The importance of information (The Agent)

London.

Late in the afternoon.

Nearby river Themse.

The hollow knocking sound of thin high heels on the asphalt road was the only thing breaking the silence of the darken day-

Apart from the dropping sound of the cold raindrops, which began to fall about an hour ago.

But the young lady walking down the street, didn't seem to care about that much. Her trench coat blowing in the cold gust was still open, as if she forgot to close it while stepping out a house - her mind on something else.

Actually this was the point:

Marching down the dark road, she couldn't shake her sense of dread thinking on the meeting she has to face.

It usually doesn't take her long from Scotland Yard to her home, so she might have some time left to prepare for the meeting and change clothes - which actually appeared to be the most necessary thing to do before going down not Waterloo bridge where Sargent Dollywan did send her.

"CIA-Agent", she said," the current case has international importance, so please take care of every information which will be given!"

THAT was it then. It wasn't the first time her job was going like this... Well, she didn't expect her boss to give out all the information on the case at all. In the end of this inner monologue of anger she resisted the impulse to judge Dollyvans treatment of informants, because it almost seemed clear to her, that it was to her own safety to have as less information as possible.

Stepping into the entry of her appartment house and fast taking up the steps to her apartment on the second floor, she didn't recognise the dark stains on those ugly and old fashioned carpets covering the half landings. Looked like someone must have been here - not more than an hour ago. But she was too sidetracked about dry clothes, that her bunch of keys made a painfull noise caused by her shaking hands while trying to unlock the door.

But there was no need to.

Someone else did for her.

The door swang open and the creaky sound echoed in the twilight of the old and dusty stairwell.

She shivered. Unable to breath.

Who the hell has been here? Or is still?! And why?

She took a step into her apartment. Then another one... Her heard was pounding as if it wanted to reveal her to the stranger. But as she looked around the rooms, being quiet as a mouse, none of the fittings has been changed, so at first glance nothing has been stolen. At least she couldn't even think about anything in here that was worth to be stolen. Consequently, the stranger must have been here for another reason...

Suddenly the sound of steal scrapping over steal came up - it appeared to come out of the kitchen and silently she stepped towards the kitchen door, took a quick glance:

The man was wearing a suit, but the jacket was hanging over one of those kitchen chairs. So she could see the buttons and pin ups on it: It must be a sort of a uniform, someone working in higher position, but at least she couldn't tell for sure. What the hell was tho man doing here - in her kitchen?!

This sharpening sound again.

She moved to take a second look.

Suddenly the floorboard underneath her feet squeaked as she leaned forward.

Eyes met hers.

Blue and red.

A knife and a sharpener...

She smiled - familiar, these eyes seemed familiar and so she stepped through the door to have a look at what he was cooking for her.

"More information would have been reasonable", was the last thing she thought.