The Janitor and the Spy
Baby wipes are not the best at cleaning up blood or what happened to Thornhill in Amsterdam.
They told Thornhill it would be a simple spy mission that he was more than eager to take on, but of course, it wasn’t.
It didn’t take long after meeting the contact for Thornhill to question if he or anyone else connected to him was going to be able to make it out of Amsterdam alive. Passing strangers on the streets became potential hitmen and dinner with criminals became safe heavens as Thornhill seeks to find answers from an old man named Golay.
Today I’m welcoming author S W Ellenwood to booksaremycwtches with an extract of his boo! The Janitor and the Spy.
2. Thornhill swiped through pictures of the coffee shop where he would be meeting Golay. The walls were a dark red except the one behind the counter, which was covered by a huge, black chalkboard, one that Thornhill would have loved as a kid. The rest of the room was set up like an ordinary coffee shop: small four-chair tables littered the main floor, and there were pairs of black leather armchairs in the corners and at the back. “So, all I need to do is talk with him and see what’s up?”
“That’s it,” said Mallory, nodding, her ponytail swinging slightly.
“Then why is Jones my support?” asked Thornhill in bewilderment, looking at Jones in the rearview mirror. “I could understand sending another young agent, like Oaks or Westfall, but a former Marine sniper? Little overkill.” Jones chuckled. “See, he agrees with me,” said Thornhill.
“I didn’t assign the agents, I’m just the handler. I would take it as a sign to not take this mission lightheartedly.” There was a hint of worry in Mallory’s voice. “He will cover you from a lookout point across the street.” A 3-D map of the street came up on the tablet, showing the precise position Jones would have. A small construction site on an adjoining street, coupled with the coffee shop’s wall-sized windows, gave Jones a perfect view of its interior and exterior. “You will also be armed.”
Thornhill frowned. “With what?”
Jones reached into a compartment between the driver’s and passenger’s seats, pulled out a black handgun, and handed it to Thornhill. It seemed to absorb the light hitting it; there was no reflection or gloss on it.
“A regular Glock nine millimeter with optional silencer, one of the most common handguns in Europe,” said Mallory. “We retrieved it from a stash of confiscated guns in France, no strings. What makes it different is the bullets.”
Thornhill took out the clip to study one of the bullets. The tip of the bullet wasn’t rounded like a dome, but flat, like a spearhead. “Armor-piercing rounds?”
“Indeed. Each bullet cost about three hundred American dollars.”
Thornhill’s eyes widened as he whistled. “Glad to know how much a life costs.” He carefully placed the bullet back in the clip, hoping he wouldn’t have to use it.
“We’re here,” said Jones as they pulled up to the Mauro Mansion hotel.
“You will be meeting Golay at the Rusland coffee shop at eleven tomorrow,” Mallory said. “We will use your smaller earpiece to keep in touch and record the conversation for analyzing and training purposes. You and Jones will log into Silence at ten-twenty tomorrow via earpiece, understood?”
“Good. Ending session. Be safe.” The tablet went black, and a young valet with red hair and blue eyes opened the car door and said in Dutch, “Welcome to the Mauro Mansion.”
About the author
S. W. Ellenwood is thankful to have a close-knit family of two parents, a brother, and two sisters. A homeschooler who graduated college from the University of Arkansas – Fort Smith, Ellenwood loves all forms and genres of stories and was inspired by The Lord of the Rings films and his parents to write. You can find Ellenwood writing his next novel at the local coffee shops or playing table top games with his best friends.