Chapter 4 - The Prize - Phantom

The prize as a simple piece of mountaineering equipment, a pick axe roughly a foot long with a sawn off wooden handle and metal pick, nothing obviously special about it apart from a slight, brownish tint to its point. The blood was of Lev Davidovich Bronstein or as he was later known Leon Trotsky. There was no time to waste; the job had to be completed tonight. There was a myriad of methods of obtaining the item from the case, Phantom tended to opt for the more elaborate or technical just to exercise his mastery of his profession but the window of delivery was becoming increasingly smaller. So he settled on his method of entry, scoring the glass around the lock and smashing it through with a compact chisel. Not the most subtle or skilled but the low tech nature and execution of this current heist had the opportunity take the limelight away from himself and onto one of his less accomplished brethren. Minus the lock the large glass fronted cabinet swung open revealing the glorious bounty within. His gloved hands gripped around the handle and though he would never admit it a slight thrill surged through his body, it was quickly quashed. He slipped the pickaxe into a harness inside his jacket lining and silently left the room. The prize wasn’t his usual faire for he tended to favour accolades that carried historical military merit but the though of acquiring one of the most famous murder weapons of modern history, he had to admit, did prick his interest. After Leon Trotsky was deported from the Soviet Union in Feb 1929, for openly objecting to Stalin’s running of the Communist Party, he spent the next 16 years drifting from one country to another (Turkey, France, Norway to name a few), were attempts were made on his life. Before finally settle in Mexico in 1937, were he met his end on the 20th August 1940 at the hands and pickaxe of an undercover NKVD agent Ramon Mercader. Phantom’s exit was no grand feat he simply walked out of room, removing he device and keys from the locks, meandered through the galleries, back down the flight of stairs. Bypassing the guard post to leave a small padded envelope containing a thank you note and a small tip of gratitude, it was always advisable to keep hired help sweet in case a future ventures required there assistance or lack of it. He casually relocked the basement door as he descended the stairs, there was no point making his entry to obvious, the detectives need to work for there salary too. He spent around a minute to disconnect his bypass circuit from the fuse panel before effortlessly sliding himself back through the window. He stood up in the shadows of the alley and dusted himself off. He took a cigarette from his pocket, positioned it between his bandages, the smoke filled his lungs with the smell of a successful heist. With his hand in his pockets and his spirits on high he melted into the darkness to find his buyer.