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You take a measure of the big man, comparing him to you. Featherweight versus a heavyweight at least. You don’t like those odds. The other man is closer to your build. Of course, the gun is the great un-equaliser.
Your only chance is to separate and surprise them. You walk
towards the thieves, the larger man’s attempts to look innocent failing
miserably. His whole demeanour shouts guilt. He removes a metal bar from his
bag and slides it into the car door, underneath the window. A quick jerk and he
unlocks the car. You are about ten yards from them, unseen, they are paying too
much attention to the car now. The big man jumps into the car. The smaller of
the two starts to walk around the front of the vehicle, moving closer to you.
“Now is my chance!” You bolt, legs pumping hard. You take a
flying leap, tackling the man. Your shoulder digs into his lower ribs. You
heard a faint crack as the bone breaks. Breath and a cry of pain explode from
the man’s mouth. Your weight and momentum carry him to the ground, his head
hits the side of the curb with a sickening sound and he is out cold.
“No time to celebrate!” you think, picking yourself up and
dashing towards the door, where the big thug has opened his door, gun drawn and
arm protruding from the vehicle. His bulk is slowing his movement, restricted
further by the compact design of the car. You throw yourself at the door,
slamming his arm between the car door and car itself, his forearm bending at an
unnatural angle. The gun clatters to the ground. The fat man slumps back into
the chair, holding his arm in place, grunting in anguish. You point the gun at
him, but his face is as white as a sheet and sweating profusely.
Bystanders look at you and the scene of sudden violence,
forming a large circle around you. Nobody approaches you or say anything, too
shocked and startled.
“Get the police around the corner!” you yell at a man
standing close to you. A look of utter confusion crosses his face, either not
believing that you are shouting at him or not registering what you are saying
or both. “The authorities! Around the corner! Now!” you shout again. The
fogginess lifts from his face, replaced with fear and determination. He turns
and runs.
You do move your eyes from the fat guy. The smaller one on
the ground is making faint groaning noises. He tries to get up, vomits and
falls down on his back.
After what feels like an eternity, a path clears through the
crowd, revealing agent Jones and two heavily armed police officers. He looks at you and takes in the rest of the
scene. He nods at the police. One searches the man in the ground, finding a
pistol. “I did not even think of searching him,” you say quietly to Jones.
“You did all right son,” he says. “You can tell me all about
it on the way.”
The soldiers complete the search of the men, eventually
finding the memory stick in the coat pocket of fatty, who is sitting back in
the chair, holding his arm and talking incoherently in a foreign language,
obviously in a lot of pain. The soldier hands it to Jones who smiles, putting
it into his coat pocket.
Jones leads you to the scene of the siege, where the
soldiers and other agents are starting to clear out. Yellow tape marking a
no-go area in front of the house. He points to a black SUV and you get into the
back, Jones sliding into the seat next to you.
“So tell me what happened,” he asks as the SUV pulls off.
You tell him the whole story. Jones interrupts with a question here and there.
“Remarkable,” he says at the end of the story. “We are very
grateful for what you have done.” After a short while the van stops. Jones
motions for you to get out. “We have paid for your accommodation for a few
days, you’ll hear from us soon!”
After resting for three days you resume your duties as a
pilot, ecstatic to be in the air again. A month later, you are awarded the
Cross of Valour in a small private ceremony in the capitol city.
You never fly the professor again or hear from Emily or
Climate Peace. You wonder if the data will be put to good use though.
The end.
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