He was in a grotty hotel room somewhere in Eastern Europe. It wasn't the glamour of film or novel, far from it. A Travelodge in Loughborough would have been more glamorous.
On the table was a laptop which was helping him listen to the bug that he'd planted in the room next door.
He put on his headphones and listened to the conversation.
There was none. Nothing was being said. Nothing was happening.
He sighed. Three days he'd spent listening and all he'd heard so far was the TV and the sound of the shower accompanied by some whistling. The woman he was listening to liked game shows, it seemed. He had documentated every noise he'd heard for his report.
A bell ringing alerted him to a new email which he opened.
He couldn't believe what he was seeing. They were cutting all agents' meal allowances and overtime was going to be paid at the standard hourly rate rather than double time from now on.
He took off his headphones.
Bollocks to doing the job properly any more.
He went down to the hotel bar and got faceless on Martinis - he didn't give a shit about shaking or stirring.
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