by Justin Bell
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With a soft hiss, the automatic sliding doors eased open, letting Agent Burndock through, a full cup of coffee in his left hand, and a paper bag with a fresh deli sandwich in his other. Navigating the parking lot and uncaring traffic, the well-dressed man found his way to his sedan and placed the cup on the roof. He fished his keys from his pocket and seconds later, slid into the driver's seat, stopping for a brief second to risk the health of his tongue on the still steaming cup of coffee. It was hot, like a pinprick to the tongue, but the pain quickly subsided and the wonderful hot liquid continued its journey down his throat.
His eyes actually eased shut a little bit, as he enjoyed the organic dark roast that this particular health food store offered, a desire to keep his body in good shape directing him here rather than any number of other fast food locations within a few mile radius. Burndock wasn't a health nut, but he tried to work out and eat well, and was happy with the small grocery store that also served as a local health food mecca right down the street from the local NSA Watch Station. His phone buzzed as he pulled out of the parking lot.
"This is Burndock," he said calmly.
"This is Halifax, Burns. Target is back on his way home, crossing the river bridge now. He'd made a quick stop at the town library, but only for a few minutes."
"Good. I'll be following him shortly and will see you on station. Anything weird about his trip?"
Agent Halifax didn't respond right away, which told Burndock all he needed to know. "What is it?" Burns asked.
"I don't know. He was at the bank for a long time."
"Okay, don't worry. Let me make a quick stop there, and I'll meet you back at Strickland's."
Burndock's sedan took a right out of the parking lot of the health food store and drove slowly up the road towards the bank that he had passed only a few moments before. As the building came up on the right hand side of the street, he noticed the front parking space was still vacated from when Strickland left. With a quick glance to the left and right, he hauled his steering wheel to the right and crossed a path of traffic, then swung the car into the empty spot in front of the bank. Ignoring a brief squeal of car horn, he cut the engine and pulled the key out, then looked longingly at the paper bag and three-quarters-full cup of coffee resting in the cup holder. His door swung open and he stepped out into the road, and then quickly moved around the car onto the sidewalk, trying to match where Strickland might have been when he exited the bank. Standing at the door of the bank, he cast his eyes across the street and tried to get inside William Strickland's head. After a few moments, he shook his head softly, slid back into the driver's seat of his sedan, and continued following Strickland's wheel treads.
