Free 0.5 Meeting Monday by Robert Michael Page A

want to seem redundant,” he said.
    She shrugged. Their orders were to post outside, but she was a rookie. What did she know? As far as she was concerned, they were already redundant.
    “Sure,” she said. She turned her back to the entrance and opened her jacket.
    She caught Clavelle staring at her breasts. Just a brief glance. She almost shuddered. He was at least fifty. Smoked. Married. Unabashed womanizer. He made her skin crawl. She stared ahead and tried not to notice.
    After several minutes, she began to worry. The Ambassador had not arrived. She glanced at Clavelle. He was pacing from foot-to-foot. He needed a fix, probably. She watched him check his Timex. Pat his jacket pocket where he kept his Malboros.
    “Ahem,” she managed. When he glanced at her she raised her eyebrows.
    He nodded. Pressed his finger to his ear.
    “BOSTON, we are awaiting the arrival of BREAD WINNER. We are stationed inside the entrance, over.”
    He squirreled up his mouth and glanced at her. She was not wired.
    “Yes. Understood.”
    “What?” Halley asked. She tried to keep the irritation from her voice. It did not work.
    He looked over at the clerk and manager and then turned his head away from them.
    “BREAD WINNER is in a meeting.”
    “Ok,” she said. This was her first post. Maybe this was routine. It seemed to her, though that it would be best if they stuck to the schedule. It was not like Compton to allow a timing mishap.
    “We need to step outside,” he continued.
    She furrowed her brow.
    “Now?”
    “Orders,” he explained.
    He opened the door for her and she stepped outside. It had stopped raining. It was already becoming humid. They were on the other side of the building from the mass of tourists that came to visit the Brandenburg Gate.
    Agents Driscoll and Travers nodded at them as they took post perpendicular to them and the street. Halley nodded. Clavelle smirked. She caught a glimpse of an unspoken message between them. Men.
    “What is the delay?” she asked, realizing that Clavelle was hesitant to remark on the Ambassador’s delay in public.
    He merely shook his head crossed his arms behind his back.
    “Problem?” Travers offered. He was handsome. A bit too smug, but at least approachable. He had told her this morning that his family had a legacy of military sons all the way back to the civil war. Since he was the only son, he was the first to buck that trend. She respected him for that.
    She lifted her left shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.
    “Delay.”
    “On Compton’s watch? He will have to drink Metamusil for a week straight to get unstuck from that.”
    “He will have to mainline Prozac is more like it,” Driscoll joked. He was shorter and bald. Looked like he maybe ate too many donuts. He was constantly joking.
    “They will arrive soon,” Clavelle said.
    “Soon is not a time, son,” Driscoll intoned, imitating Agent Compton’s gruff voice.
    “Where’s the rest of your detail?” Halley asked. She wanted to change the subject. It was against her nature to mock a superior. Even if he or she deserved it. Respect was important.
    “Brady and Forillo are with our charge. Vine is taking a call in the lounge,” Travers answered. He said the last name with some contempt.
    “I haven’t met Agent Vine. You seem to dislike him,” she said.
    “Hotshot. Upstart, rookie,” Travers said.
    “Yeah. He thinks just because his father is the president that he can just walk onto whichever detail he wants,” Driscoll complained.
    Clavelle coughed.
    The door opened and the agents stood straighter. Halley buttoned her jacket.
    “Good afternoon, agents,” Ambassador Welsey said. He looked directly at her and smiled. He was over sixty, but he was still handsome. A narrow jaw, a widow’s peak with shock-white hair and thick eyebrows to match. “Halley,” he said.
    “Ambassador.” She bowed her head in respect and closed her eyes. She could tell the other agents were staring at her.
    “I am glad you