Phantom could waste no time, his present location had been compromised. The plan was already crudely forming in his mind, pack his things together, disinfect the apartment, burn down the building, form a new identity and leave Berlin. It was a little basic but he'd have time to work something out once he had several hundred miles distance from here. Then a second thought hit him, what about the job here, all that planning, everything was in place, ready for the taking. No the kid was a rookie but still dangerous, vanishing was the only option.

He would just have to send his apologises to the client, outline his predicament and dodge any bullets that came his way. He moved into the bedroom and started to pack. Opening a hidden drawer in the dresser, he removed a inch thick pile of deutsch marks, funds were started to run thin, he really hated working free lance. But most of the major families seemed to be more interested in the drugs trade or people trafficking, more money to be made in a shorter time frame. Times had changed and real skills had become outdated, he'd been replaced with technology, why break into a bank when a computer could empty an account in seconds. Maybe it was time he retired from the business.

Throwing the suit case by the door, he walked over to the chairs to collect the jammer, the man in the painting looking down from the fire place with almost pity in his eyes. A piece of paper caught Phantom's eye, "damn rookie," he said to himself, it was Janus's contact number, only then did the LED elluminate something on the paper, something not written but an imprint from the layer above. A single word. A word that to most was a myth, a secret society, an underground folk lore. For the second time tonight Phantom was intrigued by the rookie.

He took the scrap of paper and stared at the faint imprint, four letters that could change his future, thoughts of retirement evaporating from his mind by the second. His purpose was clear to him, he had to find her, he had to hunt down V.I.L.E.