Stormy London looked upon the two well-dressed men with a frown. Not only did they look rich but they walked with a swagger that could only be associated with importance. The poor Londoners scowled at the men blaming them for changing their home into a living hell. Trash lined the street. Their homes were falling apart. Most of them didn’t have roofs. If only they knew the real reason why. The older gray haired man flagged a carriage over and ushered the younger blonde man inside. The man stepped into the carriage and said to the driver, “Buckingham Palace. Make it quick.” The driver whipped the reins and made a speedy descent to the Dictator's home unbeknownst of their plan of assassination.
“So Jones what’s the plan? I just know we are going to have some sort of secret and super cool way to kill him right?!” exclaimed Agent James.
“Actually we are just…” started Agent Jones
“Wait, hold that thought. I just had a great idea of how to kill him. Let me write this down. It really is a brilliant idea. Would you like to hear it!” shouted James
“No I would not! In case you have forgotten there is a man sitting two feet from us, driving us to our doom and listening to you yell out your ‘super-cool’ plans to assassinate their all-powerful leader.” hissed Jones.
“Right. Sorry.” James hung his head in shame.
“Now, as I was saying the plan is to get in with our fake I.D.’s posed as mechanics. Once we are in we are going to head straight for the generator room , shut them down, and put them in the dark. Mr. Dictator will see it as a threat on him and make his way to his underground bunker. but before he gets there, charges will be set throughout the room. He will come in and the lock and the shut of the door will trigger the charges. And by that time we will already be gone, on our way back to M16.” finished Jones
Jones turned and saw Jame staring dreamily out the window.
“James!” he shouted.
James jumped and looked startled.
“I’m sorry were you saying something, I just saw this really neat bird out my window and I kinda lost you at ‘as I was saying” said James.
Jones sighed.
“Just follow my lead and don’t die.”
The carriage arrived in front of Buckingham palace almost 30 minutes before expected.
Stepping out of the carriage, Jones stared at the looming palace in front of him. Jones could feel something was wrong. In his gut something was telling him to turn around and join his wife and children at the strict 2:30 afternoon tea. Oh how he could hear his little children’s laughter and feel the warmth of his wife’s smile even in the chilly London air. But he knew it was his job to protect his country from the looming threat of tyranny that hung in the balance of this assassination. And he knew how it could affect the world’s future forever.
“Thank you sir. You got us here bloody fast so here is your money and a nice little tip to not say anything about what you heard on the way here.” whispered Jones to the carriage driver.
The driver stared blankly and the thick wad of cash in his hand. All he could do was nod, get back under the reins and think about how depressed he still is..
“Now that’s taken care of, let’s get us some evil dictator blood on our hands.” said James.
“Now James I understand that you are a new recruit and you are eager to go on your first mission, but you have to understand that this isn’t playtime. This isn’t training. This is the real deal. I have no idea why M16 decided to put you on our most important mission to date. But they did and now I have to deal with you. I have been on this job for 10 years now. It means a lot to me so I want you to stay focused.” said Jones.
“Yeah okay.” mumbled James.
“Ok good, I think I can trust you. So let's go kick their communist butts.” grinned Jones.
$10 million in the pot. Poker faces all around. The audience looked on, feeling the tension in the room. With a look of death in his eye, a well built black throws down his cards.
“Fold.” said the dealer noticing his hatred.
Swallowing, a tall white man taps the table twice.
“Check. Mr. Jameson show.” said the dealer still keeping an eye on the sore-losing man.
The man throws down his cards in front of the bets.
“Three pair. Ace high.” says the dealer. There are gasps in the crowd. “Mr. Utashi show.”
With a smile he gently sets his cards in front of the bets too and looks at Mr. Jameson.
“Straight flush. Spades. Winner, Mr. Ustashi. ” said the dealer gesturing to a now smug Asian. Applause all around as Mr. Utashi pools the bets.
“Well done.” he says offering his hand to Mr.Jameson.
Ignoring his hand, he crouches down, and he whispers his final words to Mr. Utashi.
“This will be the last time I lose to you. You cheat and I know it.” he finished as he stood up.
Walking to the door he says at a level that everyone can here, “And one more thing, I know the only reason you wanted to rule a country with resistance from you dying citizens, is just to compensate for the parents you never had.”
The slam of a opening door draws everyone’s attention to a very well armed soldier who grabs Mr. Jameson’s arms behind his back and drags him out the door, his screams fading away from the party and to his death.
A grin fills Mr. Utashi’s face.
Two mechanics walked through an well-manicured open pavilion on their way to a broken generator. The Dictator’s million dollar cars watched them creep past his pool. A statue of a short Asian followed them with his empty eyes. It was like that very statue knew of their plans. They were 100 feet from the door when a loud sound pierced the air
“Wait!” said Jones stopping in his tracks. “Did you hear that?”
“Yeah it sounded like a gunshot.” said James who kept walking towards the door.
“What are you doing?! Get back here!” hissed Jones. “A gunshot means someone’s been killed and it could be us if you’re not careful!”
“Look I know what I am doing.” said Jones nonchalantly who kept walking.
“Jones wait!” screamed James.
A bullet formed a hole in the space in the wall that Jones head just was.
“Oh my god!” yelled James his hands over his head.
“Get over here!.” said Jones his gun now out.
James crawled as fast as his legs could take him to the cover Jones was now crouching behind.
“Their is a sniper sitting on that roof 200 yards from here. Do you see him?” said Jones.
James looked over the barbeque grill they were behind. But not fast enough. A bullet pierced the cover almost 2 inches from his head.
“Yeah. He’s kinda hard to miss.” whimpered James, forcing a nervous laugh.
“He’s a bad shot. So all we have to do is make a sprint towards the door. If we shutdown the generator fast enough, he won’t have enough time to hit the generator-powered alarm.” said Jones, loading his gun. “Ok?”
“Right, of course.” said James shakily. Popping out of their cover they sprinted towards the door. More gunshots went off. But fast and not as loud as the snipers. James’s gun was out and was firing off countless rounds at the sniper. Standing still he let out shots and shots towards his direction. A loud shot pierced the air, cutting through James’s sleeve, hitting something with a thud, and leaving a grazed arm in its place.
“Jones! Help me out!” yelled James. No response. “Jones!”
Turning around to look at Jones, he felt something hit his heart like a hammer. Dropping to his knees he noticed Jones was losing blood rapidly from the new hole in chest. A baseball sized blood stain was growing rapidly on his perfect black suit.
“Jones!” screamed James.
Jones eyes were fading and he gripped James’s arm. He coughed and more blood joined his still growing stain.
“James...finish this mission and let my wife know that I love her…”
Jones stopped for a few coughs and to try to pull all of the oxygen he could into his failing lungs. “I should have known you were not ready. That is my fault. I’m sorry...James.” James felt the grip lessen on his arm. Death pulled the final cough from him and his fight was over.
James stared at his lifelong mentor and friend’s lifeless body in front of him . For the first time in his life James felt a deep hatred for himself. It started in his heart and made his way up to form a splitting headache then finished in his eyes, which stung with tears. He knew if only he wouldn't have walked in the middle of the sniper’s line of fire, Jones would still be alive. His insides boiled with anger and he remembered his final words.
Finish the mission.
He stood up, took a final look at his partner, and made his way towards his target with the words “It's not your fault.” endlessly echoing around in his head.
