The Ball had been arranged beautifully. The room spun in gilded Victorian floral carvings in the cherry blood Oak walls. The extravagently treated wood gained such a rich color in the light of the 12-foot-diameter gold plated chandeliers that it almost looked black. All seven of the chandeliers were on rotators, set to complete a full revolution once every hour to keep the room in motion without alerting the guests as to how the room managed to seem alive. The banquet tables had been laid out in pure white silk with Waterford Crystal champagne flutes adorning each authentic 19th century silver china set, and a crystal waterglass embedded with flakes of diamond. Past the banquet area and the adjoining Ballroom Floor, a string quartet played from one of the private boxes to the left of the stage and a rain curtain fell dramatically from one end of the gigantic proscenium to the other, spanning a distance of at least 100 feet. The air was saturated with extravagence. Boss KG had spared no expense in this evening’s celebrations, and her choice to hollow out a mid-19th century opera house had been a fitting one.
This was an evening of recognition. The world’s first non-earthly fetus had been developed and grown at KG Labs, gestated from sixteen separate cells found on a meteorite in Denali National Park, in the lower central region of Alaska. Tonight the scientists responsible – as well as the surrogate mother – were to receive honorable mention from KG Labs for securing the Nobel Peace Prize in the field of Bioengineering. The name of the alien baby was to be revealed at precisely 6:30 p.m., followed by the first public viewing on the stage at 6:37 p.m. to last until 6:42 p.m. These times had been carefully arranged by Boss KG, and there was no doubt that it would happen precisely as planned…
Agent M entered from beneath the first private box to the right of the stage at precisely 5:58 p.m. As planned, he entered in complete congruence to the rest of the crowd. Two couples had also been placed at the south side of the door to further assist his entrance. At precisely 6:00 p.m. Agent Jr. entered from beneath the first private box to the left of the stage, also hidden by two perfectly placed couples enjoying their evening. The two agents made their way quietly to the rendezvous table in the northwest corner of the banquet area and seated themselves at the remaining two seats at the table, which just happened to be a table of men of exactly the same height, weight, and all wearing the same $2,000 Brooks Brothers suit tailored to the tastes of the agents. M and Jr. were now effectively unrecognizable at a table of 12 men sitting amongst a veritable sea of guests. Frenchie did good work – M and Jr. had to give her that.
The orders were simple: inject the alien baby with the microchip. The execution was a bit more complicated: The baby would be revealed onstage beneath 247 stage lights and in front of more than 1,200 guests, none of whom would actually be on the stage with the baby – there would be only the scientists and the surrogate mother.
The handoff went as planned. Agent M reached across the table for a pat of butter and accidentally knocked over a crystal champagne flute with his right elbow. The champagne flute just happened to be the one prepositioned at a right angle to Agent Jr.’s lapel, now doused in $500-a-bottle champagne. Agent M made the requisite apology and offered his handkerchief, which was bundled in a way that would conceal the syringe containing the anesthetic and the microchip. After a few insignificant wipes Agent Jr. placed the bundled handkerchief in his left inner pocket. Handoff complete. The second phase of the plan could begin.
The only thing was, Agent Jr. hadn’t excused himself for the washroom in order to clean his lapel. Something was wrong here. Jr. hadn’t missed a beat in 3 months. Agent M looked up in time to catch Jr.’s eyes for split second before they flicked nonchalantly past M’s right shoulder and back again. Then Jr. excused himself for the washroom. Agent M understood everything. The plan had been compromised. He was in direct line of sight and Jr. had been spotted already. Perhaps M hadn’t been identified yet. There was still a chance. But he needed to know who it was. He flicked his butterknife quickly to his right so that it flew past his decoy and onto the floor. That was the signal.
In a swift beat Agent M spun to his right out of his chair, in perfect timing with the decoy spinning out of his chair to try and catch the knife, and at the same time a woman tripping slightly on her dress and her escort helping her to steady herself managed to provide extra cover. It was enough. As M continued swiftly walking towards the northeast corner of the banquet area he realized who he had seen during the split-second glance he was able to steal.
It was Mr. G.
The billionaire computer genius was M’s clue that the plan had been compromised. Mr. G was a well known figure in this room. He was the elusive Fat Cat that had funded the Laramie-Will Project – the test labs in Arkansas in which two scientists, Benjamin Laramie and Will Porter, had discovered the precise method of atomic fission needed to combine the sixteen cells found on the meteorite in order to produce a functioning embryo. Agent Jr.’s cover was as an employee for Mr. G’s subsidized testing facility while simultaneously working as a Covert Op for Mr. G’s own private Agency, which had no operations in play tonight.
Mr. G had never had an interest in KG Labs before. His primary interest was in the alien baby, but after tonight’s unveiling the baby was to be transferred to his private testing facility in Chicago. He had RSVP’d Not Attending for tonight’s celebration, which was in the main a celebratory function for KG Labs and really quite less about the actual baby. Agent M knew instantly that Mr. G’s presence could mean only one thing:
He knew that Jr. was a double agent.
The mission had been compromised and had to be aborted. Agent M turned back to see that Agent Jr. had intercepted Mr. G at the Grand Staircase. This was M’s only chance. Escape was the only directive now. Agent M pulled out his Polar Grappling Unit and aimed it at the exit door located under the 1st private box at the northwest corner of the Ballroom Floor. As the crowd milled back and forth, he waited for his one clear shot. One last glance at Jr. assured M that he had diffused the situation and Mr. G was now walking back towards the rear exit with Jr. The clear shot came – a perfect gap opened up between Agent M and his rendezvous exit door. He pulled the trigger and the small grappling hook darted silently across the ballroom floor and latched securely into the oak paneling. He turned to assess Mr. G’s position and as Mr. G turned around, sensing something amiss, Agent M pulled the trigger a second time and was instantly catapulted across the floor and through his exit door.
There was only one thing for M to do now, and that was to go on to Prague as planned. He would check in with Jr. when he returned. There were so many questions now that the mission had fallen apart. One question became more apparant to Agent M, however, as he recalled suddenly the small detail that had not seemed important at the time:

Agent Jr. had offered Mr. G his handkerchief.

Eric M

p.s. – to be continued

1. The Chronicles of Agent M: Part III, Le Vestiaire
2. The Chronicles of Agent M: Part II, Connections Are Made
3. The Chronicles of Agent M: Part IV, The End of a Beginning and the Beginning of the End
4. The Chronicles of Ms. Lanning