The Journalist Part I

The night was dark and cold as Frederick Burgough walked down the dark and stony streets of Pulkock Town. A faraway church steeple announced the dark hour of four o’clock in the morning. As Frederick approached the corner of Muldeick Street he was stopped by the sound of approaching steps. With precise swiftness he hid behind a mailbox. A shadow stopped inches away from him.

“Fred?” A shaky voice asked.

Frederick slowly showed himself and gave a sigh of relief.

“Thank Heaven it’s you Smith.” He said.

“Who were you expecting?” The lad asked looking around suspiciously.

“I best not tell you. Now quick, on with the message.” Frederick said turning around making sure nobody was around. He turned to Smith and nodded.

Slowly the young man pulled a sheet of paper that glowed in the moonlight. Burgough snatched it and read it with a grunt. Taking a match out of his pocket he burnt it and let the ashes fly in the night breeze.

“That bad?” Smith asked.

“As I said before, I best not tell you. Now go. Nobody must know you were here.”

Smith nodded, looked around, and quietly made his way down the avenue. No one must know. Frederick quickly and swiftly made his way out of the street into a dark alley. With caution and preciseness he entered into the back of an old coffee shop. All the chairs where picked up and the floor had been cleaned the night before. Slowly he grabbed a shining silver key and opened a hidden trap door under the counter. A stairway came into view, and he slowly closed the door behind him as he crept into the hidden basement of the coffee shop.

Once in the basement Frederick moved with more ease. The small room consisted of a desk leaning against the right wall and an unmade bed at the far end of the room. A small door at the left led to a connecting  bathroom. Besides an old couch and a faded rug the room was empty. Frederick let himself tumble upon the bed as he sighed recalling the words of the telegram Smith has given him.

Ten o’clock. He had to leave Pulckok before that time. If he hadn’t left by then Jordanian would know. Frederick was the only one who knew the truth about the Jordanian Associates. If he met face to face with the man, he would become another blotch in history. Frederick couldn’t have that. He must leave immediately to Kanton if he was to survive. If he was to reveal the truth. He couldn’t hide. After all, he was The Journalist.

The Jordanian Associates were making more than a new type of technology. Frederick knew. He had come to find out that the head of the association, Jordanian, wasn’t the real Jordanian. Somehow there was an impostor present manipulating the entire situation of the newest creation, The Multiple Chip. This was an entire new technology. A small computer chip capable of providing WiFi, extra storage, and extra battery. The people at Pulkock Town had far-fetched dreams. Still this town had some of the smartest and unknown dreamers. 

Weird though, why build a huge factory by one of the strongest powers in the world on such an insignificant town? Jordanian would have never done that. Not the real Jordanian. He was a man of business. A man with eyes inky fir the big places. Not a man who would fret about building on a practically unknown town. This was fishy. Frederick knew there was more than Technology behind this. But what?

Jordanian was already suspecting his investigation. He had to move, and fast. If he wasn’t at Kanton before noon tomorrow, he was a goner. Another proof that Jordanian wasn’t the real Jordanian. Things where getting complicated.

Frederick laid back in bed thinking. How would he run away from such a small and conspicuous town as Pulkock? Then the answer came like a thunderbolt. Jordanian was expecting him to move quickly. To act. The message had been part of this. As Frederick remembered, the piece of paper had been typewritten. His sources never typed anything. So he had been watched. He was being watched when he met Smith. It was all a setup.  Frederick shot up like a madman. What could he do? He mustn’t leave town now or tomorrow. If he waited at least another day he might give Jordanian the slip. The streets would be filled with spies tonight. The train station would be guarded. The best choice was staying in one place. Kanton would have to wait. On the other hand, if the message had said to go to Kanton, why not go the opposite way? Say, Farbury. That was at least a hundred miles from Kanton.

His mind was made. If he left Pulkock in a day and a half on the most crowded train and headed straight for Farbury, he might have a chance of coming up with a good article without loosing his life on the process. The plan was made, and now to rest.

***

Hugo stood watching from a window in a nearby building when a young man came and handed the Journalist a shining white paper. He saw as the Journalist burnt the scrap and left going his way. Good, Hugo though to himself, the bird is in the cage.

Slowly he made his way out of the abandoned building and disappeared into the fog. No need to follow him tonight. He was certain of his success.

Hey everybody! Here is the first part of The Journalist. I am terribly sorry for the delay. I could write an entire list of excuses, but I’ll just say I’m sorry. Hope you enjoy! Next part coming soon.