Day 364 – The Spy – Part 8

Word count: 990

“Tell me where the bastards are, now!” Harry ran forward until he was right up against Gary’s nose.
Gary remained quite calm, “I’m afraid that I am not going to tell you that just now. Unfortunately, you see, I want something from you.”
Harry’s aggression was mounting. The trained spy with controlled emotions was disappearing behind the black cloud that was Harry’s rising rage.
“You bastard.”
“Quite,” Gary negotiated his way around Harry’s body and hide behind his body guards. “But that attitude will not get you very far in life, Harry. You know that. I want what I want and I will not leave here without getting it.”
“What do you want?”
Gary pondered his answer for a while, touching his chin with poised thought. Harry could tell that Gary was enjoying this. Sam, meanwhile, was relaxed and not speaking a word. Harry had been brought here because he had something to give; not because they wanted to help.
“I want the same thing that they want – but I am not prepared to kill for it.”
“No, you’re just prepared to ransom for it. You’re sick.”
“Perhaps, perhaps. But this you see isn’t just about you or your wife. There are bigger things out there – bigger than you can possibly imagine.”
Harry was confused – this man did not appear to be making much sense. Gary began swooning around the area of the car park with his long trench coat swooping behind him whilst he ranted about reality and proportion, the universe and the interconnectedness of all things.
“What are you on about?” Harry was verging on the opinion that this man was mad.
“I bet you think I am mad? Perhaps, perhaps. But I tell you something, you won’t seem too judgemental if I were to show you exactly why I need these four words from you.”
“So he was right?”
Gary looked up, “Yes, of course. He’s dead you know. Your friend.”
Harry’s throat was caught mid-word, “What?”
Gary put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, “Terribly sorry, but I had no other choice.”
“Why? Why him?”
“Instructions, order, higher power, higher needs, different agendas, more important ideas – you name it. It had to be done.”
Harry shook his head in despair, “Then kill me because I don’t know them. It was years ago – I don’t remember. I can’t remember. My Rachel is worth more to me than the world – I couldn’t give a flying fuck about who starts what war with who because of four stupid words. I’d give them to you in a heartbeat – do you reckon I think I owe this government anything? I have a good pension: I had a future. I wouldn’t give that up for them.”
Gary took something from deep within his pocket, “This is not about war, Harry. This is about life.”
Gary gave him a small booklet. At first glance it appeared to be more of a leaflet found in a doctor’s surgery, but the writing on it was completely different.
“What is this?”
“Sixteen words, my friend, sixteen words. Sixteen words and we can give you back your wife and make this all go away.”
“I don’t understand – what is this? What is this brochure for?”
Gary smiled, “This was found about eight hundred years ago.”
“But it’s new – it’s glossy!”
“Yes, we noticed that too, that’s why it’s been in our family for generations.”
Harry had had enough – this was becoming a saga of mentally disturbed visions from this poor and clearly ill man. “I’m sorry, but I can’t entertain these…. These…”
“These what, Harry? These facts? It might be hard to believe that this is eight hundred years old, but it is fact. Why is it as new? Why is it printed words? Why – more is the question – is it produced on a paper that is not currently in use on the planet?”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Everything and nothing. Smoke and mirrors.”
Harry turned around; he was prepared to leave over this. Sam was there, though, standing in the way like a bouncer in a nightclub. Sam put out a hand as if to indicate for Harry to stop.
“Please, Sam. Please, you can’t believe him?”
Sam nodded, “I do.”
Harry turned around and pleaded with Gary, “Four words? Get away from me! Go and fuck yourself? I can’t give you what I don’t know!”
“But you do know it. It’s in there. Four little words. If don’t find it, my boss will extract it and she is not a very nice girl at all.”
Harry shook his head. “I thought you wanted to help me.”
“I do. I do. But the fate of the planet comes first.”
“You are actually mental.”
“Open it,” Gary pointed at the brochure.
Harry did. It contained an array of strange writings in it. It looked Egyptian or Russian but not English.
“Turn to page three hundred and sixty four.”
“The pages aren’t numbered?”
“It is highlighted by a red marker, you’ll see.”
Harry flicked through the pages until he came to the red piece of string in the page. In the middle of page was a picture of a man: a man that Harry knew all too well, though they had never met. Harry breathed deeply, trying not to let his rage take over. He wanted to destroy Gary. He wanted to rip his limbs from his torso.
“You’re sick.”
“I didn’t make this, Harry. This was found eight hundred years ago.”
Harry clenched his fists; revenge was yielding control of his body now and there was not a thing that Harry would do to stop himself from killing everyone involved brutally.
“Your brother is quite unharmed, Harry. We did try, but he will be alright. Conveniently his friend has helped us find another one who holds the other four words.”
“My brother…. He doesn’t….?”
Gary nodded, “Yes, Harry. You’re worst nightmare has just come true.”

~ by S.G. Mark on October 4, 2012.

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