A figure was sat in a high backed mahogany armchair, placed in the far corner of the comfortable lounge area of the V.I.L.E headquarters. The room was large and in almost complete darkness because, for an overly paranoid security measure, all the blinds had been closed. The only light came from a small red, flashing LED that gave momentary glimpses of the room. The man's face was half illuminated by the cherry glow from the thin cigarette, the man was smoking.

The man's head was completely encased in bandages, with his eyes covered in thick, tinted, wrap around spectacles so no part of his face was actually visible. The only gap came from a half centimetre slit around his mouth so he was able to smoke but even that was hidden in the shadows.

The man twitched, his unseen eyes darting around the room, he could see ever corner of the room from this location and all the entrances and exits. Though he had excellent night vision he could see no-one but he could sense another person was in the room and he always followed his gut instinct. His eyes continued to scan the room inch by inch, and then he saw it. A quick flash of scarlet, whipping out passed the door.

That's when the package caught his eye, sat on the little mahogany table, next to the antique lamp, which was never on, was a scarlet coloured envelope with a wax seal positioned in its centre. The seal was that of Carman Sandiego, this put him at ease slightly for he hated to admit that someone managed to ‘get the jump on him' but given that it was Miss Sandiego he could let it slide for now.

His hand came lazily to his lips and removed the cigarette, re-adjusted the bandages to cover his mouth again, extinguishing it into the ornate crystal ashtray. Lately every little action took allot more effort than it should

Lifting the envelope, it seemed heavier than usual, meaning the job was going to be a big heist and it might actually be worth his skills, lately the last few jobs were well below his capabilities, he was under the impression Carman had lost faith in him.

Reaching into his jacket his gloved fingertips rested on a thin silver blade, its handle inlayed with ivory skulls. Removing it slowly from its scabbard, it effortlessly sliced through the paper, revealing its contents.

His eyes skimmed across the pages within, flitting back and forth as he took in the magnitude of the heist and with a long, drawn out sigh, through it into the ashtray. The reaction between the dying embers of the cigarette and whatever substance coated the letter was instantaneous and within a second, it was reduced to a fine white ash. He watched for a moment as a slight draft had produced a tiny tornado within the crystal surround, it was oddly hypnotising.

With a minor effort the man rose from the comfort of the armchair, releasing a groan as he did so, pocketed the bizarre flashing contraption, took one pace backwards and was lost to the shadows.

The hallway was overly bright, row after row of awful, yellowish, strip lighting. The walls had that hospital, clinical look to them, broken up with the occasional painting. He hated hospitals. He finally came to the end of the hallway, to the dull silvery/gray of the elevator doors, a cool female metallic voice drifted out of the speaker mounted in the wall.

"Good morning..." there was a slight pause as the computer scanned his access card, acquired his file, cross-referenced his clearance and found the audio file for his name, "Mr. Phantom."

He grunted an acknowledgment. Why would anyone want to give intelligence to an elevator, in his eyes elevators were a big enough security risk as they were, without giving them a computer brain, to hack. But Carmen would not listen and he wasn't really that bothered, he never stayed at the headquarters for any long period of time anyway.

He stepped forwards into the air conditioned, finely carpeted, stainless steel coffin and stabbed the mute button on the keypad, the ‘music' that normally played the tinny, mind numbing, art gallery type tune, had been replaced by some heavy metal guitar riff and a male voice that sounded as if he was in great pain. Sarah must have gotten bored again, he thought to himself.

The elevator slowly descended. After what seemed like an age the doors slowly opened to reveal the dimly lit, grubby garage. All the shadows and small areas of invisibility were oddly homely but Phantom didn't have time to enjoy this feeling. The heist had a date hanging above it and arrangements had to be made before the job itself could even be thought about.

The key stowage was hanging loosely off the wall, the nails holding it in place rusted through and the pad lock thrown to one side, someone had been in a hurry. He removed a set of keys, unlocking the main entrance and strolled over to a nice black sports car, not your average stock model mind you, this car had a reinforced chasse, was completely bullet proof, fitted with one way reflective glass, a bio-print ignition system and a few more specific modification for his line of work.

Upon sitting down the cars automatic systems had already measured his height, weight, body temperature and adjusted itself to fit his needs. What was with all the technology these days, when he was growing up he had nothing but a homemade lock pick set and his instincts, that was all he needed to ‘acquire' an adequate living. Now he was irritated to see street punks plugged into all sorts of gizmo's just to steal some old ladies purse.

He shook his head violently, what was wrong with him, he was becoming distracted so easily these days. He removed the finger from the glove that encased his right hand, his skin was deathly pale and there was no finger nail on the end of his finger. He placed his digit onto the small square of glass like substance and after a moment, the car always took longer for him due to the fact he had no fingerprints to read and it had to go through other directories to start the engine, it purred into life.

The car surged into the night like death itself was chasing it but when there is no-one in any direction for hundreds of miles you can afford to be a touch reckless. The drive was a relatively short one, only half an hour or so but quite enjoyable none the less, for the winding roads and the miles of barren wasteland with its thinning layer of snow and ice had a certain kind of neglected charm.

He pulled up and exited the vehicle, sharply slamming the door to make sure everyone within earshot knew he had arrived. The air strip had already been informed of his arrival and a plane was ticking over idly in one corner of the makeshift runway, while a gaggle of henchmen, the usual no brainer, muscle men who Phantom hated to work with more than anyone else, were packing crates and other such important items into the loading bay at its rear.

Henchmen have their uses like you can use them as a smokescreen to make your escape or to carry items for you or even as chauffeurs but on the down side they can't think for themselves, they're as clumsy as a herd of blinded elephants and they will not hesitate to tell the police everything they know, once they get captured. Thus if he could help it he never worked with them.

A rather short man slowly trudged up to him, battling the wind, dressed in a large black trench coat with its collar pulled up around his face. The pilot's eye's widened when he noticed the covered face of Phantom but his professional nature suddenly stifled the look of surprise that had moments before gripped him.

"I take it you are the client I am taking into England, you know in this day and age it's not as easy as it used to be," the man spoke with a very British accent that didn't fool Phantom, this man was nothing but a low budget pilot making a living flying anything to anywhere, no questions ask.

"You are getting paid well above what you are worth, so let's get flying before your cheap cologne suffocates me," Phantom had such a way with people; he never understood why people were always so hostile to him.

