In a warehouse in the outskirts of New York.
It was dilapidated, in an abandoned industrial zone that was just one of the many in this city, much less in the whole country, where you would only find some homeless people or, at certain periods, criminals rendezvousing for some less than legal activities.
The warehouse in question was not any different from the dozen others around it, but once inside, you would wonder about which homeless it was that was more than he seemed on the surface.
Because, you see, once inside, two meters away from the rusty door, there was another one that was sturdier and in a better state. And behind the strong door, was the truth beneath the camouflage.
The space inside had been transformed into a loft big enough to be a millionaire's residence in the downtown. The decorations were luxurious enough without any attempt to hide it.
On one side food was stocked, showing a quantity enough to allow life in isolation for a few weeks at least so long as water was not a problem.
On another side, you could see sports equipment, certainly for the owner to keep himself in shape. And finally, there was a side with informatics equipment like monitors and servers, and it must have also been the entertainment area given some accessories that were there.
At this moment however, the atmosphere was rather tense, at least for the one that was tied upside down in the middle of the room. Sweat was dripping from his brows and each time it fell to the ground, it was like the countdown for his death, the drops of sweat emulating the dropping of the sand of a fatal hourglass.
His consciousness was just coming back and he found himself in this position that was bad for the heart, the mind and his job.
The man was white and if not for his circumstances, he would have been not bad for most of the opposite sex, what with his not so short height, his suit and his well cut dark hair.
Suddenly, the man flinched as he heard a male voice call his name:
"Jack… Oh Jack… We meet, at last."
The tied man tried to turn to the voice:
"Who are you? You've got the wrong person. I'm Christopher Road, not the Jack you want. It must be a misunderstanding."
"You think I would hunt you for months without knowing what you actually looked like?"
"I'm just his stand-in. I don't know where he is. Whatever you want from him, I don't have it."
"Ukrainian war theater, Donetsk, Russian general."
"... Ghost!!!"
The man, Jack, became paler and his heart stopped for a moment before turning into a drum, a maltreated one at that.
"Do you have any idea of how troublesome it has been to find you? Well, I bet you do since that has been your objective when you tried to stay low-key. But you see, I did promise that I would find you if you were to f*ck me. And you did f*ck me sideways, so I had to make sure to honor my promise. What do you think? I am a man of my words, right?"
Jack, replied with some tremors in his voice:
"You are absolutely right, Ghost. But I wasn't trying to f*ck you. I was just looking for what you asked me, it was not easy."
The voice from the shadowy part of the room, still calm, mocked:
"Come on, Jack. I like straightforwardness. Leave those games for the goons on the lower rung. Alright?"
Jack swallowed his saliva with difficulty, given his position.
"H-how… How did you find me?"
"Now that is a good question. I too didn't want our first meeting to be like this."
At that answer, Jack seemed to see hope as his eyes brightened subtly.
"I know that you are trying to stall, but let me humor you. You see…"
Jack's heart plummeted, or flew up depending on the perspective, before he found hope again. Maybe the arrogance of "Ghost" will give him a chance after all.
********
A few months ago, in a mansion under an overcast afternoon sky in a suburban zone in Berlin, Germany, a car, a luxurious SUV that was dark gray went inside through the opened portal and stopped a few meters away at the side of the main building.
The latter was medium sized and had only one upper floor. It was quite beautiful, with architectural decorations in front.
A driver left the front of the car and opened the back door on the right side while the door on the other side was opened from the inside by a middle aged man who came down.
He was of average height, with a protruding belly that was not out of place given the fact that he was quite fat. His hair was receding and while it might have been dark not long ago, it was showing obvious signs of gray right now. Maybe life had been more stressful in the last period for whatever reason.
He had light green eyes, a bulbous nose, with lips more on the thinner side and looked like a normal family man coming back from a relaxing outing.
He was clothed quite luxuriously, even if low-key, unlike the young woman that left the car through the door opened by the driver, who had truly been more modest in her choice of pants and blouse.
She had blond hair and though her curves were a little lacking, she was giving off a refreshing vibe. Her eyes' color was darker than the man's and her nose was small, going well with the rest of her features. She was smiling at the moment, showing that she was enjoying the company of the middle aged man and must have also enjoyed the outing.
As they went into the house, leaving the driver to take care of the car, the man smiled and said:
"I will be in my study, reviewing some documents. We will meet for dinner. Take some rest, okay Samantha?"
"Dad, it's been months already. I'm fine."
"I know, I know. But we have been out all day, I just don't want you to push yourself."
"Alright, but then you should rest too."
"Since it's daddy's girl that is asking, I will have to leave my study sooner."
The man smiled as the young woman pouted and stomped her foot:
"Don't call me daddy's girl."
He laughed good naturedly as he watched his daughter take the flight of stairs to go to her room.
He turned around and put the coat he had in his arm on the coat rack beside the door made of heavy wood.
He went to his study beside the living and turned the lights on before going to the well furbished bar where he took one of his prized bottles of old whiskey and poured a dash of it in a glass.
As he was debating about whether to add some ice cubes, and wondering which way of drinking his beverage would have been more sacrilegious, he gave a start as he suddenly heard a voice:
"Hello, M. Monroe. How has Samantha been?"