“¡Con rapidez! Get up!” someone shouted. I regained my consciousness and saw a man staring at me. It seemed as though he would hit me if I did not get up at this warning. I lifted my body and recalled what happened.

“You! You murdered him! Who are you, the Destroyer?” My eyes glared with menace, staring at his statue full of malice.

“Mi amigo, relájate. Um, It does not matter what I rescued you from. What matters is that he was not your friend, Monseñor Desjardeaux.”

“You mean, he–he was the Number Four?”

“No. He was an agent.”

“Why are there so many agents of the Big Four? Was he going to kill me?

“Sì. Now, will you listen to me or not?” I nodded.

“His gun was pointing at you, amigo. Did not you see the gatillo pointed right at your chest? I may not know a lot about government de Francés, but I do know that they do not wear le beret, especially for government officiáls. Did you fail to detect his mustache was not identical, or that his accent was not native?”

“Did Poirot send you?” I murmured.

“This Poirot, he is your god? He is a figment of your imagination, sí? Yo, I am not acquainted with your, deidad.” the man exclaimed. He rolled the cigarette in between his hands, smoke waving out from his mouth. A visage of another person protruded from the door of the warehouse.

“Joséph, is this Hastings? Que–why did you strap him?” It was the voice of a female. Good heavens! It was no one, but the…the stupidity of it–Madame Olivier, the Frenchwoman’s assistant, Inez Veroneau! She rambled over to where I was suspended, with a bottle of Cognac in her hand, gripped tightly.

“Why are you here, Countess?”

She chuckled a sinister laugh, but grief was visible in her eyes, attempting to obscure it. “You really don’t know? That message on the gravestone? None of that rings a-bell?” She pointed to her head. Was it Vera Rosakoff that wrote the message? Was the tombstone nothing but another trap–a trap consulted to murder me after the decease of Poirot? I once again attempted to kick my leg, when the strap was fastened tight. These people defined the antonym of amiable…

“Wh-Did Poirot do this?” I repeated.

“Ah, the dreaded Hercule(s). The lion slayer?” she jested. It was imminent that she had been drunk, the causes of overconsumption of alcohol.

“I’m just joking! If Poirot sent us, why did he die, hmm? Shan’t I’ve spoken to Madame Olivier, about his consultants. Oh yes, she was a little crossed, though, about his South African arrow dart.”

“Hola, mujer! Just get to your point! Wait, that’s not my bottle is it?” the man, supposedly Joseph, asked. The woman drank another gulp from the bottle.

“Ah, yes. You probably know why I called you. José is a Spanish agent of the Big Four. After Poirot’s case of the Radium Thieves, I knew that you two were the people who shalt avenge the Big Four.” I stared in disbelief; what rubbish! They were brain-washing me to join the Big Four!

“No, no, no! This is all nonsense! I know what you want! I will not be so easygoing as Poirot, to fall for your traps.”

“Listen, junior detective. Ever since I lost my sweet child…” she trailed off. “I–I wanted to avenge the Big Four too. You know Madame Olivier?” she inquired. I nodded.

“She killed my son. Inhalation of radioactive material when the orphanage was poisoned, the doctor said. Now, I realise, the doctor was none other than The Destroyer–I have despised this cruel existence, it was ripping apart my mind! Beátrice Olivier–her initials were on the tank of the radioactive container.” she almost fell down, in grief. “The police, agents of…agents of the…Never mind, you already know–they said it was an accident from the French military; I was going to be successful and visit my son again. Please, I am aware that you cannot bring back the dead; but you can avenge those who caused it.” She sniffled. The bottle dropped and crashed as she went on her knees, holding my hand and begging. I was suspended among two sides, to help or not? What would Poirot do?

“I did not mean for Poirot to die. When Beatrice noticed his proof allegedly of calling the police, I begged her not to kill him, but I feared I would die too. I’m–I beg of your forgiveness. There was nothing I–”

“NO! You could have saved him! Avenging the Big Four, that’s ridicule. Even if I trust you, how shall I know you and this man are all merely a tool of the Big Four, to convey this exact speech, this hypnotization of yours? Poirot may have fallen for it, but I will not. Your acts are merely a variation of the Destroyer; his disguise.” 

“Your friend, this Poirot. He had a letter for you.” I opened it.

