Part 12
The rain did not stop,
it only rained harder,
as night fell.
Eleanor drove,
carefully,
through the slick streets.
The meeting place was an old diner,
far from the city center,
abandoned by time.
She parked in the back,
turning off the engine,
and waited.
Ten minutes passed,
slowly,
agonizingly.
Then,
a pair of headlights appeared,
cutting through the dark.
A man stepped out,
wearing a heavy coat,
his face hidden by a hat.
It was Arthur Vance,
a former operative,
who owed her a debt.
She stepped out of her car,
pulling her jacket tight,
against the biting wind.
"You took a risk,
coming here," Arthur said,
his voice barely a whisper.
"I had to," she replied,
handing him the envelope,
containing the photograph.
He took a flashlight,
clicking it on,
and studied the image.
He cursed,
softly,
under his breath.
"They lied to us,
all of them," he muttered.
"Lang cut a deal,
with someone higher up,
someone untouchable."
Eleanor frowned,
feeling a knot in her stomach.
"Higher than Ashcroft?" she asked,
seeking clarity.
"Ashcroft was a manager,
a puppet," Arthur explained,
handing the photo back.
"The real architect,
the one who built the system,
is still out there."
She felt a wave of exhaustion,
washing over her.
"Who is it?" she demanded,
needing a name.
"I don't know,
but they call him the Director," he said,
looking around nervously.
"If Lang is in London,
he is accessing the reserve funds,
the black money."
"We have to stop him," she insisted,
her resolve hardening.
"You can't,
you are just a journalist,
Eleanor."
"I brought down Atlas once,
I will do it again," she declared,
her eyes blazing.
Arthur shook his head,
pity in his eyes.
"You didn't bring them down,
they just changed their shape,
like water."
He turned away,
walking back to his car.
"I will look into the bank,
but that is all," he warned.
"Do not call me again,
unless it is an emergency,
a real one."
He drove away,
leaving her standing in the rain,
clutching the envelope.
She returned to her apartment,
finding Julian there,
waiting on the couch.
He had made tea,
hot and strong,
just the way she liked it.
"What did Vance say?" he asked,
handing her a mug.
"He said we are in trouble,
deep trouble," she answered,
taking a sip.
"There is someone else,
someone above Ashcroft,
called the Director."
Julian processed the information,
his jaw tightening,
in quiet anger.
"Then we start digging,
again," he said,
without hesitation.
She smiled,
faintly,
appreciating his loyalty.
"It will be dangerous,
Julian."
"It always is," he replied,
taking her hand,
briefly.
They sat in silence,
May you like
listening to the rain,
preparing for the storm.
