Chapter One

Nadia Formiado stood unnerved in the rising elevator, surrounded by only fake wood and chrome finished railings. A single bead of sweat fell down her face, not because of the task ahead, but at the thought of only that between her and the ground eleven stories below. Should the cable that heaved her to the top break and the break system fail and that pulled down sealed in the tiny box of death, she fall free waiting until crushed. There would be no coffin for her, only the remnants of that sad elevator. It was only the thought that the building harbored no stairway that she nearly did not go through with it. Nearly.

Finally the eleventh light lit, the pale yellow, and the elevator haltered. She entered a small room with nothing but a door, she unlocked it. The door opened and revealed a spacious penthouse, that was anything but her own. It was open and bright, despite the fact that it was night and no lights were on. The outer walls, covered only in windows, admitted the light of every building, streetlight, headlight, and star, that happened to be in view. Nadia smiled, she hated to work with a flashlight. The main room that was divided for both living and dining was meticulously furnished to it's owner's every specification. With sleek red couches that curved abnormally, tables of silver piping and glass and hardwood floors dressed only in carefully chosen area carpets, it was plain to see much care was put into it, as well as lots of money. The owner had left that morning, to L.A. and would not return for three days. To Nadia, it was all the time in the world, actually anything more tan fifteen minutes was. However, she only have until one o'clock.

She moved into the room setting her bag down and looked ate all that was hers for the

next five hours. It was simple getting into the building. With about fourteen different people living in the building she followed a few for a day or two and then choose who to follow. She choose one college student to a bar, where after a couple of hours of drinking with his friends, he barely noticed her standing next to him as she took his keys off the table, removed his apartment key, and then tossed the rest back onto the table. The whole times she was there she wondered how much of his life his father paid for, it was far to nice an apartment building and she heard him mention his summer house a few times.

Once you she was in the building, the guard immediately questioned her. It came somewhat unexpectedly to Nadia, as most were unwilling to insult a family member or friend of someone above, leading to a complaint and the likely loss of their job. Just the fact that they were there was comforting enough. However, she was surprised, but prepared. A Polaroid of her and her new friend quickly removed any of his doubt. Bartenders had to pretend to care. Taking a picture for a `young couple' made their job easier."We're moving in together." she told the guard, as if announcing an engagement. He just nodded and smiled politely. It was simple.

She moved swiftly, stepping lightly so as not to rouse someone below, and began with the walls. On the off chance that it was there, Nadia carefully raised each picture, checking for a safe. It took her just under ten minutes to go throughout the flat. He obviously thought art was a must to exhibit his good taste. There was no safe though. Then she moved into the bedroom, it was the second most likely place. She was sometimes surprised at how unoriginal people could be. She search the walls, carefully feeling for a catch. Then she moved to the low bed. Surrounded by a thick wooden base it was an interesting place to check. She would have been delighted to find it there, but Nadia only found herself disappointed once more. The room, like all of the other was generally empty, an excess of space that no amount of furniture could fill. In the walk-in closet, there as a corner, where shorter floorboards had been but to fill in the short irregular spaces near the wall. Though different sizes they were all within a foot an a half to two feet.

She went back to the elevator for her bags then quietly settled above the boards. Kneeling for better leverage, she removed a short crowbar from her bag. Even though the effort arm of the tool was reduced, the boards were thin. Carefully, she placed the longer edge into the widest gape between all of the boards. Then, gripping the other end tightly in her hands, she leaned down on it. The board came up easily. She pulled out puffs of coral colored insolation through the space revealing a solid metal plate. Nadia had found it. The other boards required a small handsaw- any other method would be to noise, especially because it was just above the ceiling to the flat below.

It took her until ten thirty to finally finish sawing through the entire surface area of the floor that covered the safe.

She took the ruined boards and laid them aside, moving onto her stomach. It was a newer safe, maybe the best model two or three years ago. A simple dial and combination lock, eight numbers, one through one-hundred. She had opened two before, both in the wall though, a large departure from a horizontal safe. Taking a battery powered desk light from her bag, she warily unfolded it and stood it on the intact floor just next to the safe and switched it on. Nadia pulled of her custom leather gloves and began. She slid a highly sensitive stethoscope onto her ears, placing the drum onto the safe, to the right of the dial.

