#3: Rich & Voss Go to Spain
This story is part of a challenge to write 52 short stories in one year! Follow along with the challenge and receive prompts to write your own stories, by subscribing here.
Well, I fell a little behind last week, which is why you’re getting last week’s story on a Monday morning instead. I entered a short story writing contest last week and it took up a lot of my time and creative energy, but I’m catching up on all my other obligations. I’ll have another story ready for y’all this weekend.
I’ve written about these two characters before and I always love returning to their dynamic. Their dialogue always comes naturally, like they’re saying it in my ear and I’m just copying it down.
Rich and Voss Go to Spain
“Whatever you do on this trip, do not set something on fire,” Rich said. His voice was quiet, especially in the din of take-off, but Sandra heard him clearly. He had closed his eyes already and was about to put his headphones on.
Sandra was tempted to roll her eyes but resisted. “One time that happened.”
“And it never needs to happen again.”
“Could you consider letting it go?”
“I have considered it, Voss. I’ve decided not to.”
Sandra sighed.
His blue eyes suddenly bore into her. “We can’t leave—“
“Trails, paper or otherwise. I know.”
A curt nod, and the luxurious leather headphones he favored slipped over his head. His only other words the rest of the plane ride were used to order an extra-strong bloody mary as the sun rose and the plane drew closer to Spain. His accent for this mission was vaguely Spanish. He surely had it down to a specific region, a specific city even, but Sandra didn’t need to know that many details. This was a fact-finding mission, nothing more. They only had one weapon with them, Rich’s handgun, and didn’t expect to use it.
Her hands itched to pull down the secure laptop, to look over the maps again, to make sure there weren’t flaws. This was her second mission as a fledgling agent; she was, finally, not just a trainee anymore. She hadn’t been approved for solo missions yet, hence Rich’s solid presence next to her on the plane.
Alejandro Lopez, international playboy. She’d memorized his face, the way he walked, and his favorite drink. He looked a bit like Enrique Iglesias but sharper, like touching him could draw blood.
Sandra and Rich had been sent to Madrid to find out if Lopez’s trips to the coast included more than yachts filled with champagne. From the reports, they were pretty sure he had taken over his uncle’s trafficking business and was filling the hold with undocumented immigrants. Mostly workers—people fleeing unrest and unemployment in their homes and desperate for a way into Europe. Lopez’s way was almost certainly not the refuge they had hoped for.
They landed, and after a weary trip through customs, they checked out their car and began the long drive down to Málaga. There, they checked into a hotel on the other side of town from where Lopez favored staying. After a quick shower each, they made their way to the bar where they knew they could expect to find Lopez.
“I feel like an idiot trying to fake seduce you.”
He chuckled. “Get used to it, you’ll have to seduce a fair share of marks. We all have to.”
“I’m better with strangers. I can normally make a decent guess at how to approach them after watching for a few minutes. It’s because it’s you. You’re making me self-conscious.”
He raised a single eyebrow at her.
Her face burned. “Because I know you’re evaluating me, not because—“
Rich saved her with a wave of his hand. “I’d say size me up and try to seduce me, but you’re trying to seduce Lopez. Size him up.”
Sandra watched Lopez behind them through the mirror over the shelves of liquor, drinking and laughing with a few friends. He had one ear on the group’s conversation and both eyes roaming around the bar.
“He’s bored. I don’t think he’d want someone to approach him. I’d guess he likes the chase.”
Rich nodded. Sandra kept watching Lopez in the mirror and waited until his eyes landed on hers there. She held his gaze a moment too long, then turned back to Rich.
“Was that supposed to be something?” Rich frowned.
“What did you want me to do, take off my dress?”
He didn’t reply, but by the set of his shoulders Sandra could tell he was starting to get impatient. Sandra knew his record or at least the rumors of it; Rich probably could have already gotten in and out of Lopez’s hotel room with whatever information he needed.
Sandra was going to ask him to trust her, but a sudden movement behind them caught her attention. In the mirror, Sandra watched as Lopez managed to scoot out of his booth with a kind of lithe grace that Sandra was instantly jealous of. He came up to the empty space beside Rich and waited patiently for the bartender.
Sandra’s heart rate picked up as their mark stood close by, but she could tell that her work wasn’t done yet—he was fiddling with his phone and waiting to order a drink, not looking at either of them at all. A member of Lopez’s group stood up and joined him, talking loudly about the day’s soccer match.
