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Zero.

The receptionist of The Gherkin had just finished signing a client in when an almighty noise bellowed into the entrance hall. Deafened and shocked, the receptionist jumped backwards and stared frightfully as a ball of fire came rushing through the wall, engulfing everything in it’s way. In the split second before she was consumed, she pictured her husband and family.
The fire crashed into the street causing cars to crash and smash. The windows of several buildings, including the L’arbre rouge, disintegrated and vanished in seconds. Five seconds of silence was followed by screaming and crying as the population surrounding the Gherkin exhaled their horror. Shattered glass, a lot of which had cut deep into nearby limbs and faces, was everywhere, as the fire from the Gherkin started bellowing upwards, knocking the glass of the higher floors. The sole man in the L’arbre rouge slowly finished his coffee, and calmly walked out of the door.
The almighty roar of the explosion signalled two masked men to come out of the truck they had been squatting in for the past few hours. The leader glimpsed upwards as he admired his handiwork. The tap on the shoulder by his team mate was a polite reminder, which would translate in English to „Hurry up!“
The two men, armed with powerful sub-machine guns, darted across the deserted back street and pushed open the nearby door. They ran up the nearby stairs, pass the many doors until they came to the furthest one at the end of the hall. „Number 59“. A knock wasn’t suitable, as they decided to kick open the door instead. The occupant inside, now looking at the bellowing smoke out of his greasy window, turned sharply, and became transfixed on the machine gun, noticing the silencer. For the split second before his death, he wanted to turn back time and stop what he thought he needed to do.
Thames House, famously known as the home of MI5, had become a flurry of chaos as news trickled in of the bombing. Jack Kingsley, who had been leader of the premier intelligence group for little over a year, stared down at his computer, as a new email entered the screen. He looked bemuse, as the name, Deception Industries, rang no bells. He looked at the empty email, before noticing, the sound attachment at the top. Knowing that it was impossible for him to get junk mail, he clicked the file, and it opened and played in the media player:
„This has been recorded for the ears of Jack Kingsley, and whomever he chooses to disclose it to. I must warn you, that this information is highly valuable, and extremely dangerous, and I must advice you that you share it with as few people as possible, although sharing it to many would help me greatly.
As you have just seen, the grand 30 St Mary Axe building has just been given a makeover. I am delighted to say that I was responsible for this and hopefully I have took as much life as possible.
I must now warn you, that this is not the end. In two hours time, a second bomb will go off, at another important place in your city. I will not disclose where, but there is a way you can stop this bomb from detonated, and saving countless lives. In an hour’s time, I will email you again. Please make sure you are present to receive the message.“
Kingsley looked at his watch. 9.05am. He played the message again, still in disbelief. He picked up his phone, and began ringing the necessary people. Time was of the essence.

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