Biff Condor checks his reflection in the rearview mirror. It’s perfect, of course. His hair is too. It has to be. He’s a secret agent. It’s in the job description. The same job description that states “be ready at a moment’s notice to protect the country from the evilest of people”. So is the car he is in. Convertible, Italian, fast. The day? Gorgeous. He was relaxed and enjoying it. That was the problem. The rub. The downfall. He was enjoying it too much. He was especially enjoying the flirting from blonde in the next car. She had his full attention. Why wouldn’t she? It was a detriment. He missed the drop. What was the drop? A paper airplane floated over his head. He was supposed to grab it. Simple. A paper airplane with classified information written on it? It seemed like a good idea at the time. A gust of wind, a lackadaisical agent, and a pretty blonde ruined a perfectly planned mission. Lesson learned.
Alex Rand banged the dashboard repeatedly. Nothing but static on the radio, worked last time. Static was more than he was getting out of his air conditioner. It was starting to get warm. Roll down the window. The only viable option. Just in time for a cool breeze. The soothing gust brought relief and a surprise. A paper airplane. Surprise. It gently lands on the passenger seat. “Peculiar,” thought Alex picking it up. Turning it over in his hands, the new toy brought with it a faint chemical smell. Alex unfolded the paper with unusual tenderness. A paper airplane no more. Words. Words are what the open sheet revealed. Typed words. The key strikes were readily evident. Indentations. The document Alex cradled started to get warm, and then it rapidly turned hot. A flash, a fireball, a whiff of smoke, a paper gone. Singed hair where Alex’s eyebrows once laid, the only evidence of the brief fireworks show in his car. Dazed. Confused.
Teeth and hair, both perfect, appearing in the driver’s side window, bring Alex back into the world. Panic accompanied the teeth and hair. A perfect panic.
“The airplane, do you have the airplane?” Secret agent training kept the anxiety at bay.
“Your hair is flawless.” Admiration in its purest form.
“Why, thank you.” Humility lacking. “Did you read it?”
“Read, it?”
“The paper airplane, man. What did it say?”
“Didn’t know I was gonna be quizzed. I would have paid more attention.”
Biff studied the face that was mere inches from his. Plain, nondescript. Nothing special. Poster child for ordinary. A hard face to read. “At least I have eyebrows.” The only thought he came away with. A thought he was truly grateful for. Eyebrows really are essential to the symmetry of the face. Biff backed up enough to get his head out of the car. His hair was touching the ceiling. Not good.
“Think, man, think. This is important!”
“I am thinking.”
“Think harder.”
“Don’t pressure me! You’re just making it harder!”
Biff taps his forehead with his fist. “Was it words,” he spoke slowly hoping it would sink in, “or numbers, or maybe a picture of some kind?”
“Yes.”
Last week’s torture in Turkmenistan was easier than this. Biff reached for his pistol, and then thought better. “Yes to which one,” Biff exhaled slowly.
“Yes, it was not a picture.”
“Then words?”
“It was folded very well. Crisp. Does that help?”
“No.”
“You a cop?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m trying to help. I just don’t remember.”
Alex seemed sincere. Biff was at an impasse. New tactic.
“Ice cream?”
“Chocolate? I’ll follow you.”
The café, quaint. The ice cream, rich. The conversation, spirited. The two were actually quite similar. Except one was perfect, the other unremarkable. Minor. The ice cream gone, the discussion continued. Friendship emerging? Possibly. Plans made. “Let’s meet next week at the gym, then do lunch.” At a pub of course, it was manly. Sated from ice cream and lively banter, the two now head to the parking lot.
“Biff, it was great to get to know you. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”
“I enjoyed it too. I wished you could have remembered.”
Biff leaned on his car. The fast one. Alex leaned on his. It creaked in protest. The cars side by side sat in testament to the two men facing each other.
“You see, you saw something you should not have seen.”
“With all that fuss, I guessed as much.”
“Something has to be done.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“I am sorry it turned out this way.”
“Me too.”
The bullet hit where it was aimed. Middle of the forehead, perfect shot. The folded newspaper muffled the report of the pistol. A quick check. No one noticed. Body placed in the driver’s seat. A few hours bought before anyone would notice. A back street. Continual looks in the rear view mirror for anyone following. Clear behind. A phone call received.