Leaving the pilot shaking with suppressed rage, Phantom pushed passed him and with heavy footsteps boarded the rickety metal platform that lead into the air craft's main body. The henchman all looked up as he did this, each receiving a chill down there spine as their eyes locked on with the mirrored lenses of Phantom's spectacles and they all suddenly moved allot faster to get their jobs done.

Phantom through himself down into one of the planes many empty seats. All the energy he had mustered was now depleted but to sleep in unfamiliar surroundings, amongst people he didn't know was insanity, so he reached into his jacket and retrieved a small notepad and pen and began to write down a plan for how to steal such a heavy item from such a crowded location and not wind up having a nice all expenses holiday, to her majesty's prison.

Phantom's eyes, with some effort, slowly opened. He was slumped back in his seat, the notepad resting gingerly between his gloved hands, the pen lost completely. With his head to one side and his senses now regained he saw his own reflection in the small porthole style window of the plane. A portion of his bandages had slipped down from around his mouth, only a gap of about three or four centimetres but that was enough. A wide permanent grin of yellow stained teeth met his eyes, no lips, just teeth as if the skin simply stopped at his cheekbones. He cursed himself for his momentary lapse of weakness and hastily re-adjusted his coverings, keeping an eye out for any on lookers.

Now he was more adequately covered he took in his surroundings more in-depth. The plane was still flying but given its present angle it was preparing to descend. All of the henchmen were asleep, all huddled around each other in the furthest possible seats from his location.

"You're losing your touch in your old age," a gruff voice came from the seat directly behind Phantom, the smugness barely contained.

"For a man currently sat on a pressure switch attached to three pounds of semtex, you seem in rather high spirits," Phantom growled in response slowly turning in his seat to face the man.

Then out of nowhere, with the tension at its highest, both men started to smile which soon broke out into a laugh, though Phantoms laugh could be mistaken for the bark of a dog or perhaps a nasty hacking cough.

The man was Tibalt Grimes, a professional businessman who dealt in the stock market by day which gave him the capital to become a low down crime lord by night, the type of man everyone seems to owe a favour to and no-one can ever really remember how they got in his debt.

"Your boss told me you might need some help with a job," Grimes went straight to the point, he hated small talk even amongst old friends, believing you can talk all you like while you burn in hell.

Phantom slowly reacted for the notepad, which had now fallen to the floor, all the time conscience that sudden movements were ill advised when dealing with this man, and ripped a page from it. The list contained several choice items needed for the job. Grimes read through the list absentmindedly, his face a picture of neutrality. Then within a split second all professionalism was gone as he winked at Phantom with the air of his usual cocky self and simply said, done.

Then the small seat belt light started to flash and the plane took a sudden dive, they were going in to land.

Stepping off the plane, it seemed like he had not travelled anywhere, he was stood in the middle of yet another make shift run way in an abandoned field, with strings of light bulbs, connected to portable generators, stretching in all directions, making each of the shady henchmen look even more sinister.

Parked in the corner of the field was an ex-military, covered truck, encased in a thick layer of rust. Within an hour the back was loaded up with the crates and was ready to go. Tibalt Grime's was already gone, he stayed just long enough to leave a hastily scribbled address on the corner of a newspaper, stating he'd have the merchandise in two hours, come no later or no earlier.

Phantom burned the address away with the end of his cigarette, blowing the ash into the mist that now encircled the whole area and boarded the cab of the truck. There was a henchman already sat at the wheel, not any henchman, his henchman. The man's name was Harry, he probably had a surname but no one knew it. Harry was a little too large to fit comfortable anyway and thus always looked out of place but Phantom tried to always have him on any job he had in England, due to their history.

Soon they were making good time, burning down the motorway, the engine straining slightly under the weight of the load and the added boxes that Phantom had just picked up from the poorly lit lock up, hidden behind an even dodgier looking casino.

Phantom then gave Harry a sideways nod and Harrys eyes were suddenly transfixed on the road ahead. Phantom removed his glasses, closed them and propped them on the dashboard, then with great care, began to unwrap his bandages and rolled them up placing them in the glove compartment. He leaned forward and fished under his seat and soon produced an ornate wooden box, opening it revealed face putty, various cosmetics, contact lenses and other such items. Harry had not forgotten Phantoms ‘special' requirements. Within a few minute Phantom had suddenly become a man in his late forties with thinning dark hair, rosy cheeks and a general weather beaten complexion.

All the time this was happening Harry's eyes never faltered from the road and it was only once Phantom had replaced his spectacles that he turned to face him. It was said that Harry was the only living man who knew what Phantom looked like before the incident and one of the few who knows what he looks like under the wrappings.

"You could make any face you wanted and you always pick ugly," Harry sniggered, he loved trying to get a rise out of Phantom, it never happened but Harry always tried.

Phantom turned to his college, his tone one of pure logic, "People love to see beauty in things and shy away from the displeasing, ugly is more likely to be forgotten."

Harry simply laughed at Phantom's social commentary as he applied the brakes, the truck lurched violently forward, the crates sliding right up to the cab with a loud bang.

"We're here Boss."

Upon exiting the cab Phantom eyes were drawn to the grand building that was the Imperial War Museum, London. The Impressive sight that used to be Bethlem Royal Hospital was crying out for Phantom to steal the whole building but he knew he would never dare such a dishonour to what he felt were the nation's most prized treasures, so he would simply acquire the pieces he wanted, as and when they revealed themselves.

He motioned to harry to drive the Truck around to the back of the building and to start setting up the apparatus. Meanwhile Phantom double checked that everything else had gone to plan. He removed the jammer from his pocket and turned it on, placing it back in his pocket, no point advertising himself to any CCTV in the area, even if they could somehow prove it was him. He circled around the building, allowing himself a momentary smile as it was evident the first stage had been a success, all of the flood lamps that surrounded the Museum had been switched off and so had all the interior lights, plummeting the whole area in darkness.

He then moved over to the main doors and picked the lock, he savoured this moment a little longer then he should of but he hadn't picked a lock it so long, it brought back memories of his childhood however this was no time to reminisce. The door swung back on its hinges, Phantom was silhouetted in the doorway ahead of him sat a large security desk, unmanned, so the second stage had been also been implemented. Phantom had learnt long ago that one of the weakest types of people in this world were security guards, so easily manipulated, intimidated, bribed or disposed of, most have few family, most are in debt, some just don't care. So they had at least an hour before the guards would be back to retake there posts.

Phantom walked through the silence museum, his footsteps echoing menacingly, determination shown with every footfall. He moved into the large exhibits gallery of the museum, tanks, planes, even a German V2 rocket surrounded him. His eyes darted left and right in the darkness, taking in his environment, searching for his prize.

