Subject: Meeting Tonight
From: Blue blue@mysterydomain.com To: Dr. Victor Frank vfrank@cuea.edu
Date: Sun, 3 Feb 2044 06:45:42 AM (GMT+01:00)
Dear Victor,
I appreciate your willingness to engage in this endeavor. Let’s meet tonight.
Meeting Details: Date: Tonight Time: 8:00 PM Location: Serena Hotel
You’ll find me in the restaurant, we’ll grab some dinner, so dress your best Dr.
Warm regards,
Blue
Dr Victor Frank entered the hotel and emerged into the grandeur of the hotel’s reception area, a space that exuded an air of quiet luxury. The marble floors gleamed under the chandeliers’ soft glow, and the air carried a faint scent of jasmine. The Restaurant & Terrace hummed with subdued conversations.
He was dressed in a tailored charcoal-gray suit, its fine wool fabric hinting at both professionalism and understated elegance. His crisp white shirt was neatly buttoned, the ensemble completed—with a midnight-blue bow tie. His presence went unnoticed by the few guests who milled about, their attention captured by their affairs.
With a nod to the receptionist, who returned it with a practiced smile, Victor made his way to the hotel’s restaurant. The concierge, a composed figure in a tailored suit, acknowledged him with a subtle nod as he approached.
“Good evening,” Victor greeted warmly, extending his hand. “Dr. Frank. I believe my reservation is under that name.”
“Welcome, Dr. Frank,” the concierge said, his voice a low murmur. “Your reservation is confirmed. Please go ahead.”
The muted sounds of conversation and clinking cutlery grew louder as he approached, a symphony of evening dining.
The restaurant was an elegant room with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered views of the city’s twinkling lights. A sanctuary of dimly lit alcoves and linen-draped tables. Tables were set with precision, each with its candle flickering like a tiny star.
Victor scanned the room, seeking the woman with bright blue hair. And there she was, seated by the window, her eyes a shade deeper than her hair. Her table was in a secluded corner of the restaurant, her back to the wall, a position that allowed her to see everything and everyone. She wore a midnight-blue silk blouse, its fabric catching the candlelight in subtle ripples. The collar was high, framing her neck, and the sleeves tapered to her wrists. A silver pendant hung from a delicate chain, nestled against the fabric. Her tailored black trousers flowed gracefully, and on her feet, were low-heeled ankle boots, their dark leather polished to a soft sheen.
He adjusted his bow tie and approached, his resolve firming with each step. Blue looked up as he arrived, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that acknowledged the gravity of their meeting. The depth and knowledge within them, made him wonder how many lifetimes she had lived.
Blue rose as he approached; her smile enigmatic. “Victor,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m glad you received my email.”
Victor took his seat across from her, the finality of his journey settling in. “Let’s get down to business,” he said.
They sat across from each other, the clatter of the surrounding restaurant burgeoning around them. They leaned in, their conversation a hushed exchange against the ambient noise.
Victor started, his voice low. “Are we certain the security at Lord Harrington’s castle won’t be an issue?”
Blue’s eyes were steady. “I’ve studied their security system and their patterns. There’s a window of opportunity that we can exploit. But it’s narrow. Beyond that—I have an ace up my sleeve.” She said, a slight smile gracing her lips.”
“What’s the ace?” Victor asked, his curiosity piqued.
“All the answers will come in due time Victor, for now, trust that I have done my due diligence.” She said cryptically.
The waiter approached, a practiced smile on his lips. “Good evening, sir, madam,” he said. “May I take your order?”
Victor hesitated. It was the first time he had been to a hotel of this caliber in his life, and he hadn’t even looked at the menu. Blue leaned back, her fingers tracing the rim of her wineglass. “I’ll have the grilled tilapia,” she said, her voice low and measured. “And a side of steamed vegetables.”
“I’ll have the same,” he replied, his gaze never leaving Blue’s face. “And a glass of white wine.” The waiter nodded, scribbling down their choices.
