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The Phoenix Projects

By Earl Thompson All Rights Reserved ©

Adventure / Humor

Blurb

But he was not going down without a fight; he knew it was either him or the company, and the mission was something he had no intention of carrying out. He had no friends except for the woman, who had befriended him on his flight to Jamaica. But could he trust her? She was a stranger and she told him she was a cop. Would she believe him if he told her of the incredible mission he was on? He had to confide in her. This was something he needed to do because his life depended on it.

Chapter 1

John Anderson was sitting by himself in a half empty plane on its way to Jamaica. He was pensive as he looked through the window at the clouds. The plane had left the Pearson International Airport over an hour ago. The hostesses had passed by with drinks and he had only taken himself a cup of Orange juice; his empty plastic cup was now sitting on the small table he had pulled down from the back of the seat in front of him.

“Do you mind if I sit beside you?” asked a good-looking woman who jolted him back to reality. He looked up at her and smiled.

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Thank you,” she said as she sat. “My name is Clarissa Richard.” She extended a hand; John shook it.

“John Anderson; nice to meet you.”

Clarissa Richard was a good-looking woman; she was tall, dark and had long, black hair; she resembled a model and spoke with an English accent.

“Is this your first time going to Jamaica?” she asked.

“Yeah, I heard it’s a beautiful place.”

She smiled sweetly, “Yes it is. Especially the Northcoast.”

“That’s what I heard.”

“Are you going on a vacation?”

“Yeah. What about you?”

“Actually, I live there; I was on vacation in Canada and now I’m going back home, I’m a cop; I work on the Northcoast.”

“Do you like your job?”

“Yeah, it can be rough at times, but it’s good. What about you, what kind of a job do you do?”

“I don’t work.”

Clarissa chuckled forcefully, “Come on now, a young, strong man like you must work, unless you’re extremely rich.”

“I’m not rich.”

“So why don’t you work?”

“It’s a long story.”

Clarissa glanced at her watch, “We’ve got over two hours before we arrive in Jamaica; you can tell me.”

“I was something more like a secret agent.”

Clarissa was obviously impressed; she smiled as she looked at him, “Cool, you must have had lots of adventures.”

“You can say that.”

“So why did you leave it?”

“There were things I came to realize about the organization I worked for that I shouldn’t have found out.”

“Like what?”

John smiled and looked at her, “I’d better not tell you.”

“There you go, being secretive again.”

“I told you I was a secret agent.”

“So wait a minute, am I to understand that you’re hiding from the organization now?”

“In a sense.”

“You are, or you’re not, which is it?”

John smiled, “I’d rather not say.”

“How long are you going to be in Jamaica?”

“I will be there for awhile”

“What about your family?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Because you had to travel so much?”

John smiled, “You got it.”

Dinner was served; John didn’t eat much of his, while Clarissa had all of hers. She looked at John as she wiped her mouth and put away the napkin in the tray beside her plate, “Don’t like the food?” she asked him.

“It’s okay, I’m just not hungry.”

“When you go to Jamaica, I know you’re going to enjoy the meals there.”

“We’ll see.”

John and Clarissa parted company at the Norman Manley International airport; the destination of the latter was the Northcoast.

There was a man at the Airport awaiting John; he had a placard with the latter’s name written on it.

As John walked up to the man, he took John’s bag and introduced himself, “My name is Rodney Clarke, and I’ll be responsible for you as from now on.”

Rodney was a tall man, powerfully built and was wearing a muscle shirt. It was broad day and it was hot. Rodney was black.

John himself was tall and solidly built too, he was Caucasian, but was pretty tanned; he smiled forcefully at Rodney, “Is everything arranged?”

“Everything is arranged, Mr. Anderson,” Rodney said as he placed John’s stuff in the back seat of the car. He opened the front door for John, slammed it shut and went around to the driver’s side. He got in and started the engine; he buckled up and told John to do the same.

The ride from the Airport was a more or less a quiet one, John wasn’t in a talkative mood and Rodney could see that. Rodney glanced at him, “Are you okay, Mr. Anderson?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“You’re not home sick, are you?”

“No, I’m fine,” John said in what sounded like a dismissive tone.

The Wyndham hotel in New Kingston was where John was taken; he had a room booked. When he checked in, the good looking smiling clerk wished him a long and prosperous stay and watched as he strolled to the elevator lobby where he took the elevator to his room.

Once he was settled in, he got on the phone and made a long distance call. “Jean, I made a mistake,” he said when the phone was answered.

“John, you cannot back down now, you know that,” said the female voice at the other end.

“I’m not going to do it.”

“John, listen to me, the sooner you do that, the sooner you’ll be able to get out and be relocated.”

“Jean, I know something you don’t, or rather something you didn’t tell me.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to be relocated.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jean, they don’t relocate you; they kill you and you know that.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Jean asked, sounding rather frightened.

“I know what I’m saying, Jean, and don’t pretend you don’t know.”

“John, you took this job, because you thought you could manage it.”

“I took this job because I wanted to get away; they were about to relocate me.”

“I know, but you asked for this job.”

“Because I wanted to get away,” John reiterated more firmly.

“Come on, John, don’t let me down.”

“I’m not letting you down, Jean; I’m trying to protect myself.”

“So what are you going to do now, John?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”

“John.”

No response.

“John!”

John hung up the phone.

Jean Richmond was a tall, shapely Caucasian woman who was once a model. She was in her office in Toronto when she got the call. For a while she was thoughtful, not knowing what to do, but then she quickly reached for the phone and dialed a number. “Jake, we’ve got a problem,” she said once the phone was answered.

“What’s happening?”

“We’ve lost agent 211.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s not going to do the job and I think he has other plans.”

“What do you mean he is not going to do the job?”

“He just called me; I think he knows more than he should.”

“Damn, I always know I shouldn’t trust that guy.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I guess we are going to have to send in The Relocators.”

“He knows about them.”

“Who told him?”

“You’re asking the wrong person.”

“Jean, I’ll get back to you.” Jake hung up. Jean did the same.

John called himself a taxi and paid two hundred U.S. dollars to relocate; he told no one where he was going.

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