The Man in the Black Suit
The Setup
Black suit’s apartment
was small, but expensive and well kept. When he arrived back it was three
a.m. The first thing he did was check the answering machine. A woman's
voice, slightly pouty, emanated from the speakers.
"Blake, you missed our coffee date.
Is everything alright? You're never home when I call, you don't
return my messages . . . I'm starting to think you've left the area on one of
your business trips. You could've at least told me you were leaving.
Well . . ." her voice trailed reluctantly. "If you get
this, call me back. At least I deserve an explanation! I thought we
were getting close, after all I shared with you about my boss. By the way, I'm sure you realize this, but please don't tell anyone what I said,
you know, about his habits. He's an idiot, but if word got out, then . .
. it could end very badly. Like, for the
company. Well -- "
The man named Blake deleted the
message.
The
front room's windows revealed a breathtaking view of the skyline, lit with
glowing lights and sleepless energy. Blake changed from his damp suit,
poured himself a drink, and lounged on the couch before the window, perusing
the vanilla folder's contents. There wasn't much there. A plane
ticket, an entrance pass to a formal event, a picture of a smiling man.
Residing in the envelope was a substantial amount of money: $10,000.
Blake burned everything but the picture and entrance pass. The money was marked -- very poor professional courtesy -- and whoever the man and woman had been working with, they would certainly have ways of knowing whether their ticket was used. He also burned the wallets, which contained no identification. On his laptop, he looked up the event that the pass was for. It was a fundraiser -- a masquerade in Dresden. He located a guest list on the website, and, after a brief search, found a name belonging to the face of the man whose picture resided in the folder. Anthony Benedict.
Mr. Benedict was involved in oil. He was grotesquely wealthy and worked with several environmental causes. That was an obvious link between Benedict and the masquerade: it was a charity fundraiser for a sustainable-energy project.
Blake burned everything but the picture and entrance pass. The money was marked -- very poor professional courtesy -- and whoever the man and woman had been working with, they would certainly have ways of knowing whether their ticket was used. He also burned the wallets, which contained no identification. On his laptop, he looked up the event that the pass was for. It was a fundraiser -- a masquerade in Dresden. He located a guest list on the website, and, after a brief search, found a name belonging to the face of the man whose picture resided in the folder. Anthony Benedict.
Mr. Benedict was involved in oil. He was grotesquely wealthy and worked with several environmental causes. That was an obvious link between Benedict and the masquerade: it was a charity fundraiser for a sustainable-energy project.
Obviously, the man and woman had been
approaching Blake with an offer of a job on Benedict. Judging from the
money in the envelope, they'd been prepared to pay him half up front. Targets
of this high-profile were worth a great deal.
An hour of further digging didn't
reveal any overt motivations for the removal of Benedict. True, he was a
major power player in international oil, but the leading company he was
involved with had reached a “maintenance phase,” essentially meaning that it
was at its peak and would now recede into the woodwork as other corporations
became more prominent. So Benedict had only a few more years at the top.
Why go to the trouble of killing or neutralizing him?
The masquerade was in four days. Ample
time, but with little to spare. The man
named Blake sat in thought for a while, sipping his drink while considering his
options. He made himself a small snack of olives and cheese.
Finally, he reached a decision. Picking up the phone, he called his
travel agent -- who believed him to be a businessman -- and reserved a ticket to Dresden.
