Saturday, January 16, 2010

Saturday Novel 3

Scene Three

Michael crept quietly along the maze of corridors, making sure to stay out of view of any security measures, be they flesh and blood or circuits and hardware. After a few minutes, he found the room he wanted.

Pressing an extra stud on his wristwatch, he activated the miniature laser and quietly but quickly cut through the deadbolt and lock mechanism on the door. Slowly pushing it open, he gave the well-furnished room a sweep with a practiced eye. No threats being imminent, he softly closed the door behind him, hoping he had enough time to complete his task.

He stood for a moment, appreciating the mahogany furniture and expensive art hanging on the walls in even more expensive frames. Spotting the frame that was fractionally farther away from the wall than the others, he hurried over and swung it open on the nearly hidden hinges mounted on one side, revealing the wall safe it disguised.

Michael quickly unfastened his cummerbund and then slipped off the small square device that had been held magnetically to his belt buckle. He attached it via those same magnets to the wall safe, near the electronic combination lock, and pressed a small button on the device. While it ran through its algorithms, Michael refastened his cummerbund into place. A moment later the device beeped, the wall safe clicked, and then popped slightly ajar.

Reaching past the jewels and bundles of currency, Michael withdrew a small packet of papers. Rifling through them, he saw that the list did, indeed, contain the names and contact information for a large terrorist network, including the whereabouts of Muhammad al-Kalwiri, head of the organization.

Suddenly, a bullet-shaped hole appeared in the wood paneling just inches from his head! Michael turned to see the Sheik and one of his guards, smoke still wafting up from the end of the gun barrel. As his finger tensed on the trigger to fire again, Michael threw himself into a tuck-and-roll behind the desk. The second bullet exploded through an exquisitely carved cigar case on top of the desk. The pungent aroma of expensive Cuban tobacco filled the air.

Michael plucked a paperweight off the desktop, hurled it in the direction of the door as a diversion, took two steps and crashed through the office window, using the hedge below to cushion his fall. A moment later, he was up and running, the cries of the Sheik chasing him into the night.

"Mitty! Michael Mitty! I will follow you to the ends of the earth, you dog! Mitty! Mitttttttttyyyyyyy!"

Mitttttttttyyyyyyy!" shouted Crickmeyer. "Where's my report??!!"

Michael blinked twice and remembered where he was just as Mr. Crickmeyer rounded the corner and headed straight for his cubicle.

"I-I'm sorry, Mr. Crickmeyer. I'll have it ready shortly." Michael said, subdued.

"Within the hour, Mr. Mitty."

"Yes, sir," said Michael, and sighed as Crickmeyer left as quickly as he had arrived.


So it was all a fantasy. What do you think should happen next?

Click "Saturday Novel" in the list of labels, to your lower right to read this story from the beginning.

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