Add your lines and we'll write a novel together. Publication might be possible.

It was a sunny day but there was danger in the air.

Harry felt a stranger's touch on his shoulder, but it didn't startle him.

It should have done,

for the stranger's face was that of a bear.

You meet all sorts at a trade fare, he thought to himself.

Especially one for phone cover salesmen.

Knowing what he must do, Harry quickly pulls out his mobile device.

He admires its sleek lines, its lovely feel, and as always accidentally presses some button on its side that does something unexpected.

How he ever managed to land this job as a spy was anybody's guess.

It certainly wasn't due to any skill or ability, and it wasn't as if he had any connections. Envious workmates often muttered darkly "Probably something to do with that business in Beirut".
But never very loudly.

Not that he cared much about them or their opinions, he's not here to make friends.

The bear was getting impatient.

Harry scooted over to the left.

Then slowly turns back to see what he feared the most now happening.

A ghastly sight indeed, he said to himself.

"Ghastly," he said to himself. "what a lovely word! I wonder where it came from. Middle English?"
"I must look it up." he said. Aloud.
The bear was astonished.

Just then a shot rang out bringing Harry back to his senses. The bear-man falls to the ground. As Harry realizes that must of been his contact the next shot came just missing him. Harry sprang into action, Beirut still fresh in his mind.

Unscrewing the bear-man's nose he took out the message chip and leaped to the window.

Which, being the tenth floor, was shut.

He quickly made an opening with his standard issue diamond tipped Acme window opener and prepared to make his daring ascent to meet the helicopter on the roof.

On reaching the roof, he realised his way to the helicopter was blocked by a kilted Scottish Ninja. He reached for his ...

"kilted Scottish ninja gibberish decoder" in case this apparition intended to communicate with him.But it was not necessary.

The Scot now smiled as he stared with those evil eyes. Fear coursed thru Harry. He, for the first time, regretted not giving personal combat more attention during training. Skill clearly wasn't gonna get him out of this either. 

With a skill born of long practice, he whisked out the bottle of single malt and rolled it along the ground away from the helicopter.

The Scot leapt after the bottle and Harry dashed for the helicopter.