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Flint Porter eyed the 66-story skyscraper. Its glass panels reflected the late afternoon light like a giant, technological, temple offering itself as a substitute for the sun. Inside, Morrell would be waiting for him. Carrying a large suitcase filled mostly with sand, Flint dodged pedestrians as he made his way toward the skyscraper. After a time, the weight of the suitcase strained even his muscled torso. Crossing the street, he challenged the busy traffic to take him on. He smiled thinking to himself that if someone hit him and the suitcase, the last laugh was his. He walked into the first level of the skyscraper. Shops, seeking to take advantage of the foot traffic, were stuffed into every available area, spilling out as small stands dotted over the black and white marble floor. A water fountain dominated the plaza's center, forcing pedestrians to walk even closer to the storefronts. Flint headed for a long row of elevator doors. Automatically one opened. Taking a deep breath, he hit the button for the 66th floor. His last meeting with Morrell hadn't gone well. Sitting at her mahogany desk, Morrell waited impatiently. The coven had grown restless for the shipment. Flinging open the door, Flint entered the room carrying the suitcase, a broad smile traced over his taught face. Morrell's body language gave no sign of welcome. Framed like a white granite statue set on a plush, burgundy chair, Morrell's face was void of expression. Flatly she asked, "Is that the shipment?" "I've been hearing on the news that Russia is in serious trouble because of what you've got in that suitcase. How did it get out?" Morrell's monotone voice stiffened through granite lips. "At first, we didn't realize all the precautions when handling the item." Flint smiled. He was enjoying this. "It can't be transported in plastic. It can't be stopped by any safety gear that uses plastic." "So when did you figure all this out?" smirked the coven mistress. "The Russian Mafia had some things right. They transported the virus in glass containers, but the outside of one of the jars must have had the virus. It infected something taken back to Klestkaya. One of the Mafia goons must have picked up the bug. The virus didn’t show up for months. We don’t know what happened! Maybe whatever was infected sat on the shelf, taking the guy out later.” Flint spoke like the virus was a close friend in the society of assassins. “The idiotic Russian government then transported some infected blood back to Central in Moscow, not knowing that their containment securities would be useless.” Flint smiled broadly. “The damn Russians shot themselves in the head! They took out Moscow!” “I hope that it is as you say,” snarled Morrell. A tinge of emotion broke the barricade of her iron facade. “We had an agreement that our group was to have the privilege of releasing the virus first. Your life is worth nothing if you mess with us.” Flint laughed. “I can take care of myself.” He looked directly into Morrell’s steel eyes, then glanced away. |
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Audio sample read by David Paul |