Authonomy – Friday Flash Fiction [FFF]
Post: FFF – July 12, 2013
Theme / Genre: optional
Include: plate, tea, biscuit, cake, burn
Words: 1,030
The Collector
‘I can do this,’ Blue Swiss
said, he felt a small bead of sweat trickle from his armpit towards his hip; he
suppressed it with his elbow. ‘Just give
me a few more seconds, Control.’
‘You don’t have a few more
seconds, get out,’ Control sounded agitated.
Blue Swiss didn’t reply. ‘Did you
hear me, Blue Swiss? Get out, get out
now.’
‘It’s here somewhere,’ a
scrunching sound echoed across the polished porcelain tiles, he froze
solid. Had he tripped some security
device? He looked down to his matt black
leather boots.
‘Blue Swiss?’ Control whispered through his headset.
Slowly, he lifted his foot and
peered beneath. Just visible in the dim
light, biscuit crumbs. He let out a
sigh.
‘Blue Swiss?’
‘Nothing, Control. Just … nothing,’ Blue Swiss moved on,
scrunching, crumbs stuck to his otherwise clean soles. He scanned the room again. It has to be here somewhere, he told himself.
Although he could hear his heart
thumping in his ear against the pressure of the earphones, the office canteen
was quiet. Another ten minutes and
cleaning staff would be swarming all over this place; he focused, there was still
time.
Control had been monitoring the
office all today; several directors had come from the UK and the CEO had
thought it a great idea to organise an English Tea and Cake affair that
afternoon. The place had seen plenty of
action, now half-drunk cups of tea littered every available worktop, their saucers
splashed with the brown liquid – Americans were not really tea drinkers – piles
of plates too, with cake-smeared serviettes slipped between them – Twinkies on
the other hand.
They called it a Canteen, but
really it was a fabulous entertaining space, a modern interior with integrated
white gloss kitchen, ambient lighting and a scatter of flat screen TV’s. Italian breakout furniture graced the corners
of the room, abstract multi-coloured pieces you could easily be happy
photographing than sitting on.
‘Movement. Heading your way from the meeting room. I told you Blue Swiss. A young woman, early twenties, heading
straight for you,’ Control’s voice rising with anticipation, sensing the
impending failure of the mission. ‘Blue
Swiss, the window, now. It’s her,
Shelley Taylor, go. Blue Cheese, are you
receiving?’
The door cracked open, a flood
of light filled the room from the corridor, more lighting flickered into
operation as the woman entered swiping the touch switch. Her heels clacking on the tiling, she
approached the kitchen units. Blue Swiss
watched from his vantage point, unseen. Delayed, the TV screens came to life, flashing up
images from the news channels, one commenting on the day’s Wall Street
activity.
‘Blue Cheese, it’s not fucking
Blue Cheese,’ Blue Swiss whispered to himself.
Looking around, Shelley
hesitated for a second, as if detecting his presence, his whisper perhaps. The tips of his boots, were they poking out
from the Zaha Hadid Moon sofa? No,
thankfully. She turned back and opened a
shiny white high-level cupboard door, reached in and pulled out a plate with a
chocolate cake on it. Damn it’s hot in
here, he thought.
‘I see it, Control,’ he said in a
barely audible tone.
‘Where are you?’ The voice in his ear said, nearly as loud as
his own voice.
‘Concealed. I can see it.’
‘Affirmative. Can you secure the item? Don’t blow your cover. Do you understand Blue Swiss? Don’t_’
‘Yeah, Yeah, I know, but I see
it,’ he said looking adoringly at the big fat chocolate cake. ‘Remember my name now, do you?’
‘Sorry. Repeat that_’
‘Oh forget it, make the call,
quickly, before she moves off, hurry,’ he whispered, as loud as he dare.
A phone rang in the distance, a
voice called out for Shelley. She looked
up flustered, the cake still in her hands.
She walked to the door.
‘Not the door,’ Blue Swiss whispered,
as he watched the objective slipping away.
Shelley turned, as if hearing
his demands. Perhaps she changed her mind;
he knew she was not the type to share food, especially chocolate cake. He watched her bottom-heavy pear-shaped form
waddle back to the counter. She
hurriedly placed the cake back in the cupboard and then exited the room.
‘Aghh,’ Swiss let out a loud
yelp.
‘Blue Swiss! What’s happened? Report. Are you compromised.’
‘No, dammit, Control,’ he cursed
under his breath, aware that at any moment Shelley could walk back in. ‘I just burnt myself on the bloody radiator.’
‘What? Blue Swiss.
Repeat.’
‘I’m wedged behind the sofa and
a wall. There’s a radiator,’ he began to
prize himself out of the gap.
‘Oh for Christ’s sake Blue
Cheese, Swiss, Blue Swiss. Will you call
it, and get to the rendezvous point ASAP.’
‘It’s alright for you in your
cosy ops room; I’ve a burn on my arse.’
Blue Swiss jumped up and sped to
the kitchen units. Quickly he opened the
wall cupboard, grabbed the red rim of the melamine plate, pulled it out then
flipped the cake onto a pile of dirty paper plates and serviettes. Lifting the formally upright and presentable
cake, he shoved it and its second-hand plate, with attached soiled serviettes,
into the cupboard and closed the door.
Wiping smudges of chocolate with
his latex gloves, he looked down, the cool faces of Obi-wan, Luke, Han and the
Princess staring back at him, he kissed the plate and slipped it under his
black flak jacket and headed for the door.
‘I have it, Control.’
‘Right, now get the hell out of
there. Level two, north wall, go.’
The door was open; he could hear
muffled voices, as he approached. It was
Shelley, chatting on her phone, and she was coming closer.
‘She’s coming back Swiss, get
out man,’ Controls voice full of panic.
There was nowhere to hide.
He had no choice; he pulled down
the brim of his black beany hat, dropped his chin and marched to the door.
‘… really, well I saw her and
…’ Shelley’s voice tailed off on seeing Blue Swiss march out from the
doorway. ‘Simon? Is that you?’
‘Shelley,’ he acknowledged with
a shy voice muffled into his jacket collar; he didn’t look, just ran.