Skip to main content

Chapter XI

Frankie leaned against the walls of the elevator, his heart rate returning to an even thrum. By the time the doors opened, he was back to copacetic, ready to face the world.

Mullihan’s cavernous underground garage was filled with domestic sedans, in the standard browns, blues, and greys. His own vehicle stood in a distant corner, a spot purposely chosen as far from the entering and exiting traffic as possible.

Frankie didn’t drive a sedan. He drove a red Shelby Cobra, with white exhaust pipes nestled low along its frame. He loved this car – considered it one of the truly great masterpieces of human creation. The Cobra could roar from 0 to 60 in the span of a few heart beats and take curves like it was on rails. Put it on a ramp and gun the engine, Frankie figured he had a better than even chance to beat Apollo to the moon.

Even as his footsteps echoed back to him, his smile faded though. A figure stepped from behind a concrete pillar, and even though she wore a white fedora and a long dark trenchcoat, Frankie would recognize her silhouette anywhere.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Take the job,” she said without preamble.

“You promised me I’d be out of this chicken shit outfit in a month tops.”

“You were waiting for a particular mission.”

“The one I just got.”

She didn’t bother replying.

Frankie grimaced. “It’s not going to happen.”

“You’re here for a reason.”

“What makes you so sure the target will be on this mission?”

“You need to show me a little faith.”

“Show me a reason.”

She slipped a hand beneath the flap of her coat and for an instant, Frankie flinched, hand twitching by the concealed holster on his hip. What appeared in her hand, though, was a single photograph. She smiled as she handed it over, a silent commentary on his reaction. He glanced down at it, noted the photographer had caught the target in a relatively candid, unguarded moment, her dark hair swept away from her long neck, dark eyes flashing towards the camera.

“When was this taken?”

“A day ago in the LAX boarding area.”

“She made your surveillance.”

“We don’t think so.”

“Trust me,” he said. “She did. What makes you think she’s still heading to Texas?”

“Like I said, show me a little faith.”

“Any chance you’d clue me in on why the Old Hands have it in for her?”

“I wouldn’t concern yourself with that.”

“And the assets they sent after her last time?”

“Also not your concern.”

“Of course not,” Frankie said ruefully. “Afterall, I’m only the one risking his neck.”

His contact raised her head, enough to reveal blue-gray eyes beneath the fedora. “Oh, you’ll have company. Killing Agent D is going to be a team effort.”

Link to Next Chapter

Link to First Chapter


Popular posts from this blog

Chapter I

When the light came back on, the room was empty save for a corpse and two baffled agents of Section Starfire, the premier Anarchist Spy Agency employed by the United States government. Two trained pairs of eyes quickly scanned the room and found it devoid of anything worth mentioning besides an old battle-scarred table along one wall and a book shelf against the other and, of course, the body of the man Spaceman had just shot. For his part, Marcus Delacroix, Agent Shield, stood across the room from him, blinking in the sudden light, unable to focus. On the table by his right hand was a squat metal object about the same color and shape as a wheel of cheddar cheese. Instantly recognizing this object, Spaceman allowed himself a rare moment of panic. Pushing past Marcus, Space dashed to the door and tried the handle. Inevitably, it was locked. “Do you know what this is?” said Marcus, slowly regaining his faculties. “Yes,” said Spaceman as he darted

Chapter LXII

It took only thirty-six hours for a Section Sanitation Team to arrive at Santa Rosa. Leaving the town a smoking ruin was a non-option, especially with half the world on the look out for the Anti-Cerebrists. It did surprise Shield to see The Chief leading the Sanitation Team. In the year or so he’d been an active field agent, he’d never heard of The Chief traveling more than five miles outside of D.C. The expression on his face suggested travel did not agree with him. “We would have, of course, preferred if you had taken him alive.” Shield looked around the remains of the town. Which him was he referring to? “Sir, Spaceman resisted D with the apparently preternatural assistance of The Master. It was all D could do to put him down.” “I wasn’t referring to Spaceman, I meant the Master.” Ah, Shield thought, well that was a bit more awkward. “Actually, sir, he simply died. By the time Agent Two-Eyes and myself had come down from the bluff, he was already in cardiac arrest. Believe me when I


Imagine a space of incredible volume. Now place within its center an enormous ball of hydrogen and helium, collapsing against its own fiery detonation. Imagine a fireball so big that the force of its own illumination prevents light from its center from escaping for millions of years. Now picture the left-over bits from the star’s ignition spinning around in orbit, slowly accreting together over a staggering length of time. This is the stage. This where all of the acts appear, lit from this ancient fiery torch. This where all of the tragedies and comedies that have ever happened and will ever happen, happen. Are you getting the hang of it? Can you see this place, this domain? For as long as there are people and intelligences able to record impressions and ideas, this will be the only home of anyone who reads these words. But don’t feel so bad. The solar system is a big place and perhaps bigger than most might know. For within this enormous system, the