THE PHOENIX AND THE FORM: Chapter Two
Subject: Meeting Tonight
From: Blue blue@mysterydomain.com To: Dr.
Victor Frank vfrank@cuea.edu
Date: Sun, 3 Feb 2044 06:45:42 AM (GMT+01:00)
Dear Victor,
I appreciate your willingness to engage in
this endeavor. Let’s meet tonight.
Meeting Details: Date: Tonight Time: 8:00 PM
Location: Serena Hotel
You’ll find me in the restaurant, we’ll
grab some dinner, so dress your best Dr.
Warm regards,
Blue
Dr. Victor Frank entered the hotel and emerged
into the grandeur of the hotel’s reception area, a space that exuded an air of
quiet luxury. The marble floors gleamed under the chandeliers’ soft glow, and
the air carried a faint scent of jasmine. The Restaurant & Terrace hummed
with subdued conversations.
He was dressed in a tailored charcoal-gray
suit, its fine wool fabric hinting at both professionalism and understated
elegance. His crisp white shirt was neatly buttoned, the ensemble completed—with
a midnight-blue bow tie. His presence went unnoticed by the few guests who
milled about, their attention captured by their affairs.
With a nod to the receptionist, who
returned it with a practiced smile, Victor made his way to the hotel’s
restaurant. The concierge, a composed figure in a tailored suit, acknowledged
him with a subtle nod as he approached.
“Good evening,” Victor greeted warmly,
extending his hand. “Dr. Frank. I believe my reservation is under that name.”
“Welcome, Dr. Frank,” the concierge said,
his voice a low murmur. “Your reservation is confirmed. Please go ahead.”
The muted sounds of conversation and
clinking cutlery grew louder as he approached, a symphony of evening dining.
The restaurant was an elegant room with
floor-to-ceiling windows that offered views of the city’s twinkling lights. A
sanctuary of dimly lit alcoves and linen-draped tables. Tables were set with
precision, each with its candle flickering like a tiny star.
Victor scanned the room, seeking the woman
with bright blue hair. And there she was, seated by the window, her eyes a
shade deeper than her hair. Her table was in a secluded corner of the
restaurant, her back to the wall, a position that allowed her to see everything
and everyone. She wore a midnight-blue silk blouse, its fabric catching the
candlelight in subtle ripples. The collar was high, framing her neck, and the
sleeves tapered to her wrists. A silver pendant hung from a delicate chain,
nestled against the fabric. Her tailored black trousers flowed gracefully, and
on her feet, were low-heeled ankle boots, their dark leather polished to a soft
sheen.
He adjusted his bow tie and approached, his
resolve firming with each step. Blue looked up as he arrived, her eyes locking
onto his with an intensity that acknowledged the gravity of their meeting. The
depth and knowledge within them, made him wonder how many lifetimes she had
lived.
Blue rose as he approached; her smile
enigmatic. “Victor,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m glad you received my
email.”
Victor took his seat across from her, the
finality of his journey settling in. “Let’s get down to business,” he said.
They sat across from each other, the
clatter of the surrounding restaurant burgeoning around them. They leaned in,
their conversation a hushed exchange against the ambient noise.
Victor started, his voice low. “Are we
certain the security at Lord Harrington’s castle won’t be an issue?”
Blue’s eyes were steady. “I’ve studied
their security system and their patterns. There’s a window of opportunity that
we can exploit. But it’s narrow. Beyond that—I have an ace up my sleeve.” She said,
a slight smile gracing her lips.”
“What’s the ace?” Victor asked, his
curiosity piqued.
“All the answers will come in due time
Victor, for now, trust that I have done my due diligence.” She said
cryptically.
The waiter approached, a practiced smile on
his lips. “Good evening, sir, madam,” he said. “May I take your order?”
Victor hesitated. It was the first time he
had been to a hotel of this caliber in his life, and he hadn’t even looked at
the menu. Blue leaned back, her fingers tracing the rim of her wineglass. “I’ll
have the grilled tilapia,” she said, her voice low and measured. “And a side of
steamed vegetables.”
