Sanchez rises early. He dons his trench-coat, pulls on his hat.
Sliding stealthily through the silent streets, a dark, fast-moving, shadow. Hat pulled down, collar turned up, he passes through the checkpoint unchallenged. Now he’s in the ‘other’ city.
He’s closer now. He slows down and looks around. His eyes flick left, flick right. Careful, as he watches comings and goings of the grey-clad people. He times his move, then scurries across the square. He waits hunched in a doorway. A clock strikes.
He hears the click-clicking of heels on the flagstones; getting closer. He glances at the reflection in the window opposite. He tenses, wired for action. The woman draws level with him.
He springs out, reaches into his raincoat, pulls out a single red rose. He hands it to her. She smiles.
Then he’s gone. Mission accomplished.
©2018 Chris Hall