Here you gojust to keep you happy. Also
(the photo is of super model Candice Swanepoel)
Bávaro, Punta Cana, Dominican Republic, 2038
Eric watched in disbelief at the images coming in from the attack on Atlanta International Airport. Nearly every head in the beach bar was glued to a screen watching the scenes being replayed over and over.
“Unbelievable” muttered Eric
“I know” said Blair wiping her eyes “So many people dead”
“That’s not the unbelievable part!” said Eric as he tapped the screen in the table, directing hs sister’s attention to it. Blair looked at the screen over the top of her large sunglasses.
“Top left, recognise anyone?”
Blair expanded the screen on the man in dark glasses, black hair “That guy...he’s that government agent! The guy who started all this mess!”
“Ssh” Eric cautioned “But yeah, Agent Johnson”
Arthur pushed his way through the throng of people gawking at the screens and plonked an ice bucket of beer onto the table “What’d I miss?”
Blair and Eric stared at their brother in disbelief, Eric slid the bucket off the screen and pointed to the picture “Who’s that Arthur?”
Arthur shrugged and popped the top off a beer “Max Spielberg?”
“Ladies and gentlemen, the pride of the New Zealand army” sighed Eric “Try again, think my birthday par…”
Arthur swore loudly and smashed the bottle onto the table as he realised who it was “Agent Johnson!”
“Now you better calm down” said Blair with a smile “We’re in disguise-o”
“Incognito” corrected Eric
“Whatev!” Blair grabbed a beer “So why is he in Atl…he did it! That snake did it!”
“That’s my guess” said Eric as he reached for a beer.
“Umm what are you doing?” said Athur as he grabbed his brother’s wrist.
“I WAS going to have a beer”
“You’re not old enough!” chastised Arthur
“Really?” Eric looked down his nose at his brother “How old am I?”
Eric shook his head “Nineteen” He wriggled his hand out of his brother’s grip “Legal drinking age in Cook Islands Blair?”
“Eighteen” she smiled and grabbed her own beer.
“Legal drinking age in the Dominican Republic Arthur?”
“Incorrect!” Eric smiled “Eighteen. Appreciate you looking out for me but I’m old enough and it’s legal”
“Don’t apologise, nice to know you got my back” Eric chuckled “Even when you’re being an ass!”
The trio laughed, an odd sight amongst the sombre atmosphere watching one of the worst terrorist attacks was replayed again.
Nexus Headquarters, New York City, 2038
Dr Emil Rossini pressed his fingers tightly into his upper nasal bone as he sat in the Helen Keller Room. Behind him was a still image of Agent Johnson at the Atlanta International Airport, moments before the explosion. In front of him stood the actual Agent Johnson. Dr Rossini let out a noise that wasn’t quite a scream but more body than a sigh.
“Would you care to explain that?”
Agent Johnson stood at attention “Sir?”
“What part of covert did you fail to comprehend Agent Johnson?!” Dr Rossini stood up “Because that is you, is it not?”
“And if I found you, and I was merely casually watching your handiwork on the six o’clock news when I spotted you, imagine what would someone who is ACTIVELY looking for you could do with this?” Rossini glared at him “Take those damn glasses off when I’m yelling at you!”
Agent Johnson removed his glasses and remained at attention.
“You have potentially put yourself, your President, but more importantly, MY COMPANY at risk by being seen to be involved in the worst attack on US soil since 9/11! That Russian moron Bagrov could’ve done a cleaner job than the mess you have created, and he’s an idiot! I could have sent his son who is borderline retarded and a bloodthirsty homicidal maniac to do a more cautious job than to be CAUGHT ON CAMERA AT THE SCENE OF TERRORIST ATTACK!” Rossini shook with rage “YOU IDIOT! I SHOULD PUT YOU IN A CAGE IN MY BASEMENT!”
Bávaro, Punta Cana, Dominican Republic, 2038
Blair danced up a storm on the dance floor; men and women naturally gravitating towards her. Arthur sat at the bar laughing, as he flipped an ever increasing stack of beer coasters off the edge for a throng of giggling young ladies. Eric quietly watched the scene from the corner, tapping away on his laptop. He opened a progress report on their comatose father, Thomas Orwell, as he recovered in the Maldives under an assumed name. Eric paused and sipped his beer, then scanned the room. He caught the eye of man across the bar looking directly at him.
“This is Wigan” the man whispered into his pink umbrella of his mojito “Think the youngest Orwell has made me”
“Okay Mike Company, take’em down!” ordered Captain Winston from across the other side of the bar.
Clover, one of the giggling girls, chopped Arthur across the throat, knocking him off his stool to the ground as Burmese, who’d been dancing, grabbed Blair by her hair and kicked her feet out from under her. Sagrada stood behind Eric, dressed as a waiter, and tapped Eric on the cheek with the barrel of his silenced pistol.
“No te muevas de mi pequeño amigo” said Sagrada
“I am not little, nor your friend” replied Eric as he slowly raised his hands.
“Ordenes del capitán?”
“Kill’em” said Captain Winston