Espion | Book One

Twenty Three.

This was not good.

Thomas laced his fingers together, leaning back in the chair as the soft sounds of the indoor violin floated around his head. His food laid untouched, growing cold. The rare steak had tempted him at first, but his appetite was lost when his eating partner told him why he had called him out.

Du Fromage was one of the best French restaurants in the city, one of Thomas' personal favourite. When he received the call from his longtime friend, telling him to meet him here at eight, he was happy. Ecstatic even, since it had been a while since they've seen each other. They could catch up on old times, reminisce about the days gone past.

He wasn't expecting this.

His fingers unlaced and he drummed them on the table before him. Their heavy collision with the wooden table had his red wine shaking in its glass. "What was that?" he managed to push out. It took everything in him to tamper the rage threatening to overflow.

Stephen Staton was not fazed by Thomas' concealed anger. He chewed casually on his fish. At Thomas' question, he glanced up. "I think you heard me," he replied. "I won't just sit idly by and let you take everything."

"I don't intend to take anything." Thomas smiled, something just short of a grimace. "Jessime Beaumont is under national protection from the French. I'm just trying to protect America's interest."

"Don't try to convince me, Thomas. Jessime Beaumont is not just an innocent boy in between the games of politicians. He has access to information the Rebels need and don't think I don't know you want that information too."

Thomas resisted the growl bubbling in his throat. They were secluded,sectioned off in their only little part of the restaurant, so they could speak freely without being overheard. "If I'm after information, it's only because that information can fall in the wrong hands."

"Why did you let her do the mission then?"

Taken aback, Thomas blinked. He knew who he was referring to but still, he had to ask, "Who?"

"Annabelle. Or should I say, Annabelle Ferguson. Don't think I don't know about her Thomas. My daughter has a loose tongue and she isn't very fond of your little pet."

Thomas was well aware that Stephan's daughter, Angela, was close with her father, cursed himself when he overlooked that simple detail. Still, his face betrayed nothing. "What are you getting at, Stephan?"

Stephan put down his fork and dabbed at his lips daintily. His lined eyes crinkled with a hidden smile. "You're hiding her in plain sight, aren't you? But you failed to overlook the fact that she might figure everything out."

"That's impossible and you know it."

"Is it? I didn't become a politician out of my own power, Thomas, as much as it pains me to say it. Benoit Beaumont helped me get to where I am and I'm not about to see everything he worked for fall in the hands of the wrong person."

"And that's exactly why Annabelle is there. To protect Jessime. If those Rebels get a hand on him, there's no doubt in my mind that one day they'll get what they came here for. We have to stop them before they succeed."

"No, Thomas. I have to stop you before you succeed. You aren't doing this for Benoit. And you aren't doing this for his son either."

"I'm doing this for the good of America," Thomas growled. He could smell the blood from his steak now, churning his stomach and lighting his anger.

"America doesn't need this." Stephan's eye crinkles smoothed away. His face grew serious as he leaned closer. "We can't make the same mistakes we did in the past, Thomas. It isn't right."