bullzam

This is my attempt at the start of an espionage story, any feedback is welcome:


Stakeknife
Even if there were someone watching the cottage they would only hear the frothing of the waves; they would only see a dull yellow glow through the window, nothing more. Alfredo stood in the window watching the dirt path coming around the hill. He could feel the butterflies start in his gut but he didn’t bother clenching his stomach against them, they always came. He enjoyed the giddy fluttering, he told himself; he had to.
He saw the headlights first as they illuminated the bend in the road and turned away from the window. Before long the black Peugeot sedan would pull up next to the window with its sole passenger in the backseat. Two fiercely loyal Irish lads named Sean and Robert would then “escort” the suspect into the sitting room and wait in the kitchen. Just before dawn they would leave with an empty backseat, a pat on the back, and smiles on their faces; they were loyal Irish lads, he thought.
* * *
When they were alone in the room he turned to stare at the man seated in the wooden chair. He loved this part the most, he told himself, feeling the suspects’ fear fill the room like smoke, choking off their breath. He could wait for hours like this, watching them crumble noiselessly: eyes wide and darting with the insane urgency of men falsely accused, slowly slouching into themselves. Every one died in that wooden chair; he came to crack them.
Alfredo looked up to begin and looked at the man; he sat tall and firm in the chair, his blue eyes staring at his feet calmly. His face was too familiar. Alfredo hesitated slightly before beginning in a low voice. “Alright Gregory, we both know why you’re here, Leadership’s been watching you lad, that’s not a good thing.” The man remained silent, . “You were a good Nutter lad, or at least I thought so.”
“Piss off Freddy, I was a good Nutter-” Alfredo smacked his cheek quickly.
“Don’t fuck with me lad or we’ll get Sean in here and you’ll be bleeding from your eyes,” he whispered into his ear. “You weren’t a bad killer, I watched you, but you let too many slip through your fingers. You remember Jimmy McCandrews? Oh yeah you nutted him in the end, but not before he got our Co Louth Depot blown to pieces!” Greg opened his mouth to say something but Freddy balled his fist and popped him in the nose, “Shut up you bloody rat! And what about Seamus Kelly? You never did nut him, I did. I caught him coming out of an alley with an empty briefcase… You know what that means don’t you? The easiest fucking way to sell information and you had no idea did you?” Greg began to shake his head but Alfredo gave him another hard slap in the cheek; his blood oozed unchecked down into his golden mustache. “No you didn’t, but you know that’s really not that bad, I mean Leadership can live with two mistakes…” Alfredo had slowly raised his voice and was now yelling full out at Greg to keep himself from choking. “But not everyone thought those were mistakes lad, in fact… someone found out they weren’t-”
“Bullsh-” Greg’s rebuttal was cut off by a quick jab at his chin. He whimpered and stared at his feet.
“Stop crying lad, it makes this less fun,” he coughed. “That’s right, you remember Margeret Perry don’t you? Cute little lass with red hair, you two were living together eh? Now why would such pretty girl live with a buggering half-incher like yourself?”
“Fuck you!”
Alfredo brought his elbow down full speed into his head, making Greg yelp, “Don’t swear at me just because I’m right lad. She wasn’t living with you; she was spying on you. So what did you do when you figured it all out lad? Figured out that your whore was going to tell leadership you were Buggering Brit, going to get you killed? You did it the Irish way, dragged her out to the beach and nutted her under the moonlight!”
“Fuck you Freddy!” Greg screamed, straining at his ropes. Alfredo’s fist smashed into his temple. “It wasn’t like that!” Alfredo punched his eyebrow, cutting it open. Greg arched his back making the chair creak and stared up at Alfredo with blood in his eyes; Greg paused, watching the raised fist about to strike, his jaw quivering…“I… it wasn’t… It was an order from London…” he sobbed, crumbling back into his restraints. “Not that it matters, you must’ve known that anyway if you’re as good as they say.”
Alfredo lowered his fist slowly; Greg was right, Alfredo did already know he was British. Ordinarily he would have laughed at the man cracking in the chair, blubbering about nothing; Greg wasn’t blubbering, he was worse, he was going to tell the truth. The air caught in his throat and he closed his eyes. He coughed twice and yelled into the kitchen, “Oi! Sean, Robert! This one’ll be a while, you can go sleep in the car.”
“Its allright Freddy,” Sean answered quickly, “we like it in here.”
“Come on then, bugger off, you don’t need to hear this. Go wait in the car!”
Alfredo wiped his hands on his pants and waited to hear the car doors close outside.
“I loved her I would never have killed her alone,” Greg said softly. “I got the order last week straight from London, it was labeled ‘Urgent.’ It said Maggie was IRA, and she was about to expose a very high agent in the Nutting Squad. That was all.”
Alfredo felt for his baretta in his side holster. His stomach clenched against the butterflies and he said waited. Greg continued, “They must have been talking about Stakeknife. That’s why it was urgent.”
Alfredo turned to look out the window. Oh yes lad, it was urgent. Margaret had found Stakeknife. That order had come directly from Stakeknife himself. London had passed it on, they would give anything to protect Stakeknife… even you.
Suddenly Greg sat up, his voice high and quick, “Fuck! who did she find? Who is Stakeknife?”
Alfredo wiped his hands on his pants again and pulled his Beretta from its holster. He replied, his voice wavering slightly, “you are lad, you’re Stakeknife. That’s why you killed Margaret and that’s why you let Seamus go, he was working for you. You would’ve let Jimmy go too but he was too stupid, he would’ve exposed you.”
“That’s crap!”
“Oi!” Alfredo smacked him, “nothing I say is crap, its what Leadership thinks.”
“No!” Greg screamed. Greg waited for the first punch and took it. He kept going, “I can’t be Stakeknife, because I’m here, right now with you. London wouldn’t let me die! But who…” Alfredo said nothing as the gun shook in his hand. It would all be over soon. Greg’s eyes widened and he looked up straight at Alfredo, “BLOODY BASTARD!” Greg screamed, not noticing the gun. “IT’S YOU! I was handed to you on a sliver platter…” his voice trailed off but his jaw kept working.
Alfredo popped the safety on his Beretta using both hands. Greg looked up and found Alfredo staring at him and his jaw stopped. It was Greg’s eyes that separated him from the others. The other men had all been innocent; they would never understand why they had to die, they would stammer and plea for mercy with tears in their eyes, cracking for no reason … those were the easy ones. Greg’s eyes were not crying. They were wide, but there was recognition behind them. “Bloody hell,” he breathed softly.
Alfredo lifted up the gun, aiming it just above Greg’s bleeding eyebrow. “I’m sorry Greg, you’ve past your sell-by date.”
* * *
He could still taste his bile as he got into the car with Sean and Robert.
“Freddy are you ok? You look kind of pale.”
“Fine Sean, just drive the fucking car.”
Sean shrugged and started driving. “Why’d you make us leave Freddy, he was just starting to say stuff.”
“No, he said nothing worthwhile, you didn’t miss anything important.”
“Whatever you say Freddy,” Sean said, eyeing him through the rear-view mirror.

J.R.V.A.

Great story, I really enjoyed reading this. Thanks

__________________
And as she plays,
her sweet song of laughter
floats through the air
and warms my heart

losthellhound

Great stuff, thank you

__________________
"Life is possible only with illusions. And so, the question for the science of mental health must become an absolutely new and revolutionary one, yet one that reflects the essence of the human condition: On what level of illusion does one live?"
-- Ernest Becker, The Denial of Death

macmanmike6100

the ending was pretty powerful stuff: " It was Greg’s eyes that separated him from the others"