Captured

This job was supposed to be quick and easy.

Plans, however, have a way of changing rapidly in my line of work.

"We can cut you a deal."

The agent standing before me started, "We know it was your crew that hit the Louvre in Paris. Then The British Museum in Bloomsbury. Now The National Gallery of Art at our nation's capital.”

I’m looking down, feeling abandoned by my team.

The agent opens a vanilla folder holding at least fifty pages of information on me.

“Walter Brown, Age: 32. Your father was a successful bank teller in London, and he has since retired.”

He flips through some more documents and I see him -- my five year-old son, missing hair, and hooked to a bloody I.V. “Agent Cr--”.

“Your mother is teaching in St. Albans”.

“Agent Crowley I--""Cromley”, he interjects, not amused by my mispronunciation.

“Look mate, I know where you’re going with this”.

He looks surprised but attentive to my next sentence as he closes the folder slowly.

“I will help you only if you help my boy. Do we have a deal?”

Cromley smiles and nods, while I’m sitting here wondering what the hell I’m getting myself into.