There it was in the back corner, though in the shadows its brass fixtures still glinted, its battleship gray paintwork expertly restored. The BL 5.5", 50caliber, Mk1 Naval Gun sat there amongst all the other artefacts of war but for Phantom stood head and shoulders about all others. For this was a relic off of HMS Chester, the gun that Jack Cornwell (the youngest recipient of the Victoria Cross), during the battle of Jutland, manned, though mortally wounded, until he was relieved. This gun was a symbol of the courage and discipline of the British.

A high pitch whine gradually reached Phantoms ears, his eyes darted to the wall behind the gun as a drill bit pierced through the masonry and was swiftly withdrawn. Phantom saw one of Harrys eyes peer through and he gave harry a nod. A much louder noise then met Phantom, one which is emanated from a rather large, industrial grinder. The blade soon punched through the brickwork and within twenty minutes had cut a suitable piece of the wall away. Phantom gave this section of the wall a kick and it toppled onto a waiting pallet. So much noise would normally attract allot of attention but for the fact Phantom had paid a building firm to perform road maintenance at odd times in the day to give them cover noise.

Now there was a large gap in the wall Phantom could see Harry ripping off the lids of the first few crates, inside was packed a winch platform and various iron ropes and restrains. He removed them and built the frame, leaving Phantom to check the hydraulic pistons, making sure they hadn't leaked or seized during their storage. Once everything was checked they moved the machinery into the confines of the building. The straps were laid and fastened around the gun and the bed plate was positioned, waiting for the gun to be raised.

All of a sudden Phantoms head pricked up, he had heard something, a sound that shouldn't be there, it reminded him of the sound a C5 made when an agent jumped from one place to another, but that was impossible, how would ACME know about this heist? He was too careful. He shook his head, he was getting far too paranoid these days, it was nothing; he had to focus on the task at hand.

The support frame creaked into life as it bore the weight of the gun, its counter struts biting into the ground, the bed plate was quickly kicked in under the gun's mount and the strain was lessened, bringing the whole piece onto the reinforced trolley. Harry got behind it and with some effort began to push. The veins on his neck became to pulsate, as the blood rush to his head, his biceps threatened to rip the seams of his shirt but then the platform started to roll and soon was moving at roughly walking pace. As soon as it was in motion Harry stopped, panting and sweating profusely at such an exertion of energy, he tapped the controls of the winch which lifted the gun into the back of the truck, the suspension groaned threateningly but held the weight, the truck was now a good few inches closer to the ground.

A shadowy figure crept from the upper walkway of the gallery, clinging to the corners of the building, waiting, using a night vision camera to take photographs for evidence. He thought to himself how odd it was that a clear picture could not be taken of the rough looking, old timer. But the stalker dare not approach the prey for a better shot, in fear of scaring them off without gathering enough evidence to hold a suitable case. And anyway the Chief had said this ‘Phantom' character would have seen him a mile away if he tried anything. So he waited for back up.

The job was complete; the gun was neatly packed and secured in the back of the truck and not an ACME agent in sight. The night had been a success and even Phantom had to admit he was in good spirits.

But elation bred mistakes and his was about to bite him. Only a few miles from the museum Phantom had already started to peel off his disguise and reapply his bandages, just at that moment the rear view mirror was suddenly strobed with the blue lights of a police car. If he was recognised now, it would be all over.

A decision had to be made, should they pull over and try to talk their way out of any trouble or throw caution to the wind and try to lose the police. Harry turned a set of wide eyes to Phantom, waiting to be told what to do.

"Pull over," Phantoms tone was in control and Harry could see why, by the time they pull over into the nearest lay-by, Phantom had already filled a syringe from a turquoise vial, he had secreted in the cuff of his jacket and was now hiding the needle in his gloved hand. What the plan was Harry was unsure but Phantom always had one forevery eventuality and had never let him down before.

The figure got out of his car and walked purposely towards their truck, his features hidden from view by the glare from his headlight which was backlighting him. Phantom wound down his window and with his other hand fished around in the glove box for one of the many false ID's that littered it.

"Do you know why I stopped you," the pompous way the man stoke told Phantom everything he needed to know, this man loved his job, he had probably recently lost out on a promotion and believed this sort of work was below him. Most of all Phantom knew this man could not be bribed, instinctively his hand tightened around the syringe.

"We were only going 5mph over the speed limit officer," Phantoms plea one of complete innocence, harry merely nodded his head stupidly.

The officer's face didn't change but his eyes kept flicking nervously to the bandaged face of Phantom and random radio chatter kept blaring out of the open door of the police car, the noise of the motorway drowning it out of Phantoms earshot, but it wasn't good.

"That being said, that wasn't the reason I stopped you..." Phantom stopped listening to the man at that point as he suddenly heard something from the police radio that made a chill run down his spine.

"Keep the target busy... ACME inbound."

The officer didn't even raise his hands to defend himself, fast as lightning Phantom drove the syringe into the side of the man's neck, his pupils contracted and he slumped onto the tarmac. Phantom knew that Carmen disapproved of such methods but this halfwit was trying to interfere with the mission and in an hour or so the man would wake up with a splitting headache and acute amnesia but otherwise unharmed.

The deadline was drawing nearer and they were still miles away from the rondevu site, so Harry was forced to put his foot down and made a violent right turn, leaving the well maintained, smooth tarmac of the motorway in favour of the twisting maze and uneven surface of the country lanes.

Harrys face was only an inch or so from the glass of the windscreen, making him look even larger and more out of place then he usually did. He was driving mostly by feel and luck because even if he had his headlights on he could only see as far as the next bend, so why bother advertising there location.

After a while the vehicle ground to a halt and as the engine slowly died away and deathly quiet surrounded them. They had arrived at the pre-arranged location but no one was here, no plane, no crooked pilots, no dodgy looking henchmen and most importantly no getaway car. Phantoms eyes darted to the clock mounted on the dashboard to see if they had missed the collection but they hadn't, in fact they were 5 minutes early.

"Where is everybody and what is happening?" Phantom said this more to himself then to Harry but he felt it needed to be said out loud.

The two men sat back in the cab of there truck, waiting in the dark and silence of the mist strewn field, the only movement was the glowing embers of Phantom's cigarette. Seconds crept by, followed by minutes then a sign of life, A faint hum being carried on the breeze, an engine of some kind but to what Phantom couldn't work out and through the mist it was impossible to see anything clearly.

