Marcus Poole hoped to retire anonymously. A former CIA agent who knew too much, he slipped away. He hoped to hide within the tiny Pacific island’s single hotel.
He sat drinking at the little bar beside the dining patio.
“CIA?” said a voice beside him.
“Eh?” said Marcus, preparing to kill.
“Relax,” said the man. “I’m Monty–MI-6. Over there is Yuri–KGB, Ben-Aryeh–Mossad, and Rutajit–Indian Intelligence. We’re all retired.”
Marcus groaned, “Everyone’s here. If aliens existed, they’d be here too.”
“It’s a joke!”
Monty pointed. “That three-eyed one is Tryvalye–Galactic Intelligence.”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers: https://rochellewisoff.com/2018/02/07/9-february-2018/