Mission: Under The Cover of Darkness

Speculative Spy Fiction by Juan E. Scheuren

Blood ran down Wyren’s face and dripped onto the floor. His hands were tied behind the chair he sat on. In front of him stood an imposing man—shoulders back and his chest broadened, revealing his muscular frame. The man seemed to enjoy himself, interrogating a HunterSpy agent and punched if words failed. Another man entered the master bedroom, holding an iron rod. They both stared down at Wyren and asked more questions. He denied them again, holding firm on not breaking a code that he swore to his network—never show weakness to the enemy. The two men stared at each other, having no choice but to continue. The man raised the steaming rod and placed it on Wyren’s forehead. He clenched his jaw and trembled as he fought to not give in to the burn.

                                                                        ***

Sigel sat on the table, picking the edges of his fingernails. The aroma of freshly made arepas and brewed coffee permeated the bakery. Adults talked and children yelled. The bell of the front door clanged. Wyren entered and sat down in front of Sigel. Both looked around before getting into business.

“Were you seen before entering?” asked Sigel.

“No. There hasn’t been any sign of those rats squandering about. HQ would’ve warned us,” replied Wyren.

Sigel nodded. He drank the espresso and Wyren a cold glass of water. Minutes passed where both stayed silent. Then, Sigel interrupted. “Did you take a glance at what was inside the suitcase?”

“It’s top secret. We’re forbidden to open it. HQ orders.” He whispered. “I’m going out for a smoke. Don’t want the kids and families inhaling the fumes.”

Wyren got up and exited out the front door. Sigel leaned back, watching his surroundings. There was a wall with all kinds of Latin American advertisements—politics, pop culture, fashion, landscapes, etc. Waiters walked out of the kitchen, carrying a tray full of food and drinks, giving it to the customers, and headed back inside. Then, a commotion happened outside. The sound of a punch and banging someone against a car was heard. Seconds later, the engine of a car roared as it sped away, and a few people were arguing outside of what just happened. Sigel dashed outside the front door and looked around, trying to find Wyren. He was nowhere to be found.

“Look.” A middle-aged man said. “Same attire as the other one.”

“What happened?” asked Sigel, urgently.

“Two men in black trench coats hit a man dressed like you and left with him.”

Sigel took out a phone from his pocket. He turned it on, tapped a few times, and pulled up the map. A blue dot was moving, getting farther from his location. He dashed to the car, only to see it opened from all four doors. The suitcase was gone from the rear passenger seats. A note was left hanging on the wheel. It said: “Rule #1: Always be aware of your surroundings—HawkEye.”

He crumpled the paper and threw it onto the street. He thought of Wyren, who told him that he wasn’t followed, only to be kidnapped by their rivaling network of spies, the HawkEyeSpy Network. Sigel turned on the car and sped towards the main highway. He kept the phone in hand as he drove, tracking the blue dot getting out of the highway and into a residential area. Traffic began forming, but Sigel wasn’t fazed. He weaved through it, used his turning signals, raised his hand to apologize at the other drivers’ frustration towards him, and made his way to the residential area where the blue dot depicted Wyren’s location.

“HQ reporting to Sigel, what’s your status, over?” A voice crackled from a walkie-talkie on the passenger chair.

Sigel grabbed it and replied. “Sigel to HQ, Wyren has been captured along with the suitcase. Do I have the permission to engage?”

“HQ to Sigel, don’t engage until we get a confirmation from high command. You’re to scout the location of agent Wyren and wait for further instructions, over.”

“Copy that,” replied Sigel.

                                                                        ***

Mansions dotted every corner of the residential area. Ferraris, Mercedes, Teslas, Bugattis, Lamborghinis, and Toyotas decorated the front. Sigel drove twenty miles per hour, scouting the mansions. Even a disciplined spy himself was blown at the opulence of the upper class. He kept driving and spotted a white pick-up truck in front of the gates of a mansion. A man stood beside the driver’s door, stared at the mansion, and waited for someone to come out. Sigel pulled over a few inches from him.

“Busy morning for you, sir,” he said.

The man turned to look at him. “Yeah, it’s nice and sunny. The perfect weather to jump in the pool.”

“How long have you’ve been standing here?”

“Almost ten minutes. I’m here to clean the Wilsons’s swimming pool. Can you believe that? I mean, they should be in their house if all their cars are here.”

“They should. What’s with the windows,” asked Sigel, suspiciously.

The pool cleaner glanced at the windows, noticing that they were all shuttered, void of sunlight. “Don’t know. That’s something new, which is strange. The Wilsons are an active family. They never have their house blocked off when the sun is out.”

Sigel pressed lightly on the gas pedal, drove forward, and looked at the front lawn. Sports cars were parked, along with a black car that didn’t have a plate number. Strange of upper-class civilians on not having a plate number, he thought. He turned to his phone—the blue dot on the map was on top of the house.

“He is in there,” he whispered. Sigel radioed over to HQ. “Sigel to HQ, I have a visual of the house. Sending over a visual to high command for a real time live footage.”

