Late Night Pen

As she stepped out of the shower Pen breathed a sigh of relief. She smiled to herself as she looked at her reflection in the freshly cleared mirror and whispered, “I out spied the spy.” She wrapped herself in a bathrobe and wondered at her accomplishment. As she toweled the remaining water from her hair, she took time to reflect closely on her perceived victory.

Me following a spy without being seen. She let that thought sit in her mind. He’s one of the best spies in Europe, according to some one of the best in the world. He had to know that I was there. I would have to be some kind of a jerk not to think that he didn’t know. If I were him and I knew that I was being followed… “He’s going to gloat and then he’s going to boast. Scotch is going to make sure I know that he caught me watching him and he’s going to gloat.”

Pen picked up her dirty clothes and put them in the hamper, hanging her towel to dry, she exited the bathroom muttering to herself, “I have to have a plan. I have to get ready.”

“Get ready for what?” A familiar voice asked.

Pen reached for the wall switch and turned on the light. She found Scotch sitting in front of her on her sofa with one of her juice tumblers in one hand. It held an amber colored liquid.

“Do you want to know what your biggest mistake was?” He asked. Scotch drained the remainder of the glass slowly, Pen was not sure if it was because he was enjoying the nightcap or relishing stringing things out...for emphasis. “You stopped following too quickly. You didn’t know where I was going next. I could have met with a new contact. I could have been picked up by a kidnapper.”

“Or you could have been on your way to the off licence.” Pen offered, studying the level of liquid in the freshly opened bottle sitting on the coffee table.

“Touche.” Scotch studied Pen for a moment. “You don’t have to worry, I hold my liquor quite well.”

Pen sat down in a nearby chair. “You would have to wouldn’t you? Being a spy.”

“It’s not one of the requirements but it does come in handy.”

Several moments of silence pass between them.

“What was it?” Pen asked.

“Sorry?”

“What gave me away?”

“How did I know that you were following me?”

Pen nodded.

“When two people work together for a period of time they develop an intuition that identifies the other party’s own unique energy.”

“You could feel my presence?” Pen asked. “Like a Jedi or something?”

“I do believe that Jedi are knights with special powers.” Scotch countered with a devilish grin. He contemplated refilling his glass, deciding against it, he set it down on the coffee table.

“That sounds New Age. Not like you at all.”

“You don’t believe in those things?” He asked.

“No.”

A glint came to Scotch’s eye. “You never told your Mum a fib and ran off to a carnival to have your fortune told as a girl. Never played a game looking for a prediction as to whom you would grow up to marry?”

“Growing up and marrying the perfect man and having the perfect life are antiquated idealistic fallacies that have no place in real life.”

“Spoken like a disappointed teen.”

Pen took a moment before speaking. She turned the table on Scotch determined not to take the bait. “As I said before, such beliefs don’t sound like you either.”

“I didn’t believe in such ideas then I met a woman.”

“Of course there had to be a woman.”

“Of course.” Scotch agreed. “I was in Istanbul. I had finished a mission in Saudi Arabia and I was taking a couple of days rest before returning home. I had stopped for a bite to eat and was headed back to my lodgings when a woman stopped in front of me. She said, “It is good to see that you arrived safely. Welcome home.”

“Then what happened.”

“She smiled and moved so I could be on my way. The next day I saw her in the marketplace, I stopped her and asked what she meant. She laughed and said ‘What do you think I meant? Welcome Home.’ I pointed out that I am British and reassured her that never in my lifetime had called Turkey my home. She nodded and said, ‘No you have not but your energy has. So has mine.’ Then she continued on her way.

“And?”

“And?” Scotch repeated. “That’s it.”

“You never saw her again?” Pen asked.

“I never did.”

Pen studied Scotch. “You made that up. You don’t want to answer the question.”

Scotch reached for his bottle. Pen got to it first.

“Your disguise. That’s what gave you away. Your disguise.”

Pen surrendered the bottle.

“What was wrong with my disguise?”

“You were wearing one of the security guards' leather jackets, it was two sizes too big. It looked ridiculous.”

“I was supposed to be a successful woman out for a stroll who just happened to be wearing her boyfriend’s jacket.”

“Do successful women out for strolls also stop and turn the other way when the people in front of them stop walking?”

“There was a bit of foot traffic. I was blending in.”

“Was there a crowd behind the tree planted just inside the gates to the park as well?”

Pen looked at the floor.

“Until I have taught you a little more about trailing a target, stick to your poisons.”

She looked up at Scotch.

“On one condition. This is the end of your gloating.”

“Gloating? Is that what I was doing?” He asked with a grin.

“You were.”

Scotch righted the bottle mid pour and set it down. He started to lift the tumbler to his lips then stopped. The agent smelled the visitor before he heard him. He continued the conversation with Pen before she had a chance to bring attention to his change in demeanor. “This is not the agency’s usual recommended housing.”

“No. I stayed in the agency building for a bit, when I found this place I applied to the agency for approval to move.”

“It was deemed safe then?”

“I followed all of the outlined directives. Two agency specialists inspected it. One before and one after I moved in and had television and internet service set up. Why?”

“I thought I heard something.”

A faint sound came from the direction of the kitchen. A corner of Scotch’s mouth turned up. Some tricks never get old. He stood and retrieved a bat from the far corner of the room. “Stay here.” He ordered.

*This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.