“I’ll have the same,” he replied, his gaze
never leaving Blue’s face. “And a glass of white wine.” The waiter nodded,
scribbling down their choices.
Victor frowned. “And the artifact? If it’s
as well-guarded as you say…”
She cut him off with a slight frustration
in her voice. “It is. But I have…a way inside.”
The waiter returned with a bottle of wine
and a glass. He set it down on the table and poured the glass for Victor, setting
the bottle down and retreating.
Victor’s hand tightened around his glass. “This
is risky. If we’re caught—”
Blue interjected firmly. “We won’t be. I’ve
planned for every contingency.”
Victor sighed. “I just… I can’t afford any
mistakes. Not after everything that’s happened.”
Blue reached across the table, her hand
briefly covering his. “You have my word. We’ll succeed.” Their eyes locked, a
silent pact made in the flickering candlelight.
The waiter returned, balancing a silver
tray with practiced elegance. The grilled tilapia lay nestled on a bed of
steamed vegetables, vibrant hues contrasting against the pristine white
porcelain. Victor’s own plate mirrored hers, the aroma of herbs and charred
fish mingling in the air. The waiter’s eyes flickered between them; curiosity
veiled by professionalism. “Bon appétit,” he murmured, then retreated. Victor
nodded slowly. And they dug into their meal.
“So, if you’re so prepared, what do you
need from me, an amateur?” he asked.
She hesitated but said, “I just needed a
partner, someone as invested in the phoenix as I am. This is personal for you;
you’ll do anything to get your daughter back. I’ll do anything to get to the
Phoenix.”
Victor kept his steely gaze on her.
“It doesn’t hurt that you’re also a
genius,” she added.
Victor blushed a little at that and she smiled,
but his gaze remained steady on hers. “Why? Why are you so invested in finding
the Phoenix?”
For a second Blue averted her gaze to the
floor but met Victor’s eyes again, in silence. Victor nodded slowly; his gaze
unflinching.
The waiter approached their table with a
deferential nod. “Good evening,” he murmured, his voice a velvet whisper. “May
I present your bill?” The leather-bound folder appeared, its gold embossing
catching the ambient light. Blue’s fingers brushed the folder, her expression
unreadable. “Thank you,” she said, her tone measured. “Would you like anything
else?” asked the waiter. “No, we’re fine thank you.” said Blue. “Certainly,” he
replied, his voice a velvet whisper. “Should you require anything else, please
don’t hesitate to ask!”
Blue let out a deep breath. “Let’s continue
this upstairs,” she said. They rose from their table, their movements
synchronized and discreet, trying not to draw attention.
They navigated through the restaurant with
an air of casual departure, exchanging pleasantries with the staff as they
passed. Once out of the dining area, they made their way to the elevators. Blue
reached out and pushed the button for her floor. The elevator doors opened, and
they stepped inside, their expressions shifting from the polite masks worn for
the public to serious visages.
The elevator ride was a silent ascent,
filled with the weight of unspoken thoughts and plans. The soft hum of the
machinery was the only sound as they climbed higher into the hotel’s heart.
Exiting onto Blue’s floor, they walked down
a plushly carpeted hallway; the walls adorned with tasteful artwork that seemed
to watch them pass. Blue led Victor to her room, a key card granting them entry
into her temporary sanctuary.
The hotel room was a cocoon of muted
luxury. She led Victor past the threshold, the door closing with a soft click. Once
inside, Blue secured the door and, crossing the room, drew the curtains closed,
ensuring complete privacy. The room was a blend of comfort and functionality,
with a workspace that hinted at long hours spent in preparation.
“Please, have a seat.” Blue said, gesturing
toward the armchairs by the window. Victor walked across the room and sank into
one, the upholstery cradling him.
Blue moved to the small kitchenette, her
movements fluid. She filled the kettle with water, the sound echoing in the
silence. “Coffee?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
“Yes,” Victor replied, his voice barely
audible. She measured coffee grounds into a French press. He glimpsed a scar on
her neck that peeked out from the collar of her blouse—a map of untold battles
fought in the pages of her history. He hadn’t noticed it until now. He made a
mental note of it.
