Prologue for The Good Spy Dies Twice
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EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (General) North American (US West Coast - California, Portland) US African AmericanTranscript
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prologue. He heard it. He finally heard it. Well, he thought he'd heard it. He couldn't be sure. His head was still ringing from a massive and quite unexpected electrical shock. One minute, Brody had been climbing an old chain link fence that encircled the mountain, listening intently through his headphones. The next he was flailing backward, thrown by an electrical jolt that had struck like lightning. Only it wasn't lightning. The shock had most definitely come from that fence. Brody elated, flat on his back on the frozen earth in the impact had knocked the wind out of now, gasping, he sucked on the cold Russian air, his body desperate for oxygen. But his mind erasing for something else. The sound he'd heard while climbing the fence. The one that it practically vibrated the headphones right off his head. That home it was real. And it was right there on his audio recorder. Ah, ****. Where was it? His recorder. His head phones were stolen, his head. But his audio recorder had bounced out of its satchel. It had been a shortfall. Just 10 feet or so. It couldn't have gone far. And so long as it wasn't damaged his heart sinking to his guts. What if it was broken after traveling thousands of miles to Russia after stealing away from a sleeping fiance the dead of the night in driving for nearly 24 hours non stop after sneaking into an abandoned Soviet era military installation. It had been a difficult and expensive journey, but his news team was desperate to find this rumored hum, and he'd been willing to do whatever it took to record it. So Havas freakin audio recorder break after finally capturing it. Well, wouldn't that be just us luck? Groping around in the darkness, he finally found the small book sized recorder half submerged in the snow. He examined it breathlessly. Much to his relief. The L E D display was still glowing blue. Thank God. He plugged his headphones back in, rewound the recorder and hit play, then listened carefully. Brody hadn't known what to expect when he first arrived in Dagestan, near the mountain village of you Marie. The locals, a battle wary dubious bunch, told him that the tell tale hum could only be heard for short moments at a time, if it all So we started recording just as soon as he parked his rental car on the shoulder of the mountain road, probably 1/4 mile from the first, Vincey topped as he listened to the playback. He heard his rental car door closed quietly and then the scuff of his boots as he made his way to the first chain link fence, the one that hadn't shocked the **** out of He listened to himself, climbed the first fence without incident, then dropped to the other side and in the switch of his pants in the creek of metal as it climbed the second fence. It was then, as he was nearing the top of that second fence, the one that had shocked the **** out of him, that he heard the home. It was in the background, but it was most definitely there, a distinctive sound in undulating warble that pitched upward shortly before disappearing into the ether. And then he heard his own scream as he grabbed hold of what must have been a still live wire of the old electric fence. Then the swish of Aarhus. He fell, and then a jolting silence as the recorder hit the earth in, bounced from its carrying case, which is when it must have stopped recording. He rewound the recorder and listened again, just to be sure. Yep, there waas the hum. He had it looking at the mountain and at the second fence offense still alive with electricity, Brody realized that there was no need to go any farther. He had what he'd come for now. He needed to start the long drive back to Moscow to give the audio to his boss, Jake Boxer, so that he could play the hum in the next day's broadcast, said that the world could listen. Brody secured his audio recorder in this satchel hit record just in case. The home started up again and hurried back the way he came back toward the first fence he'd climbed, panting. He was an audio guy, not an athlete. Brody reached the fence. He put a hand on it and felt his arms spasm uncontrollably in one long, sustained hot pulse. The same type of electric shock that had knocked him off the second fence was once again. Rushing through his fingers and into his arm. He crumpled to the ground with a new yet familiar scream on the slips. Luckily, He fell backward in the weight of his body, jerked his hand away from the fence, breaking theological current line in the snow. His arms shook violently for several seconds and Jesus, his heart. It was skipping beats like a rock skimming a lake. He looked back at the fence.