[ WP ] A group of highly trained assassins are out to kill you . One day , while at a coffee shop , you spot them coming towards you .

Ahh. Not those guys again. Ca n't a man have a quiet Sunday afternoon without an attempt on his life? 
 
 I excused myself to my company. The lady had to understand that there were things I could n't tell her. Dropping a Darwin on the table, I left through the cloakroom window. How undignified. I could only hope the ten-pound note would cover the bill and the lady never learned of my manner of exit. 
 
 The assassins seemed to have learned something from our last encounter. Two were waiting in the alley, blocking off the exits. As soon as I became visible to them, they trained their submachine guns on me. Silenced P-90's. So, they were Americans. Who would have thought. 
 
 While I towards the brick wall of the next building, the air became a bit lead-laced. The Yanks were shooting full-auto, from drum magazines that rode on top of the sleek guns. With luck, I could make them shoot each other when I ran through the alley. Unfortunately, the gentlemen with the misshapen weapons were very well aware of their respective positions. 
 
 I climbed the wall with the help of my Oxfords. Although the heels contained a pair of one-time rockets, I relied on the climbing spikes at the front. Doubling as stilettos, they had pulled me from many calamities. Not this pair specifically, as the shoes were brand new, but their kind. 
 
 The yard on the other side of the wall served as a car park to the nearby hotel. Bored employees in liveries that mocked Her Majesties attendants moved cars in and out of the area. I grabbed the key to a Lamborghini Huracan out of the hands of a red-frocked serf. While the man shouted at me, I jumped into the driver seat. 
 
 Throwing the 600 hp onto the uneven pavement of the yard, I relied on the traction control to get me in the direction I wanted and not into the nearest wall. You can say what you want about British cars and purism, but some inventions come very handy at a pinch. 
 
 In a matter of seconds, I was out of the yard and on the road. These wide American avenues are very convenient, especially for escapes. The drivers all stay at or below the speed limit, keep in their lane, and are, with a few exceptions, very friendly and considerate. Mind you, they are n't good drivers, but they nevertheless try not kill each other. 
 
 I saw my assailants in the tiny mirrors. They had grabbed an Audi R8 and a Tesla and were following me. I pushed the pedal and headed west into the sunset. There were a few narrow situations, mostly at cross-ways, but my training proved to be superior, as always. The Tesla showed its superior acceleration and closed the gap at every traffic light, but the Huracan showed its superior top speed on the straights. 
 
 A few drivers around us crashed, most remarkably being a road tanker that jackknifed and exploded. These things happened with every car chase. Regrettable, but equally unavoidable. The American agents kept up, nevertheless. After a few minutes, the Tesla ran out of power. They seemed to have taken it on arrival. Beginner's mistake. The driver must have been a replacement for one of the men I killed on my first encounter with the team. 
 
 The Audi, despite pushed to the limits by its driver, fell back farther and farther. There was nothing to do about it. The fifteen kilometers per hour higher top speed was the reason why I had grabbed the Lamborghini. The fuel consumption was not. Twenty minutes out of the city, the petrol meter warned me. At the same time, the navigation system began to search for the nearest petrol station. There was only one in range if I held my current speed. 
 
 I could only hope, the Audi had enough fuel to reach it as well. If the Americans thought, they would loose me soon, they might resort to their typically rude methods. An air strike was the last thing I needed right now. A minute later, the petrol station came into view. 
 
 The traction control had to do its magic again as I pulled off the paved road and onto the gravel. A second later, the car slid to a halt. The dust cloud from the emergency stop should be visible even to my inept American colleagues. 
 
 I left the car, brushed the dust off my jacket, and handed the keys of the Lamborghini to the farmer who stared at me from the next pump. I removed the petrol nozzle from the car and borrowed the farmer's 4x4 pickup truck. I could only hope the Americans would n't overlook the two enduro motorcycles that waited for them. 
 
 The huge Ford F-550 rumbled over the uneven road behind the petrol station. The rolling hills soon obscured the highway. The dust cloud behind me should lead the assassins my way. It must not seem too easy, lest they noticed something was off. 
 
 A minute later, the American gentlemen gained a tiny bit of respect when I heard the screeching engines of the motorcycles. Two of them were following me. I gunned the pickup and drove towards the old mine shaft, where the finale of this mission was to take place. 
 
 I left the truck in front of the mine, kicked in the rotten planks that blocked the entrance, and walked backwards in my own footsteps towards the truck. I used the conveniently placed cab steps to climb into the bed of the truck, then clicked my heels. In seconds, the two rockets brought me over the top of the hill, where the escape vehicle stood. Time to return to England. 
 
 *Two days later* 
 
 `` Splendid,'' the quartermaster said. `` You returned everything in pristine condition. That would be the first time on record.'' 
 
 I ignored the youth and asked what I came here to ask. `` I need the recording from the mine. My debriefing starts in five minutes.'' 
 
 `` Of course, Commander. Here it is,'' the quartermaster said and pushed a USB stick in my hand. 
 
 *Upstairs* 
 
 I plugged the stick in the connector on the table and the computer displayed a ghostly image of the mine shaft. Apparently, the camera had been on a cross-beam as we observed the scene from above. 
 
 The two agents sneaked into the dark. Their adaptive camouflage suit made them nearly invisible. For some missions they might be a valuable asset. I made a mental note to ask the quartermaster. 
 
 Their tactics were commendable. All the time, one agent was on overwatch while the other checked out every nook and cranny. Yet it only took them five minutes to reach the heart of the mine. 
 
 `` Goddamn, Jack. That's the missing nuke,'' one of the agents said in a dialect that the computer placed near Kansas City. We found it hilarious. Even the admiral chuckled. 
 
 The two agents called it in and watched the nuclear weapon until reinforcements arrived. We watched the next four hours at fifty times the speed. The only scary moment of the recording was when the soldiers almost dropped the bomb in their inept attempt to load it onto the truck. 
 
 `` Well done everybody,'' the Admiral said. `` Especially you,'' he added in my direction. 
 
 `` Any questions,'' he added. 
 
 `` Yes, Sir. Why did n't we just tell the Americans where we found the weapon that their bomber lost?'' 
 
 `` See it as an exercise,'' he replied short-spoken. 
 
 `` I had to kill four people for that exercise.'' 
 
 `` Regrets, agent?'' 
 
 `` No, Sir. I'm just curious.'' 
 
 `` Well, if you are curious. The Americans do n't need to know how we learned the location of the bomb when even they could not find it. Despite their surveillance programme, spies, and allies all over the world, they do n't know everything. Let them think they are a super power. It makes my job a bit easier.'' 
 
 `` Understood, Sir.'' 
 
 `` Will that be all, 0042?''
