The banks air conditioning hit Chaisson like a brick as they entered. Two more large men in black suits quickly locked the doors and stood guard behind them as they made there way across the shiny waxed granite floor toward the back of the bank.
Other than the two men behind him, he counted six other armed men. One in each corner of the room and two standing guard at the side of a reinforced steel door. Each of them were holding military issued mp5 sub-machine guns and all of them wearing the same cheap black suits.
The woman led Chaisson toward the door and as they drew close one of the men stepped forward holding up his left hand, his firearm pointed barrell down but safety off, locked and ready in his right.
"Arms up!" he ordered as the second guard stepped around to pat frisk Chaisson.
Satisfied he posed no threat, the guard stepped back around Chaisson and went for the door, rapping his big gold ringed knuckles twice on the steel door.
The door swung open as another clone of the guards in the banks atrium stood aside allowing them to enter. They stepped through the door into a narrow cinderblock corridor. A soft hum was audible coming from the ultraviolet lights overhead. The a/c made this hallway seem like a walk in freezer. At the end of the corridor was another door like the one they just walked through with an empty folding chair on the right of it.
As the old woman and Chaisson made their way down the hallway the guard followed close behind them. Their footsteps on the linoleum tiles echoed and reminded Chaisson of a Clydesdale.
The guard whispered something into his earpiece and the steel door ahead of them began to click and clang as whoever stood on the other side unlocked it. The door swung open and a burley man with an earpiece wearing a sidearm Walther pk a tight black cotton t-shirt and khakis stepped out. Behind him was a man wearing a shiny sharkskin suit sitting behind a huge mahogany desk. He had dark slick hair and wore a gold chain that would make Mr. T* jealous!
When he saw Chaisson, he stood and with an ominous demonic grin, he said, "Mr. Chaisson; Welcome! We have a lot to discuss. Please, have a seat."
He waved off the man in the black t-shirt.
"Leave us, we will be fine for now, Mr. Ericsson."
Mr. Ericsson hesitated for a moment then with a slight groan turned and walked out and shut the heavy door behind him. The old woman sat but Chaisson chose to stay on his feet. Something about this weasel made Chaisson uneasy.
"Mr. Chaisson, I have heard much about you. My people highly recommended you. Let me introduce myself. I am Vincent DiMonti. You may call me Vince."
He held out his right hand for Chaisson to shake but Chaisson didn't return the gesture and instead replied.
"Who are you're people, and why am I here, Mr. DiMonti?"
Vincent replied, "I am the assistant deputy director of the CIA, and my people are from the Pentagon, Mr. Chaisson."
He picked a folder up off his desk and handed it to Chaisson. On the folder was a photo of Chaisson from his days in the special forces and a red stamp that read 'CLASIFIED'.
"You will find that there isn't much we don't know about you Mr. Chaisson....."
Chaisson tossed the folder back onto the desk without opening it and interrupted, "The answer is no, assistant deputy. Now I'll be on my way."
Chaisson turned toward the door to leave.
"You have not heard my offer Mr. Chaisson, and you'll find it extremely difficult exiting this room alive if you do not listen to our proposal first."
Chaisson heard the distinct sound of a handguns safety being unlocked and turned to face Vincent, who held up a 9mm pointed at his gut.
"Have a seat please, Mr. Chaisson! or your next move will be your last!
© Kinga77
*Mr. T is a character from the hit 80's television show ' The A-Team'