By Claire Hines, Year 11
The next morning, James walked briskly to the rendezvous, a living building on the edge of
town. He stepped into a cab and ordered the robot at the wheel to take him to a location a
twenty-minute walk away from his destination. He sat down in the back seat, his briefcase
at his feet. With his hair dyed blond, a mask modifying his face to give him a younger
appearance, wearing simple jeans, a white t-shirt and a brown jacket, he looked like a young
man on his way to work without a care in the world.
He smiled to himself as he recalled the efficiency with which he had pulled off the heist the
night before. The file, concealed in his briefcase would promptly be exchanged for a billion
idyllics, the universal currency of Idyllesia.
James was a stealth agent and had been so for many years now. He could, and would, do
anything from murder to theft for the right price. He had never been caught despite being a
wanted man in over fifty countries and carrying a death sentence in at least thirty-six of
these. He was a professional known only as the Phoenix and was rumoured to be the most
dangerous man alive. However, after so many years of acing his profession, he
encountered a problem. He had grown overconfident and more daring. He was the
deadliest man in the world, and he knew it.
So, now as he stepped out of the vehicle onto the mobile sidewalk towards another cab
stop, he was blissfully unaware of the fact that a tracking device hidden in his cargo was
relaying his exact position to attentive officers of F.U.R.I. (Federal Union of Relentless
The investigation, known as Furies, are the law enforcers of Idyllesia) because he had not
checked.
Half an hour later, after taking transport to and from across the city to lead astray anyone
who might attempt to follow his trail, he arrived. He unlocked the door of the living building
with a number code provided by his employers and stepped into the lobby. A smiling
humanoid of a woman welcomed him and directed him to an elevator. The latter was at the
end of a spotless white wall and opened automatically as he approached. He sat down on
the soft leather bench so as to seem like he was going up to one of the top floors.
However, he ordered the doors to open only a few seconds later and stepped out onto the
landing. He looked about cautiously, crossed to the end of the corridor and quietly disabled
the alarm. Then he opened the window and climbed out onto the fire escape. Once there,
he closed the window carefully behind him and made his way up to the fourth floor.
There he re-entered the building and knocked on the door of n°13. Three taps, one long,
two short, as agreed. The door opened slightly to reveal a middle-aged man with dark hair
streaked with silver, and a creased forehead. He had a crooked nose, and the tattoo on his
left arm was partly concealed by his black t-shirt.
“Who are you looking for?”
“A friend.”
“What’s a friend?”
“Something hard to come by.”
James then casually opened his left hand to reveal the thin white scar on his palm. The man
nodded and let him in. He led him into the kitchen, which was a small room, dominated by a
counter that ran along the length of the furthest wall and was furnished with a small table
and two chairs. A large window overlooked the street, and James noted with satisfaction
that they were situated on the same side of the building as the fire escape. He sat down and
his partner did likewise. They faced each other across the table: “Do you, have it?”
James nodded and put his briefcase on his lap. He pressed his forefinger against the lock and
the latter, recognising his fingerprint, clicked open. He zipped open an inner pocket
concealed in the lining and pulled out the file which he laid on the table. He carefully closed
the bag as he regarded his colleague. He put the former on the floor where he could reach it
in half a second whilst “Mr Lubin” examined the merchandise critically, checking the
government stamps on the sealed plastic film about the papers.
He nodded once satisfied and replaced it on the table as he extracted his money keeper
from his pocket. The screen of the device lit up, and he typed in his password whilst James
did likewise with his own. “Mr. Lubin” then tapped transfer, and carefully entered the
agreed amount and the bank number given by James. Once received, James transferred it
through several different accounts which he deleted as he went, and then divided up the
money in his other accounts. Normally an impossible procedure, but he had contrived a way
to bypass the authorities.
So intent were the two men upon their business, that neither of them heard the click of the
lock as the front door was pried open with expert hands. Nor heard their silent footsteps
coming up behind them.
James calmly pocketed his device, picked up his briefcase in one hand, and held out his
cargo to his customer with the other. “Mr Lubin” reached forward to take it, but as he did
so, raised his head. “Look out!”
The Phoenix spun around and threw his bag in the face of the foremost Fury who held a
drawn gun menacingly. Then he pole-vaulted over the table and smashed through the
window onto the fire escape below. He heard shots followed by a scream behind him.
A bullet grazed his shoulder and buried itself into the wall behind him, but he did not notice.
He landed lightly on the metal stairs and two men waiting there came for him guns raised.
He pulled out his own, and as he jumped aside to avoid the shots, he fired twice in quick
succession with cool determination, the silencer on his weapon muffling the sound.
He ran on past the two fallen men down to the alleyway below where he paused. Not even
panting after his recent exertions, he looked about him keenly. He heard the quiet breath of
a man at the corner of the wall behind the waste container. James leapt forward and fired,
and the man fell dead on the ground as another shot rang out. But he had been expecting it.
He jumped to one side with rapid ease and fired simultaneously, having noted the
direction from which the attack had come. And before his assailant’s body had hit the
ground, he was gone.
Changing direction several times and keeping to the alleyways, he proceeded for five
minutes without stopping. He then halted in a small street in between two houses. He sat
down on the steps leading up to the side door of the nearest building and pocketed his gun.
He then looked down. In his left hand, he still held the Pluto File.
