Nick Stephenson - Panic

In the meantime, there was a soft bed and hard liquor waiting for him at home, a tried and tested cure for broken bones and head trauma. The thought of spending some time off the grid brought a smile to Leopold’s face, despite the pain in his ribs and the throbbing in his head. He was looking forward to a well-earned rest; but in the back of his mind he knew it wouldn’t last long.

His real name was a secret that many had died to protect. And he was furious. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this; there was no room for failure. He could feel the anger welling in his stomach, he could feel his jaw clench and his teeth grind as his fists shook with uncontrollable rage.

All the planning. All the money. Stealing state secrets and military prototypes was not an activity undertaken without serious commitment. All the time spent perfecting the plan for every contingency, and he had failed in one thing. He had underestimated the enemy. This was not a mistake that he would make again.

He drew a deep breath and let the anger leave his body. It wasn’t a productive response right now. He remembered Sun Tzu and repeated the lesson over and over in his mind. The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.

He felt his pulse slow and his breathing return to normal. Now was not the time for anger. Now was the time to press his advantage. He went to his desk and sat down at the computer, finding the telephone number he needed in seconds. He dialed the number and the call went through. He heard someone answer on the third ring.

“Leopold Blake speaking,” said the voice on the other end of the phone.

He paused before replying, letting the moment sink in. Know thy self, know thy enemy. A thousand battles, a thousand victories. He lifted the receiver closer to his lips and spoke, deep and clear.

“Hello, son.”