When the water had boiled, Blue poured it
over the coffee, her gaze never leaving Victor. Steam rose from the French
press, carrying the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. She poured them each a
cup and took a tentative sip, giving a slight nod.
She walked over to where he was seated and
handed him a steaming mug, the rich aroma filling the room. “Here you go,” she
said, settling into the adjacent armchair with her own cup. There was a small
table between them, a surface now cleared for documents and devices.
Victor took the mug, feeling the warmth
seep into his fingers. He raised it to his lips and took a sip. The coffee was
strong, its bitterness tempered by a hint of something sweet and elusive. He
let the warmth spread through him.
Blue watched him over the rim of her cup,
her eyes calm and thoughtful.
Victor leaned forward, his focus absolute. “All
right,” he said in a hushed tone. “Tell me everything.”
Blue leaned in, her voice a low murmur. “The
man we’re interested in, Lord Albus Harrington, is hosting a black-tie dinner
party. As I’ve mentioned before, he’s a collector, a man with a penchant for
the esoteric and the extraordinary. What we seek is held in his vault.”
Victor nodded, taking another sip. His eyes
narrowed. “Tell me about the dinner party?”
“The event is being held two weeks from
now,” Blue replied. “It’s an exclusive affair, attended by the world’s elite.
We’ll need to blend in, play our parts flawlessly.”
“You said Wales?”
“Yes. I have a safe house there. It will be
our base of operation throughout the heist.”
Victor nodded. “What about the form? Do we
just bring it along?” he asked, his voice catching.
Blue’s expression softened. “We leave the
form behind,” she said. “Once we have the artifact, we’ll return for her.”
He exhaled. “Okay,” Victor said, his
resolve firm. “We’ll retrieve the artifact, then return.”
“You’ll need to pack light. Essentials
only.” Blue continued.
“So, how do you intend to get us there?”
Victor asked.
“We’ll be using my private plane.” She
answered nonchalantly.
Victor raised an eyebrow. “Private plane?”
“I did say your travel arrangements would
be taken care of. You’ll see.” She said.
“Okay,” Victor said.
They continued to sip their coffee,
observing each other.
“You still haven’t answered my question,
Ms. Blue.”
She stiffened slightly. “Why?” he asked
again. But she did not answer him.
After his coffee cup drained and the answer
not forthcoming, Victor stood up, taking one last look at Blue, and began
heading for the door. Blue watched him with a thoughtful expression. Just as he
reached the door, she called out to him.
“Victor.”
He turned back to face her, his hand
resting on the doorknob.
Blue’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the
hard edge of determination gave way to something more tender. “You’re not alone
in this,” she whispered. “No matter what happens, we’re in this together. I
need you to trust me, okay?”
Victor nodded, a small smile playing at the
corners of his mouth. “Goodnight, Ms. Blue.”
She nodded. “Stay safe, we’ll meet at
Wilson airport tomorrow morning. I’ll see you there.”
With a final glance, Victor opened the door
and stepped out into the corridor. The door closing behind him.
The corridors of the Nairobi Serena Hotel enveloped
him in a warm, humid embrace. Echoing with hushed conversations and the soft
rustle of guests returning to their rooms. Making his way to the elevator doors
he pushed the button for the lobby. He adjusted the collar of his suit; the
fabric clinging to his skin as he glanced at his reflection in the polished
brass of the doors. His thick dark hair was speckled with gray. His eyes, once
vibrant, now held shadows of grief. The doors opened and he stepped into the elevator;
the sounds blurring into the background.
The hotel lobby, adorned with African art
and lush greenery, welcomed him. The concierge nodded respectfully, and Victor
strode past the grand piano, its ivory keys untouched.
He exited the elegant hotel, the warm lobby
air yielding to the night’s cool atmosphere as he stepped outside. He strode
purposefully towards his waiting car, unlocking it with a click, and settling
into the familiar leather seat. With a confident turn of the key, the engine
hummed to life, and he merged onto the bustling Nairobi streets, where the
rhythm of traffic and the kaleidoscope of sounds and sights enveloped him.
