On schedule, but off-target, the drop was made though Bond had no idea how he would recover the little gyrocopter from the sea. It would have to wait; he had other things to do.
The antenna in his wristwatch proved incapable of transmitting a clear message. It needed an extension and the wire in Anastasia’s Wonder bra might just suffice. He set to work but, infuriatingly, Anastasia was receiving the wrong message.
Half an hour later, they emerged from the cleaner’s cupboard of the Chelsea Beach Bar, a rosy blush on the girl and a length of wire in Bond’s hand; a fair exchange. The wire worked a treat. He began picking up Radio QXTC out of Nashville, not bad for a wristwatch in Uzbekistan.
He fined tuned the device but he got the same country tune. This wouldn’t do. Switching to transmit, he held the watch face to face.
“Could I request something by Dolly Parton, old man? For my mother.”
“Sure!”, answered a Tennessee drawl.
As Dolly sang, Bond made his way back to the bar. He badly needed a vodka martini, shaken, not stirred. He hoped their olives weren’t too past the sell-by date.
Written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, Challenge #183.
Sorry, it’s called “For His Eyes Only #2”, but it’s not a sequel or a series, it’s just that I couldn’t think of another title.
This week’s photo prompt provided by Michelle DeAngelis. Thanks, Michelle.
The rules for FFFAW are all explained HERE and please click on the blue FROG button below to read other stories submitted.