Sweet Smell of Espionage

By Julisa Basak 

He smelled of cinnamon raisin bread, fresh out of the oven on a crisp autumn afternoon at Grandma’s place. And I hated it. I mean, forget about being a covert secret agent. How was I supposed to concentrate on undermining a criminal mastermind when my own agent partner—and brother—smelled like my favorite desserts?

“What?” He caught my eye as we tiptoed toward the bedroom. It was supposed to be a simple job retrieving a list of arms importers from the house of a notorious crime lord. And yet, I’d made the poor decision of performing this mission on an empty stomach.

“Don’t ‘what’ me, Leo.” My stomach growled. “If we get caught because you decided to bathe in pastry mix, I’m going to knock you out before someone else does.”

We reached the bedroom door, taking our places against the wall on either side. The tangy tickle of Grandma’s lemon tarts hit my nose. Leo peeked through the crack to ensure the coast was clear before speaking.

“Look, I know you’re mad, but Gupta from the gadgets department needed a guinea pig to test his new deodorant formula. And I’m a pushover, Liz!” His pout only fueled my frustration. “Besides, he said the scent only works on those who share the wearer’s DNA. Triggers shared memories.”

“So you’re saying I’m the only one who can smell you?”

“Afraid so, sis!” His snarky grin drew a grunt from me.

We entered the room in one silent sweep. The space was elegant. Homey. A draft carried a whiff of Leo’s scent toward me, conjuring a memory of teatime on a freshly cleaned carpet. My posse of stuffed animals accompanied a set of Leo’s action figures. Both of us had sat with our noses in the air, breathing in the homemade macaroons and cherry scones that Grandma had prepared just for the party.

I grunted again. The nostalgic musings were starting to get irritating.

After about a minute of searching, we found a safe behind a mirror. I got to work on a possible combination.

“So why invent a scent that triggers an appetite, anyway?” I whispered, half-focused on the task before me. “What’s the point if only blood relations can smell you?”

Leo narrowed his eyes in thought, then shrugged.

Figures. He wouldn’t care to ask that kind of question. “Well, maybe ask next time you—”

The words got caught in my throat as the signature whistling of the crime lord echoed down the hallway. Leo and I made quick eye contact before darting under the bed.

“You’re sure he can’t smell you?” I whispered harshly, my chest tightening. He nodded.

I was already reminiscing about Grandma’s kitchen overflowing with pumpkin spice cake batter and frosting, about running through her pumpkin garden, harvesting the best ones to make fall treats from scratch. I mentally cursed when I realized Leo’s scent was ten times stronger with both of us stuffed together in the tight space. My stomach growled. Loudly.

Damn it. I heard footsteps enter the room. If not the smell, I knew my rebellious cries of hunger were going to give us away. I tried to focus on the wooden slats lining the bedframe above us, but they reminded me of churros. Leo’s hand scurried over to muffle my stomach, and I smacked it away. This was all his fault. Nice guy Leo who had to volunteer for everything, who had to put my poor stomach and brain through this torture.

The footsteps drew closer. Aromas of smoky chocolate enveloped my nostrils when I remembered how Grandma always chose Leo to test her desserts, ever since she burned her ganache brownies and Leo suggested turning them into crumbled toppings on parfait. The kitchen was never dull when he and I used to visit her house. We all loved indulging our sweet tooth. That is, until Leo and I joined the spy agency after college, and our lives turned from baking to espionage. Since then, we hardly had time to see her.

The room became still. Odd. I waited a few seconds before turning my head sideways to check.

A pair of hands suddenly dragged me out from under the bed. I reached for my pistol, but it was knocked away right as I caught a glimpse of the crime lord’s devilish eyes. He grabbed me around my neck like a noose, flipped me around, and placed his gun against my temple. Great, just my luck!

“Let go of her!”  Leo stumbled out from under the bed and aimed his firearm at my attacker. “You’re not getting away with this, fiend!”

I rolled my eyes at his clichéd delivery.

“Oh, but I am!” The crime lord answered, maniacally. “I’m not going to explain how, but… I will enjoy killing this little intruder first.”

He cocked his gun. I shut my eyes, praying for another sweet escape. Tarts. Pastries. Burnt brownies. Annoying as it was, Leo’s scent was calming. I was starting to miss our visits to Grandma more and more.

“Say goodbye.”

There was a loud bang and a painful cry. The weight behind me shifted, and I broke away from my captor’s grip.

The crime lord was on the floor, unconscious. But my eyes fell on a particular piece of stainless-steel cookware lying next to his bruised head.

“A frying pan?” I exclaimed. “Leo! Where did you even—?”

“Uh… Liz?”

Leo’s wide-eyed face motioned behind me. I turned to see a shadow in the dark hallway, moving slowly toward us.

“Well, this is awkward.” The person stepped forward, clad in the same secret agent attire as Leo and me, her white hair tucked neatly in place. “It’s a good thing I could smell you from miles away, Leo dear. But really, when was the last time we baked a decent carrot cake together?”

Her accusatory tone was as loud as the cry that escaped my brother and I, as carrot cake memories flooded my brain.

“Grandma?!”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Julisa Basak is a speculative fiction writer who also dabbles in various genres to explore the human condition. Her recent lgbtq+ short story made it to the #1 New Release category on Amazon ebooks. She is currently drafting a full-length science fiction while chugging out articles for a geek girl blog. When not crafting words, Julisa likes to paint digital illustrations, dance with her Bollywood group, and go on adventures with her Baby Yoda plushie.

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