“Copy that. Preparing a detailed footage of the house.”

“How long is it going to take?”

“HQ to Sigel, the live footage will take a few hours. Commence the rescue by midnight, over.”

“Copy that. I’ll stand by for the next couple of hours. Over and out.”

The pool man remained looking at the mansion. Sigel noticed.

“If they’re not answering, then you should attend to other clients,” recommended Sigel.

“Guess I’ll have to do that and pay a visit to the Wilsons when they open up the gate,” said the pool man.

“Do that,” said Sigel. In the back of his mind, he convinced himself that the Wilsons weren’t home, or so he thought.

Sigel pressed on the gas pedal and drove off, sparing the hours till midnight.

                                                                        ***

The moon was full. An owl hooted somewhere among the trees. It was pitch-black—perfect for a midnight infiltration. Sigel emerged from the bushes in the backyard, wearing an all-black attire with a trench coat, and a belt that had a pistol, switchblade, and a few grenades. He carried a backpack, full of other tools available at his disposal. He moved towards the house. Shutters were in place. Sigel stepped on the pavement of the main area of the yard. He walked along, making his way under the ceiling, close to a double door. He opened the backpack and took out a pair of thermal lenses, put them on, and saw heat signals within the house. The doorknob held firm as Sigel tried to break in. He inserted a set of picklocks into it. The inner mechanisms of the doorknob clacked as Sigel messed around with it. It took a matter of seconds until the doorknob gave out a meaningful clack, unlocking it. Sigel opened the door, and an alarm went off. He dashed in, taking cover behind a sofa in the living room.

“Sigel reporting to HQ. I’ve entered the mansion and have begun the operation, over,” he readied over.

HQ to Sigel, we’re monitoring your situation. Please be advised, there is a heat signal headed your way and it’s—.” The signal cut off.

The sound of broken glass came down the hall. Sigel peeked towards the direction where the sound was coming from. A figure in a black trench coat stood what looked like the kitchen, glaring at Sigel. Liquor bottles, pots, and pans levitated around him. With his arms raised, the appliances stood in the air and aimed at Sigel. They launched towards him. Sigel crouched, with the pots and pans hitting the couch. He hurried, taking out a grenade from the belt, unlocked it, and hurled it at the direction where the figure was. Once it landed on the ground, it hissed a cloud of smoke. His walkie-talkie suddenly screeched loudly, ringing both of his ears that he covered them. He turned it off and on again. Problem solved, the walkie remained stable. He stood up and ran out of the living room to another area of the house.

“HQ to Sigel, be advised that there are three heat signals within the compound,” said HQ.

Sigel paced himself, entering a bar within the house that had a billiards table. He took cover behind the counter, talking back to HQ. “Agent Sigel reporting to HQ. I’ve engaged fire with a telekinetic subject. Do I engage, over?”

“HQ to Sigel, subject is known as Syro. Proceed with caution if engaged with.”

“Where are the stairs? I need to head up,” he asked.

“Copy that. Stairs are going to be about a couple of feet, close to the front entrance.”

“Roger that. Proceeding with the operation, then. Sigel out.”

                                                                        ***

Sigel peeked at the hallway. Smoke swirled but didn’t hinder the thermal lenses he had on. It picked up Syro moving around the first floor, from living room to the garage. Sigel moved carefully out from the bar and towards the main hall. He aimed the gun while holding a knife on the other hand, ready to shoot at anything. Footsteps paced a couple of feet away, inching closer to his location. He went up the stairs while keeping an eye out for Syro. A voice was heard on the second floor. It yelled with sheer frustration. The lenses picked up a figure grabbing an individual on the chair by the shoulder and punched them. Sigel walked, crossing a bridge suspending the stairway and the area of the bedrooms. A set of double doors waited for him at the end of the hallway. He took out a pair of explosives from the book bag, placed them on the door, and kept a safe distance. The explosives beeped, ticking seconds away, and went off…

BOOM!

Sigel dashed into the bedroom, finding Wyren with blood on his temple and burns on his face. Where did the other guy go, he thought. He walked closer to Wyren. Footsteps came running towards him and got knocked down onto the floor.

“I got you,” said the voice.

“Ward. They sent you to spy on us,” replied Sigel.

Ward pointed his pistol towards Sigel. “Any last words?”

“Where’s the suitcase?”

“Bad choice.”

He fired, but Sigel moved his arm at the last second, causing the bullet to strike the floor. Sigel grabbed on to him while standing up. With all his might, he pushed Ward back. Both charged at each other with Wyren spectating. They exchanged punches and kicks, countering each one.

Minutes after, both rival agents pulled back from each other, and catches their breath. Sigel kept close to Wyren. He stood behind him and used a knife to cut off the nylon off Wyren’s arms.

“Thanks.”

Wyren wiped off the blood on his temple and face. Sigel provided him with a pistol and thermal lenses.

“We have to contact HQ but after we deal with these rats,” said Sigel.