The city’s heartbeat pulsed through the
streets. Nairobi was a symphony of car horns, street vendors, and laughter. The
city lights blurred as he drove through the city streets. Neon signs flickered,
casting patterns on the sidewalks.
At the intersection near City Market,
Victor’s thoughts shifted to Blue. Her intelligence, her secrets, now a private
plane. Was she a scientist or something more? He recalled their conversation at
the resort. The Phoenix—the key to his daughter’s resurrection—loomed large in
his mind.
Finally, he reached his home—the bungalow
tucked away in his quiet neighborhood. The garden, once vibrant, now only whispered
of memories; family picnics and bedtime stories told beneath a starlit sky. A
garden that had witnessed the passage of time. What was once a tapestry of
vibrant blooms and lush greenery; now dead and faded, each flower bed and
winding path, echoing with memories etched in every withered petal, and moss-covered
stone. A testament to the cherished moments that had once filled these hallowed
grounds.
Stepping out of his car, Victor inhaled the
familiar scent of his neighborhood—a blend of freshly cut grass and distant wood
smoke that carried memories of seasons past. The evening air was crisp,
wrapping around him as he closed the car door with a soft click.
The path to his front door, lined with overgrown
hedges, guided him forward. The crunch of gravel beneath his shoes punctuated
the stillness of the night.
He ascended the weathered wooden steps
leading to his bungalow’s entrance. He pushed open the door, its hinges
creaking softly in protest, echoing the passage of time. The air inside was
stale, tinged with the scent of neglect.
Entering, Victor was met with the sight of
his home, frozen in a state of disarray. The living room, once a cozy retreat
with its overstuffed armchairs and book-lined shelves, now lay cloaked in a
thin layer of dust.
His footsteps echoed softly as he moved
further into the space, each sound punctuating the silence that enveloped him.
The kitchen, usually a place of warmth and aroma, now held only the faint
memory of meals long past, the countertops obscured beneath a veil of grime.
He made his way to the back room and opened
the door, stepping inside. His makeshift workshop was laid out before him.
Victor moved methodically through the
space; each movement deliberate yet tinged with a quiet urgency. With practiced
hands, he covered his tools and equipment with sheets—starting with the
computer station. The metal cabinet, its drawers filled with meticulously
organized components, and the adjacent locker, housing prototypes and valuable
materials, were enveloped in protective layers.
Next, he tended to the 3D printer,
shrouding it under a cloth barrier. He paused at the VMC milling machine,
covered it with a sheet, and ensured it was securely protected. He also took
care to shield the Wire EDM machine, a tool that had been crucial for cutting
intricate shapes and profiles in titanium with high accuracy. Nearby, he stowed
away his handheld implements.
At the center of the room, the humanoid
form rested. Victor approached it with a mix of reverence and sorrow, gently
wrapping it in a shroud.
Finally, he secured Blue’s wand inside his
safe. As he completed his task, the workshop seemed to hold its breath like a
sanctuary frozen in time.
Victor trudged up the creaking stairs to
his dimly lit bedroom, the weight of the impending journey settling upon him. The
air hung thick with the scent of aged cedar and a million bittersweet memories.
Time had woven its tapestry here, a vibrant collage of joy and sorrow etched
into the very walls. The city’s distant lights filtered through the dusty
curtains, casting long skeletal shadows on the floor.
Victor surveyed the room with a sigh. He
started by clearing the clothes strewn across the floor, folding and placing
them neatly on the bed. Empty bottles cluttered the nightstand; he gathered
them in a garbage bag and disposed of them in the recycling bin, their clinking
a reminder of nights spent trying to blot out the memories. Papers lay
scattered about, each a fragment of his restless thoughts; he stacked them into
neat piles on the bedside table.
He flung open the closet. The suitcase lay
there, half-filled with essentials—clothes, toiletries, and travel gear. Packing
his clothes into his leather satchel. He was still grappling with the decision
to leave the humanoid form behind, but he continued packing. He folded a worn
photograph—the last image of his daughter, her smile frozen in time—into the
inner pocket of his coat.
But a deeper weight settled in his gut, a
churning mass of doubt and apprehension. The artifact, the Phoenix, whispered
promises of reunion, and he wondered if it really held answers about life,
death, and the boundaries between them.
