Impossibly Soft

Owen was excited. The weather forecast the previous night had for once been correct. The British winter had finally produced something other than hours and hours of disappointing drizzle and half a dozen snowflakes that ended up cold sludge moments later. Overnight a decent amount of snow had descended, covering the whole of Owen’s neighborhood in a fluffy, white blanket. So far since the thick fall there had also been no drizzle, the skies surprisingly clear and blue. Professor Owen McCloud could finally test his latest invention. Timing would be of the upmost importance. He had hypothesized the necessity of enough physical persons to create the sounds he needed to negate the possibility of suspicion while he gathered the required datum. Equally it was desirable that the newly provided testing platform, that being the fresh layer of clear, crisp snow was not so much disturbed as to mutilate it rendering the fresh power to be naught but useless sludge once more. He needed the high possibility of crunch when he tested to prove to himself and the office that it wasn’t there when in actual fact it should have been.

Owen was a gadgets man working for British Intelligence. His idea of footwear that did not leave a sound was something he had been thoroughly focused upon for five years now. He was certain that he had succeeded in testing such footwear in the laboratory but no true test was proven irrefutable until it had succeeded in the real world. He breakfasted swiftly on a cut down version of his usual, cornflakes with goat’s milk and coffee, black. He brushed his teeth and his hair for the required number of minutes and then dressed in his regular workday attire. Black suit and bowler hat accompanied with navy umbrella, all that remained was to bring along with him the TESCO bag containing the special shoes.

Owen took the tube from near his home to Hyde Park. As suspected it was quite busy at ten in the morning. Many of his fellow Londoners, young and old had popped out for a bit to enjoy the white blanket of snow and the unusual lack of rain. The professor made his way to one of the many park benches, his gloved hand giving the metallic seat a bit of a brush before he sat down. From there he meticulously untangled his laces and removed his polished black Cheaney gentleman’s shoes before slipping on the experimental pair. With great care Owen boxed his polished symbols of the Mother Country even going so far as to touch his gloved fingers solemnly to his lips and then to the lid before the box was slipped into the shopping bag. Next he placed a bulky pair of headphones over his ears. To all those in the park that day the old professor looked like he was taking a mid-morning run between lectures. In actual fact the headphones were wirelessly connected to sensors in the base of the sneakers, set to detect even the slightest murmur. The cassette compartment prepared to capture any noise, not blast pop tracks while Owen ran. As prepared as he possibly could be Owen McCloud then began a slow, awkward jog.

“Light as a Feather, observational test number one…” murmured the professor.

The first couple of strides were upon the path. There seemed to be not a sound but it was difficult to tell as there were quite a number of other joggers utilizing the same vector at that time and Owen’s equipment was highly attuned to pick up even the slightest of squeaks or scrapes. He began to steer his strides toward a line of trees, aiming to vanish amongst a row of firs and isolate his movements slightly but sufficiently away from the other feet to enable more accurate testing.

Taking a moment to glance behind him Owen realized his footfalls were deathly silent with not a single squeak or a crunch of the soft powder. Thrilled with the lack of sound he was distracted for just a moment with elation. His spirits sored again as he took a few more snowy steps of silence and discovered not only were the new shoes soundless but somehow as they touched the snow they left no footprints at all. To his surprise and delight his experimental footwear excelled, not just creating a ninja of the wearer but seemingly a ghost. Owen could not wait to get to work, to type up his findings and unveil to doubting colleagues what could possibly be the greatest thing to happen to the spying universe.

With a boyish grin Owen sauntered silently back across the snow returning to the bench where he had sat previously. His scientrific success as a pair was reverently placed back in the shoe box and his symbol of the greatness of the United Kingdom returned to his feet, laced up snuggly.

“Good day to you, Owen my friend,” a voice from behind whispered in his ear.

“Tatianna Shaposhnikov..? What brings you out on such a crisp day..?” murmured the professor, worried that he already knew the answer.

“Shoes Owen… Shopping for shoes…”

Owen awoke groggy, shaken back to life by a pair of strangers.

“You right old man?” said one.

“Give ‘im space… He needs air…” stated another, waiving away others that began to crowd in close.

Looking skyward the professor noted it was still between the tenth and eleventh hour, he had not lost consciousness long. Looking about it gladdened him to discover he still resided in Hyde Park, his headphones still sat on his ears, the plastic shopping bag and shoebox still lay beside him. Owen hoped for a moment that Tatianna had left empty handed. This ridiculous hypothesis was swiftly disproven as Owen thanked the good Samaritans and collected the TESCO bag.

