P.D. 951
The Spy
On Darwin
The waiter with the thick glasses waited stoically until his shift ended. Soon now, very soon, they would come to kill him. Or not. But if they did, he could not run, could not try to escape. The Abbott was clear on that point. “You must live long enough to drop your package, Reuven, and then you must wait,” the Abbot had instructed all those months ago. “This is the terrible risk, I know, but if you suddenly disappear then they will know that they have been discovered and all will be undone.”
But the shift ended without incident. He changed into street clothes and walked several blocks to the harbor, to a bar he drank at two or three times a week. It catered to locals, not tourists. It was dark and noisy. One or two of the regulars waived at him. The bar tender nodded in silent recognition and passed over his usual beer without a word. He took it and sat at his usual corner table. In the middle of the table was bowl of peanuts and dried fruit. And a small, flickering candle.
This is why he chose this bar. If he were ever caught with a candle in his room, questions might be asked. Someone might take note and wonder. But here every table had a candle; it was the owner’s attempt at creating an illusion of intimacy. And so he sat, beer in hand, staring at the dancing flame. And in his mind he recalled the Three Doctrines:
The First: God beckons. Our task is to seek the Light.
The Second: There are many paths to the Light. All are difficult. A man must strive.
The Final Doctrine: Death in search of the Light is not death.
His name was Reuvin. He was a Devote from the planet Canaan, sent to Darwin years earlier to spy on the Dominion agents there. For four years he had watched, listened and reported things of little consequence. Then several months ago there had been a meeting with a man The Light knew was a prince of the Tilleke Royal Family. The others were unknown, but clearly from different nations. Security at the meeting had been very tight, preventing Reuven from learning its purpose. He waited. Eventually he learned there would be another meeting. New instructions had come from the Church. Urgent instructions. And now here he was, about to make his final drop.
He stood and walked to the bathroom at the back of the bar. No one else was there. Moving quickly, he went to the waste bin, which was half full of discarded paper towels. He reached into it, groped around and then withdrew a paper towel wrapped around a hard object. He hurriedly unwrapped it, fearful someone else might enter. He withdrew a pair of black glasses with thick lens, identical to the ones he was wearing. He removed his glasses, wrapped them in the paper towel and replaced it at the bottom of the bin. Putting on the new glasses, he returned to his table.
The relief he felt was almost palpable. He had done it. His mission was over. He sipped his beer unconcernedly, not bothering to look around. They were there or they weren’t. God has a plan for us all. Then, knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to stop himself, he spread his hands out toward the candle flame and swept them back towards his face. “There are many paths to the Light,” he murmured softly. “And each must find his own.” A deep feeling or serenity and peace flooded through him. He had done all that had been asked of him.
Now let them come.