So, I got really bored one day, and just started writing a story, kinda military/ secret service, 007 inspired, you could say. I decided to use codes based on William Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice. I'm considering continuing it, this is sort of a first demo-chapter. Enjoy! And that's an order!


“Shakespeare, this is Antonio. Repeat, Antonio. Shylock is moving through the Rialto. Shall I follow to seal the bond?” He said quietly, as though to no one at all, like a crazed man’s mumblings. He awaited the reply impatiently.

“Antonio, this is Shakespeare. Follow Shylock and seal the bond. Be sure no one follows you, lest they steal our ducats”
He hurriedly moved through the crowd, keeping a steady eye on ‘Shylock’. His heart raced as he tried to follow the target with both eyes and body while not blowing his cover or losing ‘Shylock’.

“Watch it, a** hole!” screamed a woman as she brushed heavily against his shoulder, knocking him sideways. Ignoring the woman, his keen eyes scraped through the crowds.
“Damnit! Shakespeare, the Jew has gone without me. Repeat, Cannot find Shylock”

“Antonio, this is Jessica. Shylock is currently at your 3 o’clock. Hurry along now, he’s leaving the Rialto.”

“Keep me posted, Jewess” he said quietly as he slipped through the crowds like a water snake. As he slunk around the mingling bystanders, he caught sight of Shylock on the far edge of the market that was codenamed “Rialto”. He was turning down an alleyway.

‘Antonio’ picked up the pace. He was quickly caught up and appeared that he was just out on a mere stroll. Shylock had clearly become skittish and gave a quick glance over his shoulder and spat. He stopped. Antonio did not. Antonio walked past slowly. He came to a small concrete set of steps.

Antonio reached into inside his leather jacket and pulled out a lighter and a cigarette. Personally, he didn’t smoke much. But he kept them with him for moments like this, when they provided a good cover. He preferred cigars.

As he light the f** and put the lighter inside his jacket, his eyes reached up and looked at Shylock. Shylock was staring at him. Antonio levelled his gaze and gave him a momentarily cold stab of the eyes before looking down the alleyway back into market.

He must have figured there were other agents in Rialto, thought Antonio as he took the f** between his fingers and blew out smoke in a long cloud.

Antonio barely heard the sound of Shylock’s feet as he ran down the alley. Antonio jumped onto his own pair and gave chase.

Shylock jumped upon a dumpster. He then vaulted himself upon a low factory roof and resumed his fleeing. Antonio followed. Sparks flew several feet ahead of Antonio on the metal roof. A bullet whizzed past his ear and screamed at him. His arm flew inside his jacket and shirt to the holster in his armpit.

He pulled out a slim pistol and returned his enemy’s fire.
“Ah!” rang out a cry as Antonio was hit solidly in the chest twice. He stumbled and fell down to his knees, and let the pistol slip from his grip. He collapsed down onto his chest and rolled off the tin roof onto the cold hard concrete of the alleyway below.

Moments later, he heard a shrill cry in his ear from the ear piece.

“All units, the Merchant is down! Repeat, Antonio is down! Notify the Duke! Do not follow Shylock! Back to Venice!”

His mind immediately translated the code-speak. Not that it mattered. By the time anyone arrived he would probably be gone. Nothing but a cold corpse. But that’s what failure is, isn’t it? He asked himself as he curled up and clutched his chest. You fail, you die. You fail at the mission, it means you’ve been killed or that someone else has, and you’d best consider yourself dead. You fail to hide your identity, and someone knows who you are, they’ll for sure have you dead by supper.

Four agents appeared out of seemingly nowhere. They grabbed him by his wrists and ankles. He tried to fight back, unable to decipher whether they were friendly, or just wanted to interrogate and kill him.

“Antonio, this is Jessica. The agents who have you are friendly. You are being carried by the other Merchants. Do not resist, Antonio” He heard the voice ringing in his ear. His tiring body gave up and he began to gag on the own blood as the group dropped him onto the floor.

“Enough of that, now” said one of his rescuers as he poured water into Antonio’s mouth, then tilted his head so it spilt out onto the concrete of a small warehouse they had entered. That sounds like Gratiano, thought Antonio. Antonio gasped for breath as his chest shuddered with pain. He began violently shaking and struggled to turn over and rest on his forearms.

As he righted himself into the position, a pool of blood splattered on the floor that had been collected on his chest as he was dragged along. A friendly took a knife and cut his leather jacket along the spine and ripped it off him. Antonio’s blood-soaked shirt clung to him uncomfortably, but it had been sticking around the wounds and slowing the bleeding.

His shirt was ripped off as well, and he was pushed onto his back and dragged onto a table of some sort. Someone sat upon his well-muscled stomach as others bound his wrists and ankles tightly to the table legs. A rag was drawn across his mouth and held by unknown hands and a blinding light was shone over him.

He fought and struggled though he knew he shouldn’t. The weight on his stomach was extremely painful, and, as his arms had been pulled tight away, his chest was burning even more so. The weight on his chest shifted and picked up a pair of large surgical tweezers.

“Gggg!” Came a muffled scream as hands pushed his chest against the table in an effort to hold him steady. But Antonio struggled and his chest heaved up and off the table the way a wild stallion rears to avoid his captors. Finally, a rope was drawn across his chest and it too was being held down. He jerked painfully as the tweezers entered his body through a bullet hole and poked his flesh.

“Damn it, I can’t find it!” It was the voice of Lorenzo; surely no man could way as much as he that was sitting on his chest. He heard the snap of gloves being put on and tensed his muscles.

With a painful cry, Lorenzo stuck his thumb and forefinger into the first bullet hole and pushed around until his found the bullet. Antonio jerked wildly with pain, his face layered with beads of sweat and the look of anguish. Through the bandana that was in his teeth came muffled screams as his body continued to fight back at his friends.

They paid no attention to his thrashing and the second bullet hole was invaded by the pain of what could save his life. As Lorenzo withdrew the bullet, he shook it lightly to get rid of the blood and put in a small cup. He patted several layers of gauze and bandage around his chest until his wounds were covered with a bandage that wrapped around his entire chest.

He jumped off Antonio’s chest and nodded. The others cut Antonio’s restraints. He screamed loudly and gasped for air, then rolled off the table and hit the floor with a loud moan. He gasped for air as he curled up into the foetal position. The warehouse was silent as they watched his pain, and the other agents waited for orders, and for the Duke to arrive.

It seemed like days for Antonio before the ‘Duke’ arrived. The Duke was never summoned unless it was urgent, and usually not for an injured agent. Shakespeare and the Duke arrived together, rushing and out of air.
“Did you get Shylock? Do we have anything on him?” It was silent. No one wanted to be the one to tell the Duke and Shakespeare that he got away.
“Sir” called Antonio weakly. “I think I got him in the arm. I’m not sure”

”God Damn” he whispered under his breath. Antonio had been shot several times before, and it took a hell of a lot to make him go down. He’d been known to keep chase when shot, but he’d never been hit in the chest. And he never wore Kevlar.

Antonio rolled onto his back and brought up his knees. He rested his arms painfully across his stomach.
“Get him out of here and back home, Discreetly, I might add.” Ordered Shakespeare.

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