The Deadly Mamba: an Offering to Frank Atanacio

The ‘Mamba’ was good, exceptionally good. In fact, she was by far the best that the Agency had recruited for many years. With sharp, penetrating eyes, fatally alluring beauty, buxom chest and a charmed curvature to die for, she was as deadly as the snake who was the natural carrier of the name. They paid her well, too well, as apart from her obvious physical attributes, she was as sharp and quick-witted as Einstein’s brain.

Yet Mamba was unhappy. ‘Just one more job,’ they kept on saying, a mantra which had become something of a curse, as she was dying to get out. On top of that, they always threatened her ten year old, and she swore silently, that one day she’d make them pay.

Here at the Airport, she’s covering ‘just one more job,’ and this time her mind is not only on the assignment as Agent 008, but in planning a clever scheme, that would see her leave the Agency, entering into a new and distant life. Still, she knew her job and was assured, confident and ever daring, as she walked over to the Sicilian agent to greet him.

Sitting on an isolated bench, not too far from a lonely red telephone Kiosk, Agent X, rimmed spectacles dropping down to the curve of his nostrils, looked up from his newspaper, and surveyed the woman he’d never met. “Busy day at the airport.” He said in coded language. “The Flights are full.” She responded, and he was satisfied.

Arising from his seat, he invited her for coffee in a dark corner of a nearby restaurant for briefing. They had lost many agents recently, he said, and some of their best ones too. There was a mole on the inside and her job was to flush him out for M17. Mamba smiled reassuringly, said that she’d take care of it, and ordered a couple of glasses of champagne. Tall, dark and handsome, Agent X was cautious by nature, and did not drink.

They spent the night together in her hotel, working out the details, discussing in the language such as only secret agents knew and the Sicilian was cautiously pleased. More relaxed, he ventured a glance in the direction of her bosom, down to the cleavage and nape of the belly … she was good, well skilled in the art of seduction and did not miss a trick.

With most of the planning and discussion over, she slipped into something more comfortable, poured out two glasses of wine as the soft music came on via remote. She drank the first and invited the agent to have the second. He declined politely. Stepping to her wardrobe, she slipped into a pink negligee, grabbed her towel and headed for the shower.

The hot emotions of Agent X raced with passion. As he heard the water fall, the sweet hum of her melodious voice, the smell of the wafts coming from her naked silhouette, penetrated his now carnal mind. Mamba emerged from the shower about ten minutes later, changed into something more enticing, picked up the second glass and drank the wine.

The chain of events that followed was very rushed, as she met a willing partner, and knew how to give the welcomed darkness, her best and most talented shot. Long and memorable was the hour, and heightened beyond measure the desires of the two agents. Young Eros danced in Heaven, and Venus smiled from above. Now tired and spent, Mamba turned to the wine, pouring out another two glasses. She held her glass steadily and drank the wine. Tempted; bodily heat overcoming his initial caution, young Agent X picked up his glass and did the same.

Alas! He was dead before the last drop hit his stomach. The powerful combination of strychnine and digitalis; the enormity of the dose used from a plastic pouch hidden beneath her long fingernails, was too much for any man and immediately stopped the agents heart.

Mamba - like the snake - was swift, very swift. Her first phone call was to the Eraser, to erase all traces of activity from the room; destroy her records … the second was to the Falsifier, a friend who would do the necessaries in terms of passport, appearance, etc., to get her to the airport. The third was to the Organiser, a lover who knew where her child was kept. Then she began a fast but orderly exit from the hotel.

Agent 008 felt sad, as the Sicilian was worth his money beneath the covers and did not deserve this. She had known of him from the huge dossier collected and he was a family man. Besides, she had long since wanted out, but not this way.

News spread like wildfire in the Agency, that the Mamba had taken her child, killed a field agent and disappeared. They would find her … they would find her at any cost. Don Corleone, the Fixer, made his way to the likeliest get away point, the airport. Using his Agency intelligence, he managed to make his way through customs; through the waiting area and to the numerous stream of people going in and out of this complex Airport.

He was good and not one female managed to escape his stare; not a single male did either. She was good at disguises, he knew, but today she would be caught. He saw the pilot and team go into the aircraft; the stewardesses, the passengers … and he saw the old grey-headed woman in the wheelchair, being escorted to the plane.

Some thirty minutes later, he was about to give up and call base control, when he suddenly remembered the old woman in the wheel chair … the young stewardesses … too late, as the plane was at maximum altitude and heading into a land unknown.

*****

It is now two weeks later, Agent 008 is lying on a remote country beach in the Caribbean sunset, swinging from a hammock with her child and talking to new friends. She pours a glass of champagne, which this time, is savoured with a joy and relief unspoken. Looking back just fleetingly, she smiles at the irony of recent events … that Agent X was sent to meet the very mole he was looking for, in the act of trying to weed out a seemingly different one. A fatal mistake.

Her last thought was to wonder if he became conscious of his mistake, just before his lights went out. She pours another glass, kisses her daughter on the cheeks and with a raised hand, gives a happy toast to retirement.

-Manatita, Copyrighted 30^th March, 2017.