It was a bitter morning with the wind blowing against the backs of the two men, at the private air strip near Carrick- On- Shannon, about a two hour drive from the laboratory, that Marcas began his journey to the United States.
He was still dressed all in black as the plane rolled to a stop twenty feet in front of them, but now however he was wearing business trousers, a tight turtle neck with a single letter inscribed on the back of the collar in faint silver 'Q'.
The American hadn't noticed the inscription, and if he did, he knew it wasn't his place to ask what it was for. Marcas himself hadn't entirely decided why he had it inscribed, but he knew it stood for Quanta, a silly nickname he was given when he first went to C.E.R.N.
They both boarded the small luxury jet together. The flight would last about four hours. Marcas chuckled to himself when he was sitting down as a thought occurred to him. If the plane were to fail in mid-flight, I could really show him what I am capable of...
The American man stopped talking to the Stewardess and looked at Marcas, the chuckling caught his attention. "Something funny Sir?" He almost sounded hurt at Marcas' short chuckle.
"Oh. Nothing. Just..." Marcas quickly scanned the plane for something to say. "You my dear have eyes that would make the sun shy of rising over the horizon." The American laughed to himself and shook his head back and forth, not quite believing what he just heard. The Stewardess giggled and blushed slightly before returning to the kitchen at the rear of the plane.
The planes engine warmed up as Marcas sipped on his pre-flight whiskey. It was Borkov that introduced him to the strong drink and he had quickly taken a liking to it.
"A young whiskey drinker? Not many of those around. I raise my glass to you Sir." The nameless agent sipped at his coffee. Coffee... What a disgusting drink.
Marcas raised his glass to the American. "If a man can drink coffee I am quite impressed, because either he has a vile personality and thus drinks a vile drink, or he is trying to stay awake, because his life is just that damn good and sleeping wastes it." He drained the whiskey from the glass just as the plane lifted from the ground.
A puzzled look was stained across the Americans face, but he stayed silent as Marcas juggled the pieces of ice from the glass with his mind. Both pieces then evaporated into vapour.
The American whispered to himself. "Amazing."
Marcas smiled. If he thought that was amazing, he will be in for a great surprise when they touch down.
A slightly warmer breeze brushed Marcas neck as he walked inside the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. He was enjoying the peace and serenity here. No civilians or random people on the street knew what he was capable of.
The nameless American man gestured towards a large grey building near the back of the complex. "I hope that I am not rushing you, but we are slightly behind schedule. That is the building we hope you show us your potential in. Underground of course."
Marcas scanned the building. No doubt reinforced concrete. I could break reinforced concrete.... Nevertheless he pretended to act impressed. "That building looks like quite the fortress." Marcas added a hint of his Irish sarcasm, but, the nameless man being a typical American, he did not understand it.
"Oh yes Sir it is. You would be quite surprised the secrets it can hold.." A certain cynicism was added to the final words. They sent a cold chill down Marcas spine. Don’t worry Marcas.. An army couldn't stop you.