This is my entry for the 
The warm smell of fresh brownies drifted across the cafe, ducking under the tables, squeezing through chairs, urged on by the fans; it flew. A gooey batch, chocolate chips still soft, had appeared on the counter. So loudly rang the placing of the tray, that Matt’s eyes glanced over, his mouth already watering, and so the enticing aroma managed to make him half consider ordering two.
Over Matt’s head, a clock's hand ticked a steady background beat, drawing his attention. For all wandering eyes, it was ten to two; she was twenty minutes late. A huff of impatience escaped his cracked lips, his mind drifting back to the crowded room.
An elderly man sat slouched at the table across from him, his broadsheet newspaper out of place in a room full of faces glazed by the light of phone screens. Matt‘s hand instinctively touched his own in his pocket. If he got it out, his eyes would be glued hard to it, in case the light flashed. His mind knew it would vibrate, but the flash came first. It was an addiction he couldn’t fight. Not to the phone. To her.
His mind buzzed and beeped, unable to fight the itch of wonder…
“...where was she?”
The old man‘s mouth let go of a cough, accompanying the symphony of crinkling as he flipped a page. Matt’s eyes darted up, accidentally catching his gaze, the man smiled at him eagerly folding the paper away.
Matt’s mind shuddered, cursing itself as the man rose, heading towards him. As soon as the stranger came within ear shot, Matt called out trying to put him off.
“Sorry mate, i’m waiting for someone.”
The grin over the worn face widened.
“Someone who still ain’t here yet, ‘ow about a bit of company, to help with the waiting? Whatcha say?”
Put on the spot, Matt’s thoughts already ablaze, he found himself nodding before reason could interject. The flame in his mind was inundated with worries and the urge to call her now - to see where oh where she was. Matt didn’t have the patience for small talk, but it was too late; the elderly man was lowering himself into the chair opposite.
The chair eeking with the slow applying pressure of aching joints, a wry smile found itself on the old man’s lips. In the opposite side of tension: a forced smile began forming on Matt’s dry lips, his hand quivering but extending for an introduction.
Here is my ending to the story...
The old man extended his hand and introduced himself. "Mr. Jackson. It's great to meet you, Matt."
Matt replied, "How do you know my name?"
"Well Matt, first I need you to remain calm. There are two agents in the corner booth, Don't look at them; they've been following you for a while."
Matt fought the urge to turn and look. "What? Why?"
"Your girlfriend, Sasha, will be here soon, and we don't have much time. We delayed her with a big traffic incident we staged. I am sorry to tell you that she is a Russian agent."
"You're crazy! That's not possible. She's from Pennsylvania."
"She is from the small town of Karasuk, Russia, near the border with Kazakhstan. She has been trained as a spy since birth and was settled in Pennsylvania when she was four years old." The old man slid his newspaper across the table. "Open to page eight."
When Matt opened the paper, it was laid out as a sort of dossier about his soon-to-be-fiance Sasha. The dossier revealed that Sasha was using her relationship with Matt to get inside the Eisenhower Executive Office Building where he worked so she could plant a bomb.
The building housed offices of the majority of the White House staff as well as the Vice President and the Secretaries of State, the Treasury, and the Navy. It was also adjacent to the West Wing of the White House. As Matt read on, the document also revealed that her plan was to make it look like Canada was responsible for the bombing, hoping to start a war between the nations and get the United States' focus off of Russia and other parts of the world that the Kremlin felt should be of no concern to the Americans.
Baffled, Matt asked, "But if they know about this and agents are watching us, why haven't they just arrested her?"
At that moment, the bell on the cafe door rang. Matt turned and saw Sasha standing in the doorway, then caught a glimpse of the two agents in the corner. He began to ponder what he was going to do. As he turned back around, Mr. Jackson and his newspaper were now gone.
Sasha kissed Matt as she sat down. "Did you order yet, hon?"
Matt replied, "Not yet, but the brownies are fresh. Wait, we need to talk."
Sasha became a bit suspicious as Matt seemed unusually nervous. She had also spotted the agents in the corner and felt they looked a bit out of place. She began to panic a bit.
"Talk about what?" she said as she put her hand on top of his.
"There was a man. He said you are a Russian spy. I just don't know what --"
As he spoke, Sasha sprang from her chair and pulled a gun from her bag. She fired two shots at the agents in the corner. Two bulls-eyes, right in the middle of their foreheads. She then turned to Matt and kissed him as she said, "I'm sorry. I really did love you." She then buried a bullet into his brain as well.
Suddenly Matt was in a large empty room with black walls and nothing in sight. From the shadows stepped Mr. Jackson, carrying the dossier in folder form this time.
Confused, Matt asked, "Mr. Jackson? What happened?"
Mr. Jackson replied, "You can just call me Francis now. You really screwed that up, now didn't you?"
"Yeah, I suppose I did," said Matt, "But what are you doing here? Am I dead? Dreaming?"
"Technically, dead, yes. However, I am an angel. I was there to try to help you. Luckily I have been given the power to send you back to try again, but just this one time. Now hurry up and figure out a better way to handle things. I have to send you back right now or we will lose the chance to do it at all. Ready?"
"What? No!"
Francis flipped a switch. Matt vanished and reappeared in the cafe.
Over Matt’s head, a clock's hand ticked a steady background beat, drawing his attention. For all wandering eyes, it was ten to two; she was twenty minutes late.
Forty-five minutes later, Matt was back in the emptiness of the black room again. Shaking his head, Francis emerged and told him, "Okay, this is really the last time I can send you back. We were only given twenty chances. If you can't get it right this time, the consequences could be catastrophic, not just for you, but for the whole world."
I hope you enjoyed my spy "thriller" ending. I would love to know what you think of it.