Victor frowned. “And the artifact? If it’s as well-guarded as you say…”
She cut him off with a slight frustration in her voice. “It is. But I have…a way inside.”
The waiter returned with a bottle of wine and a glass. He set it down on the table and poured the glass for Victor, setting the bottle down and retreating.
Victor’s hand tightened around his glass. “This is risky. If we’re caught—”
Blue interjected firmly. “We won’t be. I’ve planned for every contingency.”
Victor sighed. “I just… I can’t afford any mistakes. Not after everything that’s happened.”
Blue reached across the table, her hand briefly covering his. “You have my word. We’ll succeed.” Their eyes locked, a silent pact made in the flickering candlelight.
The waiter returned, balancing a silver tray with practiced elegance. The grilled tilapia lay nestled on a bed of steamed vegetables, vibrant hues contrasting against the pristine white porcelain. Victor’s own plate mirrored hers, the aroma of herbs and charred fish mingling in the air. The waiter’s eyes flickered between them; curiosity veiled by professionalism. “Bon appétit,” he murmured, then retreated. Victor nodded slowly. And they dug into their meal.
“So, if you’re so prepared, what do you need from me, an amateur?” he asked.
She hesitated but said, “I just needed a partner, someone as invested in the phoenix as I am. This is personal for you; you’ll do anything to get your daughter back. I’ll do anything to get to the Phoenix.”
Victor kept his steely gaze on her.
“It doesn’t hurt that you’re also a genius,” she added.
Victor blushed a little at that and she smiled, but his gaze remained steady on hers. “Why? Why are you so invested in finding the Phoenix?”
For a second Blue averted her gaze to the floor but met Victor’s eyes again, in silence. Victor nodded slowly; his gaze unflinching.
The waiter approached their table with a deferential nod. “Good evening,” he murmured, his voice a velvet whisper. “May I present your bill?” The leather-bound folder appeared, its gold embossing catching the ambient light. Blue’s fingers brushed the folder, her expression unreadable. “Thank you,” she said, her tone measured. “Would you like anything else?” asked the waiter. “No, we’re fine thank you.” said Blue. “Certainly,” he replied, his voice a velvet whisper. “Should you require anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask!”
Blue let out a deep breath. “Let’s continue this upstairs,” she said. They rose from their table, their movements synchronized and discreet, trying not to draw attention.
They navigated through the restaurant with an air of casual departure, exchanging pleasantries with the staff as they passed. Once out of the dining area, they made their way to the elevators. Blue reached out and pushed the button for her floor. The elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside, their expressions shifting from the polite masks worn for the public to serious visages.
The elevator ride was a silent ascent, filled with the weight of unspoken thoughts and plans. The soft hum of the machinery was the only sound as they climbed higher into the hotel’s heart.
Exiting onto Blue’s floor, they walked down a plushly carpeted hallway; the walls adorned with tasteful artwork that seemed to watch them pass. Blue led Victor to her room, a key card granting them entry into her temporary sanctuary.
The hotel room was a cocoon of muted luxury. She led Victor past the threshold, the door closing with a soft click. Once inside, Blue secured the door and, crossing the room, drew the curtains closed, ensuring complete privacy. The room was a blend of comfort and functionality, with a workspace that hinted at long hours spent in preparation.
“Please, have a seat.” Blue said, gesturing toward the armchairs by the window. Victor walked across the room and sank into one, the upholstery cradling him.
Blue moved to the small kitchenette, her movements fluid. She filled the kettle with water, the sound echoing in the silence. “Coffee?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
“Yes,” Victor replied, his voice barely audible. She measured coffee grounds into a French press. He glimpsed a scar on her neck that peeked out from the collar of her blouse—a map of untold battles fought in the pages of her history. He hadn’t noticed it until now. He made a mental note of it.
When the water had boiled, Blue poured it over the coffee, her gaze never leaving Victor. Steam rose from the French press, carrying the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. She poured them each a cup and took a tentative sip, giving a slight nod.
