DEA HEADQUARTERS,

LANGLEY,

Three CIA vans with DSA printed on them entered inside the DEA parking area about an hour after the call.

Les and Mr. Fernsby climbed down from the car as soon as the car hit the brakes.

A DEA agent greeted them on the way to the interrogation room.

Les was unsure if he was the same man who had called him or not.

By listening to his voice, he reckoned he was the same man, but the lack of approach he was taking towards him made him think otherwise.

"Turn off the cameras please." Mr. Fernsby said before getting inside the interrogation room.

The DEA agent rushed inside the room in hurry.

Les and Mr. Fernsby could hear some loud whispers coming from inside the room.

Then followed the footsteps.

The agent was out and was holding the door open for them.

"Feel free to ask." Mr. Fernsby gave authority to Les before getting inside the interrogation vault where they saw a balding man with mustache in handcuff.

"CIA." Les showed him his card and everyone else.

DEA officers began to leave the room.

In the end, just three of them were remaining in the room with nobody peeking at them.

Les sat on the chair infront of the gun seller.

"Do you remember where I am from?" asked Les.

"CIA." The seller answered.

"Does it scare you?"

"No."

"It should scare you. We can be very nasty when we are at work."

The gun seller gulped.

"Have you heard of water-boarding?" Les asked.

"Everyone has heard of it."

"You are very close to feeling it."

Then Les remained silent till the gun seller moved his lips to speak in his defense.

Les intervened him before he could speak, "But you can avoid it." He paused. "Tell me how you got the hologram."

"A man gave it to me in exchange of a pistol." The gun seller mumbled.

"When?"

"Officer, the deal isn’t over till now."

"What do you imply here?"

"He had delivered the hologram to me two days ago through a middleman. The buyer had told me in phone to dump the gun inside a dustbin infront of Greenwich Café. If he doesn’t know I am arrested then he will come there to pick the gun."

"When will he be there?" asked Mr. Fernsby.

"What time is it now?" the weapon dealer asked him in return.

Mr. Fernsby glanced at his watch, "Six forty."

"He will come there before seven thirty. Cleaning team lifts the bins at seven thirty."

_

Phantom Being was on his way to Greenwich Café in order to pick up his gun. He was glad the gun seller knew the value of hologram.

Such things would usually go unnoticed.

Hologram was that hard device to get a grasp of.

The slightly rainy morning made him activate the wipers on the way.

Unlike others, he did not believe in listening to music while driving. Not because he hated songs, but because songs had nothing to wonder about.

I can't feel songs. He thought when he heard beats coming to his car from another automobile while he was waiting for the traffic light to turn green.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

It glowed green, and he set off for his destination.

His phone rang.

You could have called me when I was stuck in signal. Phantom Being glanced at his phone.

He ignored the call.

Greenwich Café was just two minutes drive away.

Phantom Being waited for the ringtone to die.

At last it did.

But it got its breath again.

Phantom Being had had enough at this point. He did not care about traffic rules and received the call on loudspeaker mode.

"Listen." The caller gasped, "Don’t stop at Greenwich Café. Keep driving."

"What about my gun?" Phantom Being frowned.

"Forget about it. CIA agents are in the area."

"How did they get there?" Phantom Being slowed down his car but didn’t stop.

"DEA Agents arrested the damn weapon dealer whom you had sold the hologram."

"Why would DEA arrest him?"

"No idea. But keep driving. Don’t stop." The caller said and hung the call.

Phantom Being watched the hoarding board of Greenwich Café.

He slowed down his car for a moment.

But he kept on driving.

_

"Bastard escaped again." Mr. Fernsby held his forehead. "Somebody involved in this case must be informing him about all our actions."

"See, Camshron is not involved in this –" Les said.

It didn’t take long for Mr. Fernsby to interrupt, "Camshron means shit now. Never at any point in this case were we this close from catching the killer."

"Maybe we can tell about this to Nathan."

Mr. Fernsby gave him a dead stare.

Les didn’t think of pushing his opinion more from there.

"What now?" said Les, "Did the gun seller trick us?"

Mr. Fernsby moved his head sideways.

"So, should I interrogate him by giving him some scars?" asked Les.

"It won’t be necessary. The seller was being honest. Why would he risk being charged with involvement in murder while he is just guilty of unlicensed weapons business?"

"Don’t you have a media presentation today, sir?"

"Media will whack us by our asses again. Their questions are hard to dodge. If they ask about Nathan then I have nothing else to say other than 'No comments.'"

"In my opinion, the cases we have filed on Camshron needs to be lifted till we don’t get a big head-start. Camshron can't be punished for ignorance."

"Ignorance wouldn’t have mattered." Mr. Fernsby bellowed, "But he chose misconduct, negligence, crime, defaming, trespassing and many more."

"He did it under your approval."

"I didn’t approve him to frame an innocent!"

"So he is now a scapegoat for decisions you two made together?"

Mr. Fernsby sighed in disagreement.

"Can I talk to him about the case?" asked Les once again.

"To get derailed from a good track?"

"So what do you have in your mind, Mr. Fernsby?"

"Meet me at IT meeting this evening."