Black, Brady Black
Prologue
"And now, Mr. Black, I leave you to die." The stocky, well-dressed man exited the room, his cackling henchmen following behind.
The secret agent looked around him with a grimace of annoyance. "And the bad guy gets away - great." At least he had managed to foil the maniacal menace's evil plan.
He, of course, was none other than secret agent Brady Black, hot on the trail of the Russian mob boss, Vodka Brewski. The trail had led him here, to an ancient castle in Eastern Europe, where Brewski had been assembling a super weapon to be used against "capitalist America."
Agent Black chuckled to himself. "Looks like Brewski just missed the cold war, by two or forty years." But numbness in his wrists and a ticking in his ears reminded him that this was not the time for witty comments. He had to get out of there - and fast.
He took a second to study his current predicament. He was tied, with his hands behind his back, to a large bomb that was steadily ticking down the seconds to his doom. He was in a tight spot, but he never lost his cool. This was just the kind of thing he'd been trained for. His fingers felt along his wrists and the cuffs of his suit jacket. He came across a pair of pewter cufflinks and smiled.
"Good girl, Belle, let's hope these babies work." He pressed a tiny stud in the cufflink and out shot a miniature razor blade. He deftly cut the thick ropes binding his wrists and in a second, he was free.
He turned to study the bomb. The digital faceplate read 4:29 and he knew he didn't have time to spare. He stared at the massive bomb, a complicated mass of jumbled wires and complex machinery. "Why does it have to be a bomb? Why can't I be tied to a beautiful woman for once?"
He stared at the wires, very aware of the passing seconds, and tried to remember his training. But his mind drew a blank. "Hmmm, I must have skipped the day we covered bombs."
The clock continued ticking and a bead of sweat formed on his tan forehead. "Okay look," he reasoned, "no matter how big the bomb is, it always comes down to cutting a wire. So which one is it?"
He found three colored wires connecting the timer to the explosives: green, red, and blue. The studied the wires, having no clue which one to choose. "Well, green is the color of money - and I do like money.. Red rhymes with dead - color of blood, no thank you.. Blue.well, I've always been a sucker for a girl with blue eyes."
He held the knife to the blue wire and sucked in his breath. {Let it be blue,} he prayed as he sliced the wire. He closed his eyes, waiting for the explosion that would rip his body to bloody, goppy shreds. A few seconds passed and he opened his eyes, amazed to find he was still in one piece. He glanced at the clock; it had stopped at 3:18. His knees shook as a wave of relief washed over him.
Then, to his horror, there was a small beep and the clock started up again - this time at 1:00. "Oh, shit!" he swore. A cursory glance told him that he had armed the bomb; no amount of wire cutting would stop it now.
He only had once shot. He spied a nearby window and ran for it. He dove through it, sending glass shards flying in all directions. He fell ten feet and rolled onto a snow-covered bank below. His momentum carried him and he continued rolling down the snowy slope.
Finally with a loud THUNK he landed hard against a silver Porsche. He climbed into his sports car, which was already running, and floored the accelerator. "Now that's what I call valet service. I have to find out how Kevin does it." He keyed the autopilot off and as he sped off into the distance the castle exploded behind him. He watched the brilliant explosion in his rear view mirror and sighed.
"Dad's gonna kill me."
Prologue
"And now, Mr. Black, I leave you to die." The stocky, well-dressed man exited the room, his cackling henchmen following behind.
The secret agent looked around him with a grimace of annoyance. "And the bad guy gets away - great." At least he had managed to foil the maniacal menace's evil plan.
He, of course, was none other than secret agent Brady Black, hot on the trail of the Russian mob boss, Vodka Brewski. The trail had led him here, to an ancient castle in Eastern Europe, where Brewski had been assembling a super weapon to be used against "capitalist America."
Agent Black chuckled to himself. "Looks like Brewski just missed the cold war, by two or forty years." But numbness in his wrists and a ticking in his ears reminded him that this was not the time for witty comments. He had to get out of there - and fast.
He took a second to study his current predicament. He was tied, with his hands behind his back, to a large bomb that was steadily ticking down the seconds to his doom. He was in a tight spot, but he never lost his cool. This was just the kind of thing he'd been trained for. His fingers felt along his wrists and the cuffs of his suit jacket. He came across a pair of pewter cufflinks and smiled.
"Good girl, Belle, let's hope these babies work." He pressed a tiny stud in the cufflink and out shot a miniature razor blade. He deftly cut the thick ropes binding his wrists and in a second, he was free.
He turned to study the bomb. The digital faceplate read 4:29 and he knew he didn't have time to spare. He stared at the massive bomb, a complicated mass of jumbled wires and complex machinery. "Why does it have to be a bomb? Why can't I be tied to a beautiful woman for once?"
He stared at the wires, very aware of the passing seconds, and tried to remember his training. But his mind drew a blank. "Hmmm, I must have skipped the day we covered bombs."
The clock continued ticking and a bead of sweat formed on his tan forehead. "Okay look," he reasoned, "no matter how big the bomb is, it always comes down to cutting a wire. So which one is it?"
He found three colored wires connecting the timer to the explosives: green, red, and blue. The studied the wires, having no clue which one to choose. "Well, green is the color of money - and I do like money.. Red rhymes with dead - color of blood, no thank you.. Blue.well, I've always been a sucker for a girl with blue eyes."
He held the knife to the blue wire and sucked in his breath. {Let it be blue,} he prayed as he sliced the wire. He closed his eyes, waiting for the explosion that would rip his body to bloody, goppy shreds. A few seconds passed and he opened his eyes, amazed to find he was still in one piece. He glanced at the clock; it had stopped at 3:18. His knees shook as a wave of relief washed over him.
Then, to his horror, there was a small beep and the clock started up again - this time at 1:00. "Oh, shit!" he swore. A cursory glance told him that he had armed the bomb; no amount of wire cutting would stop it now.
He only had once shot. He spied a nearby window and ran for it. He dove through it, sending glass shards flying in all directions. He fell ten feet and rolled onto a snow-covered bank below. His momentum carried him and he continued rolling down the snowy slope.
Finally with a loud THUNK he landed hard against a silver Porsche. He climbed into his sports car, which was already running, and floored the accelerator. "Now that's what I call valet service. I have to find out how Kevin does it." He keyed the autopilot off and as he sped off into the distance the castle exploded behind him. He watched the brilliant explosion in his rear view mirror and sighed.
"Dad's gonna kill me."