Here’s a bit of flash fiction. Enjoy.

The spy, wishing this operation were paying him better, peered through a periscope device disguised as the corner of the van’s luggage rack. He grunted in surprise as he typed codes into his laptop that translated into “black limo new jersey tags,” along with the plate number of the vehicle which had just pulled into an empty office building’s parking lot.

A photo of a prominent senator appeared on his screen. This was the last person he’d expected to be selling secrets to third-rate terrorists. What was the real game here?

He’d just started filming through the periscope when bright lights suddenly shone on the senator as armed men appeared. For a moment he thought the terrorists were fake and had set up the senator, but they were being taken into custody, too. Make that all but one.

This wasn’t an FBI operation. Not CIA, either. Then who? Of course. Naval Intelligence. The office building and parking lot must be Navy property. Clever.

Slowly he lowered the periscope and powered down all electronics, including GPS. He stowed his laptop in a specially-lined compartment, donned a vile-smelling jacket, then gargled with Scotch, spilling some deliberately on himself.

His employer would be very interested in tonight’s drama. So would the competition. This was turning out to be a most surprising and lucrative evening after all. Quietly he exited the back of the van and into the shadows, one with the night.