She walked over to where he was seated and handed him a steaming mug, the rich aroma filling the room. “Here you go,” she said, settling into the adjacent armchair with her own cup. There was a small table between them, a surface now cleared for documents and devices.
Victor took the mug, feeling the warmth seep into his fingers. He raised it to his lips and took a sip. The coffee was strong, its bitterness tempered by a hint of something sweet and elusive. He let the warmth spread through him.
Blue watched him over the rim of her cup, her eyes calm and thoughtful.
Victor leaned forward, his focus absolute. “All right,” he said in a hushed tone. “Tell me everything.”
Blue leaned in, her voice a low murmur. “The man we’re interested in, Lord Albus Harrington, is hosting a black-tie dinner party. As I’ve mentioned before, he’s a collector, a man with a penchant for the esoteric and the extraordinary. What we seek is held in his vault.”
Victor nodded, taking another sip. His eyes narrowed. “Tell me about the dinner party?”
“The event is being held two weeks from now,” Blue replied. “It’s an exclusive affair, attended by the world’s elite. We’ll need to blend in, play our parts flawlessly.”
“You said Wales?”
“Yes. I have a safe house there. It will be our base of operation throughout the heist.”
Blue’s expression softened. “We leave the form behind,” she said.
“The form?”
“Right… um… sorry… The… ?”
“Its okay. Form is… fine.”
For a moment she was quiet.
“Once we have the artifact, we’ll return for… her.”
He exhaled. “Okay,” Victor said, his resolve firm. “We’ll retrieve the artifact, then return.”
“You’ll need to pack light. Essentials only.” She continued.
“So, how do you intend to get us there?”
“We’ll be using my private plane.” She answered nonchalantly.
Victor raised an eyebrow. “Private plane?”
“I did say your travel arrangements would be taken care of. You’ll see.” She said.
“Okay,” Victor said.
They continued to sip their coffee, observing each other.
“You still haven’t answered my question, Ms. Blue.”
She stiffened slightly. “Why?” he asked again. But she did not answer him.
After his coffee cup drained and the answer not forthcoming, Victor stood up, taking one last look at Blue, and began heading for the door. Blue watched him with a thoughtful expression. Just as he reached the door, she called out to him.
“Victor.”
He turned back to face her, his hand resting on the doorknob.
Blue’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the hard edge of determination gave way to something more tender. “You’re not alone in this,” she whispered. “No matter what happens, we’re in this together. I need you to trust me, okay?”
Victor nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Goodnight, Ms. Blue.”
She nodded. “Stay safe, we’ll meet at Wilson airport tomorrow morning. I’ll see you there.”
With a final glance, Victor opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. The door closing behind him.
The corridors of the Nairobi Serena Hotel enveloped him in a warm, humid embrace. Echoing with hushed conversations and the soft rustle of guests returning to their rooms. Making his way to the elevator doors he pushed the button for the lobby. He adjusted the collar of his suit; the fabric clinging to his skin as he glanced at his reflection in the polished brass of the doors. His thick dark hair was speckled with gray. His eyes, once vibrant, now held shadows of grief. The doors opened and he stepped into the elevator; the sounds blurring into the background.
The hotel lobby, adorned with African art and lush greenery, welcomed him. The concierge nodded respectfully, and Victor strode past the grand piano, its ivory keys untouched.
He exited the elegant hotel, the warm lobby air yielding to the night’s cool atmosphere as he stepped outside. He strode purposefully towards his waiting car, unlocking it with a click, and settling into the familiar leather seat. With a confident turn of the key, the engine hummed to life, and he merged onto the bustling Nairobi streets, where the rhythm of traffic and the kaleidoscope of sounds and sights enveloped him.
The city’s heartbeat pulsed through the streets. Nairobi was a symphony of car horns, street vendors, and laughter. The city lights blurred as he drove through the city streets. Neon signs flickered, casting patterns on the sidewalks.
