Midnight treacheryA Story by Surya pradha A lot of businesses and huge institutions become rich in ways that are definitely not honest. It's up to a secret organisation in France to get to the bottom of the mystery. The clock struck twelve. Its chimes could be heard throughout the city, its inhabitants fast asleep in their homes. Some cars rumbled down the deserted street, their headlights revealing the mess strewn across the roads. They all seemed to be in a hurry to reach their houses as sleep, the inevitable enemy, took them in as well. The city was extremely quiet; the only sounds produced being that of an occasional insect or bird. The darkness was absolute; my line of vision was limited to only a few yards, beyond which it was impossible to see. I trudged out into the stillness of the night, stopped or hindered by none. My footsteps echoed around the hushed city as I made my way towards the La Viga. La Viga is an international auction center, often visited by VIP’s all over the world. Priceless possessions are kept here, with auctions being held throughout the year. The artifacts are sold at immensely high prices, well beyond the affordability of the common man. Nowadays, the center remains deserted, with not a single man interested in the things it sold. La Viga, as a result of undeniable failure, had decided to close down when its business bloomed again, much to the pleasure of its owner. They decided to continue and have raked immense fortunes since. La Viga is now at the height of prosperity, with its earning reaching millions of dollars per day. And this is what aroused our suspicion. ‘How did La Viga get so much money?’ Is a question asked by many but answered by none. Though many people had initially been suspicious, their curiosity faded and it was all forgotten. But not by us. Graf de Crance, an undercover French organization, recruited me four years ago. Our job is to spot peculiar crimes, the ones often discarded by the police. We investigate such suspicions, and if necessary, take them to the next level. Though our organization has been immensely successful, not a soul knows about it. Anyway, the sudden success of the La Viga unnerved us. We knew immediately that something was wrong. After months of secret work, we found out all the purchases were being made from the same person. Each purchase that he made was of millions of dollars, and getting such an amount on a daily basis would be impossible. As the time in which the purchases are made is always recorded, we found out that our suspect had been depositing huge amounts of cash at exactly 12’o clock each day. The center being open 24/7, this, strictly speaking, was not illegal though it certainly was of high peculiarity. I, Mr. Grandour(don’t mock the name) had been sent out into the darkness of the night at precisely 12’o clock to get to the bottom of this prolonged mystery. The warrant to use my pistol lay tucked in my pocket as I walked slowly over the rustling leaves and through the streets of France. My face was free of emotion, as I had been trained to do. It was important not to give away our emotions as they alone held the key to failure. A huge, monumental building rose in front of me, the words La Viga fading from its wall. A light was switched on inside the massive building, with soft voices rising from within. I stepped forward cautiously, and at that exact movement, a gun ran off inside the building, followed by a loud voice. “What do you think you’re doing?” a voice protested. There was no reply. The silence stretched on as I realized that something had gone wrong. I rushed inside, leaving the door hanging wide open. Two men were conversing with each other, their voices now hushed and restrained. A man pointed threateningly towards Mr. Havas, the well reputed accountant of La Viga. I made up my mind and pointed my army pistol towards the visitor, sure now that I had found the culprit. We had thought of capturing him alive for questioning, but had decided against it. The probability of the victim escaping was too high. It was just too dangerous. I pulled the trigger and watched as the bullet penetrated his heart. My years of training had not failed me. “Hey!” the accountant shouted and stopped almost at once, comprehension dawning on his aged face. “Great job, agent, uh, Grandour”, he whispered, glancing at the tag pinned to my chest. A smile played on his face, a smile, which though convincing, I recognized immediately as false. His hands were constantly moving around, as if trying to reach something. Seeing me watching, he quickly tucked his hands away, his eyes avoiding mine. The expensive artifacts that were supposed to have been sold lay carelessly on the weathered floor, a fact that I had failed to notice till now. With apprehension dawning on my face, I looked into the timid face of Mr.Havas, a face that would be disfigured in a second’s time. ** I looked backed towards the La Viga, my faithful pistol tucked away safely in my pocket. Patches of blood covered my hands. I had done my job well. As the sun rose over the historic city of France, a big mob formed around a dead man, who till the previous day had been the accountant of La Viga. He was rushed to the hospital and was immediately declared dead, a bullet having done the job. The press of France, as eager for more news, as ever, stood gathered around his body, already starting to scrawl away, hoping to fit this in today’s news. If any one of them had actually bothered to look at Mr.Havas, they would have seen the remains of a smile lingering upon his ancient face. The very same day, an interesting article had been printed on the front page of the French weekly. It read: La Viga’s mystery success finally cracked! The accountant of the centre, Mr.Havas has been declared the sole culprit of the crime. Purchasing the artifacts himself under a false name, he had used the centre’s own money as his own. Illegal transactions have been revealed to have been made to his account, showing that Mr.Havas had sold the center’s artifacts to another museum under secrecy. It had been a perfect crime. The public also asks of what the government had been doing all this time. They doubt its security as all this has happened right under its nose. The murder of Mr.Havas, too, was not done by the French government, but by an anonymous killer. Any information about this person would be welcome. On seeing this article in the city’s common, a man with black shades smiled. The man seemed highly peculiar, not the kind you see every day. He even had a name tag attached to his chest, a piece of plastic that read…Mr. Grandour.
© 2014 Surya pradhaAuthor's Note
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Added on September 15, 2014Last Updated on September 18, 2014 Author
Surya pradhaChennai, IndiaAboutI'm 16 years old and proud to be an Indian. I really like writing and it has kind of become my hobby. I've written tons of poems and short stories and i would like to share them with everyone. more..Writing
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