She studied Rich’s profile as he too remained resolutely uninterested in her. “Have you ever had work done?”
“That’s not really the kind of question strangers ask other strangers,” Rich hissed. “Stay in character.”
“Maybe my cover persona is nosy and has boundary issues.”
“Sounds alarmingly similar to you.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Oh my God.” He signaled to the bartender for another. While Lopez and his friend ordered Rich muttered, “Of course, I’ve had work done. Reconstructive surgeries sometimes, and sometimes you need to change a detail or two, so people don’t recognize you.”
“Do you still recognize yourself when you look in the mirror?”
He stared at her a beat too long, then turned back to the bar and took a gulp of beer. “I never look myself in the eye in the mirror.”
Sandra wanted to say something—anything—that actually mattered, but Rich was practically sparking with energy and irritation, so she let it sit.
“I think you look great for forty-five,” she said loudly and ran a finger over a grey streak near Rich’s temple. “A silver fox, you know?”
“I’m forty-two,” he said gruffly.
“Is this little girl bothering you?” Lopez leaned in, eyes fixed on Rich. He looked as sharp as he did in the photos and hungry. “Buitres, las todas. Come and join us. We were just discussing today’s game, did you catch it?” He put a hand on Rich’s forearm.
Sandra blinked rapidly. This was an unexpected twist, but she just threw Lopez an affronted look and turned back to her drink on the bar.
“That last quarter was a real shame.”
“Real Madrid may truly break my heart this season. Join us,” he invited again.
“That’s very kind, thank you,” Rich said, and stood to join them. Lopez put a hand on Rich’s back to guide him to the table and they all sat down.
Rich had told Sandra that if she had managed to get close to Lopez that night, he’d wait thirty minutes then slip out. Though they hadn’t discussed what would happen if Lopez had taken an interest in Rich instead of Sandra, she figured the rules went both ways. When thirty minutes had passed and Rich was still leaning in closer to Lopez, Sandra paid both their tabs and slipped out to get a cab back to their hotel across town.
The streets had finally quieted after the outpouring of anger and heartbreak when Real Madrid suddenly lost their game in the last three minutes after maintaining a two-point lead since the first half. The cab driver muttered to himself about it through most of the ride once Sandra made it clear she wasn’t interested in small talk, and when she passed him the bills she said, “Here’s to hoping they play better next time.”
“God willing,” he said. “Good night.”
She went up to her room and got ready for bed. She reviewed everything in her head, and made notes about their day, but wasn’t sure what to say about how they had been separated. How truthful did these reports have to get?
Eventually, she went to sleep without finishing the report. She’d make Rich handle it.
At eight a.m. sharp the next morning, Rich opened the door between their adjoining rooms.
“Did you sleep with him?” She asked as soon as she saw him.
“Oh my God,” he yawned. “Food first. It’s too early for your questions.”
“Just yes or no, did you?”
“Voss.” He ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Someday, your job may include sleeping with an international playboy. If you’re lucky, he’ll know what he’s doing. Can we eat now?”
“Fine.” She put her shoes on and followed him to the elevator.
“The good-looking ones almost never know what they’re doing,” she continued as the doors closed and the elevator started to descend.
Rich snorted from where he leaned against the wall. A smile pulled at the corners of Sandra’s lips.
They sat down with plates of food, and Rich passed her a section of a Spanish newspaper.
“No thanks,” she muttered through a mouthful of eggs.
He shook the section slightly. “Not up for debate.”
She snatched it from him and narrowed her eyes at him. “What, you want me to practice my Spanish? You know I’m fluent.” She opened it anyway, and in the center was the newest release from Apple—a screen so thin and flexible it could be rolled and was almost cheap enough to be considered disposable. A video was up and she hit play. It was clearly filmed from the label of Rich’s coat with the camera so small it could be disguised as a pin.
The camera took them into a hotel room, bathed in low light, and from how often the camera got blocked by another jacket Sandra didn’t have to think hard to guess whose hotel room it was.
“Fast forward to minute 41, otherwise we’ll be sitting here a while.”
Sandra raised her eyebrows but said nothing. At the designated time stamp, the jacket was clearly being put back on, and Rich was roaming around the room. Lopez was nowhere to be seen.
“Where—?”
“Shower. Keep watching.”
In the safe in the closet, underneath a diamond-encrusted watch, were what looked like customs forms and shipping manifests. With gloves on, Rich scrolled two next to each other in front of the lapel camera.
