ISIS vs Fey

Chapter Four: Bombs Are Like Cookies, Grandma's Recipe Is Always Best

He didn't always fancy public places. In fact he rarely did. Something about pointless small talks, courteous conversations, flashy gadgets, glamorous outfits meant for creating envy was so unbearably unsettling, he often felt like disappearing to an abandoned place and living the life of a secluded scholar. Perhaps Antarctica. He could be friends with penguins and read them classical poetry every night before retiring to his Igloo.

And since that was no option, he often found himself stalking people for a living.

At the time, his target was Isidora Rojas. He had been tailing her in a busy supermarket for about 15 minutes. Slightly over one hour ago, she had made a rather percilure phone call. Through the bug he had planted on her phone, he heard her record the following voicemail :

Meet me at the shopping mall as planned. And remember you absolutely cannot tell anyone about this. Make sure you aren't followed, that part is paramount. Also, delete this message, and after the meeting, make sure you destroy your phone and get a new number.

He had immediately researched the number she had called to leave the message —it was registered in the name of one of Rojas's associates. But it might be used by a third party.

Dressed in a voluminous trench coat, heavily tattooed, and clanking along on that prostetic leg of hers, she was quite a sight. You could not not stare at Isidora Rojas if she happened to be in the vicinity. He didn't find her attractive, but there was something about her that caught your attention. Maybe it was the ink carved into her skin, forming patterns so gothic and eerie, or the glass eye or that unwavering gaze.

Her gait, despite the prosthetic leg, had an odd form of gracefulness. She walked with purpose, chin held high, confidence the brightest shade in her aura. She moved quickly in the crowd, people pressing against each other in the supermarket tight enough for him to temporarily lose sight of her. He looked desperately in all directions, where did she go?

Something brushed against his back and a sharp, stinging feeling shot up his left arm. He bit down on a scream and turned around to find Isidora Rojas pressing something against him. The hard metal thing was hidden from view by being held under the coat, but he didn't need help in figuring out that it was obviously a gun.

"I hope you have had your fun," she said in a flat voice. "Now we have something important to discuss. Would you like to do it over a cup of coffee?"

"Why are you threatening me?" he barked, rubbing the spot on his wrist where she had injected him. "What was in that syringe?"

"Oh, let us not beat around the bush. You know exactly why you are at gunpoint. For your second question, I have injected you with a secret little recipe —one of the deadliest poison you can get your hands on. It will melt your organs and kill you in an hour max if an antidote isn't applied. If you dare run or fight back, I will shoot you. If you manage to overpower me —which is highly unlikely —you will die anyway because you won't have enough time to acquire the antidote. Before the hospital workers have had a chance to guess which treatment might work, it will be too late for you."

"you're bluffing," said the stalker.

"Are you willing to risk it?" Isidora raised an eyebrow.

He gulped, considering his options. As it happened, he was pretty good at fighting and fleeing. Why, that had been part of his training. But they were in a crowded place, if Isidora did open fire, people could die. Starting a fight would risk creating collateral damage. He could hear children laughing nearby, on the way in he passed by two teenagers making out.

"I will come with you, but on one condition," he said. Isidora tilted her head, the gun still steady in her hand; waiting, calculating.

***

"I don't understand. How did you know you were being followed?" Malcolm was frowning suspiciously. Isidora had just explained the events. But left out the whole, pretending to poison and threaten someone's life-thing. In her version of things, she merely confronted the stalker, and through the amazing power of stern looks and empty threats of arrest managed to make a professional undercover agent spill his beans.