By Alexis Aurol
The clown bolted from the trailer across the open space to the big top and hurdled over the velvet rope at the entrance. Serella only had time to sputter “Hey!” before he was inside. Two men wearing FBI vests followed. She unhooked the rope without a word. Damn. Probably another drug dealer. The circus seemed a favorite hideout for felons on the lam. Last month it had been their poodle wrangler. They should have known something was wrong. The dogs had hated that man.
With a sigh, Serella secured the tent opening and strode between the stands, dodging a popcorn vendor and an acrobat to join her father beside the ring. Myron Biggs was the owner and Ringmaster for Biggs’s Greatest Show on Earth. It was a spit-and-baling-wire outfit, playing smaller venues in the northwest this season. Cheyenne was probably the biggest place they’d visited.
Myron was watching the clown balance as he inched his way along a thin timber strut at the top of the seating tiers. The audience was rapt. “We should have hired that man for the trapeze,” he said as Serella drew near.
“How did he get up there?” Serella craned her neck to get a good view.
“He tore into the ring”—Myron pointed out the clown’s path—“leapfrogged over the lion tamer, and raced up that steep incline those agents keep slipping down.”
As they watched, the clown climbed hand over hand down the guy-rope anchoring the far side of the tent.
“Who’s in the suit?”
“The new guy. Fellow called Ness. I took him on a few days ago.”
Reaching a junction, Ness yanked a long scarf from some inner pocket, looped it over the second rope, and slid down. In pursuit, the agents were climbing, or more accurately falling, to the ground. The clown took a flying leap onto the back of one of the ponies waiting to enter from the other side of the ring.
“He might be a parkour enthusiast, but he is dead stupid,” Serella snorted. “He took Cody. That is the laziest, most fractious, thick-headed horse that ever lived.”
“I don’t know. Cody always seems to find the least drafty spot in the transport truck and is first in line for the oats.”
“And how far do you think our clown will get riding him?” She arched an eyebrow.
“If I know the FBI, not even out of the fair grounds. Two agents inside, probably another eight surrounding the place.”
“Luckily, Ness is in full costume.” Serella grinned. “Look how the audience is eating this up. Who knew the FBI could be so good for business?”
They watched as the crowd stood and cheered, expecting the clown to return for his due. The agents were bowing and smiling as they backed out of the ring.
The pony was found several miles away near a crossing where the trains slowed. The FBI presumed that Kasiv Rusu, the clown’s real name, was halfway to Portland. They had searched his trailer, apparently without result. They’d been pretty tight-lipped about why Rusu was wanted, but Serella had overheard enough to gather it was espionage. It was extremely poor luck. It brought too much attention to the circus.
Serella and Myron had spent the last twelve years crisscrossing the country, bringing their troop of clowns and jugglers and aerialists to towns far and wide, and in their off-hours working to identify the locations and strengths of military bases and plot the GPS coordinates of missile silos and relevant industrial sites. Drug-dealing felons were to be expected. Law enforcement often came and searched their trailers and equipment. The circus was pronounced clean every time. If there was a database somewhere, Biggs’s circus would have a gold star by their name. They always cooperated with the law. Now a spy had put a target on their back. The FBI might monitor them more closely.
Serella sighed as she tugged open her trailer door and stepped inside. She liked working in America. The people were friendly and naïve. In the Baltic states, the population was more paranoid. Her stipend was larger in the US too. Although, spying was not the road to wealth unless it was corporate espionage. Maybe that was something they should consider. If only —
A shadow detached itself from the wall. Rusu! Remnants of white greasepaint coated his ears.
“You doubled back.” Serella backed against the table, her hands gripping the lip.
“Oldest trick in the book.” His gaze was level.
“And what do you expect from us? If you knew enough to find us, you also know that we are under deep cover. You might have blown our entire operation.”
“You call this an operation?” Rusu sneered. “A safe little info-gathering mission for you and your father. No active duty, no guns, no danger.”
“Myron isn’t my father, just my partner. We work well together. I suppose you are one of the elect.”
“I am an assassin, and I completed my job successfully. So, yes, one of the elite.”
“Good, I’m glad you were successful. I wouldn’t want to upset someone else’s operation.” Serella scrabbled under the table with her hand and pulled out a gun.
“What are you doing? We’re on the same side.”
“I kill you and the FBI looks no further. I am a heroine for taking down a threat to America. No harm, no foul in Moscow. I carry out my assignment. You finished yours.”
Rusu spoke into his collar. “Did you get that?”
Serella backed away, knocking over a chair. The trailer door burst open behind her. Of course. The two FBI agents, guns drawn.
Rusu smiled. “We had plenty of evidence from the bugs planted during our drug searches. Months of conversations between you and Myron. But the prosecutor wanted to gild his case with a confession. Thank you for your assistance.”
“Svinya.” Serella spat the word.
Rusu bowed, pretending to tip a hat. “Special Agent Ness, John Ness, at your service.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Great twist! I did not see that coming! Excellent buildup to the conclusion.
Ha! Loved your ending. Great story!
Comedic beginning, tying up with a brilliant ending! What a ride in five minutes…