Free Blood Prize by Ken Grace

this close to being eliminated, Frederick.”
    To accentuate his meaning, the priest raised his right hand, holding his thumb and forefinger close together.
    “The chairman isn’t a fool. After he left you at the factory, you thought to play Fox for your own advantage and he knows it. The only reason you’re here and breathing is because of your spy … and, because I believe you’re still the best man for the job.”
    The few beams of brightness streaming in through the lead-glass window, betrayed the dampness in the visible areas of Vogel’s multi-coloured hair. He removed his grey hat, pulled a hanky from the interior of his matching grey suit and patted at his forehead.
    “I don’t understand you, priest.”
    He continued to dab at the perspiration on his brow and his teeth appeared between his lips.
    “Why support me?”
    The priest tried to smile and regretted it. Instead of sincerity, he could see his fake grin materialise as distrust in Vogel’s reactions.
    “It’s our objective that’s important, Frederick.”
    “Bullshit.”
    “Alright, here’s how it is. I don’t trust you Vogel. Not even for a minute. What I do know is that you won’t be that careless again. You of all people should know the cost of betraying our employer.”
    This time Father Dom didn’t smile at Vogel’s anomaly. The man visibly relaxed; believing and feeling comfortable with the priest’s distrust of him.
    “Now that we’ve finished with that unwanted business, we can move on to more operational matters. Tell me about the girl.”
    The priest noticed Vogel’s body begin to unstiffen and sag, as the presence of the roof once again bore down on him. His voice sounded curt as he explained the tactics they employed to recruit the Kite girl; the laboratory trashed and the slogan planted.
    He stopped talking and the priest discerned his change of expression. The lines and creases in his face softening and drooping from cruelty to petulance.
    “No. I don’t like this plan. It’s obvious. Too open. We don’t need outsiders becoming involved in our business.”
    “The plan requires control, Frederick. We’re the puppeteers. We create their actions.”
    The priest continued speaking to Vogel, as if instructing a child.
    “We always win, because we’re the ones pulling the strings.”
    Vogel began to raise the pitch and volume of his voice.
    “No. It puts my spy in serious jeopardy. Do what you like with the Kite girl, but don’t risk my spy.”
    “You will do what I tell you to do. Is that understood?”
    Vogel scowled and didn’t move.
    “You have your job and I expect you to do it exactly as prescribed.”
    The priest maintained his eye contact with Vogel, until the security chief gave a faint nod of assent.
    “It’s important at this early stage that they fall for the ruse. We have to push them into complete dependence on the PMSG. There can be no way back to a normal life for either Fox, or the girl.”
    Father Dom sat back and quietly ignored the man opposite him. He watched the rain come in from offshore, ordered another beer and some hot chips, and collated his thoughts into a cohesive working plan.
    “In every library, Frederick, there are newspaper archives. If you were to look back, you could find many articles about the Professor Fox situation. Some of those articles mention a colleague … A priest.”
    The clergyman stopped talking and frowned. Vogel looked annoyed and perplexed. The priest needed to be more specific.
    “Find one of those articles, Frederick. Get in touch with your spy and be sure that the old newspaper is left where Fox can find it.”
    The priest despised the man in front of him. He felt like reaching over, grabbing him around the neck and squeezing the life from his sour face. How many people wouldn’t die if he did it? He took in a deep breath and relaxed his fingers.
    “The PMSG will be compelled to make contact. Now that they have Fox, they won’t know exactly how to begin.