The little Café they had invited me to was nice, and I was hungry.  This french bread... it was great, and the wine, nothing wrong with it.  But then, I was in Paris, and I was expecting it to be worth my while.

The four suited chaps at the next table over were obviously banking technology boffins, talking about uptime and transaction order, and audits.  It wasn't my favourite idea of white noise, but the music the café was playing was 70s nostalgia, and so I turned my headphones on.  At that exact moment(don't you just hate it?), my party arrived.  The woman, brunette, her hair a curtain of dark silk, stunning, maybe mid-thirties but still stunning, like every HR assistant-director I've ever met.  The man was understated, older, probably hit his forties.  Not a grey hair visible, not a whole lot of wrinkles either, but the eyes, they were tired, they had seen things.

The owner of Vadiamo came over, asked them for their order, they fired off an obscure white vintage from Lazio, Fracatti or something, a bottle for the table they said.  I had held myself to water so far, but just one glass with pasta and a meal sounded very nice to me, so I thanked them, and asked what they had in mind.  They told me: "What if I told you we're risk analysts, like yourself, but not focused on an individual, but on collectivities."

"I'd say that sounds mighty altruistic of you.  Must be nice, going home to the family every weekend."

"Except... the family, the neighbourhood you live in, now that's your principal... How do you protect that, Kindler Merrill?"

"Don't say that name out loud?  I'm under a non-compete, remember?  I'm ok with hearing you out, but I don't want publicity about my principal replacing me with a firm..."

"Oh, there won't be any publicity, you see, your principal works for us...  Protecting him was an audition..."

"Who's we?"

"Have you ever heard of NATO Anticipatory response?"

I couldn't help it, I laughed.

"That's not real, they're the boogeyman!"

"That's exactly what we want everyone to believe.  After all, what better than fiction to protect a secret?"  He handed me an official ID card, from Nato, I had seen them before. I didn't have the equipment to scan it with me though, and I told him that.

"We'll arrange for a scan later, perhaps, if you decide to join us."

"And what would I do?"

"We're aware of your skills, both as an analyst and as a protection detail leader.  We feel a need for someone to take direct action in defence of our interests."

"And when you said community, earlier, what was your community?  Ile-de-France?"

"Think much bigger, Mister Merrill, think a community of nations."

"What, all of Nato?"

"Perhaps, not every Nato nation has signed the Foresight Protocols, but enough have to keep us very busy.  We also expect an increase in business, soon.  You'd be joining us at grade 7, here are the details."  He handed me a pair of typed sheets, written by experts at not saying what they mean.  The only things of interest for me, except for the pay grade, was the need for me to stay licensable for a concealed carry, the need to keep my passport valid, having no criminal record, and that background check and credit check were not optional.  Interesting, but hardly a surprise.

I told him I needed some time to think about it, of course.  Never say 'No way José' to a potential job, like I always say.  I went to bed, back at my hotel, barely outside the mall, I'd arrived from the airport by Metro, or whatever RER is, and waited for them at the restaurant.  But I didn't want to fly just yet, too tired.  A good way to burn brain cells which happen to be my livelihood.  But I couldn't sleep, it was ridiculous, their offer.  This whole situation.  Staging a client, to audition me?  He'd been attacked twice, and it was live ammo, I'd gotten three good scars, and I had put some of them down, hard.  Little did I know my principal was an agent like I was to become, and he could have wiped the floor with the amateur thugs with ease, even without my help.