Promethean Shadows

by Patrick Jean-Jacques

  ​

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Covert Operators

  Mr Kent sat upright and calm behind the steering wheel, with his steely eyes fixed on Will’s apartment. He tightened his clean-shaven face, which only emphasised his distinctly square jawline. In contrast, his partner Mr Bruce was impatient and fidgety, and keen to get on with their mission. Mr Bruce sported designer stubble, which made him look dishevelled. He slouched in his seat and had a demeanour that contradicted his athletic six-foot frame.

  “You’re up,” whispered Mr Kent. “You have ten minutes. Retrieve the item and get out, understood?”

  “Understood!” replied Mr Bruce. “What happens if I’m spotted?”

  Mr Kent was now observing the streets, “You don’t get spotted, you’re a ghost?” he said seriously. “Ghosts stay invisible!” Unnecessary risk and collateral damage was something that Mr Kent actively avoided on his missions.

  Mr Bruce gave him a sideways glance and understood the implications of the statement. “Zero collateral, understood!” replied Mr Bruce, as he exited the SUV. He looked at his partner again then quickly headed towards the back of the apartments.

  Mr Bruce and Mr Kent were of course, aliases. Tags commonly used by people in their line of work. Of the two, Mr Kent was the more composed and rational. He made impartial decisions that were dependent on the scenario. Mr Bruce had the brasher and more darker personality. He was all about the mission and his moral principles never considered shades of grey.

  Silently and skilfully, Mr Bruce manipulated the locks with ease until the backdoor opened. He carefully entered Will’s flat and immediately started to look for the item. After a couple of minutes, he heard Mr Kent in his earpiece,

  ‘Sit-rep?’ asked Kent.

  “Zip,” whispered Mr Bruce. “This guy’s pretty clean and tidy for a wanabee journalist.”

  ‘Junior Journalist,’ corrected Mr Kent.

  Wearing gloves, Mr Bruce combed through the bedroom, bathroom and kitchen quickly and thoroughly. He ensured that nothing looked out place, “I’m just checking the living space then it’s done,” he confirmed.

  ‘Check!’ said Mr Kent calmly. ‘Four minutes!’

  Now in the living space, Mr Bruce checked the bookshelf, between the sofa and even around the coffee table but couldn’t find anything. He looked up at the mantelpiece, saw the pictures and dismissed them. Next, he scrutinised the other objects. There was a brownish novelty keyring in the image of a wolf was lying on some old pictures.

  He walked over, grabbed the keyring and examined it closely. Intuitively, Mr Bruce pulled the wolf apart, which revealed a flash drive. “Bingo! I have it!” he said triumphantly, as he examined the object.

  ‘Good, time’s just about…’ Kent began. ‘Crap!’

  “What’s wrong?” demanded Mr Bruce.

  ‘He’s coming back.’ said Kent. ‘Did you plant the bugs?’

  “I’m about done,” replied Bruce calmly.

  ‘Cool! Get out now!’ urged Mr Kent calmly. He could see Adam waiting on the street, whistling away and Will already inserting his keys in the door.

  Mr Bruce heard the keys rattling and hurried towards the bedroom. As the front door opened, he nimbly climbed through the window. Will felt the cool breeze coming from the open bedroom doorway and instantly walked towards it. When he saw the half-opened window, he jumped across the bed, looked down the fire escape and saw Mr Bruce’s trailing leg.

  “Stop!” shouted Will before immediately giving chase.

  Although Mr Bruce had a head start, Will’s footspeed was exceptional and he’d already caught up with him. Realising that his youthful pursuant was quicker, Mr Bruce decided that he couldn’t be arsed to run anymore.

  “Kent, this guy’s relentless, I’m going have to take measures,” he said decisively.

  Reluctantly, Mr Kent remained in the SUV, ‘That’s not your call Mr Bruce,’ he cautioned. There was no reply, ‘Mr Bruce? Damn it!’

  Will was metres behind Mr Bruce, when he unexpectedly ducked around a corner and drew his favoured Walther PPQ from his shoulder holster. As Will came around the corner, Mr Bruce viciously clotheslined him. Will allowed his body to go limp, which lessened the impact.

