David was sat there in a towel. Weston didn’t like it – he was discreet, and David wasn’t. He tried to keep his life like a black box – it was part of the training, and despite what the man who had just visited him tried to assert, he was careful.
David was too into finding out what he knew and what he had done, and learning all about the Fiction Department and what it did. Weston felt like he was a pretty good judge of character, and he knew that David wasn’t a spy, but if he hadn’t been so good in the sack he would have got rid of him a long time ago. David was there for the money, not for the love – sure, it was disguised as presents, but there was more of a rent boy type thing occurring than either of them would have liked to admit.
But David might be useful, might he not? Weston, like everyone else from the Fiction Department was great at running scenarios, and thinking things through to a point of absurdity that would have been unthinkable to most. They had to write those kind of things sometimes – finding the plausible in the ridiculous and running with it – sometimes planning out months of stories to construct a narrative. He’d had the pleasure of seeing his lies be trumped by the weirdness of the truth several times, and that was always a good indicator that he was moving in the right direction.
He didn’t like that he had been threatened. How else was he supposed to get in contact with them, apart from a letter? He didn’t know about any dead-drops anymore – he had no means to contact anyone in-between the designated times – no, they contacted him. Who could he turn to to protect himself if the people he was protecting himself against ran the country? The press? He chuckled a little – he knew that most of them were led around by the nose, but he knew that some of them had enough celebrity, or enough respect to sidestep the problems that most people had. He believed Curry to be such a man. The thing was – even if he couldn’t get protection, one thing he could do was to set things right – as much as he was able – before they got to him. David would make the perfect go-between – he was smart enough, or cunning at least, and he was greedy enough to be persuaded to do it.
It wasn’t a hard thing to slide into the conversation. It was even easier to pitch to the kid. He knew that dangling the story out there for Curry it would not take long to get a bite – he knew all the networks out there, and he knew how to work them, even if he had never operated in the field. Sure, there were much better chess players out there than him, but Weston might at least be able to pull this off. He compiled some notes, added in some photos, and handed the material to the soon to be endangered David Norris.