“What—” she muttered right as Rich interrupted with, “Did you see it?” Sandra pulled the video back a few seconds and paused it. There on the shipping manifests were twenty instances of an item listed as “M597.” The customs forms showed souvenirs valued at less than 200 euros. It was stamped with approval.
Sandra glanced around the room before speaking. No one was near them, but still, she whispered. “M as in military-grade weapons? We thought they were bringing in people.”
He nods. “They are. M597 isn’t real, it has to be code for people.”
“What?”
“It doesn’t exist. See, this is why I’m always saying that only former military should be allowed to become agents.”
“This is literally the first time in three years that a past in the military would be useful. So how do you know it doesn’t exist?”
“Military code designations always have two letters. MS97, not one letter and three numbers.”
“Maybe that’s not true in Spain. Or maybe it was supposed to be MS97 and they accidentally put in a 5?”
“A typo between an S and a 5, that’s what you’re going with?”
“Well if it was written down first…”
“Oh my God,” Rich raked his fingers through his hair.
She raised the hand that wasn’t holding the newspaper (but was holding toast) in surrender. “Fine. We’ve got proof they’re at least lying about what they’re bringing in. That’s enough to open a formal investigation into them, right? So, we’re done. Mission complete.”
He looked at her like she might have literally lost her head. “Are you joking? Everyone lies on customs forms, this doesn’t prove anything.”
She bristled. “I never lie on my customs forms.”
“You… you what?”
“I never lie on my customs forms,” Sandra repeated.
He blinked at her. “Where did they find you?”
“Illinois.”
They paused. “Give me that,” he said, and reached for the newspaper.
Sandra passed it over and they finished their food in silence. Rich read the newspaper silently throughout; Sandra tried not to study him and mused that they could easily pass for a middle-aged father and his twenty-something daughter enjoying a vacation together.
“It gets better in your thirties,” Rich said suddenly.
“What does?”
“Sex.”
She almost choked on her drink.
“Or you’re just sleeping with the wrong people.”
Sandra frowned. “Are you saying I have bad taste?”
“I’m saying it sounds like you’re sleeping with the wrong people.”
“Uh, hey, I—”
“Come on, we need to get moving,” he said, and was out of his chair before she could form a response.
Sandra put on her sunglasses as they left the hotel. It was late morning, and the sun was already beating down on the city. The air smelled salty, even a few miles inland, and Sandra and Rich blended into the colorfully-clothed milieu of the city immediately.
As they turned a corner, a white Mercedes caught Sandra’s eye.
“Turn left,” she said, and almost pushed Rich around the corner. The Mercedes whipped around the same corner.
“We’re being followed,” she said.
“We’re being cornered,” he hissed and nodded up ahead. There stood Alejandro Lopez, his hands tucked into the pockets of his all-white suit and a smirk on his face. Another black Mercedes idled next to him. Sandra looked around quickly—there were no escapes and the white Mercedes was drawing closer.
“Alejandro,” Rich rumbled as they got closer.
Lopez looked Sandra over and pulled her sunglasses off her face. He turned to Rich, his mouth set in a disappointed line.
“You went back to the bar for her? You could have told me you weren’t satisfied before leaving. I could have…helped that.” He smirked.
“I—”
“Came here to investigate me? I already figured that out, honey, you’re not the only one with a secret camera. I saw you go through my belongings. I’m interested in where you got that safe-opener, it was quick.” He leaned over and opened the door to the black Mercedes idling next to him. “Get in, and don’t make a scene.”
Sandra looked to Rich for guidance. She could tell by the way his blue eyes had narrowed that he was trying to think of a way out of this.
“I”m not armed,” Lopez said examining his nails. Sandra thought he was trying too hard to appear bored. “You could probably get a few good hits in, but there are seven bodyguards here, and they wouldn’t be as concerned about ruining your pretty face as I am. So, get in.”
Rich nodded once and moved to get in.
“Ladies first,” Lopez said.
“She’s not part of this,” Rich replied.
“Sure she is. And even if she wasn’t before, she is now. Get in darling.”
Sandra slid in, and Lopez tossed her sunglasses in after her. When Rich followed her the door was quickly closed and locked. The man in the front seat hadn’t acknowledged them at all.
“Raise the partition,” Lopez said to the driver in Spanish. “Nighty night!” He called back. Once their cabin was sealed, an opaque gas began to flow out of the vents on the floor.
“We’re not really dealing with an average smuggler, are we?” Sandra said, watching it curl around her ankles.
