A bowl of oatmeal and a tiger

“Sunny and warm with a high of seventy-one degrees,” the announcer said from the radio. Rodger turned the knob and shut it off.

The car was packed, and he was ready to go. A perfect day for fishing. He had waited months for time of from work to take this day. Nothing would stand in his way, now.

He pulled down the wide brim of his straw hat, savoring its familiar weight as he swung open the front door. The sun greeted him with open arms, a gentle warmth draping over his shoulders like a soft blanket.

Above, the sky sprawled in a brilliant blue, unmarred by clouds, igniting a spark of excitement within him for this perfect sunny day. With a soft sigh that felt both content and anticipatory, Rodger turned left and crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on the prize awaiting him.

There it was—his brand new 1957 Chevrolet, a gleaming vision in the morning light. The paint was as blue as the sky above, the white “swoosh” on the side caught the sun’s rays. It had taken two long years of saving, sacrifice, and dreams to afford this moment, and here it was, his heart swelling with pride. The apple of his eye and his first day off since buying it.

He approached the car and ran his hand along the cool chrome accents framing the trunk, feeling the smoothness beneath his fingers, a tangible reflection of all he had achieved. He straightened his shoulders, the weight of anticipation settling comfortably around him as he opened the door and slid into the inviting embrace of the blue and white leather seat.

With a steadying breath, he inserted the key into the ignition, his heart racing with anticipation. As he turned it, the 250-horsepower Ramjet engine roared to life, filling him with exhilaration. He closed the door with a solid thud and eased out of his driveway. The Dynaglide suspension cradled him as he glided onto the road.

Before long he was parked and stepping through the double glass doors doors of Woolworth's for breakfast.

As her contemplated using the automat, or ordering at the counter, the sweet scent of lilacs wafted by as a voice whispered, “I heard the apple pie is delicious.”

A little surprised Rodger turned to see a blonde woman, her smile sharp and knowing. “It's the best in town,” he replied.

He noticed her odd subtle nod toward the kitchen before she continued on into the crowd of shoppers in the sundry side of the store.

Rodger approached the row of tiny automat doors, peering into each compartment for his breakfast. To his surprise, he noticed one of the cooks looking back at him from behind more than one of the compartments.

Finally, he found a quick meal, a steaming bowl of oatmeal. He inserted a nickel and pulled the handle. With a “Sheechunk,” the plastic door slid open, and he reached for his oatmeal.

He grabbed the saucer beneath the bowl and pulled it out of the cubby. His eyes widened in disbelief. There, nestled against the bowl, sat a black ring.

Standing upright, he swept his gaze around, heart racing, anticipating someone running up to him to claim the ring.

He caught sight of the woman he had just spoken to, her knowing gaze fixed on him from across the store. He hesitated to see if she moved toward him but she disappeared among the shoppers.

Chalking it up to imagination he slipped the ring on his finger. Sat the oatmeal on a nearby table and returned to the automat doors to buy some milk. He thought once he had sat them on a table he would ask the kitchen staff if anyone had lost a ring.

Clink, clink—the two pennies fell into the slot, and Rodger slid the door open, reaching for the bottle of milk.

Suddenly, a vise-like grip seized his wrist. He bent down to peer into the cubby, and there was the man he’d noticed earlier, desperately trying to say something. The cacophony of noise enveloped them, drowning out any chance of understanding, but Rodger sensed it had to do with the ring.

The man yanked at his arm, nearly slamming Rodger’s face against the side of the automat.

Instinctively, Rodger twisted away, shoving his shoulder against the metal wall and pushing back with all his might. The maneuver worked; the man in the kitchen lost his grip.

Rodger looked up and scanned the diner area. A few people were looking at him with wide eyes but for the most part most were eating.

That is when he felt a tug on his left arm that made he turn around facing the entrance.

A woman slipped her arm around Rodger's, her lips brushing against his cheek as she murmured, “We need to get out of here and to your car.”

Rodger’s brows knitted together, confusion washing over him as he instinctively pushed her away. But before he could voice his questions, she pressed a quick kiss to his lips, leaving him momentarily breathless.

With a determined tug, she turned him toward the exit, their arms entwined as they navigated through the tables. Shocked, Rodger found himself following her lead, his heart racing.

“Hurry, get in your car. I’ll explain as we drive,” she said, urgency lacing her voice.

He sprinted to the driver’s side, sliding into the seat, while she gracefully slipped into the passenger seat.

Rodger's gaze faltered on the captivating redhead beside him in the white blouse and yellow pencil skirt, a whirlwind of confusion and intrigue swirling in his mind.

Without warning, she reached over, her fingers deftly shifting the transmission into reverse. “Get going!” she commanded, her tone brooking no argument.

Still dazed, he backed out of the parking spot, the world outside blurring as he accelerated down Main St.

