“Of course, the entire planet Earth consists of magma under us, and only the very inner-core is different.” – Werner Herzog
She had kept her eyes closed but Venomiss lay in bed, wide awake. Or was she?
The heartwarming Malta sun beamed in streams of summer into her one-room house perched on the edge of the peninsula overlooking Valletta.
She was not alone.
The click of the safety from the shadow in the room pacing slowly towards her was very distinct—it was the sound of a Luger Glock 19.
“It would be easy to end her assailant’s life at this moment,” she thought, with her finger on the trigger of Genie (her Walther PPK/S) under her body pillow at the edge of her twin bed. But, she cautioned herself. She had turned her life around, for good.
Therefore in a moment of soulful clarity, she painstakingly guessed at the assailant’s height from the fragments of the lurking shadow that she could sense through her closed eyelids.
Then, she picked her shot carefully somewhere to the left of the shadowy figure’s femoral artery. And, then she fired.
Squealing from excruciating pain, the assailant, a young many no more than twenty, hobbled still screaming out her door, gun in hand.
Venomiss crawled on all fours to her tiny window. But, there was no one outside.
The cold steel of her trusted Walther PPK/S in her hand locked and loaded… jolted her awake, finally.
Venomiss the former operative looked down at her clothing. She was in her pajamas. The pajama’s satin folds clawed her back and her chest, as cold sweat poured down the middle of her collarbone and spine. Her stomach trembled in knots. Her breathing was frantic. Her heart throbbed at her temples.
It was all a dream…
“My demons stalk me in my sleep now…” mumbled Venomiss to herself.
Picking up one of her many cellphones on her kitchen table she checked it for messages from her office.
She placed her old metal kettle on the little stovetop hotplate to prepare her morning essentials—expresso coffee, “thick enough to float a bullet.” She smiled as she remembered her mentor Havilah’s favorite comment about her penchant for extremely strong coffee.
She dialed Catherine Whickham (aka Lady Cat), former MI6 Logistics expert, now her Office Manager of sorts.
“Good morning Lady Cat, what’s this last message you forwarded entitled: “Magma?” Any more details on this client?
“No more details than what I had sent you. The contact only gave his name as “Anonymous.””
“Sounds pretty cloak and dagger.”
“Where is the meet?”
“An old Malta listening post from back in the “cold war” era. The quickest route is via an alley in downtown Valletta near the Tommy Hilfiger store. Coordinates have been texted to your personal phone. I will keep overwatch from home base to track you via Satellite.
“Your advance team is already there in Malta on the ground ready to watch your back, as usual. I have programmed your communication earpiece implant with links to the team and me. I am on channel one. They have been assigned channel three.”
“Got it. Thanks, old friend.”
“You sound a bit groggy. Had enough sleep?”
“I er…had another nightmare. Pretty real this one.”
“I am afraid one too many missions can burn out anyone in the spy business, my friend. Good that you got out before…before it was too late.”
Her face broke out in a smile. Her reply, brimming with sarcasm, Venomiss retorted,
“I am not a spy! For the last time Lady Cat, I am not a spy! I am….just a normal person… who travels a lot…and…and…uncovers information people don’t want me to find…in places I shouldn’t be…using very expensive gadgets. I am not a spy!”
The two women burst into hearty laughter ending the call.
Suddenly, Venomiss’ personal cellphone made an alarming buzz as it vibrated on her kitchen table. It was an urgent world news flash from her firm’s private Reuter feed:
“CNN Sunday news has just reported that a large geothermic explosion created a crater the size of Hoover Dam in a sparsely populated region in Norway. The effects of the explosion, visible by satellite, apparently vaporized a multi-national research lab within minutes without warning.“
Suddenly, her personal cell phone rang. Venomiss answered.
“Get out of there now. Incoming!” Shouted Lady Cat.
Wasting no time, the former spy grabbed her go-bag always hung on a nail by her window. It was already packed inside its watertight backpack-style outer casing.
And, with only seconds to spare Venomiss vaulted her diminutive athletic frame out the window just before a tiny Spike missile slammed its 2.4-kilogram payload incendiary into her home.
Fiery debris rained down on her head as Venomiss sped a few short meters hopping barefoot on her limestone gravel front yard to the edge of the cliff face.
Carefully, she crawled down the cliff to her private escape route—a diving board. With her sanctuary now in ashes above; she dove into the Meditteranean Sea below.
The former Mossad agent had no idea she was about to dive into a sea of mysterious events of cataclysmic proportions—events that threatened to shake the World to its core, literally.
****To be Continued Next Week Sunday****