Whatever it was was coming towards them at a great speed, as it got closer Phantom could make out two different engines and by the rhythmic pace of the noise they had to of been helicopters. Upon coming to this identification he instinctively knew the plan for delivery.

"Rig the strops around the truck and dispose of anything we don't need," the order was barked at Harry, who jumped into action without hessiation, just like the good old days Phantom thought to himself.

Harry was soon ransacking the crates, piling most of the cheap, replaceable items ten metres from there position and finding a Jerry can of spare fuel, set fire to them. The smoke towered upwards being carried on the wind. The mist was beginning to thin in places and Phantom could definitely make out the outlines of the two Chinook helicopters, tethers and wires already hanging below, waiting for its cargo.

The down current the helicopters produces was immense, their twin rotor blades slicing effortlessly through the air as two henchman slid down gi-ropes to where Phantom was waiting.

The henchman pointed stupidly to a bank of trees, speech was pointless with this kind of noise but Phantom knew the drill, a car (will a full petrol tank) and his money would be waiting on the other side of the bank. While this odd game of charades was taking place the other henchman, with the help of Harry, where attaching the truck to the under belly of one of the helicopters. Once everything was secure, Harry turned to Phantom and gave a breif wave followed by a cheeky wink before being winched into the main body of the second helicopter.

Just as the last henchman was attaching himself to the wire, The entire feild was suddenly flood lit. All around the exits of the feild were dotted police cars there headlight of full beam. Turning to look at the gate, Phantom could see ACME agents leaping over the fences and darting towards him, there voices drowned out by the rotor blades.

Phantom spun around to the henchman still on the ground and pointed to the helicopter. The henchman understood and so did the pilot who was watching from the cockpit, fly off and deliver the merchandise. Phantom hoped they'd have enough brains in those two 'birds' to remember to tell the boss, else he could be seeing a nice long spell in prison.

As the Chinooks screeched off into the distance, swallowed up by the night. Phantom turned just in ime to see an elbow, gliding straight for his face, his hands only got to chest height when he hit the floor. The agents had reached him and one now had his knee in the centre of Phantoms spine, he could feel himself sink into the mud a few centimetres. Though in a bit of pain and covered i mud Phantom allowed himself a slight smile as he felt the cold steel of the handcuffs across his wrists.

Phantom felt hot breath pass by his left ear, "thought you could get away with it did you?" the speaker was Jenus Zeal or Rook to his friends, if he had any, and the loathing dripped from every word, his tone a horse whisper of hatred.

"Well detective as you only have me and no naval gun, I'll have to say I have no idea what you are talking about," Phantom could hardly keep the cockiness from his voice and recieved another blow to the back of the head as his reward.

He then felt the weight lessen from his back and was grabbed under the arms to be lifted bodily from the mud of the sodden feild, he noticed a perfect outline of his form left behind. The next thing he saw was the black, rubberised floor of the police van as he was literally thrown into the back.

He didn't bother to move for a while, his mind deep in thought of the last few hours, going over every detail, what had given him away, he was so careful. He then realised that blood was now rushing to his head so he shuffled himself around, leaning his back against the clear perspex divider the separated him from the driver, he tilted his head back and filled the small echoey box with his bark of a laugh.

It was simple, he'd have a nice rest, then once he'd been cleared he could start planning the next heist.

Phantom was sat in a small room, only about four to five metres across, his feet scuffed at a dark grey carpet as he surveyed the matching dark grey walls. He was sat on a cold stainless steel chair resting his handcuffed hands idly on a stainless steel table. The interior decorated must of had an off day when they designed this room.

A closed-circuit surveillance camera hung from the ceiling, blinking a little red light to show it was on, it reminded him of one of his gadgets. A single 100watt bulb glowed in a table lamp, the only source of light in the room, casing distorted shadows around only his half of the room.

No matter where you go in the world, interrogation rooms are all the same the only difference is the degrees of dried blood on the floor but Phantom wasn't worried about that, that was a perk of 'civilised' countries, the prospect of torture was very unlikely. Not that it mattered to him most torturers didn't even bother starting once they had seen his face.

After a few minutes the door on the far side of the room opened, a man walked in and leant against the wall he stayed in the shadows, a text book intimidatory device.

"So 'Phantom', that is your name isn't it ?" he didn't wait for a response, "do you fancy a drink, coffee ? or perhaps a cigarette ?" phantom knew by the voice that his interrogator was Janus Zeal and that he didn't really care for his welfare, it was to put him at ease, to create a re-pore, to lure him into revealing information but Phantom knew this so accepted a cigarette just to appear to play the game.

The cigarette burned slowly in his fingertips, he tried not to smoke it, it was a cheap brand which told Phantom either 'Rook' wasn't a smoker or had no taste for the finer things in life. Rook took a seat opposite Phantom leaning back, is body language casual and relaxed, it was obvious Rook had studied body language and it's effect on people.

"So... you were caught huh, bummer, are they treating you alright ?" once again he didn't wait for a response, "Want to tell me anything ?" Phantom knew the torment that must be going on in Rooks head to force him to act the 'good cop', Phantom was almost insulted that Rook would bother playing these games.

"You smoke an awful brand, if you give me back my possessions I can show you what a decent cigarette tastes like," Phantom decided to test the water see what a little gouging would get him.

Rook was too controlled to accept such a childish bait but Phantom did notice him shift in his seat. "You will get your things back when you finally get released from our custody. Come on lets cut a deal, you tell me where the gun is being kept, I'll put in a good word with the boss and you be back on the streets in no time."

"Of coarse... because right know you have no evidence to actually hold me and since when have you ever had a good word to say about me," Phantom fancied seeing how far he could push his luck, he had known Rook for a long time and knew that he would snap sooner if he kept up the cocky attitude.

Rook slammed his fist on the table and leaned forward and Phantom could breifly see the anger in the mans face but then he exhaled and leant back again, regaining his original posture. Phantom smiled to himself. "Your not helping yourself, fine how about telling me where to find Ms. Sandiego ? or are you not important enough in the 'gang' to know that sort of information."

Phantom almost burst into laughter at such an appalling attempt to get a rise out of him. "Oh didn't you know, I'm only the cleaner. Sorry for the mistake."

Rook stood up and walked back over to the door, purpose in each step. The door opened only a crack to allow a whispered conversation between Rook and someone Phantom couldn't see. The red light of the surveillance camera blinked off and stayed off. Phantom raised an eyebrow, so the fun was going to begin so soon, Rook was more impatient then the last time they met.

