And You Call Yourself a Terrorist?
I got the call at 4 AM in the morning. By the time I was able to think coherently, I was ready to kill the CIA director for waking me up at such an early hour. Too bad it seemed like the killing would have to wait. I had to go save the world and all that.
It's hard being a spy. The most important part of being a living legend is thepart of living. That's what I was thinking of as I hopped on a helicopter headed towards Washington, where an evil terrorist was planning to set off a nuclear bomb that could destroy all of America. So, you could assume that my job as a spy was crucial to the well-being of my country.
My name's Cammie, code name Chameleon, but I find it that names are not that important in my field of business. It's the legends, the covers, which really matter. I read the file on the mission for today. It was an in-and-out mission, so I didn't really need a cover story. If everything went well, I was to slip in, plant a bomb, and slip out unnoticed. Then I would get to watch smugly as the headquarters of the terrorist group blew up.
"Agent Goode, get ready for to drop off."
I slipped my comms unit into my ear, and gripped the rope that would send me down onto the roof of the 3 story, dark, flat building below me. Seconds later, I was already opening a lowering myself into an air vent. I touched my comms, turning it on.
"This is Chameleon. Where do I go from here?" I asked, scrutinizing my surroundings. I crawled steadily through the dark, gloomy air vent. A voice in my ear told me that I should plant the bomb in a closet that was located two left turns and one right turn from my current location. I followed instructions and speedily reached the air vent above the closet. It was a shame that I had to keep crawling. My knees were hurting. I peered down into the hallway, checking to see that no one was there. Clear. I dropped down silently onto the marble floor. Quickly, I took the bomb out from the patch strapped to my waist, and set the timer for 15 minutes. I placed the bomb carefully in the closet and turned around to make my escape.
My sharp ears caught footsteps coming from the right end of the hallway. I darted to the left, went around a corner and ran towards the nearest air vent. I had one in my sight when everything went wrong. A tall, broad shouldered, skinny man with an evil smirk on his face advanced towards me, gun in his calloused hand. I gulped, but forced my face into a mask to shield my fear.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" the creepy guy cackled in a voice way too girly to match his face and build. "A CIA agent, caught? Your standards have gone down too much since I was there." I bit back my shock. So this guy here was a rogue agent. Not good news for me. It just meant he was well trained.
"Well, you know what happens to agents who get caught. They DIE." The evil dude threw his head back as his sinister laugh echoed throughout the building. My heart began to pound like it knew it was seeing the last of its days. Evil Dude raised his gun, aimed at my heart, and pulled the trigger. I cringed, thinking of the pain that was about to come. Nothing happened. Evil Dude looked in surprise at his gun, and then muttered to himself.
"I really have to remember to put bullets in these."
He looked down at his pocket to search for bullets, and that was all I needed. I spun into action, kicking the gun out of his hand, and then I slapped a napotine patch on his forehead. He was unconscious in seconds. I brushed my hands on my pants, stepped on his fingers, and shook my head, muttering,
"You make a very nice carpet, Evil Dude with a Gun."
Then I looked up at the ceiling, and climbed into the air vent once more. The black, high-tech helicopter was waiting for me when I made it to the roof. As we were flying away, I triumphantly watched the HQ go up in flames, and told the pilot, "and that guy is supposed to be a terrorist." I smirked. "Their standards have gone down since the last mission I was on."