  “Stupid, you shouldn’t have chased me?” growled Mr Bruce. ‘Mr Bruce. Report!’ he heard in his earpiece. “I’m cleaning up,” he replied gruffly.

  Will shuffled back against the wall, “Who the hell are you?” he gasped.

  “Right place, wrong time,” said Mr Bruce coldly. He raised his arm and pointed his gun.

  Will saw nothing in Mr Bruce’s dead eyes and saw that his breathing was very calm. It was then he realised he was way over his head. He stared down the barrel of the Walther and waited for certain death.

  Suddenly, the sounds of two bullets whistled across the night. The first, removed the gun from Mr Bruce’s hand with extraordinary precision. The second ricocheted off the wall behind Will, sending bits of masonry over him. In one smooth action, Mr Bruce turned towards the direction of the shooter, who was lying prone on the roof of an adjacent building. He pulled out his secondary weapon and returned rapid fire until his gun was empty.

  Will was still laying in the ground, stunned by the ferocity of the gunplay. When he saw the empty magazine flying from Mr Bruce’s gun, he moved. He swept a leg high across the back of Mr Bruce’s legs causing him to fall backwards. Fuelled by adrenalin, he got to his feet and ran away under the cover of some well-placed gunshots by his would-be saviour.

  When Adam heard the shots ring out, he ran in that general direction in time to see Will darting across the street to the building opposite. Unbeknownst to him, Adam had run passed the very man who’d just attempted to execute Will.

  Mr Bruce looked around and emerged from the shadows when he saw it was clear. He sauntered over to the SUV as though nothing had happened and got in.

  “What just happened?” asked Mr Kent coolly.

  “He got away,” grumbled Mr Bruce, as he sat down.

  “You disobeyed orders,” Mr Kent replied calmly.

  “He had help!” hissed Mr Bruce.

  “That wasn’t the mission,” said Mr Kent.

  “You’re not listening Kent, quit bitch…” Mr Bruce’s body suddenly slumped against the door, as a muffled bullet tore into his chest. He gasped his final breath, “...ing!”

  “Unacceptable!” said Mr Kent, smoke still seeping from his barrel. Taking a deep breath, he started the engine and glanced in his rear view mirror. He could see the flashing blue lights, which accompanied the loud sirens and drove off calmly.

  Peering over the edge, Will’s mystery saviour waited for Mr Bruce’s relentless gunfire to stop. The sniper waited for a minute, then looked over the edge again to see if it was clear. The figure was surprised to see Will heading for the building where they had been perched.

  The sniper quickly dismantled their rifle, packed up their equipment and tied a bungee rope to a pole securely. Will had already reached more than halfway up the stairway, climbing athletically up the emergency exits at the back. The shooter prepared to abseil down the side when the fire door crashed open melodramatically.

  “Wait!” shouted Will. “You saved my life.”

  “Can’t you say thanks and leave it at that?” replied the masked voice.

  “I’d like to know why?” said Will, as he inched forward very slowly. They both stood there silently weighing up each other. Will saw that the figure was dressed in a black military outfit and immediately recognised the red logo of a hand holding flame, emblazoned on the chest, “That badge,” he said shocked. “You’re one of them?”

  “Say it!” prompted Will’s saviour audaciously.

  “Promethean!” said Will. The figure confirmed with a nod, “I don’t understand! Why’d you save me?” he asked. Again, there was another protracted silence.

  “Do you know who those men were or what they were after?” asked the shooter.

  Will shook his
head, “No!” he replied. “Who were those men and what were they after?”

  “Let’s just say that your work has attracted the attention of some very important people who’d rather avoid any media attention or embarrassment,” cryptically.

  “What has that got to do with the Prometheans?” asked Will. “And how do they know about my research?”

  Will saw that mysterious person had squinted their eyes, as though they were measuring his last statement judiciously, “Did that man look like an activist?” the voice said.

  “I suppose not,” replied Will. “He looked more like a spy or something. I don’t know, government issue,” he speculated.

