The Black Cobra

Chapter 1

. Prologue

He sat lazily on his armchair picking at his nails outwardly uninterested but I knew better. He sat up and leaned forward leaving his arms to seemingly dangle from his knees carelessly as his gaze bore into my hazel eyes.

"Blair's are sometimes forced into situations that aren't the safest, could have consequences, and will definitely be filled with the unknown. Can you handle that Kristen?"

"Yes." I answered. Outside the snow storm only got nastier but it was nothing compared to the snow storms Grandpa and I endured in Russia last week. This snowstorm was more like flaky rain. Sometimes it sprinkles, sometimes it pours,
often times quiet, other times it roars.

Grandpa grinned satisfied with my answer; his hand shot out and placed a steel oval with dynamite sticks duct taped to the side and a timer counting down in the center.

A bomb.

"You have forty seconds."

I swiftly reached for the colorful wires on the side. Quickly reciting the song Grandpa engraved into me since second grade "Red like a stop sign don't even try. Green bent over pull and you'll cry. Blue like the sky will blow you up high. Twist red and green like Christmas lights. Tear your blues and bind them tight. Cut straight through and you'll be alright" I smiled when the timer froze at thirty.

Grandpa whistled and stared at his watch "With thirty seconds to spare. Are you sure you still want to be an English teacher?"

I laughed and sat back in my chair releasing the tension in my shoulders "That was fun. I'm going to miss that rush."

"You don't have to. One call and the CIA will accept you with open arms. You know that."

I sighed and pulled a cushion into my lap playing at its frilly ends."I don't want to work for them-"

"The FBI then. They-"

"Are we really going to argue about this again Grandpa?"

"I'm not arguing. I'm just trying to understand why you would throw away your future like this. It can't be that you're not ready; you're more qualified for the job then any agent I know. What if-"

I stood up and squeezed his shoulders reassuringly "Relax Grandpa. I already bought flight tickets to Rome. It's way too late for us to be discussing this."

"But-"

"But nothing. I'm hungry, what's for dinner?" I quickly maneuvered the discussion away from my pending future. I'm going to miss this place when I leave. Our cabin is a spacious two-bedroom post and beam where I could smell cedar as soon as I stepped through the door. I loved this cabin because of its homey feeling that it seemed to stir, from its blue tiled bathroom floors to the fully equipped kitchen where we usually made chocolate chip cookies.

Lethal cookies for targets, but nonetheless cookies.

I loved drinking my coffee on the front deck where I can watch the deer graze, the hummingbirds' hum and the sound of Grandpa's voice ordering me to come back inside before a sniper get's lucky. Then lecturing me about an agent's sense of security from the kitchen, scolding me when he hears me laugh, and pointing out an English major couldn't be on anyone's hit list.

"Better safe than sorry." he always responded, grunting about my thick skull when I prolong my journey inside.

More or less that's why I chose to study English. Yes I love reading and writing, and American literature inspires me in more ways than one, but it's also...safe.