The Wrong Recipient by Mongolita

The ninety-three year old Gordon had finally begun to understand that the internet was a useful and versatile tool. Emails filled his inbox faster than he could read them. 

One rainy  Monday,  he opened a message that read: “Congratulations you've been selected”

Gordon quickly reached for his reading glasses.

“You have been selected as the oldest man in the world. Your courage and bravery are legendary. Report to the underground headquarters on Friday at 22.00 hours. Find attached the map." 

He smiled. “Well, that's an unusual way to celebrate my ninety-fourth birthday,”  he muttered.

His granddaughter has helped him to create an email account and showed him how to reply to emails.

“Thank you for your invite. I shall wear my  ‘special occasion tweed jacket’.” signed, Gordon Mills

The email bounced back but Gordon didn't give much importance.

Friday evening arrived, carrying  a walking stick, a torch and a flask, then  he followed the map which was attached to the email. It led him to an abandoned old house just outside the town. 

Two masked men were waiting outside. 

“Password” the taller masked man demanded.

“Pardon?” Gordon exclaimed 

“The Password” the shorter man repeated.

I brought shortbread biscuits?”

The two masked men shrugged their shoulders. 

“Is …  this John?”

“No. Gordon,” he replied. “Apparently, I'm the oldest man in the world.”

One of the men snatched the telephone from Gordon's hand and read the email. His eyes widened.

“Oh no.” He whispered. “The addresses got mixed up.”

The email had been meant for “Mad Jack’, leader of a secret underground militia resisting a corrupt criminal gang.

Before anyone could explain further, headlights reflected on each window in the front of the house.

"They've found us!" someone shouted.

The militia scattered to different parts of the house.

Gordon, confused but determined not to be in the way, sat down on what he thought was a chair but it was the fuse box making a huge bang!

The loud sparking noise  echoed through the empty house.

The gang outside assumed explosives had been triggered. They panicked, jumped back into their cars, and drove off without firing a shot.

Everyone breathed in unison with the sound of relief. 

The masked leader  stared at Gordon.

"That was... brilliant."

Gordon blinked. "I only sat on the fuse box."

Word spread quickly through the group. By midnight, Gordon had been declared an honorary member of the militia.

Over tea and shortbread biscuits, they laughed about the disastrous email mix-up.

"So," Gordon  asked, "am I actually the oldest man in the world?"

The leader grinned. "I'm afraid not."

Gordon was disappointed for about three seconds.

"Well," he said, pouring another cup of tea, "being the oldest recruit in an underground militia is probably far more interesting."

Everyone raised their mugs.

.. And,  it all began with an email sent to the wrong recipient. 

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