Talon Alternate Base. Former Shimada Castle, Hanamura, Japan.
3 days later.
The two figures stood at opposite sides of the desk. It was evident that there was tension between the pair, as one was shakily lighting a cigarette, while the other cradled a half-lukewarm mug of coffee.
At last, the one of the two smoking broke the silence.
"Well, what the fuck is the plan now, Jon?", he muttered, between puffs of his cigarette, blowing acrid smoke from the cheap tobacco into the air.
Jon put his cup down on the table, half expecting to miss the edge and send the mug plummeting onto the solid floor and into a thousand shards. It occurred to him that this would be a tangible display of Talon at this moment in time. Every major installation around the globe had stopped transmitting, as though they had disappared into thin air. Obviously, the friends of their 'guests' had wised up.
"That is the million dollar question. These fuckers aren't going to break any time soon, and their buddies are bound to find us some time."
The other man in the room took a longer drag on the tube between his fingers, evidently on edge and using the limited nicotine to take the edge away. "So? That ain't exactly gonna solve us the problem. So, what's the fucking plan?"
"Simple enough. We waste them, Marc."
The cigarette slipped from between Marc's fingers, bouncing slightly off the concrete and spraying red embers of tobacco out. "What?"
"You heard me." By this point, Jon was sat on one edge of the table, fiddling with a shell casing. "We'll end up killing the pair of them before we break them or get any information. So, we waste the bastards anyway. Make all their buddies' work pointless."
"Has Venice ok'ed this?"
Jon cocked his head, irritably. "We haven't from Venice for more than four transmission periods. They're wasted."
"What about-"
"-The head? Gone. Likely nabbed."
Marc stooped down to pick up his cigarette. "Right. So," he continued, now back at normal height as he drew his lighter again, "when are we gonna waste 'em?"
"Let's go for dawn."
"Gotcha." Marc flicked the wheel on his lighter a few times before it lit. He put the flame to the end of his now-damaged cigarette, taking another lungful of smoke. "I'll see myself out, and I'll get that prepped."
With that, he turned and sauntered out the door, barking instructions in Japanese to the operative stood down the corridor.
AUTHOR ENDNOTE
I know that this is even moreso short, but again, the aim is to build suspense. A crescendo to the final act.
And now, there's a new dilemma for our heroes: will they reach Widow and Tracer before a painful death?
"Find out tomorrow, same time, same channel!" (perhaps not tomorrow though.)
