Project: Black Ice

M1

Paris, France

Gun, shouts, and men in dark suits. A big billboard could be seen below as the private jet lowered down to the airport's runways below. The street lights below shined out the portrait of a half dozen nice apartment complexes. The plane landed, slowly moving from the runway to the docking bay, followed by the passengers exiting their flight on arrival. A tall, blonde young man stepped out from the plane and into the terminal. Carrying a single black briefcase and wearing nothing but simple clothing if looked at from the common eye, the man walked to the exit of the airport. 

Stopping by Avenue du Président Kennedy Train Station, he walked past the stairs way up and turned instead into a room that looked like a Janitor's closet from the outside. Once the door was closed, he traveled to the back of the room were another door was placed. Taking out a key, he unlocked the door and entered it, revealing a five by five foot room. On the left side was two, vertical lockers. On the right side, a black wooden storage chest with a thumb print key pad to unlock it. Dropping the briefcase on a small end table in a corner of the room, he opened a locker, taking out a tan trench coat, a black neck warmer, and a pair of black combat boots. The man changed without hurry before pausing over an item in the locker. He eventually picked up a 9mm glock handgun and strapped it on the inside of his chest, hidden from the coat. Grabbing a Duffle bag from the locker, he closed it before heading back out the door, being careful to relook the doors behind him. Heading out of the train station, the man headed to grab a taxi. And so the hunt commenced. 

The hunt ended when the man rang the doorbell in Paris, quickly followed by two French intelligence agents shot dead when they answered the door.  Entering the uptown Paris apartment, the agent deaths were followed by an Lebanese informer who had been locking the safe in the back of the apartment. In a few minutes, the young man attached a small explosion to the safe, quickly blowing up the door from its hinges.

Picking his way through the documents in the safe and putting them in a black duffle bag, the man got up and lifted the bag over his shoulder. Carefully stepping over the dead bodies littered on the floor, he paused before tucking a pistol in one of the dead man's hand, angling it so it pointed at one of the other dead agents like he had shot him instead. Doing a simple sweep to cover the tracks that could have been left behind, he tightened his grip on the bag over his shoulder. Taking his leave, the man left. 

Just as quickly as he had gotten there, the young man walked down the streets of Paris before waving to an oncoming taxi. The taxi pulled over and the man got in, paying the man to drive him down to uptown Paris, 100 Avenue Kléber, at rue de Longchamp, just north of Trocadero (Métro: Trocadero). 

Getting out of the taxi, he paid the driver before walking down a block. Walking quietly past a couple holding hands, he stopped at an apartment complex and stared up at it. Pulling out a key, the young man unlocked the front door to the stairwell where a short lady, somewhere in her late fifties, greeted him happily. She commented on how well he was looking since the last time he had come home and the young man smiled at the lady in return and walked up the stairs. Stopping at the fourth flight, he walked down the hall to room number 4, with a sign plaque next to the door imprinted with a single name, 'Maverick B.' Taking out a different key, he unlocked the door before stepping inside the front hall. Closing the door behind him, he untied his shoes, putting his coat on the coatrack, and pushed his shoes against the wall. He sighed before walking into the hallway and entered the kitchen, a modern room filled with numerous new kitchen supplies. 

Taking off his black gloves and setting them down on a countertop, the man poured himself a glass of water from the sink. Gulping down the refreshing beverage, the man held the glass for a few seconds before pulling out a smart phone. The phone awoke and entering in a passcode, he quickly pressed down some keys and turned the phone off. Turning to the sound of a tv running, he walked into the living room where the young man had left his tv running.  Sitting down on the L-shaped sofa, he allowed himself to relax as a soccer game was being broadcasted. Two teams, fighting against each other to get into the World Cup. He watched as the teams played well against each other before his phone began to buzz in his pocket. 

Pulling it out, he looked down at it to see an Unknown Caller ID written on it. Clicking the accept button on the screen, he held the phone up to his ear.

"New status update, Investigators John Berger and Ademar Dubois have been terminated. Well done on your mission, asset. Carla Parsons will contact you when you have another mission. Your bank account has been funded more and your completion is considered well done. Challenge response," an agent speaker said through a mic into the phone.

"Response StoneTrail," he replied nonchalantly, watching the tv.

"Director Ford wishes to speak with you, transferring line," the speaker said and the man waited patiently as the line was transferred over to a new one. 

"This is Director Ford," the director's crusty voice could be heard. "I've been told your assignment has been reviewed and well done. Your next check up will be due in a few days, Carla will keep you posted on that. Congrats Maverick for your 67 mission completion." 

The line for the phone ended and the sound of the phone being turned off, along with the tv, could be heard. A calming silence replaced it and the man looked up at the tv, staring into his reflection. 

Maverick Bourne. That was who he was. An asset for SPECTRM, a fighter to save American lives. 

Maverick sighed and turned to his bedroom to get some well deserved sleep.