U.N.I.T.E.L: C.O.B.R.A's Colder War.

London, United Kingdom.

2147 hours.

5th February 2001.

Thelma MacDonaugh gently lowered on an iron straight-backed chair at the outdoor bar of the Mews observing the crowded streets enveloped by the apparent zest of excitement which characterized the London metropolis.

A stewardess carrying a tray walked slowly through a group of occupied tables in a cramped area. The space used to be Chloe's apartment, one of the cozy living spaces within the Mews which she transformed into a bar.

The plain-looking stewardess halted at her table, after cautiously placing the bulbous glass of dry martini and a small chinaware bearing a cheese pattie, she gingerly made her way to the internal recess of the bar reserved exclusively for smokers.

Thelma had known Chloe for almost a decade now, since their encounter at Cambridge University. Her managerial astuteness was not in doubt as she had grown the business to an enviable status despite the fluctuating British economy.

However cordial their relationship was, Chloe hardly knew she was an MI-6 operative - Britain's elite, Military Intelligence Section 6. And her presence at the Mews based on Chloe's call was somewhat of an emergency.

Reginald Slattery, Professor of the Biotechnical Institute, had ostensibly made Chloe beg her to come. She noticed he has been acting rather odd in the past months. All her attempts at ascertaining his sudden change of demeanor turned out to be an exercise in futility. She had equally observed his seeming 'romance' with several Russian scientists in the past months and this she was making the entire assignment too cold for comfort.

It all started six months ago when the Institute's Chairman, Dr. Donald Lee Mason, a renowned applications architect, in a press conference, announced that a program known as Project Lotus, was been developed to curb the wanton excesses of hackers. While many, especially those within the immutable circle of computer geeks were skeptical about the venture, the Americans showed some interest by paying regular visits to the Institute and even contributing financially, towards the success of the research.

Intelligence reports soon became rife that the Kremlin was circumspect of the program, feeling that it was meant to undermine their digital capacity particularly when it was no secret that the Russians possessed the highest number of hackers in the world.

This sparked off an instant global reaction with China and Russia requesting an inquisition into Project Lotus, at the Security Council. Albeit, this request was turned down, the British did not lose sight of the canny Russians.

Major Bullard Harris, Director, MI-6, assigned her to carry out close and covert surveillance of the Institute. Relying on her training coupled with her years of experience in subversion and espionage, she had caught the eye of the Institutes Assistant Director, Reginald at a gala in Madrid during a courtesy visit to the Royal family and since that day, he caught sight of her clad in a seductive gossamer gown, she had become his trophy.

The Professor who was in his early sixties and a staunch leftist, afforded her the luxury of visiting the Institute and equally intimated her on the several developmental strides undertaken in improving Project Lotus.

This night was, however, somewhat different. Chloe had called her to come immediately because Reginald was 'dying to see her'. And here she was, waiting for her ass off in the London city center.

Her mobile emitted a sudden buzz. She reached for the device lodged in the waist pocket of her sable coat and jabbed the translucent screen. It was Pete- he had been given strict instructions to watch over her. He was somewhere at a vantage height, on the opposite side of the road.

She responded curtly: 'Hello, Pete'.

'Hello, Thelma.' The voice emerging from the line was gritty and firm: 'I can see you are prepared to meet with the good old Doc.'

'Prepared isn't the right word for my present situation, she said, stirring the Martini with her bejeweled forefinger. 'I wonder why he wants to see me'.

Reginald was quite a naughty slob but he was always open about his intentions. If he needed sex, it was not such a difficult issue to spill. And for Chloe calling on his behalf, she sensed something was amiss.

'Misery loves company. The Doc has always been a cocky fellow to me.' Pete replied amidst a slight electrostatic interference emanating from the line.

While she felt the conversation was gradually winding down, Pete gasped in excitement: 'Here he comes - your six o'clock'.

She swirled her head around and observed Reginald, taking quick athletic strides toward the Mews.

She quickly said: 'Be on the lookout Pete. The reason I called you in the first place. Let me know if anything suspicious transpires. I hope you have Grimy Harriet with you.'

He laughed, only his inner circle within MI-6 knew Grimy Harriet was a sobriquet for his assault rifle: 'Sure bet. She's locked and loaded.

'See you later, Pete' She said and deactivated the call with her thumb.

Reginald emerged at her table and sat down. His face was creased with wrinkles. She noticed that his eyes bore sore bags while his chin and jaw concealed greying stubbles that irritated her. He stroked his tousled hair and sighed in a show of utter frustration: 'I need a drink'.

A male steward emerged almost immediately from the recess of the bar. She signaled him. The gaunt-looking steward possessed a hideous scar running from his temple to his jawline. He looked strange.

Reginald made an order for a slug of whiskey. The steward bowed and made for the smoker's section.

She asked him mildly: 'What is it?'