"Right you want to play it like this, then I'll play by your kind of rules," Rook circled around and stood behind Phantom and placed his hands on Phantoms shoulders. "Where is the gun?"

"I'm not sure, have you checked the Imperial War Museum? I believe they had one going spare." Phantom wasn't scared by such primitive scare tactics, he'd seen worse then this man could ever imagine, let alone attempt.

Rook's grab became tighter. "You could make this so easy on yourself. Just give me an address."

This time Phantom actually burst out laughing, his bark echoed in the near darkness, "What before you get the basin of water or perhaps a two pound hammer? How about you put cling film over my mouth and pour water over me so my body believes I'm drowning. Have you ever looked into the effects of senseory deprivation or the psychological stress caused by sleep deprivation. Should I go on or do you want to get a notepad and take down pointers." Phantom was now bored of this amateur and wondered how long it would take to push this man so far, the men out side had to intervene.

Rook tensed and forced phantoms head into the stainless steel top of the table. With his head flat against the cold surface, he could taste blood and felt it soak into his bandages. "So you think your an expert in these things do you? No I won't torture you but I can make sure your feeding through a straw and no-one would ask how it happened." He pulled Phantom back to a sitting position.

"And I could have you dissapear and no-one would ask how it happened," Phantom lapped at the blood trickling down from his nose, savouring its metallic taste.

"Are you threatening an ACME agent, an agent of the law?" Rook slammed phantom against the table again, a fresh flow strouted from his eyebrow added to the blood from his nose. Rook put his hand on the back of Phantoms head fixing it to the table as he whispered "I've had enough of you, we have all the information to put you away for a long time, just give me the god damn info on the gun, don't make it harder on yourself !"

"The breech loading 5.5 inch Mk I naval gun was originally designed for the Greek navy..." his words were cut off as his head was lifted up a foot or so from the table and then brought roughly back down. Phantom looked down to see a small dent in the, now spinning, table. "Not interested in history then," Phantoms spoke with a slight lisp were he had bitten his tongue.

"You remember what I said to you the first time we met in Germany all those years ago," Rooks voice had returned to its previous calm state, moving round the table and sat face to face with Phantom.

"Wollen Sie ein Bier?" phantom chuckled but this time Rook didn't hit him, which Phantom found interesting and started to wonder what Rooks next plan of attack was but his thoughts were interupted by a sharp rap at the door. Rook stood up slowly and went to answer it, once again it only opened a crack and whispers were exchanged but then Rook exploded spitting with fury, "What do you mean let him go, he's mine, I'm seeing him go down for this !"

The door was flung wide, bouncing on its hinges as Rook rushed down the corridor, Phantom could hear the echo of a slamming door and laughed out loud, which made the female officer, who was uncuffing him, jump with a high pitch squeak of alarm. Phantom felt for his bandages, to make sure they were still properly in place, feeling the wetness of his own blood with relish.

Without a word or even a glance to the young officer, he stood up and walk calmly out of the room. Into freedom.

The room was in almost complete darkness, the blinds drawn, the over-head lightly switched off, the only light emanated from a computer monitor which illuminated the sleeping form of Ken. The only sound was that of a Ken's heavy breathing and the incoherent muttering of his sleep talk, his conspiracy rants didn't just reside to his waking hours. The room was near perfect.

A tall figure clad in a dark grey suit, brown leather gloves, dark blue wrap around spectacles and his head completely encased in white medical bandages, stepped out of the shadows and walked with purpose, yet making no noise, towards the high backed, mahogany armchair positioned in the corner of the room.

He sat down heavily, the chair gave a groan which echoed the aching that raked Phantom's body. "... Don't trust them... all watching..." Ken's sleep talk picked up in volume, shaken by the sudden noise, then returned to its original level.

With a sigh Phantom removed a small silver object from his jacket pocket and upon turning it on, bathed the corner in a flash of its red LED. In the brief light of the jamming device gave, he noticed a reflection cast of an item that wasn't usual in 'his' personal area. Who what be foolish enough to leave something lying around his area, he'd make them pay. After a few seconds and a closer inspection he saw a gold and silver crest embossed on the lid.

The personal emblem of Carmen Sandiego, he carefully lifted the lid to reveal the objects main purpose, it was an ice bucket. Carmen had obviously called ahead of his arrival to make arrangements for him. He took a cube and placed it gingerly to his face, slowly separating the bandages so it could make contact with his pale flesh. He could feel that his face was already starting to swell; the numbing cold of the ice was quite soothing.

As he sat in the comfort of the darkness, his mind pondered over the events of the passed day, trying to figure out how A.C.M.E. and especially Rook had managed to unravel his heist. Phantom allowed his mind to linger over Rook and the events of the 'interview'. Rook was always a 'hot head', sure, but what happened to make him lose the self control and cunning that Phantom gave him so much credit for.

Phantom was soon found himself reminiscing over a stormy night in the middle of winter and a seedy bar, hidden in a depressing alley in the heart of Berlin.

[Disclaimer] I do not speak German, so spelling and grammer my be flawed. If a german speaker wishs to correct any mistakes please message me and correction will be made.

The night was bad, the worst that year had seen. The rain beat heavily on the grimy windows, threatening to break in. When an occasional customer entered the bar the smoke filled air was instantly replaced by a bitter chill that ran through each patron as it made it's was to the back of the room.

The bar was like any of the rat infested cesspits that littered the back streets of Berlin, though most didn't have such a colourful reputation as this hole.

And slumped at the corner of the bar, slightly apart from the other regulars and furthest from the door, was a man in his mid forties, balding, with a bulbous bright red nose, a good three of four days worth of stubble and a rather pungent odour of sweat and stale beer. This man was a down and out of the tallest order but was a carbon copy of the other eight or nine people that frequented the bar regularly.

No one knew his name or anything much about him. He didn't speak to anyone, apart from the barmen but I was surmised that he'd probably lost his job, his wife has probably left him or one of the other sob stories that filled the smoke laced air of the bar during the working day.

The man sat hunched over staring into space, in a drunken state when something happened, that had never happened before, someone sat next to him. The drunk cocked his head to one side to look at the stranger through hazy eyes. The stranger certainly was no regular he was clean for a start. The man had short dark hair, piercing eyes and wore clothes too functional to be worn by your average person.

The stranger nodded at the drunk. "Gutten Tag,..." the stranger had no particular accent "Ist dieser Sitz genommen ?"

