Random story prompt challenge

Detective, Spy, Patriot

“Would you like a cup of coffee while you wait, Agent Hunter?” Rebecca held out the plain white mug to the elderly man, practically vibrating with excitement. Of all the junior agents, she’d been chosen to help the director declassify and prepare reports on Agent Hunter and all of his missions over the past thirty years. The man was an American hero, and after all this time he would finally receive recognition for all he’d done. The ceremony would take place in a matter of minutes, and it was Rebecca’s great honor to keep the man company until it was time for his speech.

“That sounds wonderful. Thank you.” He cupped the mug in his hands and stared placidly into the dark swill.

“Can I ask you a question?” Rebecca squeaked nervously. “I’ve spent the last six weeks studying your missions. I’m a huge fan.”

Hunter chuckled and sipped lightly on the coffee. “By all means. Go ahead.”

“On your mission in Baghdad twenty years ago, you had three informants go missing within a month of each other. In the report, you said that you suspected they were taken by the Butcher based on evidence on the scene.”

“Ah, yes. The Baghdad Butcher. He was a monster of a man. A mercenary that was responsible for the death of fifty agents, and who knows how many more.”

Rebecca nodded. “Yes. But the Butcher had been apprehended three months prior. He was in custody at the time your informants went missing.”

Agent Hunter smiled at Rebecca. “Is that right? I must have been mistaken.”

“But you were the one who had the greatest expertise on the Butcher. You knew his files inside out. How could you have made such a mistake?” She shook her head. “No matter how much I think about it, it never made sense.”

“Well, there is one explanation,” Agent Hunter said with a laugh. “Have you really not considered the possibility?”

“What’s that?” Rebecca asked eagerly. Was there more than one Butcher? Had they not captured the right man to begin with?”

“I could be a double agent,” Hunter said casually.

Their eyes locked. Rebecca reached for her side arm as Hunter slung his hot coffee in her face. She screamed at the agony of hot liquid burning the skin on her eyes and lashed out wildly, knowing it was not enough to stop this man–this national hero–from ending her life.

She was dead before she hit the ground, the clever girl. Hunter straightened from his crouch and dropped the bloody knife on the ground. With a sigh, he checked his watch then pulled out the old burner phone that he always kept on him in case of emergency.

He flipped it open. “I need an extraction.”

“You have three minutes to reach the extraction point, comrade.”

Rebecca’s eyes stared blankly up at her murderer. “I’ll be there. It’ll be nice to finally see home.”

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