Below is my entry to Tipsy Lit’s December short story writing competition (http://tipsylit.com/2014/12/01/decembers-short-story-contest/).
John Mcmanners was every inch your typical civil servant. Dressed in a conservative grey suit, leather briefcase in hand, he walked along Whitehall in the direction of the Ministry of Defence. Tucked under his left arm John carried a large fluffy toy dog. The animal was golden brown in colour with long floppy ears. A long pink tongue protruded from the animal’s mouth. It looked, for all the world as though the dog was smiling.
“Hey, what a cute dog. Is that a present for your little girl or boy?” a tourist with an American or Canadian accent (John always got confused between the 2) said.
“It’s for my daughter”, John said, smiling at the middle-aged lady.
Keith Robbins instructions where clear,
“An official in the Ministry of Defence will arrive at work between 9:20 and 9:30 am. Grab the briefcase he will be carrying. Go to Wong’s Chinese takeaway in Covent Garden and hand it over to Mr Wong. Is that clear?” the man had said.
“Perfectly”, Keith had said.
Keith had no idea who his employer was or why he wanted the briefcase. He worshipped at the altar of Mammon, so long as he got paid Keith didn’t care whether his employer was Satan himself. Money was money whatever it’s origins.
Keith sat astride the powerful motorbike apparently consulting an A to Z of London. As John came abreast of him Keith said,
“Excuse me, can you tell me how to get to Regent Street? This A to Z is useless”.
John paused and turning towards Keith started to speak,
“You need to”,
John swore as Keith yanked the briefcase out of his right hand and rode away at speed.
John entered the office of Mark Colins, the head of the UK’s missile defence programme.
“Do you have those plans of China’s proposed new arms factory?” Mark said.
John placed the large cuddly toy on his boss’s desk. He pulled on the dog’s long pink tongue. It came away in his hand. Rummaging inside the stuffed animal John extracted a computer flash drive,
“There you go” he said handing it over to Mark.
In Wong’s Chinese takeaway, Mr Wong looked in disbelief at the contents of the briefcase: today’s Daily Telegraph, a Marks and Spencer ready meal and a rolled up umbrella. He swore violently. It would, he knew be impossible to recover the plans from the Ministry of Defence. Heads, including his would role over this fiasco.