Absolution

II: The Spy and I

II. THE SPY AND I

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Bono Malum Superate

"It is a man's own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways." – Buddha

Happy Goose Bay, Canada

Nain Province, 2017

Training and development had resulted in them changing their arrival date. They'd spent a series of weeks in the states gathering intel and data and with Leon helping Rebecca redefine her skill set. They'd been briefed on the situation and studied schematics of the local terrain, the local populace, the layout of land and sea. He never did anything unprepared and she had been happy to delay the leaving so he could get comfortable with the operation.

The snow had started to fall when they tiny plane they'd chartered taxied down on the pathetic excuse for a runway and came to a slow, jerky stop. The tarmac was little more than crumbling asphalt with some paint splashed on for good measure and the "airport" was an open hanger that was possibly made from aluminum. Inside were two men in jumpsuits that ran out to stop the wheels of the plane with cinder blocks while they exited.

Clad in parkas and carrying bags, they alighted from the plane with three extra men in their crew. One was Rebecca's assistant, Joel, a rather tall and lanky fellow that had a tendency to let his glasses slip down his nose when he laughed. The other two were little more than muscle in puffer jackets, sent by the BSAA to assistant in their "protection". Apparently, it wasn't him they were trying to protect but Rebecca, their most valuable new asset.

They moved across the tarmac while the wet fall wind whipped down from the neighboring mountains like the cry of the banshee and stole your breath with icy fingers. Canada was cold. Colder than a well digger's ass, cold. It was freeze-your-fucking-nuts-off cold.

The cold followed them to the "rental" car that awaited them. It was a huge all terrain vehicle with chains on the tires. It that sounded like a jet engine attempting to take off and blasted blissful heat on them as they climbed inside. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb drove and rode shotgun while Joel took one of the captain's seats in the middle. Leon and Rebecca climbed into the back seat and settle in for the drive to town.

The only place to stay to was a little motel called the Hoser Hut, a less than fashionable but still functional set of bedrooms that encompassed a semi-circle toward the edge of town. The winter Canadian landscape was lacking in color; white and gray, wild and unforgiving, for most of what the eye could see there was nothing but land and sea. Snow capped the surrounding mountains and settled prettily in valleys, the town was literally entrenched there amongst the great white north. It was simple and quaint, friendly as most of Canada was, with smiling faces and helpful souls.

Leon set his bag on the floor of his room and took notice of a handful of obvious things.

One: the room was outdated, yes, but functionally quaint. The walls had soft, pleasing paper with maple leafs dancing along the borders and the bedding was done in similar shades of fall and harvest golds, browns, and oranges. There was a night stand, a dresser, a small television and a bathroom. The bed looked clean and comfortable.

He had, without a doubt, stayed in worse. Additionally, there was something charming about Canada. Gone was the American penchant for condescension that beat at the heart of their southern border. Everyone was stereotypically polite, yes, but they also seemed to be happy about it. There was no begrudging rudeness when you asked for help. There was no quintessential American regard for time wasted in pursuit of other's happiness. Everyone here...WANTED to help you.