Jian sat in the sand and watched the waves breaking on the beach. He could watch it for hours and he sometimes did. His boss, Feng at the Chinese Ministry of State Security (MSS), had told him the island was a trap. Eight previous top operatives had been sent in to investigate. None were ever heard from again.
That’s why they sent Jian. He was the best, a super-spy. His name was whispered with reverence in the halls of the MSS. People treated him as if he possessed god-like powers. Truth was, he was just very, very good. When he began the mission, he expected to succeed and return. In the end, he was caught in the spy trap, just like everyone else.
Thirty yards away a man tossed a fishing line into the surf. Outwardly he looked perfectly ordinary, forgettable in fact. It was this detail that gave him away. Jian knew he was formerly French intelligence. To his right, a middle-aged woman collected shells from the sand. Miss Park looked ordinary too, just minding her own business. Her lithe motions gave her away. She was formerly South Korean Intelligence. The man jogging behind him was perhaps the most convincing of all, but Jian already knew he was formerly MI-6.
Jian watched a blue crab eyeing him warily before scuttling away. It took a month before he realized the magnetic rock in the island interfered with radio. That’s why no one ever reported in. Still, it wasn’t enough to stop a highly-trained operative. The island was loaded with highly-skilled field agents, any of whom couldn’t be stopped by such a simple detail.
He would’ve liked to think it was a secret organization, armed with computers and high tech gadgetry that kept them all here. It would help his ego if that were the truth.
“Daddy! Daddy!” Two children rushed toward him and trapped his legs as he stood. He picked the pair up and began walking toward the beach road.
He looked into the face of former Israeli Mossad agent and mother of their children: Ying and Benjamin. She walked towards them smiling. She was trapped just as he was, but also not easily confined by malfunctioning radio. Yet she remained like he did. Pack enough spies into one place and people will be like people. A social dichotomy forms, and an organic self-organizing trap begins to grow.
Years of island life had been kind to Bayla, and she still looked beautiful to him. It was that smiling face, and the gleeful expressions of their children that were the real trap. Seeing them, he knew he was held in place by the sweet nectar of love, unable to ever leave. His unexpected family was the perfect, spy trap.
Written for Matthew Wright’s Mega Short-Story writing challenge. Look here for the original prompt: https://mjwrightnz.wordpress.com/2015/12/08/this-weeks-short-story-challenge-3/