The drunk wearily shock his head "Nein, Nein, Es ist ihm," he slurred, dribbling beer into his stubble.

The stranger coolly slipped into English. "I know who you are." The drunk replied with a look of complete confusion and slurred " Ich bin nicht sprecht englisch."

"Don't play games with me," he drew a pistol from a concealed holster in his thigh pocket and keeping it hidden nudged the drunk in the leg with the barrel, only then did he notice the drunk already had a revolver trained on him from behind his crossed arms, the glassed look in his eyes gone.

"I didn't come here for trouble, I just want a chat," the stranger calmly replaced his pistol back to it's holster, his tone completely natural but his body betrayed him, it was tense and ready for action.

"Zu spreckt," The drunk stated plainly, remaining in German.

Unfazed by the man’s response, the man continued, "You have quite a reputation and the effort I had to apply to simply track you to this location, did that justice." The drunk sipped his beer; flattery would get the man nowhere. "But I'll get to the point, I’ve been tasked...”

This told Phantom everything he needed to know, this man was either military or government and he despised both in equal measures. He tapped his fingers on the bar and the barman brought out a single shot glass and a bottle of whiskey. Upon noticing the bottle was near empty the barmen muttered "eine minuten" and disappeared into a trap door leading to the cellar, leaving a hole behind the bar.

All the while this was happening, the stranger continued to speak "... to track you down and ask you..." The stranger was suddenly cut off mid sentence as Phantom leapt from his stool and over the bar, throwing his jacket over the man in the same motion. His leap was well aimed he flew straight through the hole leading to the cellar. Once he was below the floor of the bar the trapdoor was slammed shut followed by the audible click of a lock.

Once in trapdoor was securely fastened, Phantom dodged and weaved himself through the maze of barrels and boxes that littered the poorly lit basement, with some considerable skill given he was running at some considerable pace.

He burst through the back door of the cellar and onto a filth ridden alley way, most of the street lights had either been smashed by yobs or had blown and no-one bothered to replace, perfect for Phantom. He darted down the alley, removing the face prosthetics as he did, through lit windows, a strobe effect eliminated his pale skin and distorted features that was his true face. A fresh bandage appeared swiftly from a pocket and was hastily rapped around his face and head, given it was night time he didn’t bother with the spectacles (his eyes worked better at night anyway).

He crisscrossed down the labyrinth of alleyways, the smells of rotting garbage and the stench of the sewer met his nostril’s, that was when a figure stepped out from a doorway just ahead of him, it was the stranger, thoughts rushed through Phantoms head, the most prominent was how had he pre-empted his escape route given it would appear to be random. Plan B, Phantom spun on his heels, sweeping his back leg around to collide with some nearby trash can, it hurtled towards the stranger with an almighty crash, many of the darken windows above suddenly erupted with light and a hail of angry German cascaded into the echoing alley.

But Phantom didn’t stick around to see if his temporary barricade had hindered his pursuer, he had already scaled a nearby fire escape and was lifting himself onto the rickety rooftops, tile slipped from under his feet as he ran fighting to maintain his balance. He leaped across the tops of streets, from one building to another, snagging on television aerials and vaulting chimney stacks. He glanced cautiously at a sound to his left and there he was again.

This madman was chasing him across the roof; Phantom had to acknowledge the dedication this man had. The stranger was now running parallel with Phantom one street over waiting for the building to veer closer to one another, to make a safe(ish) jump. But before he could, Phantom suddenly changed coarse as if to make the suicidal vault to engage this assailant. But that wasn’t his intention. Phantom made the smallest of hurdles over the guttering of his building and with a cocky wink at the stranger, spun 180 degrees to slide effortlessly down a drainpipe. The stranger stopped and watched his decent through narrowed eyes.

Phantom was now on street level and used the time he had gained to his advantage. He continued to run for quite a while, doubling back on himself every once in while and using the shadows to make sure he had finally lost his tail. Eventually, as the sun crept lazily over the horizon, Phantom was happy to return to his safe house.

The safe house was just off of the beaten track, not to isolated as to set himself up for an ambush but also not busy enough to have salesmen trying to flog there wares. He removed two keys from his trouser pocket and slid them into the locks, counting to three in his head he turned them both simultaneously, there was a soft click and the door opened a fraction, his hand flashed through the crack and grabbed a thin piece of thread, no thicker then a human hair, the thread was attached to a fragmentation grenade. He quickly disarmed the grenade and placed is delicately on a wooded table just inside the door.

Strolling wearily into his living room, the place in complete darkness but he knew the layout well enough not to knock into the furniture, he knelt down to ignite the small gas fire. The warm glow flew through the room.

“What took you so long?” came a voice from the high backed leather armchair.

“Do you really think that you have anything to offer, that will remotely interest me,” Phantom replied coolly.

The stranger shifted his weight in the armchair and changed the subject slightly, “First of all, it occurs to me that I have not introduced myself officially, I am Janus Denton,” his tone formal, almost like a sales pitch.

Phantom raised an eyebrow, “No official rate or rank, no department of office, no government title. Are you a small part of the mankind destroying system or just one of my ‘fans’ hoping to hear a tale from the old days?”

This dissection of such a simple statement as his name caught Janus slightly off guard but he kept his calm and almost instinctively replied “That’s classified but if you question my word and have the right contacts I come under the codename ‘Rook’,”

Phantom was almost amused by the robotic answer he received but he was already getting bored and this man was just a mindless pawn, there was nothing special about him, the intrigue vanished. He was simply one of the many brainwashed, government clones phantom had dealt with in the past.

Having not received any response, be it bodily or verbal Janus continued with his mission. “My employer wants your,” he paused “‘skills’ for a very specific mission, a mission that could inevitably change the world for the better.”

Phantoms answer was short and sharp “No.”

“But you have a chance to make a difference, to save lives, to actually do some good for the whole of humanity. A selfless act that will allow so many people to live free of corruption and fear”

The hearts and minds speech wears a little thin the more times you hear it. Phantom had been given it on numerous occasions and had yet to make any real difference the only thing he’d really changed was the bank balance of a few select individuals. Janus was about to press the matter but was cut off abruptly.

“If that’s all you have to say, kindly leave while you still have the legs to walk on!” His anger was back, the hatred he had for the world’s governments, the military, the various agencies… The system as a whole all came bubbling back to the surface, his gloved hands tight in fists.

Janus read Phantom like a book and his muscles tensed, not in an aggressive manner but in waiting for an attack that could come at any moment. He had been told, during his briefing that appealing to Phantoms morality, his sense of right, probably wouldn’t work but that was only his faint, and the game was still on.