“Yes.”
“Privet, Alexander. Do you have the information?”
“Da, da, da. The message was, ‘Trash day is Tuesday.’ Do not worry, I will be there to intercept the drop.”
“Any problems, my friend?”
“Nyet.”
“Harasho. Well done comrade. Well done.”
Alex Rand banged the dashboard repeatedly. Nothing but static on the radio, worked last time. Static was more than he was getting out of his air conditioner. It was starting to get warm. Roll down the window. The only viable option. Just in time for a cool breeze. The soothing gust brought relief and a surprise. A paper airplane. Surprise. It gently lands on the passenger seat. “Peculiar,” thought Alex picking it up. Turning it over in his hands, the new toy brought with it a faint chemical smell. Alex unfolded the paper with unusual tenderness. A paper airplane no more. Words. Words are what the open sheet revealed. Typed words. The key strikes were readily evident. Indentations. The document Alex cradled started to get warm, and then it rapidly turned hot. A flash, a fireball, a whiff of smoke, a paper gone. Singed hair where Alex’s eyebrows once laid, the only evidence of the brief fireworks show in his car. Dazed. Confused.
Teeth and hair, both perfect, appearing in the driver’s side window, bring Alex back into the world. Panic accompanied the teeth and hair. A perfect panic.
“The airplane, do you have the airplane?” Secret agent training kept the anxiety at bay.
“Your hair is flawless.” Admiration in its purest form.
“Why, thank you.” Humility lacking. “Did you read it?”
“Read, it?”
“The paper airplane, man. What did it say?”
“Didn’t know I was gonna be quizzed. I would have paid more attention.”
Biff studied the face that was mere inches from his. Plain, nondescript. Nothing special. Poster child for ordinary. A hard face to read. “At least I have eyebrows.” The only thought he came away with. A thought he was truly grateful for. Eyebrows really are essential to the symmetry of the face. Biff backed up enough to get his head out of the car. His hair was touching the ceiling. Not good.
“Think, man, think. This is important!”
“I am thinking.”
“Think harder.”
“Don’t pressure me! You’re just making it harder!”
Biff taps his forehead with his fist. “Was it words,” he spoke slowly hoping it would sink in, “or numbers, or maybe a picture of some kind?”
“Yes.”
Last week’s torture in Turkmenistan was easier than this. Biff reached for his pistol, and then thought better. “Yes to which one,” Biff exhaled slowly.
“Yes, it was not a picture.”
“Then words?”
“It was folded very well. Crisp. Does that help?”
“No.”
“You a cop?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m trying to help. I just don’t remember.”
Alex seemed sincere. Biff was at an impasse. New tactic.
“Ice cream?”
“Chocolate? I’ll follow you.”
The café, quaint. The ice cream, rich. The conversation, spirited. The two were actually quite similar. Except one was perfect, the other unremarkable. Minor. The ice cream gone, the discussion continued. Friendship emerging? Possibly. Plans made. “Let’s meet next week at the gym, then do lunch.” At a pub of course, it was manly. Sated from ice cream and lively banter, the two now head to the parking lot.
“Biff, it was great to get to know you. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”
“I enjoyed it too. I wished you could have remembered.”
Biff leaned on his car. The fast one. Alex leaned on his. It creaked in protest. The cars side by side sat in testament to the two men facing each other.
“You see, you saw something you should not have seen.”
“With all that fuss, I guessed as much.”
“Something has to be done.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“I am sorry it turned out this way.”
“Me too.”
The bullet hit where it was aimed. Middle of the forehead, perfect shot. The folded newspaper muffled the report of the pistol. A quick check. No one noticed. Body placed in the driver’s seat. A few hours bought before anyone would notice. A back street. Continual looks in the rear view mirror for anyone following. Clear behind. A phone call received.
“Yes.”
“Privet, Alexander. Do you have the information?”
“Da, da, da. The message was, ‘Trash day is Tuesday.’ Do not worry, I will be there to intercept the drop.”
“Any problems, my friend?”
“Nyet.”
“Harasho. Well done comrade. Well done.”
