Hole 14

“Sir… You flew us to Australia just to play golf?”

Standing in the gravel carpark of Carbrook Golf Club, Maya Whitney felt dubious. Not so much at the fact she had been flown 15,000 kilometres for 18 holes – her boss being known for his spontaneity - but rather that he could hold a driver in both hands without his gut getting in the way. Of course, it would come as no shock if they’d have to take a drink break at every green.

Gauging her surroundings, Maya noticed the environment was overly desolate, an unfamiliar quiet looming over them like a bad omen. She was also aware of the lack of bodyguards, in itself being somewhat out of the ordinary. Though, she had to admit, it wasn’t the first time the Director of the CIA wanted to be alone with a small girl.

“It is a fine-looking course, isn’t it? Did you have a look at the brochure?” Already on a swift beeline for the clubhouse, Chunk Murphy had left his set of clubs behind, expecting anyone but himself to carry them. Maya collected the bag, faltering for a moment when she noted its cleanliness and unuse. Chunk was the kind of person to buy a new set of irons every time he played though, so she neglected any scepticism. Her short legs strained under the weight of two club sets as she tried to catch up, walking past the only other car in the carpark - a 1983 Pontiac Bonneville. Like a mirror to the world around her, the wagon was empty. At least, she assumed it was empty. Maya couldn’t see through the tinted windows.

-

The pair stared down hole one. Chunks seemed hesitant to be the first to tee off, so Maya took the liberty to flaunt her expertise. Teeing up just behind the blue markers, she started examining her line. “Don’t you think you should go from the red markers? You are a lady, after all.” The young officer took this as a compliment and hit a 240-yard draw, landing 20 short of the green. She turned around, keeping a smug grin curtained behind a professional face. They were there for business, after all.

Maya was always the athletic kid growing up, but after garnering an IQ score of 145, her parents steered her to academics. She studied psychology and global affairs in college, and gained an internship offer at the CIA’s Directorate of Intelligence. Why Chunks had specifically called her halfway across the world though, she hadn’t the slightest. But something felt like she was soon to find out.

“A young officer in the agency recommended this course to me. He said due to mass flooding in the area recently, the place would be deserted. Wilson, I think his name was. James Wilson.”

“James Wilson? The new guy in NCS?” Maya tried not to sound surprised.

“Yes! A lovely young man, says he used to play here with his father.”

Maya knew James Wilson. He went to the same college as her. They had bumped shoulders a few times, slept together twice, but had ever spoken. He was younger than her, and was still a sophomore when she graduated, so it didn’t make sense that he already had direct ties with Chunks. On top of that, she knew he had never been to Australia in his life, let alone played golf there with his father. James’ idea of sport was watching pigeons sit on top of buildings, formulating long-winded algorithms that predicted how long the bird would sit there before either flying away or shitting on an unsuspecting passer-by. She could have bet he had never even played minigolf.

-

The next bunch of holes were the same. Maya would make par, and they would make awkward small talk while waiting for Chunks to hit out. Like James had said, the recent floods had made the water hazards much larger, and Chunks was onto his 5th ball by the tee of hole 12.

“Sir, why are we here?” Maya was beginning to get fed up.

“You’re awfully good at golf for someone that doesn’t like it.” Chunks pretended to examine his line, before taking a deep breathe. “How much do you know about what is going on Rwanda?”

“I know just what’s on the news, Sir. The DI hasn’t been dealing with that as of yet.”

“No, you’re right. But the NCS has.” There was something on Chunks’ face. An emotion; a word.

The National Clandestine Service was responsible for collecting foreign intelligence, and along with the Department of Operations, had been predominantly looking into the recent mass genocide in Rwanda.

“That’s why you met with James Wilson, a new recruit who, might I remind you, is 23 years old?” Maya hadn’t thought about the genocide since leaving the states, and having it bought up here reminded her of the gravity of the situation. Chunks was unfazed.

“Ms Whitney, young men in the Agency are very easily manipulated. The whole idea of being a part of the CIA is like a dream for them, and they prepare themselves to consider anything normal.” He placed the tee in the ground, behind the black markers. “Do you remember Aldrich Ames?”

“The guy that used to work for the Agency? I thought he got caught giving secrets to the Russians.” For once, Maya was struggling to connect all the dots before her.

“That’s right. And you took his position in the DI.”

“So, what does this have to do with me, Sir?” The dots were being connected for her.

“Well, someone in a position such as yours or Ames’ needs to get their secrets from somewhere.”

“You have a Russian spy in the Agency?!” Maya was perplexed.

