Harry's Mission

George Graybill (he/him) 1,252 words

14 Oak Shadows Lane

Aptos, CA 95003

(831) 688-8814

chickenfat2@gmail.ocm

HARRY’S MISSION

There was something odd about the dawn light pouring through the bedroom window. It was tinted in a way that piqued Harry’s curiosity but made him feel vaguely anxious. From the kitchen window, he saw that there had been a sudden and unusual change in the weather. Heavy, opaque clouds extended to the horizon where a narrow band of clear sky allowed the golden light of the rising sun to stream across the land under the looming canopy.

The week’s work at the laboratory had seemed tiring and alarmingly pointless, and now, beginning the weekend with weather from some other planet, was no help. It was Harry’s nature to counteract unsettling events by adhering to his established routine. In this case that meant eating his usual breakfast of two fried eggs, toast, and half a grapefruit, followed by a walk to the corner convenience store to buy a newspaper. By the time he left the house, it had actually become darker because the sun had now risen above the low hanging shroud of dark clouds.

As he walked, Harry’s composure improved until it was disrupted by his most persistent nagging question: Shouldn’t I sometimes embrace the unusual instead of always retreating to the comfort of the familiar? Actually, the universe was about to answer the question for him.

As he approached the store, a woman came out the door. He had never seen her before in the neighborhood. She had short, lustrous black hair and a pale, intelligent looking face accented by maroon lipstick. As they were about to pass on the sidewalk, she fixed him with dark eyes and said, “Don’t forget the meeting tonight. Your attendance is essential.”

At first Harry thought I’ve done it again! I met her somewhere and then forgot her name. He took a chance and said, “I’m sorry, but I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

“We can’t talk here,” she said. “Follow me.”

“But….”

“Surely you realize how important this is! Just do as I say. We haven’t much time,” she whispered.

Halfway down the block she motioned for Harry to get into a car. When he hesitated, she gave him a look that wilted his resolve. Hesitantly, Harry slid into the passenger seat of a very old, black Mercedes.

“Um…My name is Harry….”

“Don’t just tell people your name like that! If you only knew the lengths to which we have gone to too protect our identities.”

“OK, then I won’t ask your name.”

“I am agent 17; you are 112. From this point on you must move cautiously. Their surveillance is ubiquitous. Avoid showing your face. If you must talk, cover your lips”

Harry looked behind them. “Do you think we are being followed?”

“My god, 112! How old are you? This isn’t a Sam Spade movie, and you aren’t Humphrey Bogart.”

She turned onto a freeway and headed toward downtown. The car stereo was set to a strange play list of party music, mostly oldies. The Happy Birthday song was followed by It’s My Party and Sixteen Candles. Arriving in the heart of the business and entertainment district, 17 turned down a narrow side street and stopped in front of what looked like a dive bar.

“You will now meet 11,” 17 said in a low voice. “He is very high up in the resistance. He will outline the protocols and goals of your mission. Commit everything to memory. Never put anything in writing or on digital devices.”

“Are you sure I’m the guy you want for this? I’m a biochemist. I have a cat to take care of. I do jigsaw puzzles alone.”

“We know much more about you than you can imagine, including your cat’s name.”

The inside of the bar was so dark they both paused and blinked before chancing their next step. A lone bartender stood behind the long bar along the left side of the room. Formica tables and wire backed chairs were scattered down the middle of the room, and four booths lined the righthand side of the space.

“The usual?” the man behind the bar asked 17.

“And the same for my associate.” she said.

Harry began to climb onto the stool beside 17, but she motioned for him to leave one seat between them. The bartender poured them each a double bourbon and placed a third at the empty seat between them.

As Harry reached for his drink, she said, “Don’t touch it.”

Time passed.

They heard soft footsteps, and a tall, thin man emerged from the proverbial back room. He had a full head of white hair and a thin mustache. We walked with a slow, patriarchal gate. He slid deftly onto the middle stool, turned to Harry, and said, “11.”

“Um…112.”

17 said, “I’m afraid he is a bit green and clueless, 11, but it is hard to find good recruits these days. On the bright side, he is quite sincere and unstained by the dark currents we must navigate.”

“I will see that he completes his mission with honor.” 11 replied in a soft voice.

A mixture of moods and questions swirled through Harry’s mind. What in hell was this organization up to? Who was their enemy? He had been longing for an escape from an existence that seemed to be getting more and more mundane, but an espionage assignment wasn’t exactly what he had pictured.

They raised their glasses at 11’s cue. Harry followed the example of the other two as they bottoms upped their bourbons. “Your hour has arrived,” 11 said to Harry. “Follow me.”

17 left through the front door and Harry went with 11 into the back room and out the back door. “Stay close,” 11 told Harry.

From a back alley, they arrived at a side street, which led to a main boulevard. “Act casual; look casual; stroll,” 11 advised. Arriving at a luxury hotel, 11 added, “Walk in like you are staying in the presidential suite. Concentrate your resolve.”

Harry did his best to look and act important and confident. The hallway they strode seemed impossibly long. The art deco lighting sconces on the walls gave a warm glow to the passageway. The deep burgundy carpet massaged his feet. The hall ended at massive double doors below the gilded letters proclaiming, “PRIVATE BANQUET ROOM.”

11 flung open the doors and pushed Harry inside. Harry was dumbstruck by a large crowd of smiling people shouting “SURPRISE!!!” Harry stumbled back a step as if propelled by the volume of sound. As he tried to recover, he heard the even louder cry of “HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROGER!”

Harry felt 11’s hand on his shoulder. “You have completed your mission, 112!”

Wide-eyed, Harry asked, “What is happening? Where am I? Who are these people? Who are you? Who am I? I’m not Roger.”

“See the problem was that at the very last minute Roger couldn’t make it. So what could we do? The surprise party took months to plan. We couldn’t get our money back from the caterer, or the band, or the clown. Everything was ready to go, so we needed to surprise someone. We couldn’t surprise ourselves, so we picked a stranger off the street who looked easy to surprise. And you were so surprised! You couldn’t have done better, and we couldn’t have been more pleased with your reaction. We just added the espionage farce to amuse ourselves”

“But, but, why couldn’t Roger make it?”

“That is the only sad part. He died this morning.”