In almost any other setting, Alban’s presence would’ve been a contrasting note. In Sapphire Sips, he was as natural as a leaf on a tree.
Guests from all walks of life lent the elegant cafe its vibrant ambiance. At one table, a group of students leaned over their textbooks and shared insights, each revelation lighting up their faces. At another, a contemplative woman with wavy, brunette hair tapped away at her laptop keyboard. A lovely female barista chatting with a man in a blue suit, an elderly couple playing chess, and a group of friends gathering for a book club – all these and more intermingled in the cafes’ offerings. It was why Alban recommended the location to Cassidy for ensnaring Mariposa.
It also helped that he was familiar with the location, as he visited it often.
As usual, he concealed his identity when present. He sported high-top sneakers and black cargo jeans, his pockets ladened with art supplies. A predominately white graphic tee, loud and unapologetic, clashed against the refined backdrop, its colors as bold as the pictures he sketched across his notepad. While he kept his hair in his actual faux mohawk style, he disguised his identity with a black surgical mask and rounded sunglasses.
About an hour passed before the actual mark arrived. When she did, she entered with an appearance curated to navigate the city under the radar. She wore a neutral-toned dress devoid of any loud prints and only a single, silver bracelet, a sign of her identity. Her black curls were neatly gathered into a ponytail and her tawny-toned face lacked makeup.
“I got eyes on the geese,” Alban whispered as Mariposa took a seat. “Any signs of the hawk?”
“Clear skies here,” Wynn said, his voice funneled directly into Alban’s ear through an earpiece.
A day’s worth of fuss for a sec’s work, Alban mused as his smartphone’s cloning interface sprang to life. With a few taps, he pinpointed Mariposa’s phone and initiated the link.
A series of neon lines darted across the screen and surged into a circle, mimicking a vibrant heartbeat. Then, without warning, it ceased, leaving behind a barren screen with a stark declaration: “Error – Connection Not Established.”
Error? What the…?
Alban shifted his focus from the stark finality of his phone’s error message to the laptop perched on the edge of the table. He awakened it from its slumber, dove into the depths of the connection log, and stumbled upon an irregular pattern of data traffic. Unlike the static background noise of regular data flows, it was dynamic, almost conversational.
Did someone snag her phone?
He dug through more technical morass and uncovered the mechanism of his failure: data prioritization. His attempt had been relegated to irrelevance by a network that had already chosen its preferred guest.
A warmth, much like the afterglow of a well-aged whiskey, fluttered in the pit of Alban’s stomach. He had to give respect where it was due; Gianna had gone all out.
What a jam… He’d have to figure something out fast or else they were kissing the mission goodbye.
He shifted his gaze back to Mariposa, who spoke with a barista visiting her table. Her fingers curled around her cellphone.
Maybe I should just grab the damn thing and run? It would get them the goods and all it would take is a tap to airplane mode to cut any digital strings.
He frowned and shook his head. He couldn’t afford a dramatic exit – he was just two punches away from a free coffee. No way was he trashing his cover there!
Also, Cassidy would flip. He didn’t need that headache.
There’s gotta be a way to ghost this…
Alban turned back to his computer – the fix was there, somewhere. If military life had taught him anything, it was to start with the resources closest to you.
The data log sprawled before him once again and reminded him that the data stream was live.
Gianna has to be up in Mariposa’s business in real-time. She was obviously long before then – which meant she was in the loop about the coffee date well before Mariposa hit up Sapphire Sips…
Alban narrowed his eyes. If that was him and he caught wind of some secret meeting, he’d be there waiting way before anything started.
He surveyed the café, searching for anomalies in the patrons – those who lingered too long, their stay stretched beyond the life of a single cup, or positioned too conveniently by exits and entrances. It was the brunette, ensconced with her laptop, that stood out. Seated where the walls met, she commanded a panoramic view of the café’s interior.
“Hey,” Alban whispered, “you got the geese’s digits?”
“Why do you ask?” Wynn asked.
“I want to run a little test, see if it pans out.”
“A test, huh? How about we start with the hypothesis before I volunteer assets?”
Alban’s jaw tensed. “Ran into some trouble cloning the phone—”
“Damn it all… It’s time to pull out.”
“Hold up. I think I’ve caught sight of our hawk. Let’s buzz Mari and see if the P.O.I. reacts.”
“Suppose she does. What then?”
“The Boss will want a visual, right?”
“…Give me a minute or two.”
Alban’s lips curved into a sneer as he scoffed. Wynn, as always, clung to Cassidy like a lost puppy. He had to be angling for something more than camaraderie. It was the only thing that made his sad act make sense.
“Text’s about to go live,” Wynn said a little after a few minutes passed. “Don’t blink.”
The buzz of Mari's phone acted as a beacon, drawing her immediate attention downward. In near sync, the brunette tore herself away from the laptop and stole a glance.
Alban squinted.
Time seemed to stretch and compress in the minute that followed. Mari ended her call with a huff, erupted out of the seat, and stormed out. Across the room, the brunette's actions mirrored Mari's as she snapped her laptop shut.
Alban stood, the motion fluid and unassuming, as he began to navigate the maze of tables towards the brunette. His eyes never strayed from her as she methodically packed away her laptop.
“Hey, Gianna,” Alban said as he reached her table.
The brunette’s head whipped to him, her eyes a pair of lasers dissecting his intentions in a mere glance.
“Don’t bounce yet.” He claimed the seat across from her. “You don’t want to miss what comes next.”
“And you are…?” she asked, her voice measured.
“Just a go-between for The Grandmaster. You knew this was coming, right?”
She regarded him with the intensity of a scholar poring over ancient texts. “Can you provide any proof to verify your claim?”
“Did you mention our little heist of your CipherTech Gen 3 Data Drive to anyone?”
“No, I haven’t. I’m intrigued as to how you located my box and replicated my key, though I suspect you won’t divulge the method.”
“You’re as sharp as they say, detective,” he said, his voice dry. “I mean, how else could you have figured out that I wouldn’t talk?”
“My analytical skills are considerable,” she said with her own touch of dryness, “but they don’t extend to every mystery. For instance, your purpose here is unknown to me. Could you enlighten me?”
“Boss lady got her prize already. The rest’s just leftovers to us. But to you, those leftovers are a feast, right?”
“What exactly do you expect from me in return?”
“The real question isn’t our desires, but what you are ready to lay down.”
“I am currently apart of Vincent Sharpe’s operation. Does the prospect of insider information intrigue you?”
“Ain’t my call to make. Remember, I’m just the middleman. Pass your number my way, and she’ll be in touch.”
Gianna dipped into her bag, retrieved a notebook and pen, and scribbled a series of digits on the page. The page was then neatly torn from the notebook and nudged across the table.
“You should feel somewhat honored,” Gianna said. “It’s not common for me to share this.”
“I’ll guard it like a treasured secret.”
Gianna hoisted her laptop bag over her shoulder, its contents safely ensconced within, and made her way to the exit with deliberate steps. Alban, meanwhile, plucked up the note and skimmed over it with his head held high.
Now all he had to do was sell Cassidy on his move.