He zipped up the suitcase, the metallic
teeth sealing his determination, a firm echo of his resolve.
The photos on the dresser held him captive.
He sat there, staring at them.
Miranda smiled at him—a sunflower in a
field of gray. His hands trembled as he reached for the photo. Her laughter
echoed in the room, a melody he’d almost forgotten. They’d met during their
university days, both passionate about unraveling the mysteries of life. She’d
been the one who encouraged his research, and when she’d said yes, he could
hardly believe it.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Of course, I’m sure. What!?” she said as
she hugged him. While she was still in his embrace, he picked her up and
twirled her around, and everyone at Uhuru Park that day began to clap, and
whistle, and cheer. He set her down, taking her hand in his, and placed the
engagement ring on her finger. And she kissed him.
He sat back on the bed, a tear slipping
down his cheek as he turned the ring around on his finger.
The plane was a Piper M700. It stood on the
airstrip tarmac—a sleek marvel of engineering that defied convention. Its
fuselage gleamed under the sunlight, and its wings stretched out.
Victor stood staring; mouth slightly agape.
As she approached the plane, Blue passed him by. Seeing his open mouth, she
pushed it up, shutting it for him. “C’mon Dr., we have a dinner party to attend,”
she said cheekily.
She wore a midnight-blue scarf, its fabric
soft against her skin, concealing the scar. A black top and black cargo pants
made up the rest of her outfit. Her boots, practical yet elegant, bore traces
of desert sand and city grime.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm
golden hue over the airstrip. Dr. Victor Frank and Blue, loaded their luggage
into the sleek Piper M700. Blue’s bag, a leather black duffel bag, was the
first to go in. Victor handed her the sturdy bag, and she secured it in the
cargo hold. Her movements precise and efficient. Victor’s own
bag, the weathered suitcase, went in next.
As Blue fitted the last of the bags into
the cargo hold, Dr. Victor Frank turned back to face Wilson Airport and the city
beyond it. He thought about the form back home and wondered what lay ahead. As
the last bag disappeared into the Piper’s belly, and the cargo hold was secure,
Blue made one last check around the plane. She turned to Victor as she stood by
the plane’s open door, her eyes assessing him.
“Ready for this?” she asked.
He nodded, his heart racing. “As ready as I’ll
ever be,” He said, turning to face her,
“Last chance to turn back,” she said,
looking away from him before finally meeting his eyes again.
“No, I’ve made my choice,” Victor said, a
slight smile gracing his features.
Blue stepped closer to him, her eyes
softening. She reached out and placed her hand on his elbow. “Victor. We will
return, I promise.” He nodded almost imperceptibly.
“Now let’s get ready for takeoff,” she
announced, her voice steady. “Destination: Wales.”
As they stepped into the Piper, its
interior welcomed them with plush leather seats and polished wood accents. Victor
climbed aboard and settled into one, the plushy leather seat cradling him.
Blue settled into the pilot seat of the
Piper M700, her eyes focused and determined. The cockpit enveloped her—a
symphony of dials, switches, and glowing screens. Her gloved hands danced
across the controls, fingers tracing familiar paths. The sun’s warmth filtered
through the windshield, casting a soft glow on her features.
Victor buckled his seatbelt. He watched as
Blue’s hands moved with precision; their deftness, their grace. She adjusted
the dials and levers, her touch deliberate.
Her hand moved to the overhead panel; flipping
the master switch, and illuminating the instrument panel. The avionics hummed
to life.
Blue reached for the fuel selector valve
and toggled it to the “Both” position, ensuring both fuel tanks fed into the
engine.
The hum of the engines vibrated through the
floor. She adjusted the throttle lever, setting it to idle. The engine’s growl
softened, waiting for her command.
Her fingers found the mixture control knob,
turning it to “Rich” for optimal fuel-air combustion.
Her fingers found the propeller control
lever. She pushed it forward, blades spinning faster and faster, slicing
through the air. The Piper quivered, eager—a promise of lift.
Two red switches sat on the lower panel.
Blue toggled them—one for each magneto. The engine coughed, then settled into a
steady rhythm.