He stood up and slowly reacted into his pocket, he could feel Phantom’s eyes following his hand and saw his feet shift there balance into a more sturdy base, a fighters stance, a cobra ready to strike and removed a small, crumpled piece of paper.

“If you change your mind, you can reach me on this number, it’s a secure line.”

He placed the number on the table and slowly made his way to the door, never turning his back on the masked man. “We’re not the bad guys, we are only out to make things right,” on that note he left, walking out into the morning glow of Berlin.

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.

Phantom was starting to believe this man was not to be underestimated. Firstly he had tracked him to that god-forsaken bar (not overly taxing a relatively skilled tail could of accomplished that), to chase him through the flea-bitten back streets of Berlin (not really a merit of great aclaim as long as you are in good shape and have a head for thinking on your feet) but to appear in his home, that was a feat in itself both in finding it (ahead of Phantom's arrival) and gaining access. It is true that Phantom could not bring himself to install motion sensor equipment or thermal registration software or any of the new-fangled gizmo's his colleges tended to rely on but there was a fair amount of 'old school' security measure, it was evident this stranger knew his craft.


"I really wish you'd stop all this nonsense."


Phantom, now over the shock of someone daring to violate his inner sanctum, was instantly enraged by such a patronising statement delivered by a man who by all accounts had only just started shaving. "What's stopping me from killing you, right now," Phantoms words dripped with malice and muscle memory had his revolver already in his hand and trained on his target before the sentence had finished echoing around the dimly lit room.


"Absolutely nothing but then you won't find out why I was sent."


"What makes you think that I care," Phantom strolled over to a small table, sat between two height backed leather armchairs and removed a silencer from a concealed drawer in it. He circled around the second of the chairs, why he had two chairs was a mystery as this stranger was the first to set foot in it apart from himself, and slowly screwed the suppressor to the barrel of the revolver. He looked up from the pistol to the stranger, looking into his eyes, for once Phantom didn't have his spectacles on, so both men stared eye to eye.


There was nothing in the man's eyes. A persons eyes are the windows to their soul and this man had nothing. So young yet there was no passion, no fear, no... nothing. Phantom had known many killers in his time, men who had performed hannis crimes against nature, violations against human rights but very few were completely dead inside, this devoid of life. So much potential wasted on a government sap, with training and time, this man could become great.


Phantom was now suddenly oddly intrigued. The reason for the strangers visit aside, the man himself was the intriguing part. Phantom slowly lowered his weapon. A tense minute passed, second by aching second, a minute that spanned a century and Phantom eventual broke the deadlock and motioned to one of the chairs. Slightly perplexed by Phantoms motives, he man tentatively accepted.


"You will remain here," an order more than anything else and with that Phantom left the room via a side door. With the light from this side door and the artificial glow from the fire place the features of the room could be seen, for what it was worth. Apart from the two armchairs and the small table there was very little else to furnish the room. A hat stand by the door, a writing bureau position itself in a corner and that was it. The only decoration was a rather large painting hung over the fireplace. The painting was nothing special and by an unknown artist, it's subject was of some handsome military type, not overly decorated but what caught the mans attention was the pride and honour in the subjects face.


Phantom came back into the room a few minutes later, he had changed his clothes (a smart dark grey suit, similar to his drunks disguise but a more expensive material and slightly better fit), Phantom had neatened up his bandages and he now had a pair of wrap around spectacles that concealed his eyes. He removed a curious silver contraption out of his jacket pocket and placed it delicately on the table next to an ornate crystal ashtray. With that he sat down in the adjacent armchair, placed a thin cigarette between his bandages and began to smoke.


The time slowly clicked by and the stranger started almost twitching with the need to engage Phantom with what he had to say, this man, for all his skill was new and eager but his training in negotiations and intelligence gathering was controlling him enough to allow Phantom to start the proceedings, of coarse Phantom knew this and revelled in watching the silence choke his 'guest' into a near fit.


Phantom finished his cigarette and with an exhalation of smoke, he spoke in a harsh tone, "No more tricks, no more running, you say your piece and leave, do you understand?"


"I understand but once you hear what I have to say you may want to leave with me."

The night out side was bitter cold, the wind beating against the windows, threatening to break in and reap vengeance on those inside for daring to be warm. The common room was strangely busy for an evening.

Sarah Nade was curled into a puffy armchair, headphones blaring out some heavy bass line while here foot twitch in time with it. Patty Larceny was lounging out stretched on the floor her fingers racing over the key pad of her mobile phone at a tremendous speed as she updated and re-updated her facebook. Vic was lazily playing solitaire at the planning table with a deck of cards with a suspiciously large amount of aces in it. Various other people sat around doing whatever they could to fight the boredom of waiting for a job, not that Phantom really cared what the others were doing but he watched anyway.

Phantom was sat bolt upright in his armchair, the only corner in the whole room that had it’s lamps extinguished, and the bulbs removed just to make sure, bathing it in a the warm embrace of darkness. His jammer sat idly on the small table, turned off due to the sheer amount of complaints he’d received from the other patrons of the common room. He wasn’t even smoking due to torrents of abuse that was cast his was, why were villains so health conscious these days, how times changed he supposed, it was there choice of coarse but why were they so preachy about it. So denied his few pleasures that were ‘socially impolite’ he simply sat there, gloved fingers interlocked, eyes half closed behind there blue tinted surrounds, he watched, waiting.

Phantom finally stood up from his chair, a slight groan emanated from his chair, a few face around the room flicked towards his direction and just as quick to flit back once there eyes met with Phantom’s. He slid his suit jacket off the back of his chair and eased himself comfortably into it, which was when he noticed it.

A scarlet envelope peeking out of one of the pockets, the seal of his employer stamped across it. Curiosity blew through the room like an unwanted draft; eyes returned to his corner as he sliced open the letter and quickly studied his assignment. A minute had crept by as a plan began to form itself. The room alight with hushed tones awaiting Phantom to proclaim his task, they were sorely disappointed when phantom merely grunted.

Removing his silver cigarette case from his inside jacket pocket he placed a cigarette between the bandages to his teeth behind. The curious looks became looks of disapproval as he lit it, a curl of smoke mirrored in the glass that covered eyes. An ember splintered from the glowing cherry, floating on an air current in the room. Phantom swatted it with the envelope, with the flare of a magician it burst into flames. Without a word to anyone he flicked his collar up and left the room, a trail of smoke marking his movements and a cloud of ash hanging in the air around his chair.

