The Sandcastle Conspiracy

Chapter 1: Michel

"You figure it out! I won't jeopardize my reputation by admitting I'm asking for your help. I know it's something that my people should be doing in the first place. '' The man in a navy suit took a deep breath and calmed down. "You know how this works. We need extra help to do things that are not standard and 'by the book'", he whispered.

Michel nodded calmly while looking at the shorebreak.

This mission could be the opportunity to finally return from the hell he was going through. The last couple of years have been nothing but hatred and auto-destructive thoughts.

Surfers were waiting for their opportunity to take a long left.

A gigantic rock in the middle of the beach caused waves to surge on both sides, making it a fantastic surf spot.

Michel tried to enjoy the calm, watching boards glide over the waves. The wind was blowing softly. It was not easy to focus and keep his heart rate under control.

Two days ago, he got a message asking him to be in that specific spot in the South of France. "Sunday this week 04:30 pm - Plage Miramar, Biarritz". He had an idea of what was going to happen. He knew he needed to stop his medication a couple of days before getting there. He needed to be sharp to impress and convince them to trust him with a new mission.

In less than a month, the most powerful people in the world were gathering at this exact same place. It was all over the news: precise details of who the visitors were and their plans were shared in all detail. Journalists were avid about getting the relevant news that would make them stand out. The event counted with a polished organization planned to the minute. Still, it was also like preparing a hunting party for all potential terrorists and protesters.

"Please, just come here and try to hit us bad," seemed to be the message.

"I never understand why you do this," said Michel "I guess ego."He forced himself to smile. "What is the point in announcing to the world the best spot and point in time for the next magnicide?" he asked, not expecting any kind of answer.

The man in costume agreed with a nervous head movement. Observing the surroundings, the man in the black suit spotted two guys on a balcony at the Hotel on their back.

"We are already being checked out. I can see all these guys wondering who you are and trying to figure out what we are discussing". He kicked the wall with his foot.

"Michel. I'm counting on you," he added.

"Don't forget I don't do this for free! Sorry to be so direct, but do you have a budget to make this work?" asked Michel.

"Don't worry about that, all is under control. The moment we spotted something strange, I got immediate approval." replied the man in the navy suit.

Usually, the infiltration missions Michel was used to were planned for months in advance. The usual trick was to get Michel hired by a company as a salesman or business development representative. Commissions, salaries, and travel expenses as a means of payment: no laundering needed, no questions asked, nothing to justify.

This time, however, due to the urgency, some risks had to be taken. At first, Michel would probably get a bunch of untraceable and easy-to-use prepaid credit cards. The relevant portion of the payment would need to wait for a later time at a bank account somewhere between Panama and Zurich.

"No worries, you'll get what you need soon enough. Just ask at your hotel front desk for starters".

They did not even say goodbye to each other.

Michel left and walked in the Allée Winston Churchill towards the Grande Plage. He noticed a group of young twenty-something kids, probably the same age as his daughter would have been. If not for the accident, she would probably be having fun in a similar place.

Another group was following the instructions of a surf teacher in his late forties with long blond Californian-looking hair. He sobbed and enjoyed the view of the white foam over the blue ocean again. The Atlantic Ocean impregnated all the clothing with humidity, a peculiar feeling, and a smell you could never get rid of when close to the shore.

Michel spotted and admired the "Bleu, Blanc, Rouge" French flag on top of the Hotel Du Palais, the main venue where the 45th G7 meeting would run a few weeks later.

He walked past the tunnel that separates the two parts of the beach walkthrough and headed downtown. He was hungry and planned to stop for dinner.

Michel noticed a man in shorts with a blue cap following him. He did not care much about it but enjoyed the thrill of being followed. He accelerated after a corner and lay innocently on a stone column to look at his phone for a moment. The idea was simply to fancy the blue-cap guy nervously passing by. There was no real point; he had no strange plans and did not want to hide much. He entered the restaurant and enjoyed a margarita pizza with an alcohol-free beer. After dinner, he headed directly towards his hotel, which was not too far from Sainte Eugénie's Church.

He enjoyed the sunset from a lookout at the Port Vieux beach with a view of the Virgin Mary's statue at the Rocher de la Vierge. He entered the hotel.

The room was clean. He knew he could not expect much due to the last-minute booking in a tourist area. He was lucky: This year, the summer season started a little later than usual due to children still having the last week of school during the first days of July, and he was able to book a single-person room. This beginning of July was not especially busy in the French Southwest.

He took a shower. He somehow missed the fact of swimming in the sea, but it was too late now to consider it. Michel opened his laptop, connected to a VPN from his old mission, launched a remote desktop, and ran a Tor Browser. It was far from a top security measure but mainly was enough to disturb. No one was going to understand the information he was looking for anyway. He checked the time in Mumbai. It was still too early for his planned contact to wake up.

At nine twenty-five, the phone rang. "Sir, may the hotel suggest a free drink at the Casino? If you are interested, I can offer you a voucher for tonight".

"Thanks for the suggestion. I'll collect it shortly," he answered.

He knew he would have a lucky night, not because he believed in luck or gambling, but simply because it was clear how he would receive the mission's initial payment.

He selected a pair of clean trousers, a white shirt, and a light linen jacket and headed towards the Casino after picking up the voucher at the front desk.

He arrived at the Casino and showed his ID. No matter how grown-up you looked, everybody needed to go through the identification process and prove to be over eighteen to get in.

He did not even look at the document he handed. His real identity did not even matter.

Michel changed two hundred euros into Casino tabs and headed towards the roulette. He played a few times, lost almost all the gambled amount, and headed for the bar. He ordered a gin tonic. The waiter handed him back the drink. Michel left a tip and took the receipt. A small handwritten note on it mentioned "Bathroom." He headed there and washed his hands. An elegant black man in a black suit exited one of the cabins. Michel headed towards that same, now free cabin and saw a small bag hanging on a hook. He placed all the casino tabs from the bag in his jacket pockets and returned to the roulette.

A Russian guy in his fifties was spending a significant amount on that table without even blinking. Gambler's family, all dressed up with expensive brands, was pretty close on a table by the beach walkthrough, enjoying a gigantic ice cream with excess toppings and cream.

Michel bet on red again, won a few extra tabs, and headed out. The cashier changed the tabs back and shouted, "Lucky night!" Michel smiled back, took the money, and left a couple of fifty euro bills as a tip for the cashier.

He returned to his hotel, taking the time to smell the ocean again and enjoying the view of the lighthouse while looking over his shoulder.