  “See, you are a clever boy!” said the muffled voice approvingly, glancing behind at the sounds of the police sirens.

  “You’ve got to give me more than that,” pleaded Will, as he caught the sympathetic tone.

  “No! I don’t. It’s safer that way,” said the figure. “Besides, you’re a Journalist, you work it out!”

  “Junior Journalist,” quipped Will.

  “Well, Junior Journalist keep digging, who knows what you’ll uncover,” said the figure cryptically. “But be careful how deep you dig William Cox, you might not like what you find,” they warned. Upon hearing the nearing sirens, the figure shuffled back towards the edge of the roof. “Please don’t follow me, you owe me that!”

  “Wait!” implored Will. “Clearly, you know me? Who are you?” It was dark and he couldn’t see the balaclava bulging around the cheekbones, almost as though his mystery saviour had smiled.

  “Take care,” said the figure, as they back flipped gracefully over the edge.

  Frustrated by the lack of information, Will watched as they silently descending the rope and ran away silently. Shortly after, Adam met Will outside the building. Naturally, he was concerned to the point of bombarding Will with endless questions, all of which went unanswered. Adam soon got the message. When the police arrived, they canvassed the area and questioned residents but there were no witnesses.

  Adam and Will spent the rest of their evening giving evidence, before the police released them. Out of a sense of gratitude to his saviour, Will omitted several bits of information from his statement. It was near midnight when he returned to his apartment.

  On the surface, things appeared normal but he looked around all the same. Having a gun pointed at him was new sensation for Will. An experience he didn’t wish repeated but ominously, he surmised it wouldn’t be the last. He looked at his laptop on the table and then at the mantelpiece.

  He walked over and looked at the pictures, and soon realised his wolf flash drive was absent. It dawned on him that his research must’ve uncovered something more important than he’d first thought. The longer he thought about it, the more he realised he needed to sleep on it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Meet Maya Walker

  The sun gleamed off the shiny surfaces of Will’s sporty convertible as it sped Southbound along the motorway. Will drove with the top down, his eyes hid underneath the dark tinted lenses of his wire-framed sunglasses. Habitually, he gave Maya admiring glances, especially when she tilted her head back to allow the warm air to flow over her face.

  It had been three weeks since Will’s encounter with Mr Bruce. He’d only confided in two people, Adam who was there and Ally, whom he trusted implicitly. Will had wanted to tell Maya but something held him back.

  Will had made great strides with his energy dissertation and the Professor continued to provide excellent support. Daley had given him carte blanche on his story, which was unheard of for a Junior Journalist. Nevertheless, he found himself presented with an opportunity to take a much welcome break.

  Eventually, Maya and Will reached their destination in the South Downs, Firle. The Firle Estates sat at the heart of the Downs and had a history, which dated back to the Anglo Saxon period. It’s most prominent landmark was a fifteenth century manor house of Tudor origin, cladded in a stone that typified Georgian architecture.

  Located in the centre of Firle was the Ram Inn, an old country pub and B&B that had served the community for over five hundred years. Maya and Will admired the lush green hills of the Firle Beacon before they closed the curtains. Later that evening, after a more physical expression of their feelings, they drove into the small village of Alfriston for a meal at the Wingrove House.

  As they walked hand-in-hand towards Will’s car, the silhouette of a man stood vigilant by the window, unmoved. Peering through the curtains, the man had watched every step Maya and Will took, as though he were counting their steps.

  The next morning, Maya drove as they headed further to the coast for a romantic picnic over the infamous white cliffs. Will looked on this as the perfect moment to learn more about the woman whom he had quickly developed strong feelings.

  The view from Beachy Head or Beauchef, as the Normans had named it, was spectacular. On perfectly clear day, it was possible to glimpse the coastline of France. To the west, the Isle of Wight sat on the horizon and above seagulls screeched happily, as they glided along the warm air currents.

  Laying down, not far from the cliffs Maya and Will embraced. She was completely relaxed in his arms and began to breathe long and deep breaths, inhaling the fresh air of the Channel.

