52stories

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Felix smiled as he turned down the heat on his meat-strips. He loved the heat of this area, not that many people considered Russia as warm. Still with his past, all that time spent in Iceland, this day didn’t even demand a jacket of him. He pulled his sleeves up, as he was having so much fun. This was the best part of this day, cooking the small strips. It certainly beat the four o’clock wake up call, and fighting the crowd once the market opened. But it was worth it to get these beauties. The scent alone pulled people close, and he spoke with them in perfect Russian.

“I’d like to try what you’ve got.” A blonde woman was now standing right next to set-up. She was beautiful, but all women looked like goddesses to a man who’d spent years in the cold with only dogs. She wore no perfume, and Felix noticed, imagining a creature of such beauty should smell as good as she looked.

“It may all look the same, but I have much to offer.” Felix replied, his genuine smile reappearing effortlessly. “How daring are you? Some of this is not for those with weak constitutions.”

“Indeed.” The beauty considered this. “I’ll take anything.” She took the sample he offered.

“Okay.” Felix took out a pair of tongs and put six in a bag. “These are especially delicious. If you eat them later, be sure to use the re-heating instructions printed on the bag.”

Handing Felix some paper money, she expressed her thanks. And as quickly as she had arrived, she was gone, disappearing into the crowd.

~~~

Diana Kandinsky clutched the gun in her oversized jacket. She was ‘clean’ or so she thought. It had taken weeks to plan this meeting, but in the KGB one could never be too sure of how many people were looking over your shoulder. It was a mild day, but not so warm she looked conspicuous wearing the dark jacket.

Narrowly missing a milk truck, Diana jumped to the curb a moment before getting flattened. She was getting distracted, and that meant she was getting sloppy. She could never allow that, as her precision and attention to detail was exactly what kept her getting promoted. Even making it into the upper echelons of the KGB was an achievement few could boast, but Diana did not let it go to her head. No, for today she was getting out. It was all a result of one stupid mistake. Sent the wrong file, she was given the documents listing the details of a two-hundred person slaughter near Pakistan that her own government sanctioned. This was too much, and she had to get out. Not to divulge the secrets of her position, but just to live peacefully.

Of course her knowledge made her valuable to the United States government. A few tidbits, harmless enough, would get her out of this country, and into the land of the free. All she had to do was pick up the escape plans from her contact. It couldn’t be done via letter, or phone. This had to happen face to face. Spook to spook.

Now free of traffic, the streets crowded with people. Passing a temporary road-block, she spotted her target. First taking a deep breath, then walking over she began the charade.

She was standing next to his cooking station before he even noticed her. He was either an incompetent spy, or she was still that good. “I’d like to try what you’ve got.” , she said, what her words meant was clear - ‘I want out of the country’.

This man played the part of a street vendor perfectly. Likely he’d been doing this for a week or two legitimately just to get down the nuances.

“It may all look the same, but I have much to offer.” What did that mean, Diana wondered. She didn’t reply, just appeared to be interested in his wares. Before things got awkward, thankfully, he continued, “How daring are you? Some of this is not for those with weak constitutions.”

‘Constitution!’ that was the key word, the document that promised freedom to all under it’s protection and in it’s borders. He was clever with a turn of phrase, Diana granted him that.

Still she was reluctant to do say more than “Indeed.” Then after some consideration decided if she was in, she was in whole heartedly. “I’ll take anything.” That seemed to do the trick, as he gave her one. But in no time the man was sending her away. Where was she to go? What was she to do?

“These are especially delicious. If you eat them later, be sure to use the re-heating instructions printed on the bag.”

Something wasn’t right, and Diana could feel it, although nothing in his tone betrayed it. She paid, a note rolled in with the rubles. It took no time to disappear into the crowd again. She sliced through people, a zig-zag path making good time and able to make sure no one followed. Apparently she had lost a step or two as bullets sprayed in her direction, and the window beside her was spattered with blood, then shattered into a million sharp pieces…

~~~

“This rube had better no blow this op.” Lieutenant Colonel Dawkins grumbled sipping his third coffee of the day. “Where’d he come from anyway?”

