“Have you made up your mind, Sir?” he said, latex-gloved hands clasped gently in front of him.
“Yes, I have. I’m going to stick with my initial mixture, but I’d like to add three portions of Subterfuge. The good stuff. Not that cheap rubbish.”
“An excellent choice.” He picked up the tablet and scrolled through Mr Kerfield’s chart. “That will complement the Espionage flavours nicely. We’ll be able to give you something quite special.”
Kerfield smiled and leant back in the chair, arms down to his sides, ready to be strapped in for the procedure.
“One moment, please. We just need your thumb here,” he held the tablet down, “and here, for final confirmation.” Mr Kerfield raised himself on one elbow and jabbed his thumb roughly at the tablet.
“Very good, Sir.” He strapped Kerfield in, started the machine, and strode around the corner to his accomplice. They shut and locked the door.
“We’d better be quick. I give him ten minutes before he realises something’s up and starts fidgeting. Big chap. I don’t think the straps or the door will keep him for more than a few minutes.” They bolted off down the corridor.
The drone in the chair whirred and clicked inside, sending data across the street to the real Mr Kerfield.
“Dammit,” he cursed, banging his fist on the table. “Another charlatan. How am I supposed steal their method if they don’t have one?”
He set the drone to self destruct and flipped back to the classifieds. Maybe the next one would live up to its promises.