The Time Has Come

The town clock tells more than time

The tasteful little park in Spring Valley, Washington DC, was the perfect rendezvous. Just a common neighborhood...but not an uncommon city at all. The exactly right city.

John Tweed rested against the fountain facing north, toward the clock tower. It was only moments until it struck the hour: nine in the morning. The man sat, watching the pigeons and smiling in the warm sun. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds: the bubbling of the fountain, the many birds in the park, the rustle of the newspaper as the man on the other side of the fountain folded it and left. Tweed opened his eyes and looked at the clock; it was seven minutes past the hour. He closed his eyes and opened his memory...

"...You will only have time on your side, gentlemen, and so time will be your primary tool, your method of communication...."

The training had been drilled and drilled and drilled into them.

Seven twenty one AM: Sabotage—Target Designation Two Zero—Region Designation Virginia...

Ten thirteen PM: File Transfer—Resource Designation Three (Microfilm)—Reference Designation Personnel...

Nine oh seven AM: Assassination—Target Designation Zero—Region Designation DC...

Target Designation Zero. POTUS. Tweed opened his eyes, the weight of understanding crushing down on him. He had just been ordered to assassinate the President of the United States of America.

He closed his eyes one more time, practicing the techniques to calm himself. The warmth on his eyelids, the beat of his heart. POTUS. Breathe in, breathe out. The President! In through the mouth, out through the nose...

POTUS. After all this time. That wife-stealing, fortune-swindling son of a bitch. After all this time.

Tweed opened his eyes and smiled, thinking how things really do come round in the end.

NOTES: ▼

Word Count: 295
Submitted for "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" 
Prompt: Use the words fountain, valley, and tower