Agent Shield and Spaceman

Shield sat in his chair, a French 75 in front of him, each stroke of the kick drum setting up a ripple in the center of the wide glass. The music from the Ramsey Lewis trio was not so loud it obliterated conversation, but loud enough to dissuade eavesdroppers. That was why Marcus had chosen the spot for meeting the first name on the Chief’s list. Liaison Melissa. LeHaze powerfully exemplified the advantages of ambitions and high-impact paramilitary training. Her face was strong, with a long thin jaw, a sharply slanting nose and eyes the color of November drizzle. She had a sober, measured manner and a curl to her smile that could cause stage one hypertension. “I fail to understand why we are following this lead?” her fingers quickly leafed through the mission briefing. Her rifling paused over the photo of Gunther Thulewaite, an unimpressive, sour-faced individual with a severely reduced hairline. “This man? The file says he’s a rare animal trader. What does this...