“Don’t stop at the lights,” she instructed, her eyes fixed ahead, the weight of the moment pressing heavy between them. The tension was palpable, a silent storm brewing in the cramped confines of the car.

The woman kept glancing anxiously out the back window for several minutes, her expression a mix of concern and urgency. The only sounds were the tires on the asphalt, the thrum of the engine, and their uneven breathing.

Finally, she turned to face him, a deep sigh escaping her lips. “That was close,” she said, her words laced with relief, and then flashed the most beautiful smile he had ever seen—a fleeting glimpse of warmth amidst the chaos.

Rodger slammed the brake pedal, the car jolting as he veered onto the dirt shoulder of the road. His lips pressed into a thin line, smoldering with confusion. “What was close? What the hell was that? Who were those people? For that matter, who the hell are you?” His voice came out guttural, the fear rising like bile in his throat.

She held up her hands, palms facing him in a gesture of peace. “Now, calm down. I know this is a bit weird,” she said, her tone soothing yet firm.

“WEIRD!” he shot back, the volume of his voice echoing painfully in the small space, even surprising himself. “Weird?” he repeated, quieter this time, grappling with the reality of the situation. “I just had some guy try to twist my arm out of the socket…”

The redhead peered out the back window again, her eyes darting as if she could still sense their pursuers. “You drive, and I'll explain,” she urged, her voice steady despite the chaos.

Rodger took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. He eased back onto the highway, the tires crunching on gravel as he accelerated onto the asphalt. His heart raced, but he fought to keep his grip steady on the wheel.

“First,” she began, a seriousness creeping into her tone, “my name is Gretchen. I work for our government in a, er, special agency.” She paused, glancing at him to gauge his reaction. “The woman who whispered to you this morning is an enemy of the U.S. Apparently, you answered a coded question correctly, and that led you to become in possession of that.” She pointed to the ring on his finger, its metallic glint catching the sunlight.

Rodger’s mind raced as he tried to process her words. “A coded question?” he echoed, feeling the weight of the ring suddenly seem heavier. “What do you mean? I just found it at breakfast! All I wanted to do was go fishing.” He pointed with his thumb at the fishing pole in the back on the floor of the car.

Gretchen nodded, her expression grave. “And that’s exactly why you’re in danger. The ring is a key, Rodger. A key to information that could change everything.” She leaned closer, her voice low. “And they’ll stop at nothing to get it back.”

Rodger glanced at the ring, its intricate design gleaming under the sunlight. “Here, take the damn thing,” he muttered, tossing it into her palm. “I don’t want to know anything more about it.”

She examined the ring, her fingers tracing its fine details as she reclined into the smooth leather seat, a slight smile playing on her lips. “Well, let me just tell you that you just changed the tide of the Cold War,” she said, her voice light yet laced with an undertone of seriousness.

Rodger sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Well, good for me. All I wanted to do was go fishing.” He turned to meet her gaze, his annoyance softening as he caught sight of her striking green eyes. “And I happen to be really, really good at fishing.”

She let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “I’m sorry you got mixed up in this mess, really. But I do need to ask you for a favor.” Her tone was nonchalant, her focus still on the ring as if it were a piece of art rather than a potential harbinger of chaos.

“Oh no, no, no, no,” Rodger interjected, shaking his head vigorously. “I’m dropping you off at the nearest payphone and then I’m going fishing. That’s the plan. No detours.”

“It’ll just take a few minutes, and we're headed in the right direction,” she replied, her voice dropping to a soft, almost pleading whisper. She looked up at him through her eyelashes, a hint of vulnerability in her eyes. “You wouldn’t leave me stranded by the side of the road, would you?”

Rodger's shoulders slumped slightly, the resolve in him wavering. He felt a pang of sympathy as he saw the flicker of anxiety in her expression. “No, I guess not,” he said, his tone betraying a mix of resignation and reluctant acceptance.

“Thank you,” she said, her smile returning, and for a brief moment, the weight of the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of them in that car—a fisherman and a stranger caught in a web of unexpected intrigue..

Gretchen slipped the ring onto her thumb and reached over to take a gold cigarette case out of her purse. She pulled a small antenna from the side of the case, attached an earphone to the other side and stuck it in her ear.

“HQ... come in, HQ... this is Tiger, being pursued on Route Two by Black Mamba. Requesting assistance. Civvy in tow.” She spoke urgently, her voice muffled slightly by the case pressed tightly to her mouth.

Gretchen stole a quick glance through the rear window, her eyes widening. “Uh oh,” she said, a hint of panic creeping into her tone.

“Uh oh? Uh oh what?” Rodger replied, his heart racing as he shot a glance into the rear view mirror. A sleek black car was gaining on them, its engine growling like a predator closing in on its prey.

She quickly pushed the antenna back in on the case, shut it and dropped it into her purse.

“Switch places, You drive like my Grandma” she commanded, sliding along the seat until her hips bumped against his.

