Sitting on the outside porch of a café in Vigo, he watched the clouds cross the otherwise clear, summer, skies of Galicia. The slight winds came across the pier as he fixed his hair. He took a deep breath. It was another relaxing day. No longer did he have to worry or care. That part of his life was done and this new, easier, chapter was much more enjoyable.
The chair next to him scraped across the concrete. He turned to look over at the person disturbing his peace.
“Sir Jimbo, we are calling upon you one last time,” said the man in khaki shorts and summer button-down short sleeved shirt.
“I don’t know who you are, but I’m not doing a damn thing.”
“I am from MI6 and we need your help.”
“Ask Chimaera or Kahlan Rahl,” Jimbo said with a hint of annoyance.
Sighing, Jimbo got up and put on his sunglasses.
“Time to save the day,” he said as he started writing down names on a napkin. “Here is my team. Assemble them immediately. And before I forget, do not ever call me Jimbo again.”
“Yes, Sir Listener,” the man said.
Sir Listener would walk away to gather his things and prepare for the mission. The man would look down at the napkin, reading the names:
· Listener (M)
· Abbas (M)
· Mergerberger (001)
· Voodoo (002)
· Roy Mustang (003)
· Myth (004)
· Gopherbashi (005)
· James Bond (007)