At the tail end of last year I once again entered the Aberdeen University Special Collections Flash Fiction competition. Once again I didn’t win anything but hey-ho…
Anyway, since I haven’t posted anything for a while I thought I may as well share it here. The story was inspired by the picture.
‘How was Bogota?’
They were standing in front of the model globe. Anderson could feel the slight chill of air-conditioning through his suit. Outside the muggy New York streets waited for him.
‘The arrangements were excellent as usual.’
‘And Señor Mendoza?’ Philips let the question hang in the cool air. He was close enough that Anderson caught a faint whiff of his cologne. He remembered the heat from the car bomb washing over him even from a safe distance. The plume of black smoke had stretched above the city streets like a crooked exclamation point confirming that Carlos Mendoza had ceased to exist.
‘Will no longer be a problem.’
‘And the authorities?’
‘Mendoza frequently criticised the drug lords so everyone assumes the Cartel did it. So far the press hasn’t made the connection to his campaign against foreign investment.’
‘Excellent,’ Philips turned to the younger man. ‘I believe there was some collateral damage?’
‘Senor Mendoza’s wife and his daughter were also in the car.’ Ana Maria Mendoza had been just six years old. Her smiling, gap-toothed school picture had stared out at him from the front pages of the newspaper while he waited for his flight.
‘Unfortunate,’ Philips shrugged. ‘However, these things happen in our line of work.’ He smiled. ‘You’ve done well Jimmy. Your name is going to be heard by a lot of important people after this, you mark my words.’
‘It’s good to know that my work is appreciated.’
‘That’s the spirit Jimmy,’ Philips clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I have another assignment coming up if you’re interested.’
Anderson hesitated. He was exhausted after the Mendoza mission but perhaps keeping busy would be for the best under the circumstances.
‘What’s the job?’
‘Bit of a change from the last one,’ he rotated the globe. ‘How’s your Russian?’
‘Pretty good. I have a slight southern accent but not enough to make me stand out.’
‘Perfect.’ He reached into his inside pocket and handed over a small black box. It looked just like a regular Smartphone.
‘You can download more information via this once you leave here.’
‘Any other special instructions?’
‘You’ll need to pay a quick visit to the Lab before you go.’
‘The Lab? What for?’
‘This job needs to be a little less …public shall we say, than your last one. The political situation is more delicate. We need this to look like natural causes. From what I gather the eggheads downstairs have concocted something using polonium to do the trick.’
‘It’s a radioactive isotope. The effects won’t be immediate but they should be fatal in the long run. You’ll be completely safe of course.’
‘I see. Well, I’d best be get down there and make a start.’ He made as if to leave.
‘Jimmy?’ Philips called after him. Anderson turned back.
‘Mendoza’s family – I trust you aren’t being troubled by any pangs of conscience.’
He thought again of the photographs and shook his head. Conscience was a luxury.
‘Strictly business, Mr Philips.’