DEAR MON AMI, THIS IS YOUR FRIEND, HERCULE POIROT. THOUGH I MAY BE CONSIDERED A GREAT DETECTIVE BY MANY BEINGS, I HAVE WRITTEN THIS MESSAGE BECAUSE I AM AWARE OF MY THREATS, MY VULNERABILITY TO THE BIG FOUR, AND MY THREAT OF DEATH. BY THE TIME YOU RECEIVE THIS LETTER, YOU MAY BE AWARE THAT I AM DECEASED. ALAS, THE SPIRIT  STILL CONTINUES! VERA ROSSAKOFF AND JOSEPH GALLEGO ARE RECRUITED BY ME. THEY ARE AGENTS OF THE BIG FOUR WHICH, AS A RESULT, HAVE BEEN BETRAYED THROUGH THEIR–TRUSTWORTHINESS, SHOULD WE SAY? I PRAY, FOLLOW THEIR PATH TO BRING RIGHT TO THE WRONG; THE GRAVESTONE CARVER, THAT WAS MINE AS WELL.

EVER THINE, HERCULE POIROT, Detective., Brussels HT 34230

That there was a letter! I was standing in the middle of two choices; should I trust them?

“You forged this letter too, didn’t you?”, I asked, gathering my last dignity. They pleadingly looked with their eyes.

“Mi amigo, even if the letter, our statements, everything were false, we both have identical goals; to finish Los Cuatro Grandes. I swear, to you, it was Hercule Poirot who sent us; he knew the hoax Monsier Desjardeaux would come to the grave site.” Should I just trust them for once? At this point, I had half surrendered no less. If I was defeated as well, the best I could do was die fighting for triumph.

“Alright, what is the first thing we need to do?” Their visages enlightened up with hope as if a ray of sunlight had passed through the window. Countess Rossakoff brought a rolled-up sheet of blue paper from the back, which was camouflaged with the other unused materials in the back of the shed.

“This is a blueprint of the Cara Zia Hotel. It is located on top of the place where the Big Four have their rendez-vous.” she pointed to an enclosed area on the map, “This is their headquarters, rather, called the Felsenlabyrinth. One of us will go inside here and threaten the Big Four, while the other two withdraw police forces from the laboratory. The question is, who?” The countess was innocently staring at the two men, including myself. Her body was emaciated, and her posture crippled, as her eyes darted back and forth between Joseph and myself. Ah, the sacrifices that must be made! It was too great to be measured, but alas! Who would have thought that it was I, Hastings, that must avenge the wrong with a killing?

“Yo–”

“I’ll do it.”

“Pardon, monsieur? You’ve requested a reservation for Chateaû B. Yes. It’s available. Excuse me a moment.” The serveuse nodded. Joseph glanced at me, who wore a brown coat with a Panama on my head. She eyed both men nervously and pressed the button on the telephone. Her mouth was slightly ajar, about to talk. She covered her mouth and slowly started whispering, though I could only make out a few words.

“...Suspects…yes, they’re here…an interment?...no…A BOMB?” her voice had suspended to a higher volume. All of the other servers and guests stared at the woman, even from the restaurant. 

“You must be mistaken, comment? The connection…” she embarrassedly hung up from the telephone. That, is the masterpiece of using a fake line. It was Veroneau, using a tape enhancer.

“Apologies, messieurs. A man had called, claiming that he was from the Department of Venice; someone had reported that there was a radioactive bomb blackmailed to the hotel…It is, but pure nonsense, no? Our hôtels strictly supervise such material. Joseph hit my side, signaling that it was my turn.

“You should consider the opportunity.” I held out a plate, on it engraved–DEPARTMENT OF INTERNATIONAL SECURITY

“Messieurs…you are identical to the part that called? I assure you, our hotel bans such material; we search each guest thoroughly. No one can have–” Jose walked over to the hotel manager. He whispered something into his ear and his eyes lit up like a torch, buried in the pyramids of an Egyptian pharaoh.

“Responsabile della reception! Observe through every staff we have here, the chefs, the bellboys, the maids!” he glanced at us nervously as well. Classic agents of the Big Four. Suddenly, Jose pierced a dagger into the side of my leg. It was my turn again. I pretended to grimace, falling from my standing posture to the ground.