“Our Iceland program sir. Strict quarantine.” The operator, Sergeant David Jones of Military Intelligence, at the listening post offered. It was just these two men hiding in a cheap apartment only one block away from the open street market. Their ‘bugs’ located all around the operation point were coming in clear.

The Iceland project held certain specialists ‘removed’ from the world. Each man or woman understood they would have no family, no friends, no connections to the real world. They would no be swayed by politicians, pundits, or editorialized news. They fought for country, right or wrong. Usually any assignment was a relief from the cold, and they came out swinging. During their time ‘on ice’ as the project was known informally, they trained in marital arts, assassination skills, survival techniques, languages, anything to make them a better weapon, and fight off boredom.

“I think I hear her.”, Jones piped up again. “Yes, it’s her!”

“Put it on the speaker.” Dawkins orders and Jones flipped two switches and turned a volume dial.

“How daring are you? Some of this is not for those with weak constitutions.” It was Agent Felix Ross, doing his best flirtatious tone.

“Does he think this is a JOKE?”, Dawkins barked. He of course was frustrated. After a lifetime of being in the action, a war wound had finally made him accept promotion to a supervisory role.

“I’ll take anything.” The mark said. She sounded confident.

“Sir, I’m picking up static on the red line.”, Jones said.

“KILL THE OP! KILL THE OP!” Dawkins screamed, he didn’t wait for Jones to comply but grabbed the microphone from his underling and shouted into the transmitter, “DELTA! BLACK! DELTA BLACK!”

Felix heard the order in his earpiece and responded “Okay.” Drawing this exchange to a close, Felix put the food in a bag, and subtly tipped her in on how to find the instructions. If she was able and smart enough to live through the next hour, she would be smart enough to follow his clue. She must have picked up on his change of mood, and she was gone before he knew it.

~~~

Markov loved his family. He would do anything for them, yes even kill. Most father would do so for their daughters if pressed. Nothing mattered more than family. So every day in service to Mother Russia was one day closer to getting his family returned from Siberia. Most days he had no orders, and simply had to await them in silence. Today a paper was slid under the door of his apartment. It was orders, it was a step closer to the embrace of his wife, and the smile of his daughter. True most people caught selling on the black market were just generally shot, but with Markov’s abilities, the government had use for him. He made this deal. It was this or death to them all. It wasn’t even a choice.

The paper simply read, “Bolshevik Square. Now. 1100Mhz.” Clipped to it was a picture of a blonde woman in civilian clothes. She was not looking at the camera, this was taken by surveillance. She appeared to be in her own home, writing something, but the angle was good enough.

Markov lifted his black bag, then headed out the door. It was still early morning, so getting through the back streets to his destination was easy. A few punks noticed him, but given his size and the look in his eye, they didn’t mess with him.

An abounded apartment building made a perfect staging spot for this kill. Putting together the rifle was second nature, and Markov had it assembled in under a minute. His earpiece in place, Markov began scanning the market for his prey. He spotted her at a vendor’s food station. Enough people passed by that getting a clean shot was not guaranteed.

He tried to read their lips, a practiced art. The man was saying “It may all look the same, but I have much to offer.”

At that moment his earpiece came alive. Attuned to 1100Mhz he received the order. “Do you have the target in sight?”

“Da.”

“FIRE”

“Possible collateral damage.” Markov explained. His handler didn’t like him to talk back, but he’d also learned they don’t like civilians killed unnecessarily. Things happened of course.

“FIRE” came the reply. But by now the mark was gone.

“No joy.”

“Follow on foot.”

~~~

Felix, just one face in the crowd watched as an ambulance came and took the body away.

~~~

Sergeant Jones stood vigil outside the patient’s room. Doctor Bishop explained she would be totally fine. Felix thanked the doctor then watched him leave.

Once out of earshot, Felix asked “What happens to her now?”

“Political Asylum. I think she might like it here in Baltimore.”, Jones watched the sleeping beauty through the one-way glass. “You?”

“Back to Iceland.”

“Bollocks.” Jones said. “Although no one else will say it, good work.”

“Thanks.” Felix said, then turned and walked away.