She extended the flaps to the takeoff
position. The wind whispered through the gaps, the wings yearning for lift.
Blue dialed the radio frequencies—tower,
ground, and weather. Her voice crackled over the headset, precise and
professional.
A final check. She pressed the toe brakes,
feeling the resistance. The Piper strained against the pressure.
He’d read manuals, and studied diagrams,
but this—this was mastery—the throttle, the mixture control, the propeller
lever. She danced with the Piper M700 as if it were an extension of her own
body. This was an orchestra, and Blue was the conductor.
“Control tower,” Blue’s voice crackled over
the radio, her tone crisp and professional. “This is Blue Sprite ready for
taxi. Over.”
The response came promptly, a calm male
voice guiding her. “Blue Sprite, you are cleared for taxi. Proceed to runway
two-niner.”
With a gentle push on the throttle, the
Piper M700 surged forward. The plane taxied down the runway, its engine roaring
to life.
Blue adjusted her
headset, her fingers brushing the worn leather of the control yoke. The cockpit
hummed with anticipation as the Blue Sprite stood poised on Runway 29. The sun
dipped low, casting a golden glow over the tarmac.
“Tower, this is Blue
Sprite. Ready for take-off on Runway 29.”
“Blue Sprite, Tower,”
crackled the radio. “Cleared for take-off on Runway 29. Wind 240 degrees at 10
knots.”
Victor’s heart raced.
He glanced at her. She met his gaze, determination burning bright, and nodded. The
runway stretched ahead, a ribbon, of promise. The engine roared, and the Blue
Sprite surged forward, hurtling down the runway.
“Maintain runway
heading,” the Tower instructed. “Contact Departure on 121.8.”
“Roger,” Blue
acknowledged, her gaze flickering to the runway beyond.
She pulled back
gently, feeling the familiar lift as the nose wheel, left the ground.
The tarmac blurred.
Victor gripped the armrest, his knuckles turned pale against the armrest.
They neared the
runway’s edge, and Blue’s grip tightened. Victor whispered a silent prayer as
the world beyond the cockpit stretched wide, Earth surrendered, and the sky
welcomed them. The wheels left the ground, and a surge of exhilaration swept
through Victor as the plane soared into the sky. The sensation was primal and
transcendent. They tilted, and the runway fell away as gravity relinquished its
grip. Suddenly, they were weightless—the vessel ascending into the vast blue
expanse.
The engine’s hum intensified, vibrating
through the airframe. Blue’s hands adjusted the yoke, coaxing the Piper upward.
“Control tower, this is Blue Sprite. We are
airborne and proceeding on course. Thank you for your help. Over.”
The response crackled through the radio, a
reassuring confirmation: “Blue Sprite, safe travels. Clear skies ahead. Over.”
Victor glanced out the window, leaning in
close, his breath fogging the glass. Blue adjusted the altitude. She stole a
glance at the horizon. Nairobi’s skyline vanished, swallowed by clouds. She
adjusted the plane’s heading, the horizon stretching wide.
The Blue Sprite climbed, leaving Nairobi
behind, replaced by the vast expanse of Kenya’s landscape. The cityscape
blurred below—the skyscrapers, the winding river. A patchwork of fields unfolded—a
quilt of emerald green and russet brown, the winding rivers, and the distant
hills blurring together. The Great Rift Valley yawned, its ancient scars etched
into the earth.
As the sun painted the landscape in warm
hues—the acacia trees cast elongated shadows, and the rivers wound like silver
threads. The plane cut through the air, its wings slicing the invisible fabric
of the sky. Victor glanced at Blue; her profile resolute against the azure sky.
As the plane climbed, he wondered about
leaving it all behind, about leaving behind the familiar and hurtling toward
the unknown. He wondered about a private plane, flown by a lady with blue hair
to the European peninsula, with a Nairobi university lecturer, in its passenger
seat.
As the Piper ascended, and as the land
stretched beneath them, Victor closed his eyes, feeling the pull of adventure
and the weight of loss. Kenya’s vastness cradled him, and for a fleeting
moment, he was weightless, suspended between heaven and earth.