“Murderer!” a lady shouted. She was Parisian, and wore an oversized coat and had her feline on the front desk.

“Oh, the pain! That person–arrest him!” I exclaimed. It was an over-exaggeration, concerning that the tip of the dagger had not yet pierced me even un peu, as the French call it. The guards from the hotel suddenly ran from the entrance of the lobby and seized Joseph.

“You’ll have to come with us, monsieur.” One of the guards said. But while they were taking him towards the inquiry, Joseph took out a pistol and shot it at the chandelier of the lobby. The collection of such elegant lights–it troubled my mind–the beauty of it, destroyed! The entire masterpiece fell from the ceiling as it tumbled towards the marble floor, all of the lights cracking from the mantel. Everyone panicked and hurriedly scrambled towards the café, trying to avoid the fatal accident. I, of course, were already at the cafe, expecting the Big Four. That lady, the one who screamed MURDERER, was not only but Vera Rosakoff. I saw her follow the guards–agents, undoubtedly–to the staff service inquiry. The phone rang next to where I sat.

“Hello?”

“M. Hastings. I am sure you are well acquainted with me, my voice reveals who I am.”

“Ah yes, Claude Darrell. I know you.”

“As I said, Monsieur, you know that, when someone brings my hidden identity to the real…” The frequency was disturbed. It was Vera! When it resumed, I knew she was listening. “...right behind you?” I immediately glanced beyond my back. There stood the manager of the hôtel; this entire hotel was packed with agents of the Big Four, and the fact I failed to notice this!

“To be or not to be, that is what Shakespeare said, you, I assume, know the playwright?” I firmly gripped on-to the receiver, staring at his eyes, full of vengeance and malign thoughts. I slowly nodded.

“Bien, so what will it be, Hastings? I have your friend, this Joseph? I told you, I have agents everywhere. It was quite easy, though, finding your crewhouse. If you want to save José, under the legacy of Poirot, you will follow me, silently. Comprendre?” his voice spoke. I smiled inside, conferring to his plan.

“I’ll see you, in the Felsenlabyrinth.” That was his point of mistake. His location, the hideout of all four of them, was no longer obscured from the clouds. Before he hung up, there was another disturbance of frequency. Veroneau had left.

The lights turned off, and I saw people running towards the café, attempting to escape from the falling chandelier. Suddenly, I felt knocked out as my body fell towards the ground, being dragged by at least two people; I felt the bump of each stair at a decline.

My eyes slowly opened and I looked around myself. The room was like a lab, filled with different valves and tubes. On the council were 4 people who were all staring at me. It was the opposite of a ubiquitous society. One of the men–my eyes were blurred, but I could make out: Abe Ryland, pressed a switch installed on his chair. The circle beneath me gave in, as a person, suspended from the ceiling was revealed.

“Say hello to M. Gallego.” Madame Olivier called. She was wearing classes and had her auburn hair tied as a ponytail.

“Señor Hastings…” he called out. The Destroyer signaled to Li Chang Yen to press the control, releasing the man to the floor. “Don’t listen to him. Don’t follow what he says, por favor.”

An unexpected scene occurred. When Li Chang Yen snapped his fingers, Abe Ryland entered from the metal doors with two guards behind him, dragging Inez Veroneau. All part of the plan of Hercule Poirot! She dare not speak, lest the Big Four find out what we were planning.

“Monsieur Hastings. You have come a long journey, attempting to pursuit us. But did not I warn you, many many times, that the Big Four always has a key? Our agents, our powers. It…It simply does not measure up to your capabilities. And look you have sacrificed another person.” The Destroyer called out. “RELEASE the woman.”

Both guards did not hold the arms of the woman anymore, and she ran over to one of the chairs, which were unoccupied. 

“You see, you’ve been fooled–again.” Li Chang Yen spoke. “Inez Veroneau, you know your job. Come forth,” he commanded. The woman slowly moved to the front and hastily pressed the control that released José.

“You! How could you? You claimed you were a recruit of Poirot!” My heart was filled with menace and deep regret. How did I ever let this cruel woman adhere to my revenge? I should have trusted my instincts: does that mean–José too? But then, why would the Big Four–

“Mr. Darrell, please order me to initiate the extermination.” Her voice was rigid and determined, but her eyes were not.

