Enemy Agents by Shaun Tennant

into New York. Try to figure out who’s stealing from GX, and follow them back to Mercier. Do not let this bastard slip away again, understood?”
    “Yes, sir.” Thorpe knew he shouldn’t smile when given a kill order, but he couldn’t help it.
     
    #
     
    It was almost seven at night when Thorpe got to St. Michael’s. The receptionist recognized him and waved him in, smiling. It was a very sterile place, cold and full of echoes, but Thorpe was used to it now.
    Julia was by the window, staring out at the rain. Thorpe knelt down beside her, put his hand in her hair, and kissed her lips. Her eyes widened and focused on him, and the left side of her face curled up into the warmest of half-smiles.
    “It’s been too long, I know. But I’m back for now before they send me to America.”
    His hand was still in her hair, gently cradling her head. His middle finger ran a soft circle around the bald spot on her scalp, the entry wound where the bullet had gone into her brain. Slipping the hand lower, he found the gold chain around her neck and fished it out from under her shirt, turning it until he found the clasp.
    “They finally let me have what we wanted. They’re sending me after Martin Mercier.”
    Thorpe let the gold ring slide off Julia’s necklace and into his palm. He slipped the band over his left ring finger before re-clasping the necklace back around her neck. Her mouth opened, her half-smile showing those lovely, perfect teeth. She made a sound like a word, which was so rare it made him smile and his eyes well up. He took her hand in his, their wedding bands a perfect match and kissed the soft skin on the back of her hand.
    “They’re finally letting me go after the man that did this to you.”

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    PART TWO:
    THE SECRETIVE AGENTS
     
     
     
     
     
     
    9
    Quarrel was in the driver’s seat of a GMC van on a hot day in Venezuela. His passenger was suspect #1, Peter “Shark” Scarret. Shark was in the back as Quarrel drove through an unfamiliar neighbourhood, in the space at the edge of San Cristobal where the houses were far apart but you weren’t quite into the rougher Andes terrain. Quarrel could barely hear over the rock station blaring on the radio, but he noted the sound of something banging around, and the sound of zippers and buckles being fastened.
    It was three in the afternoon on a sunny Wednesday, which Shark thought was a great time for an assassination. One of the major drug lords had recently moved his residence into this country, and was bribing local officials. The CIA wasn’t happy about this kind of man making friends with the socialists. They much preferred drug lords confined to impoverished narco-states.
    As they passed a walled and gated villa, Shark shouted from behind Quarrel.
    “Pull over past the house,” he said in a rough, but somewhat disinterested voice. Shark was more focused on listening to the music than talking to Quarrel.
    Quarrel had been assigned to carry out this mission as a way to study and learn about Shark. The cover was that the CIA wanted someone to evaluate Shark’s methods, which was flimsy and they both knew it. Shark was very aware that Quarrel was there to spy on him, but he had to put up with the situation. Like anything else the CIA told him to do, Shark had an easy choice—comply or die. The bomb in his neck made the decision pretty easy.
    The van rolled to a stop a hundred yards past the villa, and Shark threw open the sliding side door. With a backpack thrown over his shoulder, he pulled the door shut and approached the passenger window.
    “You sure you don’t want to wait ‘til dark?” asked Chris.
    “Pff. Twice as many guards at night.”
    “You didn’t tell me how you were going to get inside.”
    Shark smiled. Despite the ugly melted skin down the right side of his face, he was a handsome man. “Gettin’ inside’s easy. They’ll take me in once they catch me.”
    Quarrel was dumbfounded. “Once the y catc h