Disaster (Dramatic Portion Only)

This assignment began where actually it should have ended. In a deserted sub-based station in the city of New York at 2 o'clock in the morning, the station was empty. Everything was silent, motionless. Like the body of Nicolas Kessler lying across the express tracks.

In our swift silent struggle he had fallen off the platform, stumbled onto the express tracks, and then fainted from the knife, ending his shoulder. The parcel for which so many people had fought and killed and spied was in my hands at last.

My mission was ended. For in a moment, Niccolos, Kessler would dive beneath the wheels of the Broadway 7th Avenue Express. I could hear the far off rumble of the train coming closer, closer. I stood there on the empty platform in the dim light without pity, without feeling.

Man deserve no sympathy, no mercy. I did not look at what was left of the track. Nicholas Kessler was dead. My mission was over. Mr. Holland, this is Karen Gazer. I'm calling from my apartment. I just got him.

Did you get the parcel? Yes. Where? From Nicholas Kessler in the subway station at 86th and Broadway. Where is Kessler now? He's dead. How? He was run over by the Broadway 7th and we express.

Yes, I see. But you got the part. Yes. No. Why? Nicolas Kessler was watched. I am being watched. Until it is in your hands, it would be so sad for me to leave this apartment.

Yes, that would be safer. Alan Grant. Right. He's new and intelligent. 11864. Good. I doubt if I will ever feel anything again ever. Good night, Mr. Holland. The parcel drew me like a magnet. I had to see with my own eyes this strange, mysterious metal for which so many people had died. I held the parcel in my hands. It was the size