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Three minutes later, the tailor Tom had seen downstairs, dressed now in a bespoke black suit and a paisley cravat, entered the room.
“Apologies Mr Stiles. Always one more email to check. You have met Commander Tap. I am the director of Black Ops. No name, just the director. Informally, I am called the Tailor. Please begin when you’re ready, Commander.”
“Thank you, sir. Tom, I have been fully briefed with your situation and as I’ve said before I’m sorry for your losses.”
She tapped on a touchscreen embedded into the table and a transparent screen appeared in mid-air and shimmered. Then images of Tom from the age of twelve to a photo of him entering the tailor shop a few minutes ago crossed the screen as the commander read:
“Tom Stiles, born: Blaxland, New South Wales, Australia, 09/