At the intersection near City Market, Victor’s thoughts shifted to Blue. Her intelligence, her secrets, now a private plane. Was she a scientist or something more? He recalled their conversation at the resort. The Phoenix—the key to his daughter’s resurrection—loomed large in his mind.
Finally, he reached his home—the bungalow tucked away in his quiet neighborhood. The garden, once vibrant, now only whispered of memories; family picnics and bedtime stories told beneath a starlit sky. A garden that had witnessed the passage of time. What was once a tapestry of vibrant blooms and lush greenery; now dead and faded, each flower bed and winding path, echoing with memories etched in every withered petal, and moss-covered stone. A testament to the cherished moments that had once filled these hallowed grounds.
Stepping out of his car, Victor inhaled the familiar scent of his neighborhood—a blend of freshly cut grass and distant wood smoke that carried memories of seasons past. The evening air was crisp, wrapping around him as he closed the car door with a soft click.
The path to his front door, lined with overgrown hedges, guided him forward. The crunch of gravel beneath his shoes punctuated the stillness of the night.
He ascended the weathered wooden steps leading to his bungalow’s entrance. He pushed open the door, its hinges creaking softly in protest, echoing the passage of time. The air inside was stale, tinged with the scent of neglect.
Entering, Victor was met with the sight of his home, frozen in a state of disarray. The living room, once a cozy retreat with its overstuffed armchairs and book-lined shelves, now lay cloaked in a thin layer of dust.
His footsteps echoed softly as he moved further into the space, each sound punctuating the silence that enveloped him. The kitchen, usually a place of warmth and aroma, now held only the faint memory of meals long past, the countertops obscured beneath a veil of grime.
He made his way to the back room and opened the door, stepping inside. His makeshift workshop was laid out before him.
Victor moved methodically through the space; each movement deliberate yet tinged with a quiet urgency. With practiced hands, he covered his tools and equipment with sheets—starting with the computer station. The metal cabinet, its drawers filled with meticulously organized components, and the adjacent locker, housing prototypes and valuable materials, were enveloped in protective layers.
Next, he tended to the 3D printer, shrouding it under a cloth barrier. He paused at the VMC milling machine, covered it with a sheet, and ensured it was securely protected. He also took care to shield the Wire EDM machine, a tool that had been crucial for cutting intricate shapes and profiles in titanium with high accuracy. Nearby, he stowed away his handheld implements.
At the center of the room, the humanoid form rested. Victor approached it with a mix of reverence and sorrow, gently wrapping it in a shroud.
Finally, he secured Blue’s wand inside his safe. As he completed his task, the workshop seemed to hold its breath like a sanctuary frozen in time.
Victor trudged up the creaking stairs to his dimly lit bedroom, the weight of the impending journey settling upon him. The air hung thick with the scent of aged cedar and a million bittersweet memories. Time had woven its tapestry here, a vibrant collage of joy and sorrow etched into the very walls. The city’s distant lights filtered through the dusty curtains, casting long skeletal shadows on the floor.
Victor surveyed the room with a sigh. He started by clearing the clothes strewn across the floor, folding and placing them neatly on the bed. Empty bottles cluttered the nightstand; he gathered them in a garbage bag and disposed of them in the recycling bin, their clinking a reminder of nights spent trying to blot out the memories. Papers lay scattered about, each a fragment of his restless thoughts; he stacked them into neat piles on the bedside table.
He flung open the closet. The suitcase lay there, half-filled with essentials—clothes, toiletries, and travel gear. Packing his clothes into his leather satchel. He was still grappling with the decision to leave the humanoid form behind, but he continued packing. He folded a worn photograph—the last image of his daughter, her smile frozen in time—into the inner pocket of his coat.
But a deeper weight settled in his gut, a churning mass of doubt and apprehension. The artifact, the Phoenix, whispered promises of reunion, and he wondered if it really held answers about life, death, and the boundaries between them.
