As you all know, I try to participate in Silk's weekly Fictional Friday exercise. This is where several bloggers are given three pictures from which to draw inspiration and tell a tale in 1,000 words. Again I have chosen to use all three pictures and extend the story of SpySistah. If you missed a chapter, you can find links to chapters 1-3 in the sidebar under Greatest Hits. Last week's entry, Chapter 4, can be found here.
And now, onto Chapter 5. Please do let me know what you thought in the comments. I'll update this post with links to the other stories later.
Samantha lay back in the tub, soaking away the stress and fatigue of a two-week deployment and this morning’s seven-mile run. The bubbles, her one nod to her rarely displayed girlishness, clinged to her form like the hands of an ardent lover. The quiet was almost unbearable in the townhouse she shared with Mark. He was still deep undercover and she hadn’t gotten any in far too long.
She was worried about Mark. She knew he was a professional, that he was serving his country admirably, but she sometimes found it difficult to separate her heart from the mission, particularly when she wasn’t along to watch his back. Nobody should ever have to be in the field without backup.
RRRRRing. The island phones had an odd ring to them, but Samantha had grown use to the grating clatter. She picked the phone up casually after rising in a mass of slippery bubbles and throwing a towel around herself. She expected it to be her sailing coach, but it wasn’t.
“Hey sis!” Mark’s voice was very upbeat, but she knew instantly that this was an important call.
“Wow! Where are you? Like, what is this call costing?” She tried to sound young and teenage in case his line was being monitored.
“Uh, yeah. Would you tell Mom and Dad that I’m going to stay here in Germany at least another month?”
“Why can’t you?” She asked petulantly.
“Give me a break, huh? I’m on my way out and I need to make sure that they’ll still be able to watch the dog.”
“Oh, alright. Anything else, Master?”
“Don’t get into too much trouble.”
He hung up. She hurriedly hung up and ran to the closet. It appeared to house linen, but in reality it was a secret room that stored weapons, money, computers, and what she needed now: a secure phone. She dialed her supervisor’s direct line and it was answered by a professional feminine voice.
“Ursa Minor for The North Star. Go Secure. Sailboat 67985.”
Samantha heard clicks and then Scott Davidson’s gruff voice. “Go.”
“Sir, Mark just called. He is requesting a dead drop in two days.”
“Fine. I’ll have the plane fueled and ready to fly.”
48 hours later she was checking her reflection in the mirror of the ladies room off the Lobby of the L’Oriental Hotel in Munich. The entire hotel was decorated in an oriental theme, and these room was no exception. The wallpaper was a lush yellow floral featuring a half-dressed geisha in purple robes. As the last woman left the bathroom, Samantha strolled over to the appropriate hand towel dispenser and opened it with her key, grabbing the message from Mark and sliding it into the décolletage of her sequined cocktail dress, then returned to the hotel bar.
48 hours after that, Roger Hardbreak, an American Four Star General and his wife, were lounging on a yacht off of Cyprus. General Hardbreak’s wife was seven months pregnant and seemed to be enjoying her holiday. Her long blond hair was swishing in the Mediterranean breeze.
Monica Hardbreak chattered nonsensically, sending the crew hither and yon after drinks, hats, sunglasses, and lotion. Her husband grew tired of hearing about baby gadgets and feigned sleep there on the deck in his chair.
“Allahu Akbar!” shouted a dark man as he swung over the side railing from a boat that had pulled alongside. The general came out of his cognac-addled stupor suddenly, reaching for the sidearm that wasn’t there. “Stop!” directed the man pointing his weapon at them, “Call to the crew and captain and nobody will get hurt.”
Monica ordered the crew to the deck and the man instructed them to line up against the railing. Then he ordered the two burliest crewmen to tie up the general and his wife with some nylon cording he’d brought aboard. When the Hardbreaks were tethered, the man opened fire on the crew with his AK-47, sending a few overboard in their sprawling shock, while others slunk onto the deck in a pool of blood and seaspray.
Assured that there were no survivors, Mark pulled the wedding rings from the hands of the general and his wife, eliciting a whimper from the Mrs. He broke off her whine with a sharp backhand to her face. The general grew quite upset and strained at his bonds at this, only to watch his wife pass out.
Mark drew his knife and plunged it repeatedly into the general’s chest, spraying blood all over himself and screaming “Allahu Akbar” with every strike. Next, he moved on to the unconscious woman and plunged his knife into her belly and chest three times. Satisfied, he wiped his knife on the woman’s dress, set the charges, then jumped back over the side of the ship and motored away from the scene.
Two miles away, he pressed the trigger and the boat blew up, scattering the evidence into the sea.
“General, Mrs. Hardbreak, it is safe now. We can take you to the plane that will fly you back to D.C.” Samantha looked into the petrified eyes of the pregnant woman. “Don’t worry. They think you died. Everything is fine.”
John Cutter was busy removing his bloody vest and directing the other agents to secure the route to the airport. Samantha was still wearing the body pillow and blond wig that made her look like the General’s wife.
“I don’t understand,” the General’s wife began, “what’s going on?”
Samantha gave her the short version. “Well, your holiday has been cut short and the General’s new assignment at the Pentagon moved up. We had to fake your deaths for your safety. Don’t worry. Another agent will explain the details when you get back to the States.”
John hustled them out the back door of the safehouse and into the waiting van, sending them to safety.
Samantha sighed. She wanted another bath, the sea salt from the swim to the beach was making her itch.
Silk has a marvelous tale entitled The Princess and the Painter, which is both sweet and sad. I loved the way she told the story.
Nugget has a poignant and beautiful tale about mystery lovers. It leaps off the screen. Check it out.