Cafe International
Khartoum, Sudan
December 24th, 2008

“Mr. Terry,” his guide asked tentatively over a frothy coffee concoction, “Is now the best time to be taking tea?”

“I thought you were having a coffee,” Special Agent Hemmerschmidt teased.

“Ah, yes, I see, but, eh…” His words died away amidst the growing thrum of activity on the city street. Heat pervaded everything despite the winter month and dampened even the noise.

Terry, as he introduced himself to contacts, took a careful sip of the highly touted, local exotic tea, wincing as to him it tasted like so much spiced bath water. Eyes alight with the fire of adrenaline and possibility trained subtly across the street, above the din, up to the third floor window.

He’d considered charging in, but whoever this assassin was, he obviously had a plan for this morning, in the room he’d practically sent invitations to. So Terry sat, and waited, and watched, listening to the bug he’d shot onto the window.

Ah, the work of a spy.