To the Security Office

She pulls out her phone and fiddles with it, then looks back at you.

“You have a signal jammer built into that instrument case too? It was bad enough that we had to tail your car by drone instead of tracking through the GPS. Now she could be anywhere.”

“Luckily for us, I have a tracker placed on the exterior of the case too,” you say, pulling out your phone. With a couple of taps, you bring up the location of the instrument case. It appears to be within the building still, inside the security office. You show the agent your screen, and the two of you make your way down to the office.

The journey goes by without a hitch, and you find yourself staring at an imposing metal door that has a digital lock and a fingerprint scanner attached. There’s also a doorbell. You buzz the doorbell.

“What do you need,” a burly looking man with a messy beard pokes his head out the door and asks.

“We, ah, left a large instrument in its case in the elevator just recently,” you say. “We were hoping that you guys would have found it and kept it.”

“Instrument case,” the man says, his face going a little pale. “Yes, there might have been one of those. Could you tell me what was inside the case?”

“A friend of ours, she got drunk and crawled inside of it,” the Russian agent next to you says. She slips an arm around your waist, as if to pretend that the two of you are a couple.

“And why was she tied up then?”

The agent shoots you a dirty look, but you shrug.

“We may have, ah, been doing some sexual things shortly after the drinking,” you say. “Sexual things requiring cord and rope.”

“You tie good knots, sir,” the guard stammers a bit, impressed by your ability to secure a threesome with two beautiful ladies. You shrug, and push at the door.

“We can come in to get her, then?”

“Yes sir, follow me,” the guard says, opening the door fully to let the two of you enter. The office is a bit cramped, with the smell of food in the air and large figures hunched over small CCTV screens. You wonder how they missed the tussle in the elevator and corridors, until you realise that they’re all just on their phones.

The agent who was tied up has been left in the corner, next to the unzipped instrument case. She is still passed out. You walk over to pick her up, and the agent next to you surreptitiously takes her vitals. Seeming content, she nods to you.

“Mind getting the instrument case,” you say, slipping a tracker into the **** agent’s waistband.

“Of course, my beau,” she responds, and the two of you make your way out of the office.

As soon as the elevator doors clang shut again, the agent drops her case and begins working on the knots binding her colleague’s wrists together. She is quick, but she is barely done by the time the elevator doors swing open again. You walk to back to your room in silence, and then drop the **** agent onto your bed.

With practiced efficiency, you strip her down. You take a second to admire her slim body, and then begin rifling through all of the assorted items that you found. The agent next to you works on the knot tying together the ankles, and then works on massaging the bluer areas, trying to get blood flowing back into those regions. She doesn’t appear to be having very much success at her endeavour.

You, on the other hand, manage to locate the USB inside of the comrade’s dress. You silently pocket it, aware that the agent has her eyes on you, and you sit back on the chair by the desk, your job complete.

“How long until she’s back up?” the agent asks.

“I’m not sure,” you respond. “She gave herself a concussion.”

“Well, since I’ve done such a great favour for you by letting you have the USB, you can help make it up by letting us stay here for a while, at least until she’s back up again, hmm?”