Three Days Later...

Scotch was still sitting at the computer. He blinked. He blinked again. The spy scratched his chin. He needed a shave. A shave? He wondered how long he had been there. With these...pervs. Pen was right all he had succeeded in doing was finding a large population of men all looking for a date.

“Pictures of naughty bits. So many pictures of naughty bits.” Scotch looked at his monitor. “It’s Richard Nixon for you lad.” The spy copied and pasted his response into the private message box. vgtamer96 received a picture of the former president of the United States sitting in the Oval Office waving his index finger at the recipient. The message “Naughty Naughty” showed along the bottom of the picture in large white print. Scotch sent the message then blocked vgtamer96. He would not be speaking to Brittany “The Pen” Abercrombie again.

He closed his eyes for a moment only to be startled to attention by a text on...his phone.

So Mr. Super Sleuth are we coming to work today? -P

Scotch muttered an expletive and rubbed his temple. His phone beeped with another message.

Are we?

You are the cruelest woman on the planet. - S

Is that a ‘yes?’

I’ll see you in twenty. - S

Scotch arrived at the agency as promised. Showered, shaved and in all appearances ready to work. Or so he thought. People seemed to be clearing a path as he walked through the main work area. When Pen wasn’t at her desk, he made his way to the lab. He stood at the window and waited. When Pen looked up from her work and saw him she stopped short. The chemist/spy in training called her assistant to her and gave some instructions. He watched as she removed her gloves, lab coat, and thoroughly scrubbed up before approaching him.

“Hi.” Pen said. “How are you feeling?” She asked.

Scotch found her gentle approach and expression of concern unsettling. “Fine.” He answered as he fought back a yawn. “Fine.”

“Are you okay?”

“Right as rain.”

“You look tired. Like you haven’t slept for days.”

Scotch took a moment before responding. He was on duty, to be on duty in house, meant to be an example for her at all times. “When a spy is on a mission that is, time sensitive, he must be willing to give over a bit of rest to accomplish his mission.”

Pen whispered. “First of all, we both know that this is not an official mission.” She brought her voice back to its usual volume. “It’s bad for your health not to get enough sleep.”

“It’s worse for the spy to sleep at the wrong time and allow someone to take an opportunity to kill them.”

“You said this wasn’t dangerous.”

“People are dead. When people are dead it’s always dangerous.”

“You’re cranky. How much have you slept since I saw you last?”

“Three...four hours.”

“Three or four hours per night is not very good but a couple of days of rest should get you back on track.”

“I have had three or four hours of sleep since you left my apartment.” Scotch confessed.

“You’ve only slept three hours over the course of three days?”

“It might have been four.”

“Why so little sleep?”

Scotch looked around, confirming that the hallway was clear. “Twelve hundred followers, 90% percent of them men, nearly all of them looking for a date and a happy ending to their evening. “I’ve never seen so many tallywackers. It was an endless sea of tallywackers. Perhaps travel writer is code for something else.”

Pen shook her head. “It was the picture. You should have used a different picture.”

“I tried but nothing looked right. Are you aware when you are in front of a camera that you appear quite unapproachable?”

“No.”

“You do. You either look like you’re angry, constipated, or in a lot of pain.”

“Who’s in pain?” McLeod's assistant, Bryan asked, stopping to join the pair.

“I was just talking about a friend from school who never adapted to having her picture taken.” Pen explained.

“If you pretend that you are smiling at your favorite person the camera will always be your friend. Mum used to say that.” Bryan offered.

“Thank you. I’ll have to pass that on to her.”

A silence passed between the threesome.

“Can we help you with something?” Scotch asked.

Bryan consulted his clipboard before responding. “As you both know Andrew McKinney was neutralized earlier this week.”

Scotch tensed at the description of his mentor’s unexpected passing.

“No one seems to know how he ended up on the mission list or even why. He has not been a working member of The Agency for several years. Since no one is taking the credit for this Corporate has decided to do a full investigation.”

Penn watched as Scotch’s demeanor relaxed.

“As a result,” Bryan continued, “all missions have been put on hold until further notice. Non-essential personnel will not be allowed inside. You and Scotch are not to be included in the investigation. You both have thirty minutes to leave the building.”

“What should we do?” Pen asked.

“Go home. Relax. Wait. Someone will contact you some time during the next 3-5 business days.”

“What about the lab?”

“The lab will be closed to all personnel.” Bryan responded.

“When?”

“I’m going to notify your assistant that she has one hour to close up the lab after I am finished here.” Bryan handed Pen the clipboard. “Please sign here indicating that this conversation has taken place and you understand what is to be expected of you during the course of this investigation.”

Pen signed next to her name on the printed list.

“And initial here.” Bryan indicated to an area at the top of the form. “And here.” He pointed to the bottom. “Thank you.” Bryan turned to Scotch.

“It’s okay. I know the drill.” Scotch signed and initialed all of the required places on Bryan’s checklist.

With a quick “Thank you,” and a nod Bryan was on his way and in the lab with Pen’s assistant within a matter of seconds.

“Is this typical protocol?” Pen asked.

“I don’t know. This has never happened before.”

“Never?”

“No.” Scotch responded. “But whatever is going on just bought us some much needed time. Let’s not waste it.” Scotch took Pen by the arm and quickly escorted her from the building.

 *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.