User Guide

hospital file were the only evidence of his
existence, other than a photo and name-
plate in the lobby of One Sampras Square
depicting a man who looked more like a
1950’s sit-com father than a corporate
monster. Even worse, there was no way I
could even tail the man to gather intel-
ligence on his habits without further
intelligence! He entered and left the
building by means of an underground
driveway that fed into Istanbul’s streets at
various locations.
I found only one approach open to me.
I had to bug his office. Almost as difficult
as storming the building. Only slightly
better odds of success. But a definite
starting point.
I began to feel optimistic. I had
managed to secure certain high-tech aids
during my years as a covert op, aids
which, if used properly, would serve me
well now. An assortment of small bugs,
and other more advanced equipment, all
with unique assets and drawbacks. I had
to determine Sampras’ security precau-
tions before deciding which surveillance
system would be best. Believe it or not,
that was the easiest part.
Pretending to be a corporate three-
piece shopping for a security service, I
rang up every security agency in Istanbul.
Each security rep, eager for a new
contract, was only too happy to reel off a
list of current clients. When I finally hit
upon the company Sampras used, it was
simplicity itself to elicit a sales pitch
detailing the company’s most expensive
and airtight procedures. Those would be
the services that Sampras used. I had no
doubt about that.
The news was not good. Sampras had
contracted for a very thorough, twice daily
building-wide sweep for particulate bugs.
It was highly unlikely, given that kind of
intensive schedule, that any bug I
managed to place in his office would go
undetected for long. A conventional
listening device was clearly out.
No, obviously a phone call was in
order.
I tried calling Sampras Aerospace and
asking to speak to Dillard McDonald. I
didn’t think it would work, and it didn’t. I
got as far as McDonald’s secretary’s
secretary before running up against the
expected “leave a message” stumbling
block. I wasn’t going to get through to
McDonald on my own. I’d need help.
The next day, I went on stakeout at
One Sampras Square, watching the
people enter and leave the building from
the street, accosting a few of them for
form’s sake, disguised as one of Istanbul’s
many beggars. So long as I stayed off the
Sampras steps, I wouldn’t be disturbed or
noticed. Such is the state of charity in
Constantinople.
There I waited, without any specific
plan, hoping for nothing so much as a
lucky break.
That break came when a string of
limos pulled to a stop beside me. I caught
a good look, between bodyguards, of well-
known financier Jessup Martel walking
into One Sampras Square. Destined, I
was sure, for the CEO’s suite.
I had what I needed.
The next morning, gear prepared, I
rang up Sampras Aerospace.
“Let me speak with Dillard, please.”
“Your name, sir?”
“Tell him it’s Jessup Martel.”
“Just a moment.”
This time I bypassed both his secretary’s
lieutenant and his secretary. His voice
was strident as he picked up the line.
“Jessup! What’s the good word?”
I flipped the switch. Penetration was in
the red and ongo. That was that.
“Vengeance, Mr. McDonald. That’s the
good word.”
There was a pause. I continued.
“I’m placing this call to remind you of
an outstanding debt you incurred on
28
July 2011 • SUDDEN DEATH
“The first step in any operation is
the gathering of intelligence,
research and surveillance. You
use this information to determine
the window of opportunity that
exists for your action.”