The morning sun lifted to pacify the apartment. As peace passed over, the man who had let her go had caught the phone in a disciplined lunge that saved him the ability to lean back to safety on the roof again. He stared at the small wonder of the future, and wiped his thumb neatly to clean the touch screen. It was filthy.

The breeze was soft on the man on the roof. He was the man in the silver trench coat, though he had given it to dead Jack back on the second floor of the apartment building. The man without the his silver trench coat turned around.

Snipers and Golem's henchmen were dead along the edges of the rooftops.

Their bodies snaked along the path the chase had plotted. The stretch of dead bodies ended where the body of Mohammad the ex-hit man from Sierra Leone lay.

Three bullet shots ornamented Mohammad back. But he had rolled over so his front could show itself to the dome of the atmosphere. Mohammad was deep in the stars now. He swam through space meeting for the first time again with the breadth of all his past lovers. However, he also faced the long line of awaited apologies to the contracted targets he had murdered in the old days. And he was ready to vilify himself, to request amends, to beg forgiveness.

He would be forgiven eventually. He would buy his victims a couple hundred coffees in the cafés up in the clouds. This would soothe their wounds.

The man without his silver trench coat saw the city of Senegal was peaceful and he looked down to the black cars outside the apartment.

Below Golem stepped with the last of his men to the black cars in the parking lot. Golem gazed up at the rooftops and waved to the man without his silver trench coat.

The man without the silver trench coat felt his pocket buzz and he pulled out his ringing phone to answer Golem.

"Did you get the phone?"

The man without his silver trench coat confirmed.

"Good," said Golem. Golem summoned him back to the cars so they could take the AI phone to headquarters. He hung up. Golem and the rest of the men stepped inside their cars and closed the doors.

The mellow yellow rooftops tolerated the generous breeze and the man in the silver trench coat felt a calm as he loosened his shoulders to ready himself for his next act. He dialed a short number with the same phone Golem had called, and after three rings. . .

Ring.

Ring.

RING!

. . . A blast signatured the detonation of all the black cars below that expanded into fiery orange mushrooms. They popped off the streets. The bombs blasted a light airwave that shattered some windows below and Golem's car in particular crashed like a firework into the center fountain and drowned. The water cleansed it as it sank, leaking into the fragmented bones of the deflagrated passengers.

Sirens in the distance hummed like little bells behind the city buildings. The man without his silver trench coat tossed his phone off the roof and leapt his way onto a balcony where he managed to break a door and step inside the building.

The building ended up being a shopping mall.

He ventured to the bottom floor with Siri in his pocket and he took a taxi to an airport. He took a plane.

Five hours and six minutes from Dakar, Senegal.

He landed in Paris.

***