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The Agency

Posted on April 28, 2007
Filed Under The Stories |

The Plexiglas board by the door merely read ‘The Agency.’ The woman behind the reception desk was reciting a litany that consisted of the following words, “Good Morning, The Agency. How may I direct your call?”

A small pause.

“One moment please.” She pushed one button to direct the call and another to accept the next one.

The slick man in the sharp suit with the perfectly combed hair and the shiny white smile sauntered over after smiling at the guard by the door and leaned on the reception counter. Without a break or any sort of alteration in her rhythm she smiled at him. He smiled and said, “Hi.”

She was a stunningly beautiful woman. Looks like hers were described in breathless hyperbole between the covers of a romance novel or with great attention to the dimensions of her curves if she featured in a hardboiled novel written by a man. It only added to her allure that she was wearing rimless spectacles. She was like a readymade advertisement for myopia.

When she had redirected another call she smiled up at him. He smiled down at her while trying to arrange himself so he could appear to be looking into her eyes while really trying to eyeball her magnificent cleavage. She placed her left hand on the counter and something shiny caught his eye. On her ring finger.

He straightened and his face fell momentarily, “Oh. Yeah…I’m here to see Mr. Madan?”

She frowned, “We only have a Miss Madan here.”

“What, oh okay. See I was just told to go see Madan at The Agency. I just…”

“Assumed she was a he.”

He had the good grace to look sheepish, “Yeah. Kind of.”

“And your name is?”

“Srivastav.”

“One moment please.”

She pushed a button, waited and then spoke with a smile in her voice, “Saira? A Mr. Srivastav to see you?”

Another pause while she listened to what Saira Madan had to say.

“I’ll send him right in.”

She smiled up at the expectant Mr. Srivastav, “She will see you now. Take the door on your left, two more lefts and a right will bring you to her cabin.”

He repeated the directions under his breath and smiled,” Thank you.”

She nodded and resumed her primary duty, “Good Morning, The Agency. How may I direct your call?”

Mr. Srivastav managed to find his way to Misss Madan’s cabin without too much trouble. Unlike the workplaces of most corporate drones Saira Madan’s cabin was actually a spacious office complete with thick red carpet, dark walls, an inviting looking couch and extremely tasteful furniture.

She stood up when Mr. Srivastav knocked on the door and waved him in. His swagger intensified the closer he got to the desk that held pride of place in the office. Saira Madan was the kind of beautiful woman who made the receptionist look like a Plain Jane. He extended his right hand, “Miss Madan, it’s a pleasure.”

“How are you Mr. Srivastav.”

“Fine. Much better now that I’m here.”

“Please, have a seat.”

He settled into the chair he was directed to and his expression indicated that he was impressed by how comfortable it was.

“So, what can we do for you?”

“Rafique Manzoor asked me to come see you.”

“Did he?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I think we could cut right to the chase if you could remember his exact words to you.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Can you remember what he said to you?”

“He said, ‘go see Madan at The Agency.’ Of course I didn’t know this place was actually called ‘The Agency’ at that point.”

“Is that all?”

“Sorry?”

“What did he say before he asked you to come see me?”

Mr. Srivastav’s brow furrowed. It felt awfully like Miss Madan knew exactly what had transpired between Manzoor and himself.

“Did Rafique call you?”

“No, he didn’t. Why?”

“No reason really.”

“So can you remember what he said to you before suggesting you come see me?”

Srivastav’s eyes had lost their warmth, “He told me to go to hell.”

“His exact words Mr. Srivastav.”

“Go to hell…or go see Madan at The Agency.”

She nodded, “Excellent.”

She rummaged through a drawer, “Will it be the usual package then? Fame, fortune, the adulation of millions?”

“What I really want is a long career.”

“Say fifteen years?”

“Why not thirty?”

“Why not. Let’s say forty?”

He shrugged, “I won’t complain.”

She seemed to have found what she was looking for. It was a folder with his name on it, she turned two pages, made an entry and slid it across to him and said, “The places you have to sign are marked.”

He accepted the folder, “I’m sorry? What is this?”

“A fairly standard contract.”

“Stating?”

“That we give you a long and fruitful career, forty years to be precise and in exchange we claim your soul upon death.”

“My soul? For what?”

“Oh a soul is useless without a body Mr. Srivastav. We would simply forward it to its next destination.”

“Which is?”

“Well, you’ve asked for a successful forty year long career. You’re going to be required to do some terrible things during that time. Your soul is going to Hell.”

There wasn’t any sense of irony or humour in her voice. He looked at her for a moment and then he withdrew an ink pen from an inside pocket and signed in all the required places. When he slid the file back to her he asked, “What if I started praying? Right now?”

She thought about it for a moment as she returned the file to the relevant drawer, “You can try of course. I’m not sure it’s ever worked though.”

Mr. Srivastav got to his feet.

“Goodbye Mr. Srivastav. Have a nice life.”

He walked away without another word.

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