More Writing, THIS TIME WITH 50% MORE STRUCTURE

The man sat in the lounge, with a cigarette in his mouth. He was, what you would call an average man, short dark brown hair, slightly over weight, around forty. He was dressed like every other tourist, beige shorts, with a floral shit. His eyes stood out, not for there color, which was a light brown, but because they flickered nervously around the room. The room was simple, and unassuming, with three black leather chairs in a row, a counter facing them, and a door beside the counter. No tables with outdated magazines, no sickly potted plants, this room implied business and didn't disappoint. Across the counter, the secretary, a man, dressed in a suit and tie, despite the heat, worked studiously.

Breaking the silence, a phone rang shrilling in the room. With practised ease, the secretary answered in smooth spanish. The tone of his voice immediately turned from pleasant to hushed apprehension, as he glanced nervously at the man, sitting across the room. Hanging up, the secretary got up awkwardly, and gestured towards the door.

"Ms. Hovetais will see you now", he said in rough english, "last door on your right"

The man gave a brief smile to the secretary and quickly went through the plain wooden door. He found himself in a hallway with full-wall windows on his left. Outside, he could see rocky shores, and the brilliant blue ocean. Keeping a quick pace, he went to the end of the hallway, and knocked gently on the last door.

A cold voice answered "Come in, Mr. Stevens" in clean, unaccented english.

With a sharp twist of his wrist, Mr. Steven opened the door to a spartan office. The only defining feature was a large wooden desk and a chair that was before it. On the other side of the desk, Ms. Hovetais sat. Her striking red hair contrasted with her leather outfit. White walls, carpet, and roof, seemed to close in on Mr. Steven.

Crushing his smoke on the floor, Mr. Stevens sat, his eyes still flickering around the room. "Can you tell me why the hell I'm here?", he asked, his voice tight.

"Here?" she asked innocently, one eyebrow arched, "I thought you would have already figured that out". She stood from her chair, and the cold edge began to creep into her voice. "You have been sent to me because you can't seem to respect your countries wishes. Your nation wants you to remain silent, and you refuse to comply. After three tries, you get a more serious punishment" Smiling, she told him, "That would be my department"

Mr. Steven sighed nervously, and stared at her. "Look, the citizens of America have every right to know what there government does. I shouldn't be put on trial for telling the people-".

Putting on an innocent face, Ms. Hovetais chided him gently, "But, Mr. Stevens, this isn't a trial" Reaching under the desk, she pulled out a black pistol, and pointed it at his head. "This is a sentence" Without hesitation, she pulled the trigger, putting a round into Mr. Steven's head. Blood, bone and brain splattered the door behind him, as his body slumped in his chair.

Placing the gun on the desk, Ms. Hovetais reached into her pocket and pulled out a celled phone. With one click, she brought it to ear and said, "Problem solved, Mr. President. Mark Stevens was tragically killed in mugging during his vacation in Spain" Her voice dripping with sarcasm, she added, "A tragedy, I know"