November 2019- 75 Word Writing Challenge -- VICTORY TO MOSAIX!

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Terminal Celebrations

Exhausted after a long mission, he just wanted to bathe and sleep.
He approached his flat, still wired. Something was wrong.
The door - unlocked!
In the darkness something moved.
The Walther PPK slipped from its holster. In the kitchen doorway. Clean shot.
On the balcony two looming shadows. Two quick shots.
The lights flickered on. Someone by the switch. Caught dead to rights. Spin. Drop. Shoot.
Realisation.
“Dad!”
“Surprise… happy birthday… son…”
 
One more surprise

“He said: ‘You’ll be fine. There is nothing for you to worry about. Just do your job and keep your eyes open. The target will be the birthday boy.’” I muttered in the darkness, while I heard the noises outside the squeaky box was getting louder. They sounded already drunk and rowdy. Typical Russian Mafiosos. Why the FSB always hired criminals?

As the boys reached the end of: “Pust’ Begut Neukliuzhe,’ I readied myself.

“Surprise!”
 
CJSUI ... EBZ
Breathe deeply, he tells himself. Don’t panic.
After weeks of waiting – sweating, worrying – the chalk mark’s there, telling him a message has been left.
Pregnant women are loitering by the dead letter drop. Don’t look at them. Just collect the message.
Don’t worry about anything going wrong.
But whose stupid idea was it to send him undercover to Natal?
*

Breathe deeply.
Concealed ciphertext. Code pad. Painstaking decryption.
Relief as he reads: Congratulations! It’s a girl.
.
 
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Party Games


Stephanie felt behind the canvas, in the dark. “Aha!” She peeled the message off and swallowed it.

As the ambassador’s party continued downstairs, Stephanie went out the window with the painting.

*

Rafael tossed aside the colorful paper and stared, amazed. “It’s just what I wanted, darling! How did you know?”

“You talk in your sleep, love.” Stephanie winked. “Happy birthday!”

Later, alone, Rafael inspected the back of the canvas. Nothing.

What else did I say?
 
No Witnesses

The security around the software was weak. The last guard had barricaded himself in an office, and discovered the phones was jammed. Agent 185 smashed the door's window. The guard shouted something, begging for his life; 185 shot him. No witnesses. That was the Agency's way. One silenced flamethrower later, 185 left the now-burning building, software safely in hand.

The next day:

"Half-Life 3?! Wow! Thanks, dad, you're the best!"
 

Death by Irony
“Get the PM on the line,” said Bond. “He has the codes I need.”
Moments later, the PM’s voice sounded in Bond’s earpiece: “You need my help?”
“I need a series of numbers, sir. Each correct one briefly pauses the bomb’s timer.”
“Jolly good. Where do I come in?”
“Only you know the numbers, sir.”
“I do…? What are these numbers?”
“All your children’s birthdays, sir.”
“Bad luck, old chap. You know how it is....”
 
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