Flash

Gina Marais walked over to a solitary corner of the marketplace to discreetly remove her veil, wipe her sweating brow, and drink from her canteen. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a small boy running from stall to stall in the marketplace, standing on barrels, somersaulting over piles of food, and generally making a nuisance of himself.

The merchants yelled he scattered their merchandise, but the boy didn't stop, balancing atop a small open barrel filled with grain, first on his feet, then his hands, then one handed. He pretended to disappear into the barrel. A crowd of onlookers clapped and applauded, egging him on. He misbalanced and slipped into the barrel, emerging headfirst, grinning.

Gina ran over as fast as she could, lifted the boy off the barrel and threw him to the ground. She raised her hand as if to strike him. He scrambled to get out of her way and ran into the maze of stalls.

She glared at the boy, who was darting around the perimeter of the plaza, eyeing her warily.

Gina felt like a monster. She hadn't wanted this job in the first place. But times had been tough in her particular line of "search-and-recovery" work.

A week ago, Georges LaForge had stopped by with the most interesting-- and profitable-- proposition. "Plans for the Pentagon's latest stealth bomber," he said. "I've got bidders from every nation in the world. Only problem is-- my operative lost the plans en route. We've traced them--" and he handed Gina a stack of papers.

Gina skimmed them, then looked at Georges, eyebrows raised. "A restaurant in Marrakesh?" she said, disbelieving.

"Operatives have needs, too. He was eating when he got ambushed-- by the chef." Georges shrugged. "Apparently our competitors are well-known for utilizing all possible resources."

The chef had been captured afterwards. Only problem was, he'd hidden the plans somewhere in the restaurant, and had died before he could tell them where.

Once at the restaurant, Gina'd ransacked the kitchen, finally discovering the plans buried in a barrel of rice. Unfortunately, the restaurant's owner had started unlocking the restaurant, and she'd panicked-- so she'd had to cut and run, dragging the container with her. Fortunately it made her look all the less suspicious in the busy casbah-- she looked like just another merchant's wife bringing dinner home.

Gina struggled as she lifted the barrel in her arms. She was relieved this job was over. She couldn't wait to get home. She walked as rapidly as she could out of the plaza to where her driver, Jamil, waited-- only to stop dead in her tracks.

A young boy-- the same boy from the marketplace-- was handing her driver a bulging envelope. An envelope that looked suspiciously like the one Gina needed. She overturned the barrel she was holding in her hands. A shower of rice spilled down her legs and onto the cobblestones. She watched in disbelief as the boy climbed into the Jeep. He turned to wave as he and Jamil drove away.