She began to rotate I clockwise, listening carefully, not daring to breath for fear she would miss the tell-tale sound. It came and she scrawled the number onto the safe. 38 Then she turned it the other way, just as slowly. Another number came, 82. She repeated. 45, 2, and 63 came next. She brushed a lose strand of her hair back, and drew her hands back. Then applying the drum again she started from zero, 38, 82, 45, 2, 63, and...28, no, 26. The last two numbers, 90 and 16, came short after. Nadia sat up, and pulled the stethoscope off, every thing that came in contact with the drum was a thundering echo that was funneled to her ears. Reading the number from the once pure safe door, she turned the dial and at 16 the final bolt was withdraw. Stopping only to pull her gloves back on, she turned the handle and pulled up the door, leaning it against the floor. It was a shallow safe, only about six inches deep. Papers and documents lay in the velvet lined box. A flat, square, jewelry box lay in the corner. She picked it up and held it in her hand, just in front of her face. Inside was lay a silver pocket watch.

With a sigh she closed it and set it on top of the files and then withdrew them. She took a razor blade from a pocket in her bag and cut a long gash through the velvet lining. She then cut two perpendicular lines, one at the center cut, and on at the bottom. She peeled back the velvet until it was nothing but a black rag. After removing a thin metal tray the full mechanisms of the second layer were visible. Along the entire interior, metal cogs and dials lined it's walls. She had little toleration for finding the hidden catches. She pressed the exposed catch and the second tray popped up. She pulled it out. At the bottom, laying on a second velvet cloth was a slender box with two golden initials in the center, G.W.

Nadia sat back and placed it on her lap. She opened it an smiled at it's glittering contents. She closed it again and tucked it securely in her bag. She placed all of her tools back into her bags and pushed the wooden boards into the open safe before kicking it shut. She took a rag from her bag, before sealing it, and wiped down the face of the safe and anywhere else she may have touched while her gloves were off.

Nadia Formiado could not leave through the elevator for two reasons, one, she had told the guard she was moving in with the guy downstairs, thus her bags. Now, she still had them, but what then? She was moving out? Also, she had just stolen a quarter of a million in diamonds. The first security camera she was able to avoid while going in, but the second one, placed directly above the door, facing the elevator, was impossible. With some help, she had been able to find that Laura Minowa, did not return until far after her last show which wasn't until twelve. The aspiring actress had recently been cast as the lead in "My Fair Lady", and between the subway ride and the fans seeking autographs... it would be another hour... her key was simple to get also, the lock she used made standard keys. Nadia simply just bought the same lock and took the key from it. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, just not in New York.

Hesitantly, she stepped back into her death trap and pressed the button for the forth floor. It was worse than the ride up and every time the mechanics groaned her hand shot out to the railing. After what seemed like forever, it stopped. She stepped out into the tiny foyer and unlocked Laura's apartment. It was a great change from the first, more comfortable furniture, none of it as well matched. It resembled something collected over the years. It as painted in soft hues of blue, a few floral pillows tossed onto the white couch. But Nadia did not stop to look. She hurried to the far window, heaved up the sash, and slowly climbed out onto the narrow metal platform.

The air out side was cooler than that of October, so cool it could have snowed that night. The early morning stars shining dull against the roaring city lights. Nadia notice none of it until she was two blocks away walking casually down the street.

As Nadia Formiado was fleeing onto an R train three thousand miles away, a man stood hunched in a cold alley just outside near the docks of London. There was a slow drizzle of icy rain that rolled off of the roofs and spilled into the alley. The collar of his long coat was flipped up, masking his face, revealing only his solemn eyes. He keep one hand tucked inside his coat, the other rested outside of it. A car pulled to a stop in the street, just feet away from the alley.

He had been waiting there nearly two hours, barely moving. The entire time his eyes stayed focused on the world outside. Few people had passed since the late mass ended a few buildings down. He had left for the Kew Gardons, finally setting himself just near Brentford, just after ten.

The driver got out, opened an umbrella, and then opened the back door. An older man stepped out, dressed in a gray raincoat, and shut his door. Then, just as subtly as it had came, the can pulled away and drove until it park, several blocks away, but still in view. The older man began to walk slowly across the park, toward the docks. The man in the alleyway then removed his hand from his coat, stood, and began to follow him in the darkness of the night.

Near the water, steady waves continued to bombard the sea walls even once light had gone. The man holding an umbrella stopped, and then turned, facing his follower. He faced no one.

"Julian, I presume." A voice spoke from behind him. Julian turned, caught off guard.

"Callows." he corrected, irritated at the man's boldness "You are a difficult man to catch up with."

"I'm a difficult man, Callows."

"So you are. I have been instructed to bring you to Mr. Huntings"

"Now?"

"Yes. Of course, no weaponry. I'm sure you understand that."

"Yes, and what about me then?"

