The Repurposed Spy by OLIVER DOWSON

Author:OLIVER DOWSON
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Crime, Thriller
Publisher: BKssss Publishing
Published: 2023-02-01T00:00:00+00:00

Day 384

I spent the morning here in Nirvana revising what I wrote for the Coverts yesterday. My comments about omissions obviously led them to hunt around for more information, which arrived this morning to aid my breakfast digestion.

To resume my story. Notes of the ministers’ meeting duly written and submitted, I slept all night, and awoke to sunlight streaming through the window. Still fully dressed. I must have been exhausted the night before. I rose and looked through the window. Sadly, not the view of La Paz I hoped for. Just a dirty courtyard stacked with building materials. I could have been anywhere.

The bedside clock showed past midday; I’d obviously slept for twelve hours. Ten PDA messages, the first one at 8. Pleasant enough at first, then increasingly irritable.

‘Good morning. Breakfast outside in 30 minutes.’

‘You are late. Breakfast now.’

‘NOW!’

‘You must wake up now.’

‘You are late!’

‘Acknowledge this message now.’

Why didn’t Chameleon just bang on the door and wake me up? Anyway, what was so important and urgent? I sent a curt reply. ‘Awake now.’

What next? Change clothes? My shirt was very wrinkled, no doubt from having slept in it and tossed and turned all night. I wouldn’t normally have worried about my sartorial appearance, but I knew Chameleon would make snide comments if she saw me as I was now. I didn’t need to start the day with unnecessary stress. Should I shower again? No, that would be an exaggeration. I changed my shirt and checked to make sure I’d tucked the tails into my trousers. Just in time for the next message. ‘Come out NOW.’

I emerged into the corridor to find Chameleon holding the door opposite open and beckoning me in. It was large, a combined living room and kitchen, with glass doors leading onto a courtyard, similar to the one outside my bedroom window, in that it was featureless and stacked with piles of bricks.

“You are late,” she said. “We were supposed to meet here at 9. We have a busy day.”

“You said nothing about nine o’clock or any other time to meet.”

“Your Project Coordinator messaged you about that last night.”

I looked at the PDA. Sure enough, there was a message timed at about 2am. I was fast asleep by then. I hadn’t seen it because of all the angry messages after it.

“You could have woken me up by knocking on the door,” I said.

“The Project Coordinator did not request me to do that.” Now, this was a conundrum. I’d reached the conclusion several days ago that Chameleon was the Project Coordinator. Did that mean that there was someone else?

“I thought you were the Project Coordinator?”

“We do not discuss the Project Coordinator. When you have a PDA, you will take your instructions from the messages that the Project Coordinator sends you. When you do not have one, you will do exactly as I instruct. Now, there is coffee and a croissant for you over there,” pointing at the kitchenette. “You have five minutes. Have you washed your hands?”

The coffee had been made in a filter machine, one of those that keeps the jug hot.

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