Bobber

Yet again a short story. I do feel i did much better with this than with my last one though.

Quote:

“Have you been waiting long?” Moore asked his contact as he entered the room. His contact, Thomas, shook his head and guided Moore to a chair. He gave him the chair he himself usually sat in, the biggest and most comfortable chair in the room. We couldn’t have the best agent in the CIA sitting in a chair that causes blisters. Moore sat down and rejected the coffee he was offered and told Thomas that he was here purely for business. Moore looked around the room. Filthy, haven’t been cleaned in at least a week if he had to guess. Why was his contact shaking? Was it the fact that he was giving out information that could take down a terrorist organization, or the fact that he could lose his life trying? It was that, yes, but it was also that Thomas, who was way smaller in size, also felt belittled. Daniel Moore was the super agent of the CIA, the James Bond, the agent that the director always picked for the important missions. The women adored him and his good looks. He once heard a female agent say that Moore reminded her of Edward Norton, but much more intimidating. Yes, Thomas sure did feel puny in the presence of Daniel Moore, but now was the time to make his mark on history. “Well? What have you got for me?” Thomas raised his finger, to shush the great Daniel Moore? He himself didn’t even know what he was doing. He got down on all four and looked under the bed, pulled out a shoebox and gave it to Moore. He expected Moore to be opening the box like a kid opening a Christmas present, so he was slightly disappointed when Daniel slowly raised the lid and looked through the pictures, not even a smile on his face. Instead he closed the lid just as slow as he had opened it and looked Thomas in the eyes. “We need to get you to a safe place. There’s a warehouse about a mile out of town” They walked down the hallway. Thomas had obviously been given a terrible room. There were at least thirty-five rooms between his room and the elevator. “Don’t run, avoid making eye-contact with anybody” They finally reached the elevator, the golden doors opened and a merciful bell rang to tell them that they were now free to enter. Moore quickly pressed Lobby, but he had not even released his finger from the button before the elevator was flashing red. The alarm was so loud you would think World War III had started. The fire alarm, someone had pulled it, which meant no elevator. Moore dragged Thomas out into the hallway. The stairs seemed the logical reason, which is why he wasn’t going to get down that route. What Thomas hadn’t figured out yet, but Moore knew right as he saw that red light flash was that someone wanted them to take the stairs. Someone wanted to meet them on those stairs. “Does your door lock?” ”Well, there’s a lock, but I haven’t tried it yet” Moore told him there’s a first time for everything and then pushed him down the hall. The alarm had finally stopped. The door to the stairs opened, as they were halfway down the hall. Moore pushed Thomas against the wall and pulled out his gun, aiming it at the door. Thomas slowly moved back, he pulled his feet along the carpet so he wouldn’t make a noise. Moore signaled him to stop but he did not notice. His final step resulted in a big squeak from the old wooden boards under the carpet, and then someone finally jumped through the door to the stairs. The man was bald. He was wearing a black suit with a red tie and swiftly went for Moore’s gun. Moore connected a punch to the Assassins head, but was brought to his knees by a fierce knee in the kidney. Moore gasped but didn’t have time to breathe as the assassin then threw him against the wall, which now had a nice bloody mark from Daniel Moore’s skull. Moore was out? Thomas couldn’t believe what he was seeing. This assassin, this bald nobody had taken down CIA’s best agent. And in no less than thirty seconds. Thomas found himself in a state of shock and fear, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t do anything but stare into inevitable death. The assassin took another step. Thomas felt like he was already dead. Where was his mark on history? Moore swung his arm around the assassin’s neck but had no time to finish the job. The assassin ran backwards with Moore on his back, and Moore definitely felt it as they both ran through the door to the stairs. They both threw punches. Moore connected three to the assassin, and the assassin connected two to him. Moore’s fourth punch broke the bald mans long thin nose, but it did not seem to affect him. Thomas could hear the fight. The punches, the grunts, he even felt he could smell the blood. What should he do now? He looked around the hall. He could go into his room. Perhaps he could escape out the window? Should he risk it and run past the door, hoping not to be spotted by the assassin. Who knows? Maybe Moore would win. But then again, maybe not. Maybe the assassin would kill Daniel Moore and then kill him? He ran his fingers through his hair and thought it over. The gun! That’s right. He ran into his room, the filth hadn’t disappeared. Again he jumped down on all four and looked under the bed, this time he grabbed a different shoebox. In it was a six-shooter, and exactly six bullets. He was shaking as he loaded the gun. He knew exactly what he needed to do. He held the gun the best he’d learned. Now was the time to be the hero. Show the world what he could do. Maybe he would even be a CIA agent? He had often thought about working next to the great Daniel Moore. He yet again entered the hallway and could hear the fight still going on. He pointed the gun at the door. This was it. Come on Thomas! show ‘em what you got! He charged the fight with the gun pointing at the bald assassin. He pulled the trigger and blew out a window. The assassin in return punched him down the stairs, breaking Thomas’ neck in the process. But then there was the gun. Thomas’ six-shooter was now in Moore’s hand. Moore didn’t miss. Was there any blood left in the assassin’s head after? Moore doubted it. There was no pulse. Moore didn’t know whether the fall or the punch had killed Thomas, but he was certainly dead. Having gone back and gotten the pictures from Thomas’ room, he reached in his jacket and called the director. The line was secure, the government made sure of that. “This is Moore. Yes I have the pictures, but it’s quite a mess up here. The police will be here in five to seven minutes” Moore was already out of the building. “Losses? An assassin and that kid, Thomas. I don’t doubt you, you’ll have this out of the media.” Moore hung up. He trusted his director. After that day, Thomas body would be so far gone that no one would ever know he existed.

Leonard D'eath

Personally I am not even remotely informed about this sort of work. However, there are clever things that do give it a CIA sort of feel like the fact that he is always 'Moore' and not like Andy or summit. Quite an enjoyable piece.