Sameer rolled his eyes and turned back to the screen printer. “This contraption is the artist now.”
“My friend, there is no way you could hand paint enough flags to fill these orders in time.” He walked past the man and ran a hand along the smooth side of the screen printer. “This is here only to save you time.”
“I’d rather be painting.”
“I know you would. And truth be told, I’d rather you be painting as well.” He gave the man a sly wink. “You gripe less with a brush in your hand.”
“Shut up.” Sameer fed another rectangle of cloth into the machine and smoothed it.
Mamoon shook his head as he watched the man work. “What if I prove to you your worth? Perhaps a raise?”
Sameer paused and stared at him with narrow eyes. “You are too tight-fisted to do that.”
Mamoon snorted and nodded. “You’re right. But you deserve this. It was you who convinced me to buy bulk material. You saved me money. The least I could do is spread a bit your way.”
Sameer glanced at Balil who nodded enthusiastically. “I would not turn it down.”
Sameer nodded slowly. “Nor would I.”
“Excellent, then.” Mamoon clapped his clammy hands together. “Finish these orders and I’ll see it done.”
He turned and walked back down the stairs. Balil slowly made his way to Sameer. “Do you believe it? A raise.”
“I’ll believe it when I hold it in my hands.” He nodded toward the machine. “Come. We have a lot of work to be done.”
FBI Field Office, Dallas, TX
ROGER PLACED THE last box into the backseat of his truck and took one last look at the Dallas field office. He was really going to miss it here.
He opened the door of the truck and fired up the engine, praying that the air conditioning would hurry and kick in. He backed out of his parking space and put the truck into drive just as his cell phone rang.
He lifted the device and stared at the screen. “Blocked number?” He started to toss the phone aside when he remembered Bobby. He was just paranoid enough to pull something like that. He slid his finger across the screen to answer the call and pressed the speaker button. “Wallace.”
“We need to meet.”
“I hoped that was you.” Wallace pulled the truck out of the parking area and onto the side street.
“Remember where you convinced me to join your little operation?”
“The diner? Yeah.”
Bobby groaned on the other line. “Fine, why don’t you just give whoever’s listening the name of the place and what’s on the blue plate special while you’re at it?”
Wallace sighed and shook his head. “Jesus, buddy. You’ve really gone off the deep end, haven’t you?”
“Do you not watch the news? The NSA monitors everybody’s calls and their electronic media.”
Roger hung his head and sighed heavily. “Fine. Let’s meet somewhere else then.”
“Bogeymans. Two hours.” The phone clicked off and Roger stared at the device.
“Bogeymans?” He pulled the truck to the side of the road and tapped at his steering wheel while he tried to figure out what the hell Bobby was talking about. He racked his brain and finally pulled Bobby’s dossier from his personal files.
He thumbed through the known associates from when he was working for the government. One of the names sounded familiar and he pulled his phone close. A quick search of the name brought up a company name and Roger smiled. “Bogeymans. Son of a…”
He entered the address into his phone’s Mapquest and listened to the voice give turn by turn directions.
He did a double take when the female voice directed him to an old airfield. He did another double take when she announced that he was at his destination.
Roger turned and stared at the old airplane hangar. The sign above simply read BYI Security Services. “Baba Yaga International. Sneaky, Bobby. Real sneaky.”
Roger parked the truck and stepped toward the glass doors that was the main entrance of BYI. He cupped his hands to the tinted glass and tried to peer inside.
The sound of a pistol being cocked very close to his ear caused him to stiffen. He pulled back slightly from the glass and felt the cold steel pressed against the base of his neck.
“Why are you snooping around here, governments man?” A heavily accented voice asked. The owner of the voice sounded like he gargled with broken glass every morning just to keep it tuned to a deep growl.
Roger slowly raised his hands and felt his head shaking slightly. “I’m not snooping. I was invited here.”
“Who would invite a governments man to here?” Roger could smell the vodka on the man’s breath and tried not to paint a stereotype in his mind. The Russian accent was bad enough, but the rancid vodka was a little over the top.
“Bobby Bridger told me to—”
“Bobby Bridger would not call on us!” The man pressed the barrel tighter against the base of Roger’s neck and he could almost feel him apply pressure to the trigger.
A voice crackled across an overhead speaker and nearly caused Roger to wet himself. “Viktor! Let him be.”
Roger felt a hand squeeze his shoulder and watched as another hand reached around him and pulled the door open. He expected to be pushed through the opening and was shocked as Viktor Teplov held the door open and ushered him in with a wave of his pistol. “It would appear you are expected.” He broke into a toothy grin and Roger did his best not to shiver as he walked past the man.
“I take it you’re a part of this Bogeyman International?”
Viktor laughed and slapped him on the back. “I am the reason for the name, comrade governments man.”
Steve Gibbons appeared from the shadows and held out his hand. “Agent Wallace I presume.”
Roger took his hand and raised a brow. “And you are? I was expecting Bridger.”
“If you’ll follow me.” Steve turned and headed toward a
