Nineteen

The fog hung there. Thick and heavy.

Twin yellow beams cut a line through the winding road, pressing hard against the sheer rock, ricocheting into nothing.

Ted looked at the soup of smoke above his head. Knowing that if he put his hand up he’d feel the roof, still thinking it may have merged with the fog outside. Now and then more billowed from a red circle opposite his face. These meetings were the worst part of the job, always some rich ex-politician or private-school tin soldier getting his kicks from cloak and dagger bullshit. Ted didn’t care, he had a mortgage and a cat to… oh shit.

“Something wrong?”

“No… I think I may have forgotten to let the cat out of my apartment before I left.”

The red dot chuckled. Rude. Ted thought he ought to call him a cunt, then remembered where he was. He really hoped Chester was okay.

“The op?”

“Executed well enough, the locals want to reuse the asset”

“And?”

“Short leash, he seems unstable.”

That was an understatement. Satisfied, the red dot continued filling the car with smoke. They’d stopped. Ted got out and watched twin red lights dissolve into heavy mist. He really hoped Chester was okay.