“Switch places? Like now? We can’t pull over!” He was incredulous, his eyes darting between her and the mirror. “No way! I just bought this car, Gretchen! It’s like my baby—what if we wreck?”

Without missing a beat, she reached for the steering wheel adjustment and released it. With a swift motion, she pushed the wheel upward creating a large gap between his knees and the wheel. “Slide over, NOW!” she yelled, her voice sharp with urgency.

Rodger’s heart raced as he hesitated for just a moment before raising himself up, sliding to the right as she gracefully passed beneath him. The moment felt surreal, like something out of a bizarre movie. He dropped back down, his mind racing.

Moments later Gretchen took a hard left turn onto a dirt road. The dust swirled up with tornado like winds and swirled around the rear of the car.

“We are close to a government facility just up the road.” she said.

Rodger looked to the rear as the car peeked through the dust cloud.

“What happens if we don't make it?” Rodger looked towards Gretchen.

His question was answered with a violent crash as the rear window shattered, shards raining down like confetti. Thunk, thunk! The sound echoed in the confined space, a grim reminder of their dire situation.

Rodger’s eyes widened in horror as he looked up at the massive tear in the headliner, a bullet hole gaping at him like a mouth screaming for help. Through it, he could see the blue sky, starkly contrasting with the chaos surrounding them. “No! Not my new car!” he shouted in genuine despair. The ridiculousness of his situation struck him then: here he was, embroiled in a spy chase, and all he wanted was a day at the lake.

As they neared several wooden buildings Gretchen jammed on the brakes and slid sideways next to one leaving the drivers side facing towards the attackers. Gretchen threw her door open and ran around where Rodger was hunched down on the passenger side of the car and hunched down beside him.

“I have some friends that'll be here soon. We just need to hold out a little while.” she said as she withdrew a gun from her purse. Carefully aiming she shot three rounds into the grill of their attackers car.

Steam erupted from the bullet holes and the pursuers came to a stop.

The driver's door opened quickly and Rodger saw a giant of a man with broad shoulders and a bald head crouch behind the open door. Quickly stepping out of the passenger side he saw a gorgeous platinum blonde, dressed much like Gretchen, drop down behind her open door.

The dust settled around them along with an eerie silence.

“Is that you Becky?” Gretchen yelled, “and Otto?”

“Oh darling you know it's me and of course I have sweet Otto along.” Thump! A bullet hit the ground just beyond Gretchen.

“You'll not get it!” Gretchen yelled.

“Oh I think we will.” came the reply.

Rodger whispered “Can you hold them off?”

“I only have two shots left. Becky never carries a gun but Otto has plenty of bullets.

Rodger gulped. He was not about to sit idle and get shot.

As the two women continued their spirited banter, Rodger's gaze shifted toward the shadows, where he spotted Otto crouched near the sleek black sedan. A flicker of hope ignited in him—he had a unique skill, and now was the moment to put it to the test. He swung open the back passenger door, reached over the seat, and grasped his trusty fishing pole with a surge of determination. Settling back beside Gretchen, he murmured, “Be ready.”

“Ready for what?” she whispered, her eyes wide with curiosity.

Rodger set to work, carefully positioning himself behind the car, feeling the adrenaline coil within him. With a swift, practiced motion, he flicked the rod. The hook soared through the air like a dart, arcing just above Otto's head before plummeting behind him. In a heartbeat, Rodger snapped his wrist, and the hefty hook embedded itself in the smooth expanse of Otto’s bald scalp.

Otto howled in surprise, leaping up in a frenzy.

Seizing her chance, Gretchen took aim with the precision of a seasoned marksman and sent Otto sprawling backward, where he landed in a cloud of dust, motionless on the unforgiving road.

Rodger turned to Gretchen, his heart racing, and caught her eye; she gave him a reassuring wink and a smile, a flicker of camaraderie amidst chaos.

The excitement faded as tremors ran through him, a shockwave of everything that had happened in an instant. Suddenly he felt someone pressing a soft cloth over his mouth and nose from behind`. As he lost consciousness, darkness wrapped around him like a shroud.

______

The radio alarm clock blared to life at 7:30 A.M., pulling Rodger from a restless sleep. He shot upright, flinging aside the covers and planting his feet on the cool floor, heart racing. Had it all been a dream, or was reality just as twisted?

Rodger shook his head, trying to dispel yesterday’s turmoil. But his car? His two years of saving and sacrifice?

He quickly threw on his rumpled jeans and rushed to the front door, flinging it open to check the driveway.

To his surprise, his car looked exactly as it had the day before—no bullet holes, both mirrors intact. But what lay behind it made him sit down hard on the porch.

Sitting, hitched behind the car, was a stunning twenty-three-foot fishing boat, glistening like a jewel against the asphalt. This wasn’t just any boat; it had a sleek hull and top-notch fishing gear meticulously arranged on deck. The name emblazoned on the side caught his eye in bold white letters:

“Uncle Sam.”