He looked flustered, he made furtive glances around him: 'Thelma, I am at ends wits. Project Lotus is no longer what it seems. It's fallen into the wrong hands.

She could see he was extremely worried. She attempted calming his frayed nerves: 'I don't understand'.

The Professor was about to speak when the scarred steward emerged with a tray. He put the glass on the table and trudged back to the recess of the bar. She could feel him making his way back to the smoker's section while making stealthy glances at them.

Reginald spoke, almost in a whisper: 'Thelma, I told Chloe to call you because my phone has been bugged. I can't make any calls without being heard by them.

She was growing utterly confused and frustrated by his seemingly awful nuances: 'Who are they?'

He reached for the glass and gobbled its contents in one swig. He dropped it and allowed its contents to assail his system before continuing: 'I urge you to alert the authorities. There is a shadowy organization that is hellbent on bringing about global chaos and anarchy. They are sophisticated and armed with the technology to render any system moribund. They've got Lotus and soon, God knows....' he suddenly stuttered, his eyes dilating. 'Damn...!'

She could see him tremble, gobs of phlegm dripping from his mouth. He clasped his chest as his body shook convulsively.

She reached out to him and soon he slumped to the ground. She reached for his empty glass - he had been poisoned. She cursed under her breath and crouched to her knees, holding his head in her arms.

Some occupants of the bar were already on their feet, exasperated by the dreadful sight. Others simply walked out away, ostensibly apprehensive that they might be victims.

Blood was seeping from his nose. His glazed eyes were focused on her. He managed to mutter a few words: 'It's C.O.B.R.A......When the three lions had concocted the specter in the fiery furnace of the Queen's lair...', One spasmodic twitch and he became still. His body suddenly became cold.

His last statements mystified her.

Countless screams could be heard around the Mews. She reached for her mobile phone and dialed Pete.

'Hello, Pete. The Doc's been poisoned. Get an ambulance. I am about to get the guy who did this.

Pete breathed out sadly: 'Just be careful.'

She disengaged the line and stared at the lifeless body of Reginald. A sore feeling got to her. While she was trained not to show any emotions under such conditions, a flood of emotions drifted through her mind. He was a sweet soul after all. Though she mingled with him for a specific purpose, he was overtly open and true to her and she enjoyed it for the time it lasted.

She turned around, making her way to the internal recess of the bar while occupants besieged Reginald's lifeless body. She entered the room which was fraught with an awful din and an immense cloud of smoke.

She surveyed the room, looking for the scarred operative.

She dashed to the bar where Oscar, the obese barman was, preparing a cocktail.

'Hi Oscar, seen any scarred barman?'

'No', Oscar replied quickly.

'He served us not quite long ago'.

Oscar expressed a confused countenance: 'That's strange. I don't know of any scarred employee of ours'.

She mumbled a weak thanks and stood still.

Scores of thoughts flooded her mind. Where could the scarred bastard be?

A wrought iron door opposite the bar opened, and a sable-clad man emerged through the opening. She squinted through the haze and caught the conspicuous scar on his face. He had come up with the disguise as an employee of the bar to murder Reginald.

His bloodshot eyes caught hers and made a swift dash for the door knocking over tables and chairs. She went after him, taking long athletic strides after him.

Out in the open, crowds were milling around Reginald's inert body. A siren could be heard shrieking from a distance. She was undeterred, she went after him.

Her phone was buzzing. That would be Pete. She ignored the call. He was probably seeking her consent to take out Scarface. She needed him alive.

Scarface made for the dark alleyway rather than the well-lit street. The adrenalin kicking in her system doused any apprehension that might become apparent in her mind.

In the dark, moonlit night, with sheer determination etched on her face, she ran through the dimly lit streets, her heart pounding in her chest. Her long, flowing coat billowed behind her, emphasizing her urgency. Her firm resolution was to catch Scarface and seek justice for Reginald.

With each stride, every ounce of her training welled up as she closed the gap, the sound of her footsteps echoing through the deserted alleyways. Scarface glanced over his shoulder, fear flickering in his eyes as he quickened his pace. He knew he had something valuable, something the lady desperately sought.

As they weaved through the labyrinthine city, the chase intensified. The lady's breath grew ragged, but she refused to give up. She was determined to capture her prey, confront him, and extract the truth. Shadows danced around them, casting an eerie aura over the pursuit.

Just when it seemed she would finally catch her quarry, a blue Mercedes Benz C-180 car screeched to a halt ahead. The car door of the passenger's corner swung open automatically. In a swift motion, the man leaped into the waiting vehicle, leaving her behind, panting and defeated.

She watched helplessly as the car disappeared into the night, her frustration mingling with a glimmer of hope. Though Scarface had eluded her, she knew this was not the end. The chase would continue, fueled by her unwavering determination to uncover the truth and bring justice to the shadows that haunted them both.