Chapter 5 - The File on Toby Vance
On the other end of the satellite line, sitting in a dark, high-tech command vehicle parked three blocks away in an underground garage, sat Agent Marcus Cole.
"Are you certain it's him, Director?" Cole asked, his fingers flying across a bank of glowing monitors displaying high-resolution biometric data, criminal histories, and real-time audio feeds.
"Biometrics confirmed," Eleanor replied softly, keeping her voice below the ambient sound of the rain outside. "Toby Vance. Age eighteen. Grandson of my late brother, Thomas. He has his grandfather's eyes, Marcus. And his heart."
"We've been running background checks on the location for the past forty-eight hours," Cole reported, his tone crisp and professional. "The manager, Arthur Pendelton, is a mid-level fixer for the Moretti crime syndicate. He’s been using Boulangerie 1888 as a laundering front for illegal arms sales and extortion funds coming off the docks."
"I know," Eleanor said, her pale eyes narrowing as she watched Pendelton re-emerge from his back office, carrying a clipboard. "I saw how he treats his staff. I saw how he treats the boy."
"Our intelligence indicates Pendelton realized three days ago that Toby witnessed an exchange in the basement," Cole continued. "Pendelton hasn't eliminated the boy yet because he’s trying to determine if Toby spoke to the police or federal authorities. The moment Pendelton confirms the boy is silent, Toby becomes a liability."
"A liability he intends to dispose of," Eleanor completed the thought, her voice dropping an octave into a register that would have made the most hardened assassin tremble.
"What are your orders, Director?" Cole asked. "We have a tactical team on standby. We can breach the bakery in ninety seconds, secure the boy, and execute a hard extraction."
Eleanor took another small bite of the turkey sandwich Toby had bought for her with his last five dollars. She chewed thoughtfully, watching the boy carefully wipe down the counter, his hands still trembling with residual fear.
"No," Eleanor said firmly. "A hard extraction creates noise, legal complications, and public attention. Toby is an innocent child who has lived in fear for far too long. I am not going to drag him into a warzone."
"Then how do you want to handle Pendelton?" Cole inquired.
Eleanor looked up. Through the blurred, rain-soaked front window, she saw a dark grey luxury sedan pull up to the curb. A tall man in a heavy black wool overcoat stepped out, holding an umbrella over his head as he walked toward the bakery door.
It was the man with the scarred eyebrow—Dominic Moretti, the syndicate lieutenant.
"Moretti has arrived," Eleanor whispered into the phone. "They are preparing to close the trap on the boy tonight."
"Director, you are unarmed and in a vulnerable position—" Cole warned frantically.
"I am never vulnerable, Marcus," Eleanor cut him off, a faint, terrifying smile touching the corners of her thin lips. "Initiate Phase Two. Isolate the network. Cut the landlines. Black out the streetlamps on this block in five minutes."
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"Understood, Director. Phase Two initiated."
Eleanor snapped the flip phone shut and slipped it back into her coat pocket. She picked up her sandwich, took a final bite, and sat back in her chair, watching the tragedy unfold.
