The Isle of Olympia. Andreas Karpasitis

He was certain that James’ pompous British accent would irritate him even more. A brief memory of their first meeting crossed his mind. It was a long time ago, in his early years in the agency, around fifteen years. Their paths crossed for the first time in a safe house; they exchanged a few hours of conversation, with a warm cup of coffee. He seemed like a good bloke back then, very committed to his duty to serve the Queen and the British people.

      They would meet occasionally after that, and James seemed comfortable with Murphy. A comfort that led to the meeting of two thousand a ten, as James looked for someone to back him in his research into a dead-end, as Murphy called it, but he always gave James the benefit of the doubt.

      Murphy could still vividly remember, how a few months after their meeting in Paris, he came across a newspaper piece. The article’s title read in large black letters:

      “MI6 Agent Investigating Diana’s

      Accident as a Cover-Up”

      Even though the article did not mention the agent by name, Murphy was certain that it was about James. All the details were there. The article went on about some new details being exposed, and how a British MI6 agent was running a long and pointless investigation. It explained how the agent was convinced that there was something more to the accident that everyone was made to believe. Especially after he got hold of some new explosive evidence. The reporter was not so forgiving towards James, calling him a “roque nut case”.

      Since they last met, James Collin’s name had been viciously slandered; he had been accused of corruption, foul play, and in recent years a tendency to turn to alcohol and clash with people around him, within his work environment and out. He was also known for some violent outbursts. When Murphy briefly talked to him on the phone a few hours before, it wasn’t the feeling he got. He did sound a bit jittery, but he wouldn’t have assumed that he lost his way.

      Murphy absorbed the information he needed, knowing that he had the upper hand, psychologically speaking. He always took the steps to profile the people he would be meeting, to know who he will be talking to and his or her weaknesses.

      “Murphy? Where to?” Ethan asked again.

      Without taking his eyes from the yellow dossier, Murphy said, “It’s a hotel at sixth avenue and fifty nineth street.”

      Suddenly Murphy started sniffing as he lifted his head. He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath.

      “You’ve been smoking Ethan?” he asked with a glint in his eyes.

      “Oh. I’m sorry, Murphy, I forgot you quit. Would have chewed a piece of gum if I had some.” Ethan started going through his pockets in search for one.

      Murphy pulled a pack of gum from the inside pocket of his blazer and passed it on to Ethan.

      “No worries, Ethan. It’s just that I get these cravings once in a while. What I wouldn’t give to have a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of scotch.” Murphy closed his eyes, imagining his ultimate sin – alcohol and tobacco. A heavy smoker and a heavy drinker, he managed to quit smoking a couple of years ago, but alcohol was his weak spot. He couldn’t stop cold turkey; a double scotch on the rocks almost every single night before bed was his ritual. There wasn’t a denial of his borderline alcoholism. He would joke about it, even though deep inside, he was always worried that it was a light form of addiction.

      “Just the scotch?” Ethan joked as he looked at Murphy from the rear-view mirror. “So, what’s the deal tonight? Or its top secret?”

      Murphy didn’t immediately reply. He shrugged his shoulders as he watched the empty streets of New York pass in a blur. People were getting prepared for the storm that was dangerously approaching.

      “In my honest opinion,” Murphy shook his head, “nothing that’s worth my time. In summary? This guy apparently has some crucial information he is trying to sell to some reporters. I’m heading there to intervene and stop him. It seems that this information he has is extremely sensitive and very important to someone.” Murphy took a deep breath. “Well, sometimes we just need to do some pointless chores.”

      Ethan listened carefully, getting glimpses of Murphy from the rear-view mirror. He shook his head and shrugged in agreement; he knew everything about pointless and annoying chores.

      Chapter 3

      At the Ritz Hotel, James was sitting at a corner table in the hotel’s bar. His long scruffy beard and wrinkly shirt cast a spotlight on him, as the rest of the bar’s guests were immaculately dressed. His eyes showed how he hadn’t had proper sleep for weeks and on top of that he was fueling his insomnia with bouts of alcohol. The table didn’t look much better with it being covered in paper, folders, and photographs.

      James nervously took notes in a notebook while shuffling papers around the table, rearranging them as if trying to solve a puzzle. He had been visibly worn down, and his state of well-being immensely deteriorated. James had been through a roller coaster the past decade. It all began a few months after he started diving deeper and deeper into the accident of the Princess of Wales.

      He could still remember the two men that approached him and tried to convince him to stop looking into it. He refused. James was never a man that would accept being intimidated or pushed around. That incident even made him more convinced that he was getting closer to something meaningful—a huge revelation. Then, month by month, things were taking a turn for the worse; rumors started to flow. Mistakes from the past started appearing out of nowhere. It seemed as if someone was specifically targeting him, ruining his trustworthiness and his reliability as a loyal and capable agent. It was a slow but pretty steep downhill from that moment on.

      He reached to grab his glass of drink, taking the last sip of warm watery whiskey.

      “Mate, one more,” he quickly shouted to the bartender at the other corner of the large, half-full room while waving the empty glass in the air. The tables that surrounded him were purposefully left empty. People felt threatened and uncomfortable by his presence, his weird and unsettling behavior. He was sitting there for almost two hours now, whispering to himself like a psychotic man.

      The bartender walked towards the table carrying a glass of whiskey with ice, and with care placed it on the side of the table.

      “Sir, I would advise you take it easy. We’ve been getting complaints; I’m kindly asking you to keep it down and please just tidy up your table, we have guests in this hotel that expect to get their money's worth. Needless to say, this is a top of the class hotel with top of the class clients,” the bartender whispered in James’s ear trying to warn him politely.

      James kept scribbling notes; shaking his head, completing ignoring the requests of a cornered and annoyed bartender.

      “Sir?” the bartender repeated anxiously as he slightly raised his voice.

      “Yeah, got it,” James replied in a slightly louder voice, people around him glanced uncomfortably. “I will be out of your way in a jiffy, my meeting should be starting anytime now. May I remind you that I’m also a paying customer,” he continued with a lowered, relaxed voice, slowly becoming aware of the tension he was causing.

      James was scheduled to meet a reporter that night to share his collection of old and new discoveries. He wanted to start exposing things as he believed it the people’s right to know that secrets were being kept from them. Things were not as they seemed.

      His plans changed after Murphy approached him; he convinced him to postpone his meeting as he wanted to discuss a few things with him. James had his doubts, but he decided that one day of delay wasn’t a big issue. In any case, he still had this sense of trust towards Murphy, regardless of the lack of support when they last met in Paris. James could see the loyalty in Murphy’s eyes. It was evident that he was doing what he was doing to make a difference. In a way, he could see himself in Murphy, before everything started to come tumbling down.

      The bartender walked away from the table and resumed his post. One suited gentleman at the next table