Operation What?

"This is ridiculous," Ling said angrily, tightening the knots on her saftey harness.

"Tell me about it," drawled the dark haired boy from the governers board. "Stuck with you, of all people, on top of a palace in the middle of the night. Fun."

"Shut up for a minute, Gordon, I need to concentrate."

"Sure, sure you do." He dangled back in his harness till he was almost upside down. "Whoo, this is fun, Ling. You have to have a go at this."

Ling sighed. "This is exactly why I despise going on Operations with you, Gord. You're so..." She searched for the right word.

"Childish?" Gordon offered teasingly. "We are meant to be kids."

Ling whirled round, frowning at him. "We're not proper kids. We work, we spy, we shoot to kill. You know that."

"Bo-ring," Gordon chanted. "You sound like my Mam, you do know that, right?"

Ling ignored him again, tapping numbers into the black device on her utility belt.

Gordon began doing mid-air somersaults, and Ling told him off. "Someone down there will see you," she had warned.

He had brushed of the comment like an irksome fly. "Seventy floors up? I doubt it."

Ling turned on him then. "Let me plant the flaming bomb, Gordon. We are assasinating royals, here."

The End

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