Shadowland

Falcon chose a newspaper clipping from the small pile on the table in front of him. He held it up for the others seated around the conference table.

“Super-wife makes life

super-interesting

for Lawrencedale husband”

The others could see the headline clearly.

“As you know,” said Falcon, a large white-haired man with beefy, florid features, “the Agency has a commission under advisement in the Lawrencedale area. What’s the impact assessment of this” – he glanced at the clipping – “rather unexpected development?”

Osprey, spoke up, an elderly man, with gray hair as thin as the rest of him. “The Leon Skinner commission was doubtful from the start.”

“So you’ve said,” Falcon replied. “Opinions?”

“I agree with Osprey, ” said Eagle, a top-ranking, but retired member of the U.S. military, a slight frown on his dark brown features. “Breaking a condemned prisoner out of a maximum security pen is a little out of our line. I don’t like the visibility factor.”

“Causing a United States senator to switch parties wasn’t visible?” Falcon asked. The recent defection had bought a major U.S. political party control of government it wasn’t able to win through election.

“That’s different,” said Kite, a youthful-looking man in his mid-forties with an honest, open countenance. “We merely used traditional methods to encourage party extremists until the environment was intolerable for that particular moderate.”

Kite, a former U.S. senator himself, was instrumental in the commission’s execution. He was proud of its success.

“There was a little more to it than that,” commented Falcon, himself a former member of the U.S. House of Representatives. “In fact, it was word of that operation which brought in the Leon Skinner commission.”

Skinner, a member of an extremist right-wing militia, was a genius with explosives. He was not a genius at covering his tracks. His bombs destroyed federal buildings, synagogues, and African-American churches – and the people in them. But authorities identified, tracked, caught, tried and sentenced him.

Somebody wants Skinner out, Falcon reflected, as he watched the men, all dressed alike in conservative blue or gray business suits, collected around the boardroom table. Somebody asks the Agency to accept the commission. Somebody invites the Agency to name a number and then tack as many zeroes on to that number as are mathematically possible.

Unfortunately, the full-scale military assault required to break open Grasslands Federal Penitentiary and grab Skinner just isn’t feasible. Smuggling and bribery are more realistic, but even the best of those plans have potential catastrophe at every turn.

That’s why the Leon Skinner commission is still under advisement.

Falcon returned to the matter at hand. “Have we approached these women?” he asked, looking at the pile of newspaper clippings. “Yes,” said Eagle. “Discreetly, of course. No sign of avarice or criminal tendency in either.”

“Pity,” Falcon sighed. “With resources like that, Skinner would be a done deal. I suppose we’ve considered traditional methods of encouragement.”

“Obviously, physical coercion doesn’t apply,” Osprey, CEO of a major investment banking firm, commented.

“We’ve conducted a thorough background,” Kite, the former senator, added. “The older one had an abortion when she was 19. If she had it to do over again, she’d have the baby, but it’s not enough for leverage.”

“Kidnapping loved ones?” Falcon asked gloomily. He knew the answer.

“Crude method in any circumstance,” said Skua, former chief executive of a well-known Japanese auto manufacturer. “The targets are usually so distracted and distraught over the kidnappings that they make poor tools. In this case, the targets have far too many weapons at their disposal to make kidnapping a viable tactic.”

Falcon looked at the group. It’s like being kids again, he thought. The Agency was nothing more than a secret club. The members had code names – all birds of prey. How like boys. Eagle, Falcon, Kite. . . no larks, wrens or robins here. He smiled inside. No girls, either.

They met monthly to plan pranks. Except these pranks affected millions of lives and netted hundreds of millions of U.S. dollars. Billions, if the Skinner commission could be brought home. Who and why, Falcon wondered. He thought he knew.

“Honey?” suggested Falcon.

“Not for the older one. She’s firmly married,” Kite commented. “Might have limited success with the younger one. A recent relationship ended poorly for her, so she’s emotionally vulnerable. She’s inexperienced to begin with. The younger one takes advice from the older one who is rather hardheaded. Her guidance would probably preclude any active role for the younger one. But honey could well work as a strategy to keep the younger one distracted.”

“Ruiz might be a suitable agent,” said Hawk, a middle-aged greek shipping tycoon, with grizzled gray hair and a nose to match the beak of his raptor namesake.

“Ruiz. Yes, he’s good,” said Falcon.

“Distracting one of them isn’t enough,” said Eagle, bluntly. “Both need to be decisively off the horizon. I don’t see it happening. Even if it did, the basic problem of cracking Skinner out remains. The Agency has always chosen its commissions wisely. This one fits the disaster profile like red on roses.”

“Gentlemen,” Falcon said, his meaty lips turning down at the corners, frosty blue eyes glaring, “We are a fulfillment agency. Clients bring us their wishes. For a price, we grant them. We have changed the balance of power in nations and among them. We have caused revolutions to succeed or fail according to the wishes of our clients.

“Gentlemen,” he continued, “we are former heads of state. We are members or former members of the world’s finest intelligence organizations. We are former military men. In our time we have been lawmakers and law enforcers. We are and have been CEOs of multinational corporations. We are here for the millions and because the millions are not enough.”

“So your point is?” Osprey asked, rudely. Laughter.

Falcon relaxed and let the laughter die down.

“I will have that commission,” he snarled.

There was silence.

“I believe we can bend these women to our purpose.”

Raven spoke, a former high-ranking KGB officer and highly successful field operative.

Falcon eyed him hopefully. Every other eye in the room targeted the small, black-eyed, black-haired Raven.

“You have found a weakness?” Eagle asked.

“There is always a weakness,” Raven said. “I have merely thought of an avenue to explore. A most promising avenue.”

“What is this ‘avenue’?” Eagle asked.

Raven smiled and looked at Falcon.

“Who cares,” said Falcon. He returned Raven’s gaze.

“Pursue it,” Falcon said.