Out of Time

Flash fiction with the words "Time is running out."

When she moved into our neighborhood, we all wondered where she came from. Dinah must have been in her late twenties though it was hard to tell. There was no doubt that the men ogled at her. After all this was India. Her beauty was unparalleled and her lustrous hair and Middle Eastern features added to her mystique and attraction.

Dinah was polite to everyone but quite reserved. I invited her to a few of our gatherings but she declined and the look in her eyes made me stop. There was something pleading and yet endearing about her expression.

I noticed that she never carried a cellphone nor did she own a computer. She drove a nondescript scooter that was the chosen mode of transport for anything she needed.

It was a Sunday morning when I heard the knock on the door. Dinah darted in and shut the door behind her. I took a step back in surprise.

“Rashmi, I’m sorry to barge in like this. I didn’t know who else to go to,” she gasped, her breath ragged.

She was dressed in an all-black leather outfit. Gone was the calm and serene Dinah. In her place, stood a taut and tense woman who looked primed for combat.

She continued. “Time is running out.”

“F..f.for?”

“I need you to hide this USB drive. If anyone comes around asking about me, say that we never interacted”

“Who…?” I started but she was gone.

An hour later a black Mercedes drove up to her house. I peered through the curtain. Three tall well-built men got out, took a look around and went inside.

I put the USB drive in my laptop. It needed a password. I stifled a scream.

There was no mistaking the Mossad logo.