Broken Mirror

The Setup

Constitution Gardens is pleasingly deserted on this hot summer afternoon. Only a handful of visitors lounge on benches or saunter sluggishly along the foot paths under the scorching sun. The tiny pond in the middle, smooth and still, reflects the azure sky above and the polychrome patch of tulips on the other side.

I wiggle the knobs on my control panel. My remote-controlled toy boat glides slickly along the water surface, creating a triangular wake behind it. I navigate it around a pair of blooming water lilies and direct it towards the further end of the pond.

A tiny schooner parading a Jolly Roger on its mast sails by. The slight wind, which keels it to its side, makes it look like a real ship viewed from a distance. A similarly small Mississippi paddle steamer follows the schooner closely. The wings of the wheel beat the water surface, emitting a muffled, repetitious pounding. A miniature submarine emerges unexpectedly from underneath and crosses dangerously close to my compact version of The Queen Mary. It submerges again right away, but for a brief second, I seem to catch a glimpse of colors on its side. If I am not mistaken, they are the white, red and blue of the flag of the Russian Federation.

I pull my red baseball hat low above my eyes. I have opted for a hat instead of the agency-recommended sunglasses. The visor of the hat covers my face when I lower my head. Sunglasses would have concealed my eyes and allowed me to look around better, but they would also invite curious looks. Attention is the last thing I want when I am on a mission.

It was not my choice to be in Washington DC and doing this. I had done an outstandingly good job of retiring from the field nineteen years ago, buying myself a small suburban house, and occupying myself with mindless bureaucratic paperwork to help pass the time.

But four years ago, the unthinkable happened. Exposure. I was forced to use my unique skills in a public event to disarm a homicidal shooter. A non-trivial number of witnesses saw me operate. The existence of my classified capabilities could no longer be considered an agency secret.

The agency did not mince words. "Damage incalculable," the report said. "Potentially catastrophic for National Security. Immediate remediation mandatory."

They pulled me right back in. One mission. Razor-slim time frame of operation. No margin for error. There was also a carrot. If successful, they would wipe my slate clean – a lucrative offer, considering the grime it had collected over the years.

There was no discussion of what would happen if I fail. There never is. I give it an internal shrug. This lifestyle was my choice.

My target tonight is a young computer scientist from Seattle. He is expected to arrive at the Ritz-Carlton across the street sometime this afternoon. At exactly eight pm, he will attempt to establish contact with a Russian intelligence agent at the bar in the hotel lobby. An exchange of information will take place.

The time of the exchange and the picture of the computer scientist is all I have. My mission is delicate and surgical. I have to be at that bar a little before eight, intercept my target, engage him, and ensure the exchange fails.

I scan the Gardens under the visor of my hat as extensively as I can without having to turn around. Of the few people I see, only one carries a remote-control panel. He is tall and lanky. Despite the heat, he is wearing a plaid long-sleeve shirt accessorized with a bolo tie. He is also parading a silver sheriff star and a cowboy hat. He appears to be the owner of the paddle steamer.

The owners of the other two vessels on the water are not visible from my vantage point. On my left, an old lady with curly gray hair trudges along, dragging behind her a similarly trudging, curly, old Scottish terrier on a leash. A teenage couple, who should probably be in school, is kissing on one of the benches to the far right. Also on my right, a mother in a blue dress pushing a double stroller sets camp on one of the diligently mowed lawns. She takes out a thick colorful quilt and spreads it on the grass.