The exercise:
Not sure how we're on day six of Secret Agent theme week already. Regardless, let us write about: the recovery.
Had a fun day with my family here. We made a return visit to the model railroad museum, as they were doing admission by donations to the food bank today. So instead of paying almost $20 to get the three of us in the door, we dropped off some food for a good cause.
While we were there we ran into four or five of Max's friends (with their parents, obviously) which was pretty nice. That included our bakery friends, who invited us over to their place afterward to hang out for a while.
This afternoon I hung out with Max, mostly at Kat's parents house, while Kat had a rest and some time to herself. We played with tools (toy ones and real ones), played the piano, watched TV... all sorts of fun things.
Now I am tired and ready for the bed times.
Mine:
"You've got to be joking," Agent Pine says, leveling an accusing glare at the traitorous pen. Behind him the guards begin hammering on the door. He is certain that his tie will hold. The hinges, on the other hand...
"What have you done to me?" Rose asks, her voice distant. She is standing, slender arms hanging limp at her sides. Her dark hair has fallen over one eye but she can only blink lazily at it.
"To be entirely honest," Pine says as he comes around to her side of the desk, "I'm not sure. This has never happened to me before."
"I bet that's what you tell all the girls."
The joke gives him pause. This is a woman known for moving money for human traffickers, not her sense of humour.
"What have you been working on today?" he asks, shuffling through her papers to buy himself some time to think as much as to find useful evidence.
"Oh, you know, bills, budgets, black market deals," she says slowly, still seemingly unable to move her extremities. Pine wonders how long this will last. "The usual."
"Certainly." He pulls a camera out of the back pocket of his pants and begins snapping shots of anything that looks suspicious. Which happens to be pretty much everything. The door cracks loudly under the force of the guards' fury. "I was sent here to kill you, you know."
"I kind of figured as much," she says, her fingers beginning to twitch. Pine is too preoccupied with the documents to notice. "You're not doing a very good job of it."
"You're welcome," he says with a short laugh. The door begins to splinter, long, sharp talons of wood stretching in their direction. "What would you be willing to do in order to continue putting off seeing the intimate details of hell's hotel?"
After a slight pause, Rose answers. Her words come out a little faster now.
Agent Pine smiles.
The door explodes inward.
3 comments:
Has Blogger added the capcha for you, or did you add it yourself? I'm relieved that I can prove I'm not a robot, though I would have a harder time proving I'm not a dog.
It sounds like a good day was had by all then! And the price of entry for the model railroad museum is a nice one; everyone pretty much benefits from that which is fantastic.
Hmm, Rosie is an ever-more interesting lady, and it's starting to look like it's rather good luck that the second pen malfunctioned. Not that I have any clue what she might have said to Agent Pine (poor bloke, you just know he's "Agent Pine-Fresh" to all the other agents) and whether that's going to get her off the hook or not. I like her casual admittance of all the things that she's involved in too, she seems completely at ease with her lifestyle! Overall, great writing :)
Hmm, I seem to be running out of time with poor old Rupes. Let's see if his Huskies have eaten him while we were hearing about Rosie....
The recovery
The Huskies were growling like poorly-tuned lawnmower engines and had formed a circle around Rupert. He was looking through the packages on the sled, wondering if anything that R&D had supplied would be effective against starving dogs, and if it would be reliable enough to use even if it existed. He looked at a box entitled Cherry lipstick which has in the small-print Not tested on women, men, or anything with comparable skin cells and toyed with seeing if the dogs would eat it.
There was a sudden rush of air, a noise a bit like a helicopter farting, and a crash as a crate hit the snow twenty feet away and rolled and bounced its way into the ring of dogs. Rupert stared at it for a moment, and then his eyes registered a pale green fairy stamped on the side of the crate. He grabbed the crowbar from the equipment on the sled (there was a label attached that read Not tested in conditions above freezing) and advanced on the crate. The crowbar extruded flanges and hooks, and as he brought it contact with the crate dismantled it in under ten seconds. What was left was a neat pile of wood looking IKEA-fresh and a stack of fresh, bloody steaks.
"All yours, boys," said Rupert, who was rather unobservant.
Four hours the next morning brought Rupert to the point that the supplied map (Ink not tested in humid, dry, cold, hot or sublimation-friendly conditions) had marked as the perimeter of the Red Bear's Canadian fortress. A wall made out of ice, easily twelve feet thick and eighty feet high, cast a long, bleak shadow across the landscape. On top the wall sullen men wrapped in heavy black cloaks stared out, their attention focused on him and the sled. Crows cawed overhead, and small shadows, hunting birds of some kind, wheeled in the sky.
Rupert swore, eloquently, and rummaged through the equipment on the sled until he found the costumes recommended for gaining entry to the compound. Sighing repeatedly he forced himself to pull on green pantaloons, a stripy shirt, a cap with a jingle-bell on the end and big red boots that reminded him strongly of winklepickers. According to the Green Fairy this uniform was what the QA department were made to wear.
The gate in the wall was another hour's sleigh-ride round, and there at a gigantic wooden gate a man wearing what might have been a crown: a delicate circlet of polished bronze resting on his raven-black hair, stopped him and tried not to laugh.
"You want to come in? Looking like that?" he asked. Rupert nodded, and when the man started actually laughing, bending his knees with the force of hilarity, tasered him. As the man collapsed, his body still spastically twitching as the electricity was conducted away, Rupert dragged him onto the sled, strapped him to the seat, and urged the dogs on. Then he walked through the gate and into the guardhouse, looking for a cloak to steal.
Where was the gun? There were only so many places he could have hidden it. The Barber reached for the glove box.
“It’s gone,” the big man said.
A gun would not help him anyway. Not if he had to meet the Beard under these circumstances. The last time they met the Barber had a gun. Fully loaded. Ready to pull the trigger and just end it. He couldn’t though. He had made a promise to his mother. A promise he would keep. For now.
The car pulled onto a small road, the type that would fit one car for awhile and then no cars later.
Captivity was not an option. Neither was a meeting. Opening the door and jumping out would not work. Not in a remote area like this. Nothing but trees creeping on either side. But, it was the rocks that worried him most. The likelihood that he would survive a jump without at least two broken bones was minimal. The big man would just pick him up and lay him in the back seat. And the meeting would go on as scheduled.
The Barber fidgeted with his seat belt. Felt it tighten against him. Holding him firmly in place. Safely. Ahead he could see the trees forming a tunnel. The road constricted, offering only darkness.
The big man looked ahead, focused on the road, dodging the boulders strewn in his path. It was not easy driving. Which made things easier for the Barber. Grabbing the wheel and yanking it to the right, the car jolted and slammed into a tree. The Ford Fiesta had not been chosen for its safety features and the big man learned that as his head crashed through the windshield. The Barber was saved by the only safety feature, the seat belt.
The Barber got out of the car. Looked at his unconscious kidnapper sprawled across the hood. And there, on the driver’s seat it lay. His gun. The guy had lied. Is there no honor these days? He picked up the gun and fleetingly thought about putting two bullets in the driver’s head.
But he did not. He could walk. He had a gun.
And he had a meeting with the Beard.
At least that was resolved.
Greg - it appears to be mandatory, as I've yet to find a way to get rid of it. That seems rather stupid.
Hah, love your opening line. Great sound effect choice :D
Wonderful descriptions throughout this piece, you really brought the scene to life. Really enjoyed all the little notes about each piece of equipment too :)
David - ah, the kidnapper had almost everything planned out. Clever Barber proved him wrong.
Looking forward to the meeting!
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