This week’s prompt shows a gloomy picture of dark clouds gathering, perhaps reflecting the mood of higher cost of living and possibilities of a renewed Cold War. Thanks to Na’ama Yehuda.
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Poisoned at Dawn
At dusk, Albert walked the alleys and paths around Battersea. Although the bombing blitz of WW2 seemed a long time ago, he felt duty bound. He wore a fedora now instead of the Warden’s helmet and had a George Medal pinned to his blazer.
He opened the Times and spluttered into his morning tea.
Everyone called him Daft Old Albert–but he was Sergey Makarov, a KGB Officer and sentenced to death.
The envoy in the newspaper photograph was his warning. How close were they? He must keep his nerve and maintain the cover.
‘Let’s have an ice cream,’ Carolyn said, ‘and stop talking politics.’ We were here to visit her grandmother and not to solve the Middle East’s problems. Having refused my money, she sold her Breitling to pay for our flights, but I insisted on booking the best hotel. She wasn’t pleased and mumbled something about expenses.
Next morning, she disappeared for the day. Where? That evening she burst into the hotel room. ‘Get packing, we are leaving. Now!’ ‘What?’ Her clothes were dirty with a smell of gun oil; a fresh gash on her head. ‘Now!’ We dashed to the airport.
Where are you 007?
Self-isolated with man flu, Mam.
Don’t be ridiculous Bond. I want you in London tonight.
M, is that an invitation?
Don’t be flippant, this is serious Bond. Miss Corona de Ville needs to be stopped.
The Queen of Oral Pharmacies?
Bond, I want you inside her organisation and get to the bottom of her plans.
Oh, Bond have you seen Miss Moneypenny? She’s missing.