“Nope,” Rich said, eyes on the floor as well too. Sandra opened her mouth to say something else but blacked out.
***
The throbbing in her head sounded like a bass drum. Sandra had never had a headache so bad it made noise. She opened one eye at a time, testing the light cautiously. It was dim, so she tried to blink away the headache and suss out the details of where she was. Rich was nearby, handcuffed to an exposed pipe above their heads. He was still unconscious and swaying a tiny bit with each breath. A bit of blood dripped from his nose to the ground.
She, however, was not restrained in any way. Apparently, they didn’t perceive her as a threat at all. “Stereotypes,” she muttered. She hummed and pushed herself up, brushing her hair away from her face. They were alone in the room but she could hear footsteps through the thin walls.
“Had to get some rope!” Someone was shouting to someone else in Spanish. She could tell they were close and guessed they were coming for them. She leapt up and stood behind where the door would open.
Seconds later, someone came in humming to himself and holding a length of rope. As soon as the door closed she leapt out and grabbed him in a headlock, choking him until he passed out. She lowered him quietly to the ground and took the rope, binding his arms behind his back. She searched his pockets, but only found Rich’s gun. No handcuff keys or a phone to call for help.
“Damn.” She crept over to check on Rich.
He looked worse than she’d first thought—his nose was definitely broken, and something looked off about the way his right foot hung, like it had been attached wrong at the ankle.
“Voss?” He stirred when she checked his handcuffs.
“Hey Rich,” she said, trying to examine his pupils as he blinked at her.
“Dammit agent, last names. Or at least aliases.”
“How are you feeling, Fernham?”
“Oh, I’m hanging in there.”
“That would be a lot funnier if I had the key to your cuffs, but I don’t. All I have is your gun. Will you be okay here until I find the key? Or an ax?” The pipe looked pretty thick.
“Oh no. No, no. You are not staying here.” He looked at her sternly, suddenly completely alert.
“What?!”
“You are mobile and you have a gun. Get out of here before someone notices and call for help.”
“We are the help, we’re the last defense.”
“What the hell are you talking about? We’re the first line. There’s backup. Get out of here.”
“But—”
“Voss, that’s an order,” he said in his commanding officer voice, the one she normally listened to.
She stood to her full height. “I’m not leaving you behind.” She turned on her heel and walked out the door. She heard him swear under his breath but knew he wouldn’t make too much noise; the longer everyone thought they were unconscious, the longer they were safe.
After creeping down one hallway and around another corner, Sandra found a door leading outside; it sat off-kilter on its hinges and didn’t quite close all the way. She peeked her head out and saw no one, not even a car was in sight. They must have parked on the other side. She slid out and ran around the building, keeping close to the wall.
Several of the windows, about five feet above her, were cracked or broken, but she didn’t hear any sound coming from inside. Weeds grew along the edge of the building, and the dirt ground looked like it hadn’t been disturbed in a long time. She wondered if this was the same warehouse where Lopez kept the people he brought into the country illegally; it seemed impractical to have two, but then he was so wealthy practically probably didn’t come into it.
Sandra slipped around the corner of the building, where she spotted the two sedans they had been brought in, as well as a white, windowless van. There also was another door back inside, two backup generators, and a large plastic barrel of what was probably diesel.
“Might come in handy,” she muttered. She checked Rich’s Smith & Wesson to see how many rounds she had—10. She took off the safety and loaded one into the chamber.
The windows on this side of the building were lower to the ground and less broken but covered in several years’ worth of dust and grime. Sandra tried to stay hidden, but she peeked into one all the same. She was looking into a large empty room, like an old factory floor, but then a figure showed up, dragging another stumbling figure with his hands tied behind his back. For a second she worried it was Rich, but he was much too short. It must have been the man she tied up. A third figure joined them—she could tell even through the grime that it was Lopez.
“Well, they know I’ve escaped now,” she muttered.
She sighed, tugging at her hair a second. What would Rich do in this situation? She wondered. With a flash of inspiration, Sandra turned and unloaded one bullet into the engine of the van, one into each Mercedes, then immediately ducked around the corner of the building. One only caught fire but two immediately exploded and threw flaming bits of plastic past the edge of the building. “Seven,” she muttered, counting down.
Sandra ran back around and re-entered through the same door she’d left through. Gambling that the men had run outside toward the cars, she went toward the main factory floor and searched until she found an office that was clearly being used. On the desk was a ring with two small silver keys that she scooped off the table; she hoped they were Rich’s handcuff keys.
