As regular readers are aware, this is an exercise that tests the theory behind "a picture is worth one thousand words." As you are all aware, the Supreme Silk herself provides us with three pictures and we craft a tale from any or all of the images. We are limited only by our own imaginations, and of course we can only use 1,000 words.
Now, as you can see, this week's pictures played right into my hands. Was Silk perhaps wishing I'd continue my Serial Spy Story? I like to think so. As such, I just couldn't let my fans down. Natch, here is the third "chapter" in the Chronicles of SpySistah. The first and second chapters can be found at the links in case you need to catch up.
Please do let me know what you thought of the tale by leaving a comment. I will update this post with links to the other bloggers participating this week. On to the story...
Special Agent John Cutter was a much welcomed sight to Samantha. He made quick and quiet work of her second aggressor before freeing her from the cuffs that tethered her to the liquor and sex-soaked mattress.
“We have to get you out of here,” he said leading her from the building that seemed to be quickly disintegrating into dust. The back stairs led to an alley and the van that held the communication center.
“All I got out of the guy was ‘Hamburg’ before his friends showed up. That doesn’t really tell us much…” she said sheepishly.
“It’s okay.” John began, “Mark turned on his locator briefly and we know where he is. He must be deep under cover though. In the meantime, we have a new op to prep.”
“Okay. What’s up?” They began laying out the next mission for her, involving the copying of information from a palm pilot belonging to a known terrorist financier.
Thirty-six hours later, she was in Vienna.
This has to one of the weirdest getups, yet, she thought to herself. She was dressed for the famed Vienna Opera House’s Annual Masquerade. Her gown was a floor-length black silk by Ralph Lauren. Her ‘fallen angel’ look was completed by the black wings and black and pearl mask she wore on her face.
John looked dignified and comfortable in a black Armani tuxedo and black silk mask. He offered her his arm and they strolled negligently to their box overlooking the stage, with all of Vienna society glittering around them. A dark haired couple already occupied the box, so they slid into their seats graciously, nodding hello and exchanging pleasantries with the other couple.
The man spoke with a heavy accent, but the woman appeared to be an American. She was dressed as a suggestive Cleopatra while he was costume-less. The house lights blinked and a hush fell as everyone settled in for the show. Samantha watched the stage with little enthusiasm. She had a job to do. To either his credit or his stupidity, acting skills or inability to stay on mission, John took obvious delight in the performance.
The house lights came back up at intermission and the audience rose in a tremendous cackle. Samantha knew that she was on, and hoped John’s head was back in the game. John engaged Cleopatra in idle conversation, distracting her from Samantha and her date.
“Are you enjoying the diva?” Samantha queried the dark man.
“She is,” he responded in a heavily accented yet somehow quiet and deadly voice, “quite good.” He stood up. “If you will excuse me, I have to step out for a moment.” He was holding a silver cigarette holder and gestured that he intended to light up.
“Of course. Don’t let me keep you.” Samantha rose and moved to the side, making room for him to walk past her, but as she did so, she stumbled. The darkly dangerous man had no choice but to catch her as she nearly pushed him over the balcony. Her screech of fear drew John and the young woman’s attention to them, as well as the wondering attention of those in other box seats nearby. “Good grief!” She exclaimed as she persisted in the warm enclosure of the man’s rope-like arms. “I am so sorry. The hem of my gown…” She still needed a few more seconds for her ring to capture the contents of the man’s pda from where her hand rested on his tuxedo jacket. Thinking quickly, she squeezed out a few tears and began to shake. “We couldn’t have both been killed!” Her emotional voice held a tremor that convinced their audience.
The Arab was noticeably embarrassed and disconcerted. He practically tossed her into John’s arms as he dragged the other woman from the box.
“Laid it on kinda thick, didn’t you?” John asked when they were alone.
“Are you kidding? Did you see the panic on his face? He couldn’t get away from me fast enough. That was an Oscar-worthy performance. Plus, he never suspected a thing.” She waggled her ring finger at him to indicate the successful retrieval of the information.
“Okay, Ms. Streep. Whatever you say. Now then, shall we?” He indicated the curtains that led out of the box and they casually strolled out.
When they reached the street, they noticed that their limousine was not waiting for them.
“Lock and load?” Samantha asked John, indicating his shoulder holster.
“Rock and roll.” He reached into his jacket casually and removed his weapon, letting it hang by his side and conceal itself in the camouflage of his black pants. Samantha reached down, ostensibly to adjust a garter, but removed her twin 9mm friends in a moment from their hiding places. She held the one in her right hand concealed in the folds of her skirt. She slid her left arm around and under John’s jacket, snuggling in and concealing the second weapon by his ribs.
They walked casually up the street in the direction of their hotel. The lights on the street in the block ahead were all out, pulling Samantha’s nerves taut and ready for action. They walked into the darkness casually, but both were ready, expecting an ambush. As they approached a dark side street, Samantha and John heard running footsteps.
The first shots rang out on the cobblestone streets, missing their mark. Samantha fired first through John’s suit jacket, blowing a hole in the side from where her hand had been resting. The second shot she fired from her right hand only a millisecond later. John too had been firing since the first shots and now was reloading from behind a corner of the building. Samantha sensed that their pursuers were sufficiently slowed, so she urged John to run.
They ran straight to the hotel, never stopping, but continually checking behind them. When they reached the lobby, they slowed to a slow jog, pretending to race to the elevator.
“Damn, I’m tired of getting shot at!”
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