A Lunch Surprise

A Lunch Surprise

My friend John was visiting the city. He had been a very close friend. He left the city five years ago to become an executive director at a large company in D.C.  I continued as a teacher, living in New York. We hadn’t communicated much since he moved.  It was great getting together with him after all these years. 

I invited him out to lunch at our favorite restaurant on 5th Avenue. We talked a lot about our families and things we remembered from the past. Neither of us brought up our jobs. This was supposed to be a nice lunch. I’m sure his life as a director and mine as a high school teacher of delinquents wasn’t a topic that would raise our spirits. As we finished a wonderful lunch, John looked at his watch and said he had to go. There was an appointment he had to keep. As I was the one that had invited John to this lunch, I said I would pick up the check. He thanked me, said we should get together again soon, and then got up and left. 

The waiter came and gave me the check. He nodded at me, glanced at the check he had handed me, and left. 

I checked that the bill was in order and was about to put down cash for the meal when I noticed in small writing on the bottom of the bill. It was a curly arrow with the words turn over written below it. 

I turned over the bill and could not believe what I saw. Written on the back, in pencil, quite clearly, was my social security number with the message, “Meet me in the back parking lot.”

I looked around, but the waiter was nowhere in sight. Luckily, I had a pencil in my pocket, so I carefully erased the message and my social security number. I made sure no one could read it. Then I got up, worked my way outside, and cautiously approached the parking lot. I did not see anyone there.

I was about to leave when a car pulled beside me. The passenger window rolled down, and the driver (who happened to be the waiter) said, “Get in.”

I seriously thought about running away or pulling out my phone and calling the police, but then I remembered this guy had had my social security number; that’s not something you look up in a phone book or online. I needed to find out what was going on. So I entered his car, and he drove off. 

He didn’t drive very far. We ended up turning into an alley and stopping. I was very concerned about what was about to happen. 

He first took out a badge and an ID card and gave them to me. It said his name was Daniel Efram, and he worked for the FBI. 

I handed him back the ID and badge and asked, “How did you get my social number, and what do you want with me?”

He said, “Didn’t you read the ID? I work for the FBI, so getting your social number is just a matter of course. As to why I need you, that will be determined by whether or not I can trust you and whether or not you are willing to help our country. Now tell me about Harry and what you know of him.”

“Who’s Harry?” I asked.

“The guy you were having lunch with,” was his answer. 

Even more confused, I told Agent Efram all I knew about John and how we knew each other and had been friends.

“That’s good,” Efram said. “That could work in our favor.”

“What do you mean?” I again questioned. 

Agent Efram then went on to tell me who John or Harry really was. It seems he was a suspected agent of a foreign government. He had been sent here to spy on a special government weapons project. He was the director of a big company, but that company had ties with this foreign government. The FBI had no actual proof if or how he was involved. But his using a false name made his possible involvement more likely. They needed someone to get close to him that didn’t work for him to find out what was really going on. It turns out I was that guy. 

“But how am I supposed to do that?”

Agent Efram sounded confident when he said, “It’s simple. We’re going to transfer you to a new school in D.C. which happens to be near his company. He did say you both should get together soon. Well, getting this new job in D.C. should make that happen sooner than later. Then all you have to do is get to know him better. Find out whatever information you can and get it to us.” 

I was really skeptical. But as I hated my teaching job here, and the pay I would get at this new school was higher, with better benefits, what did I have to lose? I said yes. 

It would have been nice of the FBI to tell me they would deny any knowledge of me and what I was doing by accepting this assignment. It might have been written somewhere, but I never noticed it. Had I known, I might not have taken this assignment.

——

It’s been three months since I’ve worked here in D.C. John and I did rekindle our relationship. The more I asked him about his work, the more suspicious he must have become. For it wasn’t long before there was a knock at my door, and when I answered, two women stood there and asked to see my driver’s license. And once they verified who I was and showed me their IDs, I discovered both worked for the real FBI, as did John.

Now I’m being accused of working for a foreign power.  I wonder if I can get my old job back in New York. It’s much less confusing there.