  Before Will realised it, her soothing voice was filling the air, “I never knew my mother, she died when I was young,” said Maya. “Dad never really talked about her much but sometimes I’d catch him looking at her picture. He would have a solemn expression on his face that spoke volumes.”

  “Of loss?” asked Will, as he thought about his own childhood.

  “Regret, I think,” said Maya thoughtfully.

  “Is that why you wear that around your neck?” observed Will.

  Maya took the cherished locket from around her neck, “It’s the only possession I have of hers,” she said, handing it to Will, “…my one memory!”

  Like an antiques expert, Will carefully examined every inch of the locket. He saw that it was pure gold and had decorative vintage gilding all around.

  “Do you know what this is?” exclaimed Will excitedly.

  “A gold locket?” said Maya unassumingly.

  “You’ve got the motherlode,” said Will, with traces of a North American accent.

  “The mother-who now,” Maya replied in surprise.

  “Well, I’m not exactly an expert,” warned Will. “…but in the mid-eighteenth century, when people were settling in California, gold became the most important commodity. Prospectors referred to any gold found as the motherlode,” he ended knowledgeably. “This looks like a piece of rare mid-eighteenth century Californian gold, I’m guessing.”

  “Wow!” said Maya impressed. “And I thought you wasn’t an expert.”

  “Benefits of private school education,” declared Will proudly. “Well, A-Level history anyways was my thing,” he added, as he handed the locket back.

  Maya gently placed around her neck and stared at the Isle in the distance. She felt at ease lying in Will’s arms and allowed herself to relax completely. For a while, neither person spoke, as the sun’s radiance bathed them and the sounds of seagulls and the gentle breeze filled the air.

  “When I was a little girl, dad was always gallivanting overseas, working god-knows where,” said Maya with a mild resentment.

  “Sounds like you don’t really care for your father,” said Will speculatively.

  “Not at all,” she declared. “I love him dearly but he was just never there. I grew-up very quickly, after mum died.”

  Will looked at Maya and sympathised. He understood exactly where Maya was coming from, having had similar experiences. “Did he travel a lot?” he probed.

  “He did!” she confirmed. “Although, to his credit he ensured I was looked after, financially and otherwise,” praised Maya. “He’d always send a postcard or picture of himself somewhere, with people I didn’t know.”

  Will listened intently and hung onto to Maya’s every
word, as she gave him a detailed account of her past. He identified with her childhood, although she’d grown-up in with her grandparents and he grew up in care, surrounded by his trusted foster siblings, Queenie, Henry, Aaron and Kimmie.

  They shared equally similar boarding school experiences. Maya used gymnastics and mixed martial arts to toughen-up amid the adolescent bitchiness of Elmsbury All-Girls School. At Arsham Independent School for Boys, Will balanced his education with Rugby and Kickboxing.

  “What are you thinking about?” asked Maya.

  Will shared his early childhood with Maya, explaining how he lost his parents and still missed his best friend BJ. “…So, you see, we’re on similar paths you and I,” asserted Will, as he hugged her. “It’s karma!”

  A tear trickled down Maya’s face, as she tried to control her emotions. She wiped the tear from the corner of her eye, “You mean destiny?” she smiled. “Look at where it’s brought us, to this lovely place.” They kissed again, as a temperate breeze drifted over them.

  “You said that your dad ‘gallivanted overseas’ a lot?” asked Will casually.

  “That’s right,” replied Maya.

  “What does he do, did he do?” asked Will matter-of-factly.

  Maya told Will about her father’s work as a structural engineer. He sat upright as she described her father’s job. Essentially, he certified the integrity of various constructions, such as bridges and skyscrapers.

  After Will asked Maya about the countries her father might’ve worked, his face turned pale.

  “Mexico, Russia and Asia mostly,” she’d replied. “Why?”

  Will remembered his findings at the Chronicle, “Perhaps, he could help me with my energy research,” he lied. He thought about Fyodorgrad and the events of Satoshima, which was obviously in Asia. ‘It wasn’t too far-fetched to believe,’ he thought. ‘…that Maya’s father could have been involved.’