Song of the Firebird

Thirty Eight

The headlights of the car clicked off. Sparing only the dim streetlights, the darkness ruled the rest of the neighbourhood.

The door opened, letting out all the four of its sturdy occupants. The men moved in silence until they reached their target's door. When there were no signs of lights inside the apartment, one of them picked the lock in a flash. As the door creaked, the men hid behind the shadows, their ears perking at any possible sound from the inside. When there was a deafening silence that lasted for infinite seconds, one of them gave away the orders in a muffled tone.

Kirk's fingers pointed at one of his men to take the lead to check for the resident. A brusque man whose eyes were alone visible to the public, crept inside. In a few seconds, he signalled the other men outside to follow his lead. The rest marched their way in and the last one closed the door without making a sound.

The men scanned the entire place, aided by the moonlight and torchlights in their gear. They were not at liberty to use the place's electricity, because it might give away their presence, provided Natasha's neighbours always looked out for her, courtesy of Ryder's notes.

When one of the men asked Kirk about Ryder's absence in this mission, since the latter had collected enough data on scouting their target, Kirk ignored his underling, shrugging, 'He has tasks elsewhere.' Not moved by their boss' staunch indifference, he began to open the cupboards in the kitchen, looking for the artifact. One of them tapped the floor tiles with a rod, checking for any hollow section and the last one working on the bed and bath section.

Kirk faced the medium sized bookshelf. He took a photograph of the book arrangements using his smartphone and moved a step closer. Starting from the top most shelf, he dragged every single text—thin and hard and began to look for any compartment that could hold a box in the size of an antique ashtray.

In the middle of his search between the books, he heard footsteps approach him.

'Boss, we couldn't find any. We checked everywhere—cabinets, floors, cupboards, shelves and all the possible nooks that could hide things.'

Without turning behind or stopping his search, grunting, Kirk nodded at them and muttered, 'Good', along with a train of words. The subordinates could only catch the word 'brat'. When they were waiting for his further orders, Kirk laughed out loud.

'So much to fool someone like me.' Perplexed, the men looked at their boss who now held a bunch of magazines between his palm. Doubtful, they looked closely at the magazines at his hand, wondering how they were able to hide the object of their search. 'Ta-da!' Kirk had never been this dramatic since the beginning and had never been this high in spirits. He brought the chunk to the coffee table and swatted away the topmost one.

A black satin pouch rested between the neatly carved pages of multiple magazines.

'Jackpot!', exclaimed Kirk, grinning from ear to ear. His calloused hands reached for the pouch and cautiously unfastened the golden strings tied around it. Underneath the elastic, Kirk's eyes feasted over the wooden box. Gracefully taking the box out for viewing, Kirk prided over getting it back. 'All these years, that brat, indeed took great care preserving this.' His eyes scanned every inch, looking for any signs of damage and was finally relieved when there were none.

The men gazed at the artifact until they heard their boss grunt. 'She must have fled at the threat.' He pocketed the art piece in his waist pouch and told his men, 'Keep a constant eye on her and Ryder when she comes back into our radar.'

One of them started, 'B-but boss, we've got what we wanted, is it enough- '

Eyes bubbling with rage, Kirk took slow menacing steps to the one who asked. He scoffed and muttered, 'Do you know what sh*t I went through just to hold it like this right now?' Teeth clenching, he bellowed, 'I SUFFERED YEARS! YEARS!! OF HUMILIATION! HAD I PROCURED THIS YEARS BEFORE, I WOULD HAVE BEEN PROMOTED TWICE AS OF NOW!'