“Elephant’s excrement,” he swore as he discovered the bag to contain only the box. This was followed by a scream of pain as his hand went to his temple and he discovered the lump at the place he had been struck. Annoyed and for a moment unsure what to do Owen considered calling work and begging for assistance. It was then though that he heard Tatianna again.

“Yes Boris… Better than we expected… These shoes… I feel like a sprite, a spirit of the ether…” the professor caught the crisp voice distinctly Russian through his speakers.

By pure luck Shaposhnikov had donned the experimental footwear without realizing Owen was still recording. The Russian’s voice was weak though meaning she was approximately a good mile away, maybe further. Owen needed to hurry but he had no way to know which direction Tatianna had fled.

“Think Owen! Think!” the profession urged.

“Meet me at the usual place in ten minutes,” Owen translated from the Russian that crackled in his ears.

“Yes, coffee sounds nice and a pastry,” Tatianna’s voice added. “I do so enjoy the English idea of elevenses…”

Now at Wellington Arch the professor threw his hand out for a taxi and jumped inside.

“Where to mate?” asked the cabbie just as the watch on Owen’s wrist ticked over to eleven.

“Wait for just a moment, please,” begged Owen listening intently. He held his hand up to silence the driver.

The sound of Big Ben announcing the eleventh hour could be clearly heard outside the taxi cab but also came through clear as a bell via Owen’s headphones.

“The clock is ticking, Boris,” Tatianna could faintly be heard to laugh as the clock bell chimed.

“Indeed it is,” murmured the professor. He had discovered his quarry. The hunt was on.

As the taxi driver reluctantly dropped the professor off at the payphone near The Palace of Westminster he refused payment.

“I’ll wait here in case you need me again,” the driver offered with a friendly grin. “Love this espionage type stuff and all that.”

“Fine then, as you so wish,” replied a frustrated Owen.

He knew he didn’t have the time to waste arguing with the driver and his conscience would not allow him to leave a fair unpaid. The professor knew the fair would only grow as he searched for the two Russian agents and his experimental sneakers. Closing the cab door behind him Owen left with the TESCO shopping bag in his left hand and his umbrella tucked under his right arm.

The chimes from Big Ben were just fading as Owen noted the phone box was empty. Looking around he immediately dismissed any Starbucks as relations between America and Russia were iffy at best. Anything remotely Italian did not seem right either, neither did the traditional English tea houses. He decided to head toward Rag and Bone initially, expecting the agents to be drawn to the fine food and atmospheric music but in his travels Owen caught sight of someone he assumed could only be Boris entering the Iris and June. Calculating the distance back to the payphone Owen decided to go it alone. It would take him too long to contact work and report in.

“For Queen and country old boy,” he told himself before ambling across the cobbled street and bravely entering the establishment.

Tatianna was in the booth closest to the door. The figure Owen had assumed to be Boris was just sliding into the seat opposite his comrade. Immediately Agent Shaposhnikov rose to standing with her PSS Silent pistol.

“How did you find me?” Tatianna asked with shock evident in her voice.

“I just came where you said to meet you,” Boris explained, confused.

“Not you! Him!” replied Shaposhnikov, taking her eyes off of Owen for a brief moment.

“Ma’am, fire arms are not allowed in our café!” announced one of the wait staff, deeply concerned.

Owen, Tatianna and Boris already knew the local police were being called. They didn’t have long. Owen strode forward with purpose, umbrella open and out in front like a shield.

“Nobody need get hurt, Tatianna…” announced the professor. “I merely wish to retrieve those shoes you have stolen…”

“For the glory of Russia!!” screamed Tatianna and let off the four shots of the pistol.

Those in the café didn’t know what to think as the gun showed little sign it had fired.

Owen knew the pistol was spent though as his special umbrella absorbed the impact of each of the projectiles, the sponge like material sucking the expended bullets in for him to extract in the lab later.

“I think you will find Russia’s glory will need to wait,” replied Owen. With a press of the red button on the base of his umbrella Owen shot from its tip a sticky web gluing the two agents and another customer to their seats.

“I shall take those,” the professor announced as he retrieved the sneakers from beneath the booth.

“Be sure to see the movie!” he then announced with a flourish of his free hand. Owen left the café to a round of applause.

Returning to the waiting taxi five minutes later Owen was aghast upon discovering the fair to be already over a hundred quid. By the time the cabbie dropped him home it was almost double.

While sipping a gin and tonic safe in his own kitchen and considering options for lunch the professor congratulated himself on a job well done.

“Sarah, Owen here,” he stated, cool and calmly ringing in to work. “I won’t be in until four today… I have something I think everyone needs to see…”