Blocking the exit was Ward, aiming a pistol at the agents while holding the suitcase. Sigel and Wyren directed their weapons at him.

“Ah, ah, ah. We don’t have to fire at each other. It’ll bring the attention of the residents and police, who don’t know that our agencies exist,” said Ward.

“Hand over the suitcase, Ward,” commanded Sigel.

“Why hand it over if we both want the same thing? At this very moment, we could toss aside our differences and see what’s inside.”

Hand it over, or else,” said Wyren, glaring at him.

“Or else what, agent Wyren? Am I expecting a fist fight from you? Don’t even dare.”

Syro entered the room. His thumping footsteps caught the attention of the three. He stoically stood behind Ward, ready to confront anyone.

“Tough as nails is that son of a bitch. Punches hard,” said Wyren of Syro.

“Don’t even think of facing him head on. You take care of agent Ward. I’ll take care of the big guy,” said Sigel.

Ward unlocked the suitcase, gently pulling out a couple of sealed documents. He stared at them with a mix of confusion and curiosity. “What are these?”

Wyren, who kept a hand behind his back as if hiding something, tossed out a flash bang and smoke grenade. Sigel covered his eyes. The two HawkEyeSpy agents were caught off guard. The flash-bang unleashed a bright light, blinding Ward to the point that he dropped the suitcase and wobbled. Syro stood still, unfazed. He stepped out of the room and into the smoke outside. Wyren charged at Ward and punched him. He kicked the suitcase to a corner of the room.

“Head out and face Syro. We can’t let these two escape,” said Wyren.

“Got it.” Sigel paced himself out the room. He contacted HQ. “Sigel to HQ, we’ve engaged with the enemy. Suitcase is being contested. Send over the courier for immediate dismissal, over?”

“HQ to Sigel, copy that. Courier has been updated on your request and has begun moving to your current location. Please be aware that the police are en route. ETA fifteen minutes.”

“Wyren, fifteen minutes till we head out. Secure the suitcase,” he yelled.

                                                                        ***

A cold shiver went down Sigel. He was alone this time around without any help. The thermal lenses ran out of energy, leaving him vulnerable in the smoke-filled hallway. He walked down the stairs, holding a taser and knife. It was quiet. Not a single sound. Sigel walked to the living room when Syro appeared in front of him, catching him by surprise. Sigel slashed the knife at him, but he caught his arm. Sigel tensed to counter the brute pressure that Syro emitted off his palm. He quickly lunged the taser, tasing Syro on his shoulder. He backed off. Sigel dashed towards him and swung the knife again, but Syro recovered, kicking him on the leg. They exchanged punches and kicks with Sigel feeling overpowered by the agent’s telekinetic force. With every punch he landed, Sigel felt as if he were pushed back by a forceful wind. Every blow from Syro weakened. Sigel countered until the sheer force was no more. He punched back, swung the knife, stabbed him on the shoulder, and directed the taser one more time. The voltage landed on Syro’s left pectoral, dazing him off. He kneeled on one leg, catching his breath with Sigel up front.

“Sigel to HQ, the subject has been disabled. Proceeding to extraction point to meet the courier.”

“HQ to Sigel, immediately proceed to the extraction point. Heavily armed police presence on your way.

“Got it. Over and out.”

Wyren appeared, holding the suitcase. He tapped Sigel on the shoulder.

“Let’s get out of here. The police will take care of them and will know that their network is full of law-breaking individuals,” said Wyren.

Both past Syro, who collapsed on the floor, and ran across the backyard into the bushes. They emerged out on a sidewalk and sneaked past police cruisers by using the cover of darkness, turning from one block to the next until stumbling upon a black car that had its windows tinted black. The window of the driver’s seat lowered, revealing a bald man smoking a cigarette.

“Do you have the suitcase with ya,” he asked in a gruff voice.

“Positive. This is the suitcase that high command is looking for,” replied Wyren.

“Take us back to HQ,” ordered Sigel.

The driver looked at them both, nodding. “Roger that. Hop on.”

The agents got on the rear passenger seats while the driver had his eyes fixed on the suitcase. “What’s in there? Any secrets I’m supposed to know about?”

“Classified information in which we won’t know nothing about,” Sigel declared.

“Hmm,” grumbled the driver.

“Anyhow, we must ask ourselves on why high command wants us to retrieve the suitcase. Is there corruption within high command? Or is it something else we know nothing about,” thought Sigel.

The courier lowered a pair of black glasses and set the gearshift on drive. The HunterSpy agents drove off into the cover of darkness, calling the operation a mission success.

---

Bio: Juan E. Scheuren is a six time published writer based in southeastern Florida. His works include: Drunk on the Edge (Half and One), Murder in the Alley (South Florida Writers Association), Zen Beyond the Bushes (Thorn & Bloom), Endangered Vault (Bristol Noir Stories), and Sanctuary of a Writer (The Write Launch). He has a BA in Literature and Minor in History from the Florida International University.

Cover Image by: Pexels

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