Finch Sefferedge seconds ago had been quietly and calmly sitting in a quaint café in the middle of the Talkatora Garden, sipping on an espresso prepared by a young youth who surprisingly spoke decent english. He was an unsurprisingly racist old man in about his sixties, a back-room british politician that worked primarily with the Indian and British governments to preserve hidden interests and secrets, and whom had to do all of this without catching any attention from the media. The man who sat opposite him was a good friend of his, he too was the same type of politician as Finch but instead liaisoned with the South African government. His friend had briefly left the country to avoid dealing with the hassle of the Zarvit case, a girl who was supossedly on the verge of leaking the UK's most lucrative contracts with South Africa. The two at he present time were laughing about their ridiculous salaries and those of footballers 'these days' back at home.
But that was all seconds ago. Now his friend's phone rang.
"Hello?" Finch was observing his friend carefully as he took the call, trying to read off of his facial expressions to guess as to what the conversation was about.
The girl. That scowl could only mean the girl.
"How can I possibly make it any clearer that I wanted that girl dead and fast! Stop being an incompetent fool and end her before she gets the chance to blab." Finch could barely make out the voice of the caller on the other end of the line. Probably making petty excuses about search parties or something.
It was at this point when his own phone began to rang. He took the mobile out of his jacket pocket and stared at the caller ID.
Unknown. For some reason this nerved him greatly. The device felt alien in his hand now, as though whatever was trying to contact him shouldn't be. But something that wasn't meant to happen, especially for his highly encrypted phone, was happening. The laws of Fate were being stretched, somehow.
'Hello?' The tone of his voice was ragged already, anxiety pounding at his heart.
"Hello Mr. Sefferedge. My name is irrelevant, so is my location. What I am able to offer to your friend is a means to an end. I too need the girl Hope Zarvit to dissapear, but my means are less...messy. Would you mind passing me over to your colleague? He should be done with his call by now, hasn't he? Can you pass the phone to him please?" Finch looked up to see him press the end call button on his phone. A shiver ran down his spine, he gulped.
"Will do.' He replied, trying to muster all the courage he had and put it in his voice. The South-African delegate looked at him with a confused and mildy concerned expression on his face as now he had had the chance to observe Finch's expressions. When the man was handed Finch's phone he took it reluctantly before putting it tentatively to his ear. Once he had heard the same information as Finch had (but with added reassurances), his colleague pressed the red button and gave it back to Finch.
"Finch, who was that?'
"I, I don't know Nigel, I haven't got the foggiest idea."
Cape Point, South Africa
Hope was racing on her moped as fast as it could go, but sixty miles per hour wouldn't be fast enough to escape the black cars that had recently begun to pursue her.
"OK Themba, tell me which way I should turn now!" She had to yell over the noise of her engine despite that she was wearing a bluetooth headset.
"When you get to the end of the road turn left and follow the road until it starts to curve, there you'll see the Snitswinkel Bay right ahead of you. Run to it if you have to. There you'll meet a friend called Lesedi, black skin, broad shoulders, you couldn't miss him. He'll be on a silver speedboat called 'Victoria I'. And hurry."
"You think I'd be taking my time?!" She yelled in reply. Her contact hung up and she swerved violently to the left. Soon enough she could see the bay, but she could see the cars gaining on her in her rearview mirror. She was so close to the curve, so close to the curve.
Suddenly the front wheel of her moped collapsed, the entire frame collapsed with it causing Hope to be thrown on the rough but softer-than-tarmac ground on the edge of the road.
She had no time to wince in pain over the cuts and grazes she'd gained from the fall. She got up and sprinted towards the rocks.
Now there were rocks and the ocean. She had to make the decision of swimming the rest of the kilometer to the bay. Clambering down the rocks, slipping and bumping and owing all the while, she could hear the wheels of the black cars grind to a halt. They were getting closer, but now she was in the water, swimming with her highly weak front crawl, praying to Gods she rarely prayed to to save her right now, in this moment.
So she could live and do the right thing.
And although she was coughing and spluttering from the salty waves that kept envading her mouth, she hadn't expected a wave that would cover her entirely. She re-emerged, and there, right in front of her was the silver stern of Victoria I.
But the hand outstreched to her was white. She could now see the man's face now, amiddle-aged man in his forties, the confusing was increasing tenfold. This wasn't the right man! This wasn't the right man!
"No time to ask questions. The plan has changed, but I'm still here to save you." Hope paused, she didn't know what to think, what to do.
She took the hand. When she got onto the large speedboat she dropped to her knees and coughed up more sea water.
"Now quick, open the hatch and hide inside." She rushed over to where he'd indicated, but gasped when she'd opened the hatch to reveal a brilliant stream of blinding white light. Too bad she didn't see him creep up behind her while she stared at the light with awe.
"What on earth is--"
She was gone.