More Short Stories to Read on a Bus, a Car, a Train, a Plane (or a comfy chair anywhere). Colin Palmer

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      “Step 1”

      A telephone rang, a cellphone, a Vertu Signature Touch. His final appointment he knew, and keyed to answer, listening without even saying hello. A voice immediately began its assault and he instantly recognized the English language, American English at that. There was a confusing melee of orders to do this, do that, but don’t do this if you happen to do that, and so it went. The voice finally ended the lengthy diatribe and waited for a response, and after some tense seconds with nothing in return, queried the listener.

      “Do you understand, Mr. Trelwick?”

      “Yes, and it’s Alan.”

      “Don’t be late, Mr. Trelwick, the president doesn’t like to be kept waiting, he is never late.” And the call abruptly ended.

      He placed the phone back down onto the adjacent side-table and rocked back in the luxury leather of the armchair, just one rock, and when his feet returned and touched the floor he stopped the motion of the chair so he could reach out and lift a simple tumbler of whisky. He sipped gently in quiet celebration of his final appointment, ice chinking loudly against glass in the silence of the room but he savored the smooth mellow liquid as it erupted onto his taste buds and took no notice of the sound.

      He glanced down to make sure no temperamental condensation had dripped from the glass onto his keenly pressed trousers or patent leather shoes. He stood up, taking the whisky with him across the plush carpet of the room, stopping in front of the mini bar and inspecting himself and the whisky in the mirror hanging above the bar. He would never get used to seeing himself in this form but oh, the privileges it bestowed, such as this beautiful whisky!

      “Cheers,” he offered to his reflection, and took another sip.

      He was average height – a tad under one hundred eighty centimeters, or almost five foot eleven to those rebellious Americans – mid-forties and fit with a strong shock of black hair immaculately groomed to present him as the professional that he was. He adjusted the knot of his tie slightly, nodded, but then sighed as he placed the whisky back down on the bar. His eyes went back to the mirror and the classic handsome face and piercing green eyes that returned his gaze. He shuddered at the thought that he had to bear this monstrous form for the duration of his mission, sans the microseconds required to infect others.