Cookie Royale

Agent 000 walked briskly through the street. He sidestepped through the crowds, making his way through the groups of tourists. He sighed. 

Sometimes he wondered why the rendezvous point was in Venice. It was jammed with tourists. 

His eyes darted back and forth, sizing up potential suspects. His hand gripped the gun hidden in his waist belt, ready to fire. 

He walked like this until he reached the steps of a large building. His nimble feet danced against the limestone, showing signs of his training. His muscles twitched, ready for a sniper to be firing any second. 

At last, he reached the top of the staircase, and was finally able to relax. 

“Good day for exchanging cookies, isn’t it?”

“The weather will be always in favor of exchanging cookies,” the doorman replied, and then held the door open. 

Agent 000 laughed out loud once he got inside. Cookies? He had been surprised when he had been sent the code. Cookies. 

He opened his briefcase, and set the decoy cookies aside. He took out his debriefing papers, and locked the suitcase while heading inside. 

Agent 000 entered the rendezvous room, which was a large, unlit, chamber. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and wooden tables law strewn across the room, gathering dust. 000 walked around slowly, sizing it all up. He crouched down and peered through the layer of dust covering the floor, trying to look for any footprints. 

There was a faint outline of a boot that wasn’t his, and he looked closer, especially at the tables. Pushing the tablecloths aside, he saw a trapdoor after much searching. It was covered in dust, but he reached for its handles. 

“Sir, the room is this way,” the doorman yelled from the entrance to the room 000 was in. 

“Oh yes, sorry. Just saw something,” he said, while brushing the dust off his pants. 

The doorman’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he didn’t dare say anything. 

They walked down the hall, their steps muffled by the rich carpet. 

They passed some large paintings, and through large, demanding archways. 000 wondered why his superior had chosen this place to meet. Right in the middle of a crowded city, in a large building where people can easily hide, and with the cookie decoy. 

Did he really think that a cookie exchange would be enough to hide the debrief? A cookie exchange with the mayor, one of the most wanted agents in the mafia, and the leader of the most secretive intelligence agency?

They headed down the hall, walking for what seemed to be forever. 

“So am I the last guest?”

“No, there was one more person after you. They headed down the hall, and I was following, but I ran into you.”

“I see.”

“And your name, kind Sir?”

“The name’s Pond, David Pond.”

David kept walking, and abruptly stopped. He stared at the painting to his left, which was a modern cubism piece of art. The eyes looked at him strangely, but they almost looked like...they were following him.

He walked back and forth a few times, but the eyes stood staring straight ahead. He then acted like he was going to keep walking, but he saw it out of the corner of his eye: the eyes followed him. His superior would never spy on him. 

So David whipped out his gun and shot the eyes, hitting them precisely in the pupil. 

But all that remained was a tattered painting. 

“What are you doing? That painting is worth thousands!”

“Nothing. It had to be done, for safety’s sake.”

The doorman looked at him in disgust, and David didn’t mind. 

Anyway, artist salaries were more than his, and they did practically nothing compared to him.

At last, they had reached the main room. 

It was a simple yet extravagant one, with many archways and gold-plated items. There were comfy chairs littered around, with low-hanging chandeliers. 

David signed in relief. Now he could be himself. There were a few other people milling around, helping themselves to the exotic platters of cookies and chatting. David caught up with a few of his fellow agents, and wasn’t that sure what to do. 

There were a few civilians milling around too, just as a cover to the cookie exchange. 

“Ahem.”

David’s superior stood in the middle of the room, with a mike in her hand. 

“We would like to thank you all for attending today’s cookie exchange, which is an honor to host.”

A few of the locals nodded seriously, and David stifled a laugh. Were they really this serious about a simple cookie exchange?

All the agents glanced at each other warily, knowing what they had to do. It was way too dangerous to publicly say what the results of their mission had been or to receive a debrief from their superior, so notes would be exchanged through the cookies. The cookies were special-they were baked with the notes in them. All one had to do was bite half of the cookie, and secretly slip the note into their hands. 

It was a simple system, and everybody was getting the hang of it. They couldn't have back-and-forth conversations, of course, but they could always do that privately with one another elsewhere. 

Agent 000 also had to trade with people other than fellow spies, and he couldn’t get enough of it. He just wanted to exchange information and leave. This place was making him nervous. 

In the last few minutes, one of the locals beckoned him to trade. The local was wearing a bandana over their face, which David assumed was a tradition. The local handed a cookie to each of the spies, with their superior getting the last one. 

And it all happened extremely fast: The going of blinking red David saw on the otherwise white cookie. The glint in the local’s eyes. The smoke filling the air. And then the cookie exploded, unleashing plumes of smoke. 

After a few seconds of panicking and confusion, David heard the first shouts. 

“Hey, get off me!”

“What do you want from my pockets?”

After a few soconds of racking his brain, David understood: the infiltrators wanted the notes the spies had exchanged. He hurriedly shouted: “Everyone get close to me! Follow my voice!”

They all clumped near him, and David felt a small creep of hand in his back pocket.  He whipped around and grabbed the wrist, and twisted it in a flurry. The imposter yelled out in pain. 

David quickly dug into his trench coat pocket, and took out a pair of infrared goggles. A spy always comes prepared. 

With the goggles, he could make out the imposters. He swiftly moved through the crowds of people, which was much easier as they were all close to him. 

His main goal was to subdue the hands of the importers first. No matter what the cost, they couldn't get their hands on the information. 

It was a 1 against 10 fight, but David had the advantage of knowing where they were. 

At last, David took out the last imposter. The smoke had finally cleared, and most importantly, all the information was still classified. 

David then looked down at the bodies, admiring his work. 

He turned to look at his superior, expecting to be rewarded a smile of appreciation. And he was. 

But then his supervisor’s eyes widened in fear, and he yelled out a warning-but it was too late. 

David cried out in pain as a blade cut through his chest, severing his heart.