The No One Knows Where Chapter: The Mastermind

The dim lights in the warm room glinted on the blonde sitting in the chair in front of what seemed to be several dozen screens. The air conditioner blinked 30 degrees celsius, warming the room to protect the inhabitant from the frigid winter outside.

The man was holding a satellite phone with a very long antennae. A female voice was crackling through.

"That's all we managed to gather, boss. Over and out." 

The 'boss' put down the phone, sighing. He looked up at the screens, to which Flynn had no doubt transferred the data as Francesca spoke. Multiple images and scanned files were popping up.

After the rescue of Francesca Bianchi from the smugglers, the agents had managed to search the whole residence unscathed due to the sleeping gas grenade, but the picture had darkened for the agency and its members as new questions came to light. 

Since when were smugglers trained so well in the arts that they could grab a speeding missile thrown with quite an amount of skill?

What were timber smugglers doing in the desert?

And why did they want information on the AISI?

This man was determined to figure it out.

He was Oliver Radoll, a American-French diplomat turned spy. He was the founder this massive spy organisation which was hidden to even the governments and national agencies. His long, sharp nose and high cheekbones gave him qute a menacing appearance. Ironically, he was never one to do field work.

Radoll turned his attention to the first clue. Long, dark, sooty marks scratched on the windows of a room which seemed to be the meeting place of the smugglers. Francesca had remembered a faint but constant smell, but she hadn't been able to name it. Radoll noticed the stub marks of expensive chinese cigarettes, sold to very few.

So these men had money to spend, and some connection to china.

The second clue. Would seem quite meaningless, really. A piece of paper. Blank. Totally normal. But Radoll was nowhere new in this business. He worked a little on the paper's image to reveal a pattern of dots among the lines. Morse code. Numbers. Coordinates.

The third and last clue was the one that made Oliver laugh. It was a paper, pinned up onto the wall. It contained detailed information of the smugglers' upcoming movements in Brazil and the average location of there headquarters. Radoll had deleted the image at first sight. It was clearly an ambush. No one was that stupid.

The coordinates did point to a location in Brazil, but Radoll had expected that, too. He flipped the numbers over and over till he realized only one combination was in China. He'd got the headquarters. And now he had a phone call to make.