I screwed up. I literally fucked up this time. I know that I shouldn’t have let this happen, but I did. I put my family in danger, and that in itself is unforgivable. Then again, when one works for British Intelligence, there’s bound to be certain dangers and risks. Yes, I am a spy and my family is kept in the dark about it until now. I was talking on the phone with headquarters and didn’t know that someone was listening in to the conversation. By the time I realized that fact, it was too late. My secret is out.
I managed to make it back to MI6 without any more problems and as soon as I stepped foot in the building, a fellow agent came up to me and said that M needed to see me. Knowing what’s about to happen, I thanked the agent and made my way to my boss’s office. When I arrived, I saw that she was talking to someone. She then noticed me standing outside and gestured for me to come in. Opening the glass door, I entered the glass-windowed office and stood ramrod straight despite the fear that’s creeping up on me.
She then dismissed the person that she was speaking to. The female agent turned on her heel and briskly made her exit. As soon as the agent left, the head of MI6 focused her attention on me, a disappointed look on her face. It was the kind of look mothers would make when her children have done something really bad. “What you have done has put the entire organization in jeopardy,” she said, putting her hands on her waist.
“I should fire you for this,” she continued, her blue-green eyes boring into mine. “Then again, you are the best agent we have so I can’t do that even if I wanted to.” Heaving a sigh, she sat down in her chair, picked up a pen and started to write on a piece of her personal stationery. I couldn’t make out what she’s scribbling down, but I had a feeling that it’s nothing good. “I’ll try to smooth things over as best I can,” she said after a brief moment of silence. “You can go now.” I then hastily made my way out of the office without a single word.
Later that night, when I went home, I found my wife sitting in her favourite chair. Her nose buried between the pages of a book. I greeted her by her name and she put the book down and threw herself into my arms. “I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you.” She repeated breathlessly as she kissed me with fervour. Kissing her back I wondered what it was she forgave me for. Our passion inevitably carried us to the bedroom and it wasn’t until much later when we laid in bed in a tangle of limbs that I realized she spoke those words not to me but to herself. My own wife is the one who revealed to the world that I am an MI6 agent. Bloody hell.