Was that the plea of a frightened man?" asked Kenni as the image of the Acting Director faded from the screen. "Or was it an accusation of guilt?"

"He's not frightened," said Jess. "He's angry. He delivered that line about the guilty fearing the truth with the cold-hearted precision of an assassin honing in on the head of his target."

"And with the same degree of hostility," added Arthur.

"Could it be a stitch-up?" asked Kenni. "Intended perhaps to flush us out?"

"Doubt it, there was no pretence there," Jess replied. "That was undisciplined hatred. You can't fake that." Turning to Kenni, Jess asked. "Do you still think she's guilty?"

"She's not, but he is," said Tyler. "And you can bet he's got some very powerful friends behind him. But he's also aware of the evidence building against him. He needs to stop Meredith before she can stop him by delivering the truth. And I'd bet the thing that concerns him most is the knowledge there is no such thing as loyalty in treachery. Every minute delayed increases the risk of betrayal. I'd suggest it's probably a good time to talk to him."

"And say what?" asked Jess.

"Make an offer to trade some information," said Tyler.

"You're not serious?" Jess was now on her feet ready to argue. "The bastard's trying to kill us and you want to enter into discussions with him?"

"Jess." Tyler smiled at Arthur's intervention. Arthur was on his wavelength. Arthur understood Tyler's thinking, and he knew it made sense.

"If I didn't know Tyler, I too would question the sanity of the suggestion. But not only do I know him, I've studied his record and I know how he operates and his record in the field is unmatched.

"Allow me to speak from my own experience, Jess. Our line of work is far from pretty, we deal with the most evil and ruthless lowlife ever created. The only thing we can trust is our own judgement and sometimes even that fails us. When that occurs, we're dead. Like I said, it's not pretty, but it is a job that has to be done. Jess, I'm not proud of all that I've done, and I'm sure Tyler feels the same. With the exception of this case, I have always obeyed orders and I believe my actions have made this country a safer place to live. My orders in this instance were to execute Tyler Spellman on sight."

"Don't allow your ambition to exceed your ability, brother," said Tyler.

Arthur continued, a smile on his face. "If I've learned one thing in this job it's the knowledge that it's not always the bullet that brings victory. Sometimes subtlety is an even more powerful weapon." Judging on her body language, Jess was far from convinced. Tyler observed her animosity. She glared at both him and Arthur as if they were now enemies.

"Jess, Arthur is right," said Tyler. "Sometimes, subtlety is a weapon, though in this instance, I'd call it deception. It's the only thing we have left. All of our witnesses are now dead, or in the case of Meredith Paslow devoid of credibility. We are rapidly running out of resources and places to hide. In truth we are beyond desperate. Our one hope now lies in the discrediting of the enemy, namely Walter Parnell."

"How do you plan to do that?" demanded Jess.



"Good afternoon, Miss," Tyler had said the moment the receptionist had taken his call. "You have ten seconds to connect me to Walter Parnell, before I disconnect. I have information on Director Paslow." He wasn't sure how the girl would respond. Surely transferring a call directly to the acting director would bring a reprimand. As would the alternative if indeed the call was genuine. She sensed authority in the tone of the caller, she backed that judgement.

"Director Parnell." The arrogance in the response didn't surprise Tyler. It matched the impression seen on the telecast earlier.

"Afternoon, Director. My name is Tyler Spellman, I take it you know the name. Perhaps you know me better as Calin Roberts. I think maybe it's time we had a chat."

"About what."

"I can deliver the dirt on Paslow, possibly also her whereabouts. Think about it. I'll call later."


Meredith dozed off. The voice, rather than the sound woke her. She snapped to instant alert on seeing its source, the television screen. Anger was her first emotion. The bastard was in her office and seated at her desk. A support cast of five stood behind him. The presence of her personal assistant surprised Meredith. What was her role? The obvious became apparent; she provided the key to the Director's personal files. Next she recognised Daniel, disappointment and understanding swept through her. She knew now why he'd been unavailable. She felt betrayed, years of friendship and detailed knowledge had been cast aside. The presence of the remaining three didn't surprise, they had long been associates of Walter.

As he delivered the line; 'Only the guilty fear the truth.' The camera swept to the banner positioned high on the wall above her desk. In bold print, the same quote was displayed. The Director had achieved his purpose. Credibility rode with the man on camera. Guilt was a companion to the one on the run. In the eyes of those watching, she was as good as convicted.

Once more she donned the bedraggled clothing of the drunk. She avoided the hotel foyer and exited through a rear door into a service alley. Four delivery vehicles were awaiting access to the hotel kitchen loading dock. All four drivers were well away from their trucks drinking coffee and eating toast, supplied by kitchen staff. As she passed the second truck, she heard a phone chiming. No driver heard, or if they did breakfast, was considered more important. Meredith strode around to the passenger's side door. No one showed any interest in the old woman. She opened the door, reached in, grabbed the phone and disappeared within a matter of seconds. She had her means of communication.