He knew she wouldn’t come. Not because of the weather. They had walked in far worse than this, whispering their love, their plans, their tomorrow days …. Snowy rain was a small price to pay for a promised sunshine future. But still, he might have forgiven an excuse of the weather.
She wouldn’t come. Not because of discovery. He conjured her, locked in her room, her brother prowling the hallway, her father at the base of the stairs, rifle in his arms. In case the man who dared, dared further. But there was no discovery. He had watched from the road as her family scurried from house to car – mother, father, brother – and drove away, tyres slipping sideways, righting themselves, red tail lights blurred in the snow. Yet, perhaps they held her, trussed and locked away, guarded by brutish dogs until their return. He might have forgiven an excuse of imprisonment.
She wouldn’t come. Not because she had fallen ill, was bed-ridden, unable to stand, her cheeks flushed with the garish red of fever rather than the soft blush of pleasure. She had never been ill in her life. But he would have had to forgive an excuse of illness.
He knew she wouldn’t come. Not because of the weather, nor captivity, nor illness. She wouldn’t come because fear of an unknown, uncertain future vanquished the sunshine promises.
He gazed along the road, through the snow and rain. The appointed time came, and was past. And was past … His cigarette burned to the filter, the ash holding, clinging to its shape … and when at last it crumbled into flakes to disappear on the wind, he dropped the end to the wet ground and crushed it, gently, firmly. And turned his back on the way she should have come.
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Flakes covered the ground as the snow continued to fall heavily making visibility almost impossible.
MI6 agent Jonathon Traeger gazed steadily down what was once a country road – now almost impassable – hat planted rakishly on his head and cigarette holder clamped firmly between his teeth as its contents slowly burned to ash.
Surely his contact wouldn’t be able to meet him now, he thought. The weather was abominable and driving extremely hazardous to say the least.
“Need that flash drive, though, or we are all doomed,” he muttered.
The flash drive contained a list and whereabouts of all MI6 agents stationed throughout the globe which, if it fell into the wrong hands, could result in wholesale assassinations and the end of the British service as he knew it.
How it had even come into existence was anyone’s guess. It was almost like another Julian Assange, still languishing in prison fighting extradition to the United States, had been unleashed on the world with all the angst the original Wikileaks saga had caused.
“If we ever catch the blighter who did this, God help him,” Traeger continued, talking to himself.
He wasn’t sure but he could swear the snowfalls were becoming heavier.
“That’s it – he’s not coming. I’m not waiting any longer.”
Traeger turned on his heel and began slowly making his way to where he had left his car.
Suddenly, he heard a faint cry.
“Traeger, Jonathon Traeger, I’ve got the flash drive,” it said. “Over here, I’m here.”
Through the gloom, the British spy could just make out a slight figure staggering towards him.
“Here,” he said, thrusting something small into Traeger’s hand and then collapsing to the ground.
Traeger noticed the spreading crimson beneath him.
“You’re hurt, man,” he cried. “Here, let me see.”
“It’s nothing,” replied his contact. “Just a scratch.”
Traeger turned the man over to find blood pouring from a stomach wound. He grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket to try and stem the flow but without success.
“I’ll be fine,” the man continued. “Just need to rest a bit.”
Traeger cradled the wounded man’s head as, slowly, the breath faded from his body and his eyes closed. The agent checked for a pulse, without success, before looking around for signs of his late colleague’s assailant.
Nothing moved, and the blasted snow just kept falling making him feel blind and exposed.
He looked down at his hand to find a flash drive glistening in the poor light.
I presume this is what we are after, he thought, but won’t know till I can get to a computer.
Traeger had almost reached his car when a shot rang out and he fell to the ground, flash drive spilling into the ever-deepening snow.
Sounds like a great basis for a spy6 thriller!
How sad. She should have had the courage to tell him to his face. Would have made it easier to accept, no doubt.
Then it wouldn’t be a story! 😀