Chapter Five - Encounter

A sharp shrill pierced the rooms silence. A hand gripped the phone tightly and picked it up, the man was obviously annoyed by the interruption.

"Mr Blunt?"

"Speaking."

"This is a representative from The Pentagon, there is an important issue we need to discuss, one of which you have no say"

"Go on…" Blunt muttered, he didn't like being told he had no control over a situation. He was to be respected.

"Well, the rebels have come to us with demands. They say they want full control over our full Nuclear capacity or they will kill the president and launch an attack on the U.S.A, we have no choice but to air strike. We have 24 hours to comply."

"I have a man in there. Launching a strike would kill him."

"You tell your man he has 24 hours. If he hasn't done it by then, he won't do it at all… goodbye Mr. Blunt…"

There was a click and the phone went dead, leaving blunt staring at the handset in disbelief. He would inform Alex, and leave the decision to him, it was the only right thing he could do.


Alex had the large, heavy machete in both hands. He was wielding it and using it like a madman. The blade had been sharpened so it could slice through steel, let alone plants and trees. He was using it to slash his way through the dense undergrowth of the jungle, he was lost, wet, cold and hungry. His food rations were untouched, he intended to find a reasonable clearing and camp out. The compass indicated to keep heading in his current direction, but the jungle seemed to be never-ending, an endless field of fear. The sun was beginning to set, making the sky go a dark gold colour that seemed to come from the heavens.

There was a burst of static in his ear and voice, barely distinguishable by Alex, came to life. There was a few seconds of incoherent speech before the voice was finally recognisable.

"Alex, do you copy?" Blunt spoke into his ear, his voice held a slight tint of urgency.

"I copy" Alex replied, not knowing quite what to expect by his sudden interruption. It was not like Blunt to hold any sort of emotion within his voice.

"We have a bad situation, I'm going to leave the choice of action totally up to you."

Well, that's a first, but what's the catch? Alex thought sarcastically.

"Ok…" Alex muttered, confusion overtaking him.

"The U.S.A are not going to comply with the terrorists new demands. They will be ordering an air strike on the island within the next twenty-four hours. You can either be pulled out now or carry on and try to complete you mission."

Alex stopped cutting and slipped the knife into his belt, his eyes squinted, the cogs in his head came off autopilot and went into overdrive.

There's nothing more I can do here…

I have to finish this…

I could finally finish this MI6 business if I save the president…

To hell with it… might as well go out with a bang…

Alex's train of thought was brought down to earth when a voice buzzed in his ear. "Alex, we need a decision quickly."

"I'm staying here, I'll stay."

"That's what I wanted to hear… good luck" The voice immediately ceased and Alex was once again left on his own in the jungle. There was a gust of wind that rippled throughout the undergrowth, causing Alex to shiver.

Things became quiet… too quiet (pardon the pun). The sound of gunfire alerted Alex, "Oh! Shit!" He cried as a tree above him exploded, sending bark and leaves in all directions. Alex dived to the ground and the bullets exploded from within the jungle, shattering the foliage above him. He reached down to his belt and whipped the gun out, setting the catch to "grenade". He fired it into the air and ran, slipping on the ground. He was about thirty metres away when the grenade impacted upon the floor. There was an explosion that literally shook the ground, Alex was taken off his feet and thrown an extra twenty metres forward, he slammed head first into a large tree and crashed to the ground, blood oozing from a crack in his head. Silence enveloped the jungle, the gunshots had ceased, the gunners probably caught in the blast. Alex opened his eyes and stood up, feeling a bit light headed, the blood was running down the back of his neck and seeping into his clothes. He reached back into his bag and pulled out a long thick, green coloured bandage. He wrapped it around his head, tied it and pulled it tight, causing himself to wince painfully.

"Did you get that?" Alex spoke to Blunt. Silence. Something was wrong.

"Hello?" Nothing. Alex stuck his finger in his ear, searching for the millimetre big microphone. It was gone. He looked to the floor, it was littered with debris, bullets and charred items. It was no use; it was like searching for a needle in a haystack, or some variation.

"Not good… not, not, not, not, not, not good…" He muttered to no one in particular. He shrugged, picked up his gun and stumbled forward into the darkness of the jungle, whipping his machete out and slamming it into the undergrowth…


Night time was approaching, the rebels had given up their search until morning, much to the displeasure of the leader. The explosion had shaken some of them up, the intruders were definitely some sort of Special Forces unit, and they were well armed by the looks of it. When morning came, they would load up and head into the jungle to swat this unknown fly.

There were stories of a child spreading around the came, a child that could match and adult. These were ludicrous, myths made up for a joke.


There were three jet-blue phone boxes located near The Pentagon building. A man stepped into one. He was of either British of American nationality, but his accent was thick and foreign as he spoke into the phone. He was heavy-set and the only baggage he carried was a large metal suitcase, it had two padlocks, and four code combinations. The case was almost certainly made from steel and there wasn't a dent or scratch in view.

"I am waiting for signal." The man muttered, each of his vowels being slurred by his accent.

"Good." A short quick reply came from the listener, who had a British accent.

"When signal comes, I carry out mission, then money transferred, no?"

"Seven Hundred and Fifty million dollars deposited to an account in the Caymans"

"That is good."

The phone went dead, the man left the box and walked into a nearby hotel. He pulled a key from his pocket and entered a room somewhere on the third floor. He would wait until the signal and carry out his mission. His mission: unknown.