“Had. Ames was my scapegoat in Russia and the Soviet, but last week he pleaded guilty. Hence why I need your help. The last missions were just a bit of fun on the side, but we have much bigger fish to fry in Africa.” Chunks face conveyed an emotion Maya had never seen before, one of pride, one of emptiness.

Maya knew better than to lose her temper. She spoke calmly, torn to bits inside.

“And if I say no? What makes you think I won’t tell anyone about this? What makes you think I won’t take this straight to the president? Don’t forget I have the power to do that.”

“Oh Maya, but the president is going to be a little bit tied up for a while. Remember the Paula Jones case?”

Maya didn’t have to ask to know this was of his doing. She didn’t have to ask to know there was no getting out of this alive.

Standing unmoved for an eternity, a smile slowly crept up the side of her face.

“I’ll do it.”

-

“Hole 14. I think I’ll start us off.” Chunks had an air of confidence around him now. He teed up, and with an almighty swing, the ball flew off the drive, slightly hooking with the fairway. Chunks had landed the ball at least halfway to the flag, perhaps 250 yards or more. Squealing in delight like a pig at feeding time, he turned to Maya with his tongue out and both middle fingers to the sky. Maya did her best to look excited, but she could only feel exhaustion.

“Did you see that Maya?” Chunks yelled as he danced around the tee area, clapping himself on.

“Shot of the day!” Maya tried to sound enthusiastic but was distracted by a lone golfer on the course. Perhaps he was the man with the Pontiac. He wore a plaid vest and cream pants, and had a buff upper body. As Chunks danced past her again, she noticed the golfer didn’t have any clubs with him. She wished he did, so he could drive a ball into her head.

Chunks had stopped dancing now and was looking out at the lake on their right. Maya wondered if he was just internally celebrating his God complex, and approached slowly behind, hoping this would be a good moment to reason with him. She stood behind him and hesitated, before placing her soft hand on his right shoulder. “Sir?”

Chunks grabbed Maya’s hand and pulled her into his chest, leaning in to kiss her. She tried to pull away, but his grip was tight on her wrist, and their lips collided into one another. Her hand was nearly forced down his pants, but she kept a closed fist as best she could. Maya was helpless and defeated, her exhaustion about to make her give in. She tried to scream, pushing forcibly to get any air out of her lungs, but there was only air. Her throat was being grappled by a strong, hairy hand, competing in size with her entire head. Thrusting had proved useless, and she realised there was no point in fighting. This was the end of her freedom. She just hoped he choked her to death before he raped her.

Suddenly, she was thrown backwards into the grass.

-

The golfer was standing tall in front of Maya, facing the Director. He wore a bulletproof vest and held a gun out in front of him. Chunks retreated slowly, unaware of what lay behind him. In one swift movement, the golfer jerked forward and drove Chunks backwards. The Director lost his footing and tumbled into the water hazard on the 14th tee. Not bothering with her clubs, Maya picked herself up and sprinted back to the clubhouse as quick as she could, silently thanking her high school days. Before she got there, she was caught up with by the golfer, who led her instead in the direction of the Pontiac.

-

“Wilson?”

The car pulled out of the carpark and turned north towards Brisbane City.

“Just thought I’d lend a helping hand.” James kept his eyes on the road while he removed his plaid vest.

“I thought you were working as a spy for Chunks. Isn’t that why he called you in?”

“Not exactly. Chunks made me keep tabs on you at all times. He said you were a Russian spy, and that I needed to make sure you weren’t relaying anything back there.”

“Young men in the Agency are easily manipulated.” For the first time today, Maya had connected the dots.

“I knew your daily routes like the back of my hand, I had been in your house, your bedroom, I’ve even plucked pubic hair from your razor. But when Chunks told me my mission was over, I wasn’t sure what else to do, so I kept following you around. I piloted the jet you both caught here and made sure to arrive at the course before you guys. I had mics in both your club bags and sat in the Pontiac listening. Once I realised what was up, it was nearly too late.”

“What about Chunks? He can just get out of the water and make his way back. They’ll believe him before they believe us.” James smiled as Maya asked.

“You didn’t ask why I flew you to Australia.”

“Go on.” Scepticism was rising in Maya's throat.

“You see, with the recent floods, the river next to the course overflowed and filtered into the water hazards. But it wasn’t just water and small fish. Once the flood waters retreated, half a dozen juvenile bull sharks were left stranded.”

Maya didn’t say anything for a long time. James didn’t push it.

-

As the lights of the city materialised over the crest of a hill, Maya wondered what happened next. She could run away, take James and his old Pontiac, go live in the Australian outback among the kangaroos and wombats. Or maybe she’d go back to Virginia.

She looked at James, feeling a smug satisfaction arise.

“Have you ever played minigolf?”