He remembered a dream.
The sky was clear and the sun was warm on his face. There were no suits and hats to look out for, and he knew nothing about spies trying to shoot each other. Someone was with him, and they walked through the streets of the city they lived in, spent the afternoon just relaxing somewhere in a park that, he was remotely aware, wasn't there anymore. It was beautiful, in an unobtrusive way. Daisies, buttercups, children playing. Life had been easy, then.
He wished he could go back to that time, to live without a care. And he wished, even more, to go back to live with that someone who had been there with him, and to share this feeling once more. Just for a moment. He could remember it. All he had to do was to keep his eyes closed for just a second longer.
He couldn't. There was work to do.
Later, he looked down at the bomb he had wired below a hotel. The timer was set, and now all he had to do was leave, calmly, if possible, so no one suspected him. Two-hundred people were going to die as soon as he had gone far enough to push the button, among them forty-two black nation spies and an ambassador. He didn't particularly care for the other one-hundred and fifty-three.
As he walked through the park a mile down, he still heard the screams and the sirens. Mission accomplished, as far as he was concerned. Someone else was there to tell if he had gotten them all, someone else still to make sure that there was no official connection of this incident to anyone in a white suit. Spies... It was so obvious, but if you asked, no one knew about it. The thought made him smile.
On the other side of the park, he lifted his feet to get into the car, leaving daisies and buttercups with their stems broken, crushed under his shoes. He remembered for a second that he had thought of another place like this in the morning, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it. A nightmare, maybe, or a memory best left forgotten. Trying to remember what his life had been like before becoming a spy was like walking a cliff, and falling was one of the few things he actually was afraid of.
He closed his eyes again and tried to bring to his mind what it had been, anyway. He found nothing. In his memory, there was nothing before the hat and the gun. He knew that this couldn't possibly be, but the idea was strangely soothing. He opened his eyes again and started the motor. Maybe, ignorance really was bliss.