Intelligence (130 words)
In the false daylight of the train carriage, Kevin looked at his watch for the seventeenth time. Sound in the tunnel was dampened and clammy; a wet static of distant rumbling, hushed voices. He closed his eyes. The metallic scritching noise gnawed at the dark, knotted corner of his mind where he had been hiding.
The case between his feet seemed to throb. Derek had said it made him look like a Soviet agent, a pathetic throwback. Derek had a disparaging nostalgia for the old days of intelligence. Derek had a tendency to talk bollocks.
Scritch. Kevin put his hands over his ears. Soon the train would move.
The lights failed with a vague plink.
Kevin squeezed the case between his worn heels, but he could feel it struggling.
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