She darted back out of the office, hoping the men hadn’t reentered the warehouse. She crossed the large main room, gun raised. Before she started down the hallway that would lead to Rich, she turned and pointed the gun at the windows she knew the propane tanks were behind.
She fired once at the window, shattering it. “Six,” she muttered and shot again at the propane tank she could now see clearly. She threw herself into the hallway but still felt the heatwave as the tank exploded. “Five,” she breathed, her eardrums ringing. She allowed herself enough time to take one deep breath, then got up and started running down the hall.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she recognized the door she knew Rich was behind. As she approached, a man ran out of it, eyes wild. Sandra immediately looked at his hand and saw a lead pipe with blood on it; her blood immediately began to boil. Without thinking she raised her gun and shot him between the eyes.
“Four.” She entered the room and crossed to Rich at once. He was conscious still and breathing heavily.
“Jesus,” she muttered.
“Nope, just me.”
She tried the keys on his handcuffs and thankfully the second one worked. “Let’s go,” she grunted as most of his weight slumped onto her.
“You should have left, Voss. I activated the tracking in my watch.”
She stopped. “What.”
Rich spit some blood out onto the floor. “My watch. Has a distress signal and a tracking beacon.”
“For fuck’s sake, Fernham. You couldn’t have mentioned that earlier?”
“Well if you’d listened to me—”
Sandra heard another explosion, but no one seemed to be coming for them.
“What was that?” Rich asked.
“Fire must have hit a gas line.”
“What?” His shouting would have seemed excessive if her eardrums hadn’t still been ringing.
“Yeah, weird. Let’s get out of here,” she began dragging him out of the room. They made their way out of the broken door and started the opposite way of the cars. They made their way around another building and found themselves facing a damaged chainlink fence that separated them from an open field that led down to the sea.
“Great, perfect for snipers,” she muttered.
“Also perfect for helicopters,” Rich said, looking up at the sky. Approaching quickly from the north was a helicopter.
“Are they here for us?” She asked.
“I certainly hope so,” Rich said and passed back out.
***
Sandra filed her official report of the mission fifteen hours later; she hadn’t been able to sleep on the plane anyway knowing they treating Rich’s injuries (including setting his broken foot) without much in the way of anesthetics. When she set the report down, their boss had frowned but said nothing except to dismiss her from the room, which she took to mean that she still had a job, for now. She headed down to the medical wing and asked to see Rich.
“Hey Rich, how are you feeling?” She asked as she walked in.
“Voss.”
“That’s me.”
“What was my one rule when we got on the plane?”
“No trail to lead back to us,” Sandra muttered, feeling chastised already. She stood next to his bed, looking down into his face.
“I said no fires! How did that work out?” Despite being on a hospital bed wearing a neck brace and largely bandaged, Rich still managed to radiate intensity and intimidation. Sandra felt confident that he could probably still kill her without straining himself too much.
“Technically, it wasn’t on fire,” she pointed out.
“Of course, it wasn’t on fire, you completely blew it up!” He winced and a nurse walking by peeked her head into the room and frowned. They both took a deep breath. Sandra tried a placating smile and a joking tone.
“Listen, Bush said ‘no man left behind,’ and that’s what—”
“I believe that was ‘no child left behind.’”
“Well, that didn’t work out so I’m adapting. You said the best thing I could be is adaptable.”
“I sincerely wish I’d never told you that. Also, we don’t have opinions on policy, we just do as we’re told. And I told you to leave.”
“There’s no use being upset about it now, you’re alive.”
He took a deep, long breath. Sandra would have put a lot of money on a bet that he was counting to ten.
“You refused to follow orders, Sandra,” he said. It was the first time he’d ever used her first name. “What will you do when your orders are to shoot?”
“I just blew up Alejandro and his whole crew, I think I’ve proved I can shoot an enemy.”
“No, what will you do when your orders are to shoot me? Or any of our agents?”
“Why—”
“You never know what’s going to happen in the field, Sandra. You have to be able to take the shot. You have to be able to follow orders, to leave a man behind. If you can’t do that, resign now. Before you’re asked to.”
Her head spun, her stomach tied in knots. If it had come down to it, could she have left him behind?
“Have—Have you ever had to? Shoot one of our own? Leave someone behind?”
His blue eyes stared into hers. He didn’t answer, but she really didn’t need him to.