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The Messenger sat in the front seat of the multi-purpose bullion van drinking vodka from a bottle with his leg on the dashboard.

The bullion van was designed exactly like the ones used to transport valuables by the Iron Mountain company with the company’s blue pyramid-like logo on both sides; gusts of wind blew from a nearby lake into the van and he lowered the windscreen to relish in its effect as the sun was scorching.

The van was parked along a lonely highway in Bounty County, only a few cars had passed by ever since he began his timed waiting.

In exactly three minutes, a similar van would be on its way back to the company.

Iron Mountain is a top security company that held important documents and artifacts both for the government and private individuals. Spanning one hundred and forty-five acres, it is located two hundred feet beneath the countryside in a former limestone mine.

The management of the company has a strict policy which enforces a particular speed set for all the company’s vehicles thereby timing their periods of entrance and exit from the company to their various destinations, it not only ensures more security for the company but also enable the security operatives detect any unusual movement within the company.

Soon enough, the Messenger heard the sound of the heavy vehicle and calmly replaces the cap on the bottle of vodka and jumped down from the van. He adjusted the fake company jumpsuit he was putting on and lowered his cap; his neck was as itchy as hell because of the sun burn.

He scratched his neck momentarily and began waving his hands towards the vehicle and it quickly screeched to a stop; the driver lowered the windscreen.

“Hey bro, I could use some diesel, the fucking maintenance crew didn’t do their job as it should be done,” the Messenger said as he edged closer to the vehicle.

“Have the management been notified about it?” the driver asked trying to get a good look at the man’s face but it was no good as the cap concealed most of his features; he could see his own van packed a few meters away.

“I’m making an official report of it as soon as I get my ass inside,”

“You know we’ve got time and I cannot turn off this engine,” the young man had freckles and had a toothpick in his mouth which rolled as he spoke, he seemed not to care less, and was about to move the heavy vehicle.

“No, you don’t need to,” the gloved hands of the driver dropped outside as he slumped on the steering wheel and in the process pressed the vehicle’s horn.

The Messenger pulled out the tiny long syringe from the driver’s neck and blood mixed with the poisonous solution trickled out of the tip of the syringe. He took pictures of the different angles of the dead man’s face with his smart watch and sauntered to the back of his van.

He had to work really fast to meet up; he quickly transferred the images to the system and enhanced it in 3-D format before he put the 3-D mask printer to work; as the oven-like machine was humming silently, he walked back to the heavy vehicle and pulled out the driver’s ID and keycard and the vehicle papers which matched exactly his own vehicle.

The sun was irritating his skin and he couldn’t help the itchiness, he scratched his neck for some time and cursed tetchily.

The driver’s left foot was slightly depressed on the accelerator and as the Messenger placed a stone on the foot, the engine revved, he then turned the steering fully to the right and at the same time changed the gear stick to Drive; the heavy van jerked and made for the vast stretch of land that ended in a thick bush on the right side of the lonely road, it soon disappeared into the thicket.

By the time he got back to the van, the rubbery face mask was ready and was in the cooling process; he put a call through the walkie-talkie in his van to the transportation security department.

“007 Transporter back online,” he spoke into the walkie-talkie.

“007 Transporter, why were you offline a while ago? Do you copy?” a male voice constantly interrupted by the static asked,

“I’m sorry sir, I think my speed regulator had a minor glitch but I took a minute to fix it,”

“It better not repeat itself 007, one minute extra to your time of arrival and you better get that regulator taken to maintenance,”

“Thank you, on my way sir,” he grimaced and reached for the rubber face mask with his gloved hands; it took him seconds to put it on and make himself look like the man on the ID card. He looked himself over in the mirror and when he was satisfied; he revved up the engine and headed for the Iron Mountain

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