Middle Man by David Rich

fixed like bayonets to assault my skepticism and so real that I almost turned around to see if they were closing in from behind, too. But I knew I was safe because faith is a psychosomatic disease, infecting volunteers only. The SUV did not appear after five minutes, so I left.

11
    I recognized the perfume when I entered my hotel suite. Daisy bounced up from the couch before the door was closed.
    â€œThere you are. How’d you do? Certainly spent enough time. I ordered a movie on your TV. Hope you don’t mind paying for it.”
    â€œHappy to.”
    â€œDon’t worry, it’s not porn.”
    â€œThat’s a big relief,” I said, and I walked past her to check the bedroom for other uninvited guests. It was empty.
    The dress and the heels were gone, replaced with shorts, tank top, and sandals. The wig was gone. Her hair was dirty blond, short. The jewelry was not replaced. All that remained of Daisy was the personality and the implants.
    â€œSo, did she invite you to meet her father? I bet she did. I bet you’re in.” She flopped down on the couch and kicked off her sandals. “You didn’t even leave anything on the door to see if anyone came in when you were gone. Y’know, something like a hair or a matchstick. The maid let me in.”
    There was a knock on the door. Daisy hopped up. “I ordered room service, too. I didn’t know when you would get here and I’m starving.” She moved past me toward the door, but I grabbed her arm and held it while I looked through the peephole.
    â€œYou open it,” I said.
    â€œI like a strong grip in a man. Lets me know he means it.” She opened the door and the waiter carried in a tray. “He’ll sign,” she said. And I did. The waiter left. Daisy started picking at the salad. “The food at the club is so bad. Those people have all that money and don’t even know what’s good.”
    â€œYou’re very charming, Daisy, but I’m tired now. Not in the mood for company. Maybe we can schedule something on another day. Take the salad with you.”
    I was about to open the door for her exit when she said, “Major Hensel sent me. To help you. And I did help you.”
    â€œI don’t know a Major Hensel,” I said.
    â€œWant me to call him?”
    â€œDo you have a phone?”
    â€œâ€™Course, I do. Let me grab my purse.”
    â€œWait there. I’ll get it.” I grabbed her purse and brought it to her. “There, now you can call anyone you want, as soon as you leave.”
    I opened the door and guided her out.
    I was picking at the salad when my phone rang. Major Hensel said, “Daisy works for SHADE.”
    I told him about my progress. He listened, then he asked if there was anything else I wanted. There was, but I said no.
    â€œOkay, then, she’s in the stairwell. You still have her sandals. Make use of her if you can.”
    â€œI’ll try to think of something.”
    Daisy was peeking out from the stairwell. “Can I wash my feet in your tub?” she asked. “That stairwell is dirty. And don’t eat that salad. I’m hungry.”
    While Daisy washed her feet, she told me what she had gleaned about the King and Maya. It was not much. Most of it came from Marlene’s husband and two other oilmen Daisy had chatted up. The King was courting investors who were offering gifts, cash gifts, graciously accepted by the King, but the bids were kept low because of the political uncertainty. The sense was that the bribes were more important than the bid. The King was cash hungry. Marlene’s husband, Gerry, was licking his chops because his offer was structured to give the King a big chunk of the gross revenue, and most of the rest for Gerry’s company, very little to the people of Kurdistan.
    I let her talk, asking as few questions as I could because I was not ready to reveal my plans to her. Daisy did not require