"Under my supervision. However, it is my understanding that have no reason to act against Mr. Huntings, do you?"

"No." he said turning his back to Callows and raising his hands above his head.

Mr. Callows patted him down briskly, removing a pistol from inside the man's coat and tucking it inside his own. Mr. Callows then removed a small two-way radio from his pocket and spoke into it, "Ready to proceed."

"Copy that." A woman's voice repeated. The man said nothing. The cars headlight's sprung on in front of them as the vehicle drove toward them crashing through puddles that had gathered alone the side of the streets. For a moment the man thought the car would hit them, and he prepared to avoid it at the last possible moment. Instead, the car stopped just feet to the side of them. The heavily tinted windows prevented him from seeing inside. As he slid into the back seat, he found that it was separated by a divider of more tinted glass. Mr. Callows, who had already seated him self-next to him in the back spoke.

"Some identities are better left undiscovered."

"Why Mr. Callows, you disappoint me. I should know that better than anyone." And those were the final words uttered in the car for the rest of the trip. They drove westward until reaching the downtown area, stopping at an office building. There, only the two passengers got out of the car, the driver remained seated. Mr. Callows lead him up to the forth floor of five, where he took his visitor's coat and instructed him to wait. Then Mr. Callows left.

In the room there was a table of liquor and glasses, an armchair beside it. On the wall to

the right of that, there was a couch and a floor lamp, a large window looking out behind

it, the heavy curtains drawn. It a small room that had a richly pompous look to it. He took a seat and waited. About a half an hour later, just after one, the door opened.

"Mr. Huntings will see you now." Mr. Callows said standing in the doorway, then turned and left. He stood, straightened his jacket, and then disappeared through the black doorway.

It was actually the doorway to stairwell, dark except for the little light that pooled in from around the top far above him. He climbed it slowly, never growing out of breath. Upon reaching the top, he found himself in a vast room that must have spanned the surface area of the entire building. In front of him a room three times the size the one he had left stretched out. It was emptier, and had more windows, none of them covered. In the first part of the room there a matching black leather couch, and armchairs, a glass coffee table in the center.

In the next section of the room there was a long table, lined with a dozen or so chairs. At the head end, that looked out on the streets below through one particularly large window, there lay two folders, one at the head seat, another one at the adjacent seat.

In the farthest corner of the room, there was a desk. On it, a small lamp with a flexible neck that had been bent to an extreme, a mat, and a single fountain pen. In the huge chair that faced him a voice spoke.

"Alec Dolen." his eyes narrowed to the chair. The shadows however prevented him from seeing the speaker, his interest now at it's apex. He began towards the end other room moving slowly, not over eagerly. "I have been searching for you for some time now." the voice continued."

"So I hear." He said and although Dolen could not see it, the speaker raised one eyebrow in slight surprise.

"It is my understanding you are not working now, are you?" the voice said, it's tone mistakenly revealing a moment of vulnerability. Dolen laughed, letting it carry through the room until it faded away.

"Do you think I ever stop?" He was now passing the long table.

"There's always a chance. But than again you wouldn't, would you Mr. Dolen. No, no you wouldn't."

"Do you have something to tell me, Mr. Huntings?" Dolan had stopped in front of the desk. He was close to the seated man. He could have leaned and grasped the man by his neck. Instead he switched on the desk lamp before he could be stopped. Huntings frowned. He must have been in his early forties, his hair dusted with gray, his short beard the same.

"You are overly cocky, Mr. Dolen"

"Because I can be." he shot back, Dolan placing both of his hands on the desk and leaning closer to the man almost cowering, but scowling now. "If I remember correctly you look very familiar." Dolen's face warm face sneered uncharacteristically. "I saw you near Oxford, seven years ago. Yes. It was after Donald Capern was killed in the car bomb." At the moment he mentioned Oxford, Huntings stood and stared right into Alec Dolen's gray eyes, solid and unflinching before bitterly spitting back,

"And If I remember correctly you are of great interest to the people at MI-5."

"They don't want to find me. They look because they have to." Dolen responded turning to follow Huntings' s motion as he moved to the table. "Of course, I already knew you were aware of that. It's what I do."

"Exactly. Mr. Dolen I am ready to call upon those skills."

"Why?"

"Because you are the only one who can. There is you, and there is me. I choose you."

"What is it?"

"So it is done?"

"Until I die, I'll finish this job." he spoke honestly gazing at Huntings' hand as it flipped open the folder.

"This man." he said, removing a photo and pushing it towards Dolen.

"Dead?"

"Very. "

"I can do that." Dolen said shrugging.