He zipped up the suitcase, the metallic teeth sealing his determination, a firm echo of his resolve.
The photos on the dresser held him captive. He sat there, staring at them.
Miranda smiled at him—a sunflower in a field of gray. His hands trembled as he reached for the photo. Her laughter echoed in the room, a melody he’d almost forgotten. They’d met during their university days, both passionate about unraveling the mysteries of life. She’d been the one who encouraged his research, and when she’d said yes, he could hardly believe it.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Of course, I’m sure. What!?” she said as she hugged him. While she was still in his embrace, he picked her up and twirled her around, and everyone at Uhuru Park that day began to clap, and whistle, and cheer. He set her down, taking her hand in his, and placed the engagement ring on her finger. And she kissed him.
He sat back on the bed, a tear slipping down his cheek as he turned the ring around on his finger.
The plane was a Piper M700. It stood on the airstrip tarmac—a sleek marvel of engineering that defied convention. Its fuselage gleamed under the sunlight, and its wings stretched out.
Victor stood staring; mouth slightly agape. As she approached the plane, Blue passed him by. Seeing his open mouth, she pushed it up, shutting it for him. “C’mon Dr., we have a dinner party to attend,” she said cheekily.
She wore a midnight-blue scarf, its fabric soft against her skin, concealing the scar. A black top and black cargo pants made up the rest of her outfit. Her boots, practical yet elegant, bore traces of desert sand and city grime.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the airstrip. Dr. Victor Frank and Blue, loaded their luggage into the sleek Piper M700. Blue’s bag, a leather black duffel bag, was the first to go in. Victor handed her the sturdy bag, and she secured it in the cargo hold. Her movements precise and efficient. Victor’s own bag, the weathered suitcase, went in next.
As Blue fitted the last of the bags into the cargo hold, Dr. Victor Frank turned back to face Wilson Airport and the city beyond it. He thought about the form back home and wondered what lay ahead. As the last bag disappeared into the Piper’s belly, and the cargo hold was secure, Blue made one last check around the plane. She turned to Victor as she stood by the plane’s open door, her eyes assessing him.
“Ready for this?” she asked.
He nodded, his heart racing. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” He said, turning to face her,
“Last chance to turn back,” she said, looking away from him before finally meeting his eyes again.
“No, I’ve made my choice,” Victor said, a slight smile gracing his features.
Blue stepped closer to him, her eyes softening. She reached out and placed her hand on his elbow. “Victor. We will return, I promise.” He nodded almost imperceptibly.
“Now let’s get ready for takeoff,” she announced, her voice steady. “Destination: Wales.”
As they stepped into the Piper, its interior welcomed them with plush leather seats and polished wood accents. Victor climbed aboard and settled into one, the plushy leather seat cradling him.
Blue settled into the pilot seat of the Piper M700, her eyes focused and determined. The cockpit enveloped her—a symphony of dials, switches, and glowing screens. Her gloved hands danced across the controls, fingers tracing familiar paths. The sun’s warmth filtered through the windshield, casting a soft glow on her features.
Victor buckled his seatbelt. He watched as Blue’s hands moved with precision; their deftness, their grace. She adjusted the dials and levers, her touch deliberate.
Her hand moved to the overhead panel; flipping the master switch, and illuminating the instrument panel. The avionics hummed to life.
Blue reached for the fuel selector valve and toggled it to the “Both” position, ensuring both fuel tanks fed into the engine.
The hum of the engines vibrated through the floor. She adjusted the throttle lever, setting it to idle. The engine’s growl softened, waiting for her command.
Her fingers found the mixture control knob, turning it to “Rich” for optimal fuel-air combustion.
Her fingers found the propeller control lever. She pushed it forward, blades spinning faster and faster, slicing through the air. The Piper quivered, eager—a promise of lift.
Two red switches sat on the lower panel. Blue toggled them—one for each magneto. The engine coughed, then settled into a steady rhythm.
