To the lonely alarm-squawk of seagulls, Brendan stretched himself into alertness in the clear air of a July dawn.
In this locale he was known as a timid, quiet, and unadventurous bookworm, yet he pointed the prow of the small sailboat he had stolen towards the hazy coast of France.
Charles Smyth lives and works in Belfast, Northern Ireland. He maintains a keen interest in Europe, technology and commerce. He likes cats, but doesn’t own one.
His name was Will.
He really enjoyed spy work. The group of people he was monitoring for three weeks was interesting, and everybody loved him.
But he couldn’t say a word. He had to pretend, like his master had told him.
Nobody could know that he wasn’t a teddy bear.
Agata Ratajczak reads more than she writes, but when she writes she want to share her literary passion with others. She’s about to graduate high school.
He left the run-down building, a smile on his face and full knowledge of what he had to do next.
As a bonus, his back and shoulders felt great. Who knew that Morse code could be so therapeutic?
For Markov Luhanovich, the great Russian spy, the medium was the massage.
Adam Michaud lives in Toronto, making bad puns and being kind to
strangers. Occasionally, he writes things.
Josh Bonner, junior agent, answered his phone. “Yes, Director?”
“Where are the Apple and the Banana?”
“I’m at the grocery store right now, picking them up, sir. Is Golden Delicious okay?”
“You’re where!? They’re waiting at the Safe House, agent!”
Oh dear. Josh had forgotten about the code words again.
Constable X was an enigma to Constables Murphy and McDonough.
The Captain said Constable X worked solo because he’d lost partners before.
Something didn’t feel right about that, so they did a bit of prying.
Turned out he slept in his office all day.
And donned a mask at night.
This story is based on a title suggested by @MisterFiendZero.
Timothy Thicke peered through the binoculars, watching as Evan Edgelow lobbed a smoke grenade. He paused a moment to wipe condensation off the binocular lenses.
When he looked back, Edgelow was gone.
“Mission accomplished,” Edgelow whispered from beside him.
“How do you do that?!” Thicke asked, amazed.
“Optical illusions, mostly.”
She crept from alcove to alcove, timing her movements against the motion of the cameras. Down the hallway, around the corner…
“Stop!” someone yelled. “Cut! Do it again! Honey, baby, we’re makin’ a movie here. The cameras have to see ya! Yeesh, whose idea was it to hire an ex-spy?”