Out there in the naked city was a man, a good man, the man Monte called his "spymaster". "But," Monte shrugged, "he's burnt out."

"I can tell when they're not interested anymore.

"You can only do it for so long and, well, I've five or six jobs that need to be done..."

Monte pointed his dagger at the first in a pile of applications for his new spymaster (salary negotiable at $75,000, plus car and expenses.)

"That one's a killer," he said. "I always get them in - the assassins.

"But I've got a couple of blokes from ASIO interested. One of them will probably get the job."

Frank Monte advertised for a spymaster last Sunday: "Law, army or secret service experience and credentials....long hours, physical and mental endurance, no room for error.... a man of few words and less vices".

In the ensuring week around 60 letters have been pushed under his door at Monte Corporate Security.

Inspired by visions of coded messages, stealthy pursuit of provocative agents, clandestine meeting in dimly lit cafes-and the 75 big ones- potential sleuths have swamped his office.

But thrills and glamor do not go with this job. It's hard slog, not James Bond. Paperwork, not Phillip Marlowe.

A spymaster, Monte style, is a controller of agents perpetrating industrial espionage, stealing secret or aborting industrial theft.

Women are not considered suitable, in case the reporting agent takes debriefing duties literally.

Although skilled spymasters were "often highly sexed", the job offered little opportunity for excitement.

With gumshoe planted on the pedal of a battered Volkswagen, the spymaster would be doing the rounds of agents ensconced in factories, refineries and fashion warehouses.

"It's a fairly dull job," admitted Monte. "Very hard work, although it can be exhilarating and absorbing.

Challenge Gone
"A lot of young people come into the industry who don't want to do any work at all;just want to flash around in nice cars and have nice women with them and go out to places.

"But we don't want thrill-seekers. We want a hard man who can take the grind on the psyche."

Frank Monte sighed again.

Aside from the search for a spymaster, and his personal skills - 20kg to heavy feeling the post-divorce blues-all was not well in the Sydney world of private investigation.

Recession, he said, was good for business.

People wanted to take short cuts, steal other people's marketing plans and tighten up loopholes for potential theft.

The fringe benefits tax, however, would cramp a spy's style and Monte was toying with a move to New York, or maybe Monaco. The challenge has gone here.

"New York is definite money and the new boy in town always gets more up front. I've bought out a small firm there and next year, well....

Frank Monte claims to be the biggest private eye investigator in Sydney, if not Australia.

He was 19 and a failed law student when he first kicked doors on fornicating couples as part of his matrimonial work for the Webster security company.

He suffered seven broken noses and a set of smashed knuckles to clock up the world record for successful collecting divorce evidence (27,062 cases in a decade).

In the years since, he has lent his talents to finding female bodyguards for an Arab Sheikh, establishing a secret service in Dubai, bodyguard duties for Aristotle Onassis and found his forte in industrial espionage.

Monte has now acquired 12 agencies in Sydney and, he says, a certain reputation for doing things with style.

Not for him the shabby suit or seedy office of the private dick.

Jealousy
Behind the matching security door on the eighth floor of the Australia Square tower, the office of Monte Corporate security is lined with imitation suede, a symphony in pink and red.

Vulgar is too harsh a word. Monte is merely ostentatious, his inner office a display of objects d'art...ornamental daggers, marbelite obelisk, oriental horse statue and an oil painting of a medieval nobleman.

On the wall the shield of the Montanari family of Verona (actually, he was born in Suez of italian parents) was a reminder that plain Frank Monte was Francois Ferdinand Montanari, until members of the legal establishment found they could not pronounce his presence in the witness box.

A diamond clasped gold bracelet clinked on his wrist as he thrust a hand into the desk drawer.

Monte pulled out a revolver and fondled it for a moment.

"No, you can't photograph me with this," he added quickly. "The police wouldn't like it," professional jealousy.

Thugs, bruisers and hired muscle were keen to infringe on the more delicate operation of the private investigation.

"What I hate is someone coming into the industry who hasn't got a clue.

"We put in a $500 retainer before we start a job. Others try it for 50 bucks.

"There are 5500 to 6000 security men who want to be private eyes.

"We've seen men come in willing to do anything for an earn.

"I rub their noses in it a little bit," he declared proudly. "but it's best not to have them offside, because they are really jealous of our industry."

Now, no one wanted to work hard anymore.

"I've got a man in Athens at the moment, who seems more interested in enjoying Greece than working," Monte says glumly.

Reliable bodyguards were hard to find.

And, of course, the problem of an agent burning out.

Give them six months to a year, Monte said, and they get depressed and neurotic or start to identify too strongly with the people who they are spying.

With such uninspiring prospects, Frank Monte looks to pursue his craft in New York, then, possibly Monaco.

But what could a private eye find there to occupy his restless peepers?

Frank Monte, new divorcee, just grinned.