She extended the flaps to the takeoff position. The wind whispered through the gaps, the wings yearning for lift.
Blue dialed the radio frequencies—tower, ground, and weather. Her voice crackled over the headset, precise and professional.
A final check. She pressed the toe brakes, feeling the resistance. The Piper strained against the pressure.
He’d read manuals, and studied diagrams, but this—this was mastery—the throttle, the mixture control, the propeller lever. She danced with the Piper M700 as if it were an extension of her own body. This was an orchestra, and Blue was the conductor.
“Control tower,” Blue’s voice crackled over the radio, her tone crisp and professional. “This is Blue Sprite ready for taxi. Over.”
The response came promptly, a calm male voice guiding her. “Blue Sprite, you are cleared for taxi. Proceed to runway two-niner.”
With a gentle push on the throttle, the Piper M700 surged forward. The plane taxied down the runway, its engine roaring to life.
Blue adjusted her headset, her fingers brushing the worn leather of the control yoke. The cockpit hummed with anticipation as the Blue Sprite stood poised on Runway 29. The sun dipped low, casting a golden glow over the tarmac.
“Tower, this is Blue Sprite. Ready for take-off on Runway 29.”
“Blue Sprite, Tower,” crackled the radio. “Cleared for take-off on Runway 29. Wind 240 degrees at 10 knots.”
Victor’s heart raced. He glanced at her. She met his gaze, determination burning bright, and nodded. The runway stretched ahead, a ribbon, of promise. The engine roared, and the Blue Sprite surged forward, hurtling down the runway.
“Maintain runway heading,” the Tower instructed. “Contact Departure on 121.8.”
“Roger,” Blue acknowledged, her gaze flickering to the runway beyond.
She pulled back gently, feeling the familiar lift as the nose wheel, left the ground.
The tarmac blurred. Victor gripped the armrest, his knuckles turned pale against the armrest.
They neared the runway’s edge, and Blue’s grip tightened. Victor whispered a silent prayer as the world beyond the cockpit stretched wide, Earth surrendered, and the sky welcomed them. The wheels left the ground, and a surge of exhilaration swept through Victor as the plane soared into the sky. The sensation was primal and transcendent. They tilted, and the runway fell away as gravity relinquished its grip. Suddenly, they were weightless—the vessel ascending into the vast blue expanse.
The engine’s hum intensified, vibrating through the airframe. Blue’s hands adjusted the yoke, coaxing the Piper upward.
“Control tower, this is Blue Sprite. We are airborne and proceeding on course. Thank you for your help. Over.”
The response crackled through the radio, a reassuring confirmation: “Blue Sprite, safe travels. Clear skies ahead. Over.”
Victor glanced out the window, leaning in close, his breath fogging the glass. Blue adjusted the altitude. She stole a glance at the horizon. Nairobi’s skyline vanished, swallowed by clouds. She adjusted the plane’s heading, the horizon stretching wide.
The Blue Sprite climbed, leaving Nairobi behind, replaced by the vast expanse of Kenya’s landscape. The cityscape blurred below—the skyscrapers, the winding river. A patchwork of fields unfolded—a quilt of emerald green and russet brown, the winding rivers, and the distant hills blurring together. The Great Rift Valley yawned, its ancient scars etched into the earth.
As the sun painted the landscape in warm hues—the acacia trees cast elongated shadows, and the rivers wound like silver threads. The plane cut through the air, its wings slicing the invisible fabric of the sky. Victor glanced at Blue; her profile resolute against the azure sky.
As the plane climbed, he wondered about leaving it all behind, about leaving behind the familiar and hurtling toward the unknown. He wondered about a private plane, flown by a lady with blue hair to the European peninsula, with a Nairobi university lecturer, in its passenger seat.
As the Piper ascended, and as the land stretched beneath them, Victor closed his eyes, feeling the pull of adventure and the weight of loss. Kenya’s vastness cradled him, and for a fleeting moment, he was weightless, suspended between heaven and earth.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
