Glyn glanced up at the incoming tide, and something shiny caught his eye. He waded over and plucked the glittery object that was bobbing gently in the white surf. It was a bottle with a piece of parchment sealed inside.
Taking a rock from the beach he broke the end of the bottle off, careful not to rip the note inside. There were just three letters on it, “SOS”. Glyn paled, how had they found him? He had not planned for this, thinking he had hidden himself beyond discovery in this remote paradise. The SOS were not a pleasant bunch at the best of times and he was not going to hang around waiting for them. He dashed back to his shelter in the trees and dug out the munitions he had buried under his bed. Tooling up with an assault rifle and a sidearm he quickly decided on his best escape route should the opportunity arise. That’s when he felt the sting in his arm, and without even a moment to curse his luck he collapsed to the floor, already unconscious and soon to be dead.
Several weeks later his body washed up in a Jamican port 200 miles away. Local authorities would ID him as Chief Petty Officer Glyn Ramsy of the Royal Navy, who had been declared MIA 5 years previous after a high profile incident with a Somali pirate. Out of the crowd, one man could be seen lurking in the back, a discrete lapel pin showing a triple headed tiger. He was there to confirm that the operative completed his mission. Another voice stilled for the Society of Silence….
A piece of flash fiction inspired by today’s Daily Prompt: SOS | The Daily Post.