Undercover in a ritzy hotel.
Miles Pelletier looked up to see a familiar figure approaching. He smiled.
“Do you know who I am?” he was asked angrily.
“Of course, can I help you, Mr. Lisle?”
The man looked puzzled.
“Is that my name? Lisle? Funny, it doesn’t sound right.”
Miles looked closer. As a concierge at a first class hotel he was often called upon to help guests with some pretty strange things. But this was the first time he had been asked to identify a guest.
“Are you all right, sir?”
Thom Lisle put his hand to the back of his head. It came away sticky with blood.
“You’re hurt, I’ll contact the hotel physician immediately. Perhaps you should sit down in one of the lobby chair,” Miles suggested as he rang the doctor’s code on the house phone.
Miles got his second in command to take over and he rounded his desk to go to the injured man. When he touched his hand, it was cold. He felt for a pulse and couldn’t find one.
“What happened, Miles?” The deep booming voice of Dr. Preston startled him.
“Mr. Lisle is taken ill.”
After a quick examination, the doctor said: “Call the police immediately, this man is dead.”
Miles did so on his cell phone. When they arrived, they took one look at the deceased and began to pepper Miles with questions.
“Wait, you’re treating me like I did this!” he protested.
“We need to be sure you didn’t,” was the reply.
“Mr. Thom Lisle was a guest, why would I?”
“So, you think his name is Thom Lisle? This is the notorious arms dealer and thief Timothy Markham.”
Miles gave a shocked reply to the information.
Back at his desk, he dialed a number only he knew.
“My cover’s blown, 007 failed!”