Once in a Blue Moon - A Jonathan Smythe Adventure

CHAPTER 2: The Quick and the Dead

CHAPTER 2: The Quick and the Dead

“What do you mean they’re all dead?”

Smythe raced through the main hall of the Russian Embassy, only stopping to glance at the murdered bodies of the embassy guards that lay mangled along the doorways. Each guard had a bullet hole in the center of their temple, hit with extraordinary accuracy. He had never seen so many headshots before, and it scared the hell out of him.

“Every last one of them, they’re dead,” Smythe repeated, talking into the microphone attached to his collar, “He killed them, and they’ve got the disk.”

“Who?  Damn it, Smythe, calm down,” Truman pleaded, “Who killed them?”

“I didn’t see his face.”

As Smythe ran full-force towards the front door, images of the man in the shadows and the man with the red eyes flashed in his memory. Just as everything began to make sense, everything seemed to fall apart again. Vladimir Petrov was a traitor to his country, and he paid the price for his treason with his life. It was Petrov who obtained the stolen disk containing the launch data from an insider on the ocean-liner Aquarius, in exchange for tons of explosives and C4. But the Aquarius was now destroyed, and Petrov murdered. It seemed that everyone who came into contact with that computer disk ended up dead.

Smythe rushed through the main door of the embassy and the cold night air hit him like a punch in the face. Running down the marble steps, he spotted a black luxury car followed by three black vans speeding down the street and away from the embassy.

‘Going so soon?’ he thought to himself, ‘The party’s just getting started.’

The moon pierced through the dark clouds, like an essence watching everything unfold before it. The city streets of Paris were deserted, except for the usual beggars, who wandered the side-streets searching for food and shelter. A few trees lined the street in front of the embassy, while the rest of this part of the city revealed a more concrete and residential appearance. The night was cold and quiet, the calm before the storm of chaos.

As Smythe ran across the lawn towards the sidewalk, a sleek silver sports car roared from across the street and pulled up beside him, its headlights shining on high-beams and blinding him. Smythe stopped in his tracks, his heart beating wildly, as the window rolled down to reveal the silencer of a handgun aimed directly at him.

“Get in,” a voice echoed from inside the car. Smythe took in a deep breath and surveyed the area around him. Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. His vision focused back on the gun, waiting, like a wild animal, to strike. With his hands up, Smythe opened the passenger door and slid in.

“Agent Trove, I presume?” Smythe said coyly, eyeing the stunning woman behind the wheel. Her dark hair was tied back into a ponytail, which cascaded onto her broad shoulders. She glanced over at Smythe, her expression remaining emotionless. Her deep blue eyes contrasted her relatively pale complexion—she reminded Smythe of a ghost. She wore a skintight red dress, almost looking more like a princess than an Echelon agent. Although her expression didn’t change, her eyes conveyed a sense of innocence, untrusting, and fear towards Smythe. He wondered what it must be like to be sitting in a car with him, a man who has killed so many without thought, served his country without question, and saved so many lives without receiving so much as a ‘thank you’. Smythe shuddered at the idea of being a new agent assigned on a dangerous mission with him. Although Truman didn’t say it, he could sense that Agent Trove had never been in a real chase, never faced real danger, never put her life on the line for freedom. She was cold, inexperienced, and the perfect way to keep him on his toes. ‘Damn Truman,’ Smythe thought. Almost on cue, Trove turned to look Smythe directly in the eyes and cracked what looked like a smile.