Here is the sample:
“Another brown-coated man walks up to him and says, “There’s a snake on the bench against the wall over there.”
Mr. Daugherty looks and sees a man sitting quietly dressed in a black suit with a black overcoat. The man has gray hair and is holding a black walking cane topped with a shiny silver handle embossed with a gryphon carving. He mentally gasps, “It’s Mc Pherson! Why would they send an assassin? He’s in country so at least he won’t be carrying any weapons, hopefully.” He walks up to the man and yells, “As I breath, you are certainly an ugly bloke.”
“Ah Daugherty. I see the Prime Minister has let his throne out to take a walk around the block. Come use this fine piece of institutional wood to rest your dead-weight.”
Mr. Daugherty sits down beside him and Mc Pherson’s emotionless head rotates like a tank turret bringing the battery of his icy cold stare to bear.
“So why has the Den taken such an interest in the internal affairs of the Prime Minister,” asks Mr. Daugherty. “I believe this is out of your jurisdiction.” The internal government nickname for Mc Pherson’s department was the Den of Snakes.
“I believe escorting aliens, possibly very dangerous aliens, across the country to one of our nation’s treasured resources bears monitoring, especially if those actions are potentially treasonous.”
“Oh don’t flatter yourself. This endeavor has the full backing of the Prime Minister.”
“I’m sure somewhere a nice cell with a gold-plated lavatory has already been arranged for him. You’re participating in a dangerous endeavor, my friend.”
“How dangerous could it be escorting a pair of teenage kids to see a university. I’m still waiting for the thunder.”
“I’m sure by now you have slithered your way in and retrieved a copy of the threat assessment report by that American, Ed Harris. He says that those kids carry enough energy to literally reduce Parliament to a pile of rubble. I don’t believe the latest teen energy drinks pack quite that kind of punch. The department thinks that these kids’ presence in the country places us in great danger.”
Mr. Daugherty shakes momentarily with a suppressed shiver. He mentally gasps, “They haven’t sent him to monitor—they have sent him on an errand!” His mind races searching for a solution. “I mustn’t let him succeed. I’ve only tried it once. It was an accident when I did it. I don’t know why, but I know it will work again.”
Mc Pherson notices Mr. Daugherty’s concealed nervousness. He places his hand on Mr. Daugherty’s shoulder. “Don’t worry my friend. I know you haven’t the stomach for this sort of thing. I don’t even want you to be there when it happens. You have that wonderful son of yours. Once you run this little errand, take a few days with him. Remind yourself of why England must be protected, even when extraordinary measures are required. The Den will tell the Prime Minister that they have borrowed you for a few days for a special assignment. It might even impress the old bastard—make him respect you even more.
“We have set up a building next to the University—labeled it with the proper markings. Ed Harris has supplied us with the proper tools. We have set them up in the building. He has given us his expert assurance that it will be painless and quick. They will not know what hit them and neither will any of their friends, if they have any. Now is the proper time, before anyone is aware of their existence.”
“What about their parents?”
“That American girl’s mom already thinks she has run off. I’m sure Ed can fan those flames. The boy’s mom, well, she is a shopkeeper. She will do as she is told or meet destiny on uncertain terms. Her husband died of radiation, I suspect. We can simply ensure she meets the same fate. It will work out well. We can blame the aliens for killing her. That will turn the tide in our favor. Nothing scares sissy bureaucrats more than ‘undetected poison’ and ‘radiation’ on the same report line.”
(C) Copyright 2011 by Rusty Biesele, All Rights Reserved.