The light breeze displaced the closeness of the summer night’s air which was oddly cooling as it licked the folds of his bandages. On the whole Phantom hated summer, the nights were too short, the days too bright and even in the dead of night it was hot.

He was leaning against a graffiti plastered wall at the corner of a blind alley, the stench of rotting garbage filling his nostrils which he tried to combat with cigarette smoke, the garbage was winning.

He had been stood at this corner for around an hour, the dog ends littering his feet were evidence of this. That was when the sign he had been waiting for revealed itself. A light from the building opposite was extinguished, phantom stirred, crushing the cigarette he was currently entertaining under the sole of his hand made Armani shoes and slowly strolled over to the building in question. And walked straight passed it, cautiously glancing up as he passed by, an innocent gesture from the point of view of anyone watching.

He rounded the corner and down a darken alley to the rear of the building, he was sure to pay a group of youth thugs to smash all the street lamps in the alley, to give him the cover of darkness. The stage was set, now for the play itself.

Lowering himself to street level he found what he was looking for. A small window barely four foot across by a foot and a half tall, the window to the basement. This was his entry point. Phantom pulled a curious looking blade from his jacket pocket and gently scored along the edges of the glass. Then, after taping a criss-cross pattern across the pane in thick masking tape, he gave the window a sharp blow with his elbow, a spider’s web of cracks etched itself along the glass, a touch thuggish for Phantoms usual methods but the goal was met none-the-less. He silently removed the pane and placed it to his side as he slithered his way into the tiny hole.

Grabbing a ceiling beam as he crawled, he pulled his body weight up until his feet were clear and the dropped gingerly onto the balls of his feet, sending a cloud of dust into the air. He was in.

The basement was pitch black but Phantom’s night vision was acclimatising quickly, allowing him to manoeuvre relatively unhindered around the general clutter and box’s that littered the space. Within seconds he found what he was searching for, the building’s fuse box.

Gently scraping the insulation away, he exposed two of the live cables (one supplying the box and one leaving it) and carefully attached a piece of wire between them, forming a bridge. Now this was in place he could afford to remove the breaker which fed the main security system, without trigging its back up (or ‘black out’) supplies. He then removed the breaker that fed the CCTV system, no point leaving any evidence.

Now was the moment were he found out if the guard had lived up to his end of the bribe, conveniently going for an extended coffee break. The seconds ticked by, nothing, he was safe.

He cautiously made his way up the stairs to the ground floor and slid a mirror between the door and the floor, an empty security post and a disserted hallway, perfect. Phantom made light work of the doors feeble locking mechanism and prowled his way through the ground floor, always alert for any noises that were out of the ordinary.

Not trusting the lift, for its confined space and possible added security features, he settled for the stairs, senses at there highest state, testing each step before putting his full weight to it.

He wound his way through the maze of corridors and gallery’s each lined with portraits of the long since dead. Until he came to a grand set of heavy wooden doors and here came his first real challenge. The doors themselves had simple enough locks to them but they were synchronised, positioned on either side of the double doors, a design for two people.

Now it would have been easier to simply bring a partner in on the caper but Phantom mistrusted everyone else’s competences and knew of the temptation of greed to the weak minded, to allow anyone to tag along on ‘his’ heist.

The solution to this problem was found in an outside contractor, a watchmaker to be precise. Who, under phantoms designs, created a curious device, no larger then a matchbox with a slit running through its centre.

Prior to this heist, phantom had spent a lot of effort in blackmailing the curator, who had a taste for large bets on slow horses, and acquired a set of the door keys. He placed one of these said keys into the device then slid the key into the lock. Turning the device three times, it began to emanate a quiet ticking sound. Phantom strolled over to the second lock, inserted his key, and upon the count of three turned the lock.

Both locks opened simultaneously and the two doors opened, revealing the main gallery hidden behind.

The gallery was akin to most, easy clean floors, benches for the weary patrons, life size portraits of the great military leaders and row after row of glass cabinets. Phantom would of like to have spent some time perusing the various artefacts of war but his paid window was running out. The job was still at hand. And there it sat, pride of place, in the centre of the exhibits. The Prize.

The prize as a simple piece of mountaineering equipment, a pick axe roughly a foot long with a sawn off wooden handle and metal pick, nothing obviously special about it apart from a slight, brownish tint to its point. The blood was of Lev Davidovich Bronstein or as he was later known Leon Trotsky.

There was no time to waste; the job had to be completed tonight. There was a myriad of methods of obtaining the item from the case, Phantom tended to opt for the more elaborate or technical just to exercise his mastery of his profession but the window of delivery was becoming increasingly smaller. So he settled on his method of entry, scoring the glass around the lock and smashing it through with a compact chisel. Not the most subtle or skilled but the low tech nature and execution of this current heist had the opportunity take the limelight away from himself and onto one of his less accomplished brethren.

Minus the lock the large glass fronted cabinet swung open revealing the glorious bounty within. His gloved hands gripped around the handle and though he would never admit it a slight thrill surged through his body, it was quickly quashed. He slipped the pickaxe into a harness inside his jacket lining and silently left the room.

The prize wasn’t his usual faire for he tended to favour accolades that carried historical military merit but the though of acquiring one of the most famous murder weapons of modern history, he had to admit, did prick his interest.

After Leon Trotsky was deported from the Soviet Union in Feb 1929, for openly objecting to Stalin’s running of the Communist Party, he spent the next 16 years drifting from one country to another (Turkey, France, Norway to name a few), were attempts were made on his life. Before finally settle in Mexico in 1937, were he met his end on the 20th August 1940 at the hands and pickaxe of an undercover NKVD agent Ramon Mercader.

Phantom’s exit was no grand feat he simply walked out of room, removing he device and keys from the locks, meandered through the galleries, back down the flight of stairs. Bypassing the guard post to leave a small padded envelope containing a thank you note and a small tip of gratitude, it was always advisable to keep hired help sweet in case a future ventures required there assistance or lack of it.

He casually relocked the basement door as he descended the stairs, there was no point making his entry to obvious, the detectives need to work for there salary too. He spent around a minute to disconnect his bypass circuit from the fuse panel before effortlessly sliding himself back through the window.

He stood up in the shadows of the alley and dusted himself off. He took a cigarette from his pocket, positioned it between his bandages, the smoke filled his lungs with the smell of a successful heist. With his hand in his pockets and his spirits on high he melted into the darkness to find his buyer.