With a shaky hand I resigned and pulled the letter from my back pocket. I now know that running is no longer an option. The best I can do is give them the letter and count on the kindness of their hearts. But as I watched the lips of the man with the gun twist into a long and tedious smile, I began to suspect the worst. I had read enough crime fiction to know exactly where this was going – where I say, “Please don’t murder me because I know too much… I won’t tell a soul, I promise!” and then he says, “Exactly!” with a bellowing “muahahaha!” and then I get a bullet between my eyes.
So did I run or did I stay? To be completely honest I was stuck, gripped so tightly by my own fear that I didn’t move at all, and at that precise moment there was nothing in the world that could stop my right arm from handing him that letter. His expression changed as he reached out to take it – the entire street was shrouded by a strange imaginary silence – and I couldn’t help but feel utterly defeated. Sorry dad, but I screwed this one up… I guess the professor won’t be getting his pay raise.
Of course, by now I assumed that the contents of the letter were about something much more than a pay raise. Lace wouldn’t risk having a young girl killed unless it was absolutely crucial. Whatever it was, it belonged to Lace now, or so I had thought until I heard the rapid increase of claws on concrete, and then the relentless snarl of a golden retriever.
I gasped as the dog leaped up and bit into my captor’s right arm – the one that carried the gun. The pistol exploded like a firecracker and sent a bullet into the street behind me. Within this brief instance of confusion I ran, faster than I knew I could, because I knew that if they weren’t going to kill me before, they certainly were going to kill me now. There was only one thing left that would save my life, but in order to do that I had to hide first.
I ran, through the dark streets, past steaming sewer drains, and over fire-barrels left by homeless people. I had decided that I would avoid the main road, a crowd wasn’t reliable enough to keep me alive – people weren’t bulletproof. But despite all of my running I could still hear the heavy strides of the two men who were following me. I think one of them must have shot the retriever – my gallant saviour – and of all things that made me incredibly angry. I wish I had helped the poor little guy.
They were gaining on me, and it wasn’t long before their own personal fireworks were shooting off at my back and tinging against the walls of the street. I looked left and right and found nothing. Nowhere to go until I spotted a vent creak open and a young man crawled out. “Here!” he cried out to me. “This way!”
I didn’t know who this mysterious boy was or what he wanted, but anything at the moment was better than those two – I glanced back at my pursuers. I fell to the ground, scraping my knees against the rough gravel, and then I climbed like a mouse into the tight little vent.
It was dark and stuffy for about three meters before the vent opened up into a brightly lit room. Behind me I heard my pursuers kicking against the metal and screaming in anger. Whooh, I’m safe for now…
I shuffled into the room and leaned back against the wall, relaxing, and feeling something warm against my fingers as they brushed against my bleeding knee. I looked about the bareness of the room and realised that the boy who had saved me was gone – he must have left through the only door that went in or out. Well, I didn’t care about him – he had saved me at that was all that mattered. I had a very important task to perform and I didn’t have a lot of time to do it. I took a burning candle from the wall and held it next to me. It was time to read that letter.
I broke the seal and pulled the paper out from the envelope, and as I carefully read each of the professor’s grave and jittered words, my heart quickened in my chest. The letter read:
“Dear John Abigail,
It saddens me to have to say my final goodbye to you in such a way, however know that the words I am writing are all true. I am dead, my friend, it seemed our mission was compromised… and yet I was fortunate enough to send you this letter before my time came. You will be very glad to know that PROJECT ATLAS was a complete success – that’s right, I finished it – and the device is now fully operational… The bad news is, however, that a severe problem has occurred and I seriously fear that our cause is at risk. I hope you know that I do not blame you for my death, you did everything within your power to ensure my safety, however Lace somehow learned of my location and now his underlings are banging at my door! As I write these words, it dawns on me that I am the only person alive who knows how to use ATLAS, and that is why as soon as those doors open I intend to take my own life – I hope you understand that it is far too dangerous for me to draw breath in the hands of the enemy, given what I know. Do not be afraid for ATLAS. I encoded the device so that ONLY YOU can activate it, and the code is as follows: 6573-4532-7710-2169-3490.
I ask that you please reconsider my warning about Benson – I admire your loyalty for the man, however I have never liked him. YOU now have the code, not Benson, however Lace still has the weapon. Don’t worry; I was careful. Lace will never be able to re-code the device, not with his level of technology, and I also made it quite indestructible. Despite all this, please hurry and GET IT BACK! I died for this, and I will NOT have my greatest achievement ever resting in the hands of Archibald Dennett Lace.
I promise you, John, this weapon will end the war (and hopefully soon!) I wish the best of luck to you and your family. Hopefully you will find the peace that I was forever denied.
The good professor, Adrian Sierra.
P.S. say hi to Jeanette for me. And tell her I was sorry that I couldn’t have seen her again sooner. Goodbye, old friend.”
Oh my god! No! Not Sierra!
An anguished tear fell down my cheek and I listened to the heavy rhythm of my own heartbeat. What did it all mean? And what on earth was ATLAS? Why didn’t the professor trust Benson?
Argh, it was all too much! I needed to speak to my father right away, but before I did that I had to get away from Lace’s men… were these the men who killed Sierra? Either way, it was that code that they wanted and I didn’t intend to give it to them. So I read the numbers over and over again, repeating them in my head, seeing them, visualising them, and remembering them. 6573… 4532… 772… no 7710… 21… 6… 9… 2169… and 3290. 6573-4532-7710-2169-3490! 6573-4532-7710-2169-3490! Don’t forget it, Abigail!
There was a crash at the door, and I knew right away that they had found me, but I knew now that I was safe – watching the flames go up as I sent Sierra’s letter to ashes over the light of the candle. The door came down with splinters of wood and a heavy gush of wind, and I was instantly grappled by the fury that I saw in that man’s eyes.
“Where is the letter!” he shouted.
I raised my hands defensively and my eyes darted over to the pile of ashes that rested on the floor. “I destroyed it,” I replied.
“You what!” The man stepped forward and I moved back, gesturing for him to stay away as I raised my right hand quickly and tapped my index finger against my temple.
I looked him dead in the eyes and smiled. “Your code is safe… all in here.”
The man groaned and grabbed me roughly by the collar. “Tell me the code!”
ns 172.70.127.79da2