“Vera! How could you–” I was interrupted and muffled with a rag cloth by one of the guards at the door. Abe Ryland held out a cigarette case and put one on fire, as he signalled to Madame Olivier. She walked over and held one of the cylindrical beakers, which were filled with green liquid. On the inscription was labelled STRYCHNICAL ACID. 

“Would you prefer a…slower death?” Li Chang Yen asked. “You should have left when we warned you, after the death of Poirot. Why did you come back, you fool? You would have lived a happy life with your spouse and children in Costa Rica, hmm?”

Vera held the beaker over my tied body, but as she was turned around, she blinked twice at me. Was she not part of the Big Four? What message was she sending me? She turned around at imitated a fall, pushing forward with one of her heels while purposely spilling the liquid on the Destroyer’s pair of boots.

“Ah!” He screamed. “Vera, do your job correctly! You almost killed me.” He immediately wiped the acid off from his boots to avoid seizure. But Vera poured more of it on his pair of shoes, as he screamed in pain.

“Monsieur, I’d be willing to do more, if only Beatrice had prepared more of the formula…should I say?”

“She’s gone mad!” Ryland shouted.

“Take her to the center.” Li Chang Yen ordered. But before the guards could seize her, she threatened them with the bottle of poison.

“Stay away, or I’ll pour this on you. You saw your leader, right?” They slowly backed up, and I could see one of them about to grab a rifle.

“I would never work for you, or your cruel organisation. Did I mention that there are bombs all over this place? On the chandelier, when one of your dumb agents shot it. And on the telephone of the waiter?”

“You mean–the bombs we installed?”

“Sir, do not believe this lady. She has gone insane. What are you doing? Take her to the asylum!” Madame Olivier commanded. But Li Chang Yen stood still; he halted them.

“Well, if you must insist to end the organisation, do so. But you cannot get rid of the people who are trained in here. Promoting a new leader is easy. But like Samson of old, there is only one thing. Kill your enemy, or die with them. I choose the latter.” Li Chang Yen spoke. But before he could finish, Madame Olivier, Abe Ryland, and all the agents were already scrambling to exit the Felsenlabyrinth, for their dear life!

“You will pay for this.” The Destroyer spoke. But there was something mysterious, full of omen, in his eyes that I did not like the look of.

“Hurry!” Vera said as she untied José. She beckoned me to go up the stairs, now that I was free. 

We ran as far as possible from the hotel when it exploded. A ring of red fire evaporated to the sky, as everything under the ground gave in. An entire semi-sphere had been dug under-ground. The power of weapons…destroying everything in sight…

The bullet pierced through me as I jumped in the passageway, blocking the Countess from the Destroyer’s pistol.

“No!” she shouted. 

“This, This is what you receive for trying to stop me.” He spoke whilst staggering his foot. “The price must be paid by all of us.”

“Shut up! You are the cruellest if I can even call you a human–”

“Don’t you get it? Poirot is dead. There is no one to finish me off. Riley? Olivia? Chang? They were just recruits of mine. Do you think I cannot yet hire another 3 people, may-be the next richest, smartest, and some egomaniac that knows the spelling of radioactivity? I’m not the antagonist, nor the villain. It was only but a, shall I say, simulation; in modern terms? That puny guy, Hastings, is nothing without Poirot, or the police. I proved it right here, on this mountain.” he pointed at me.

Vera was shivering with fear, but maintained her dignity.

“You are the only one left, and like you said, you are nothing without these three. You think the Parisian Police Department won’t track you down to every last step, until the rat goes into the cat’s house? Getting you is only but a few steps away.” He pointed the gun at Vera.

“Say that again. But this time with gusto, eh? Tracking me down.” He scoffed. “If I knew the police would be this dumb, shan’t I be but a moron that sets up a show for the police to see, only that they are the most powerful people in the world? I am the key to the Big Four. To destroy them is me. You know what my favorite number is? Quatro, Chaar, Si, Yon. What a pity on Poirot; his plan failed so drastically.”

“The fingerprint on your gun, the DNA from my blood. Don’t you think you’ll be caught, CLAUDE?” Vera inquired. 

The man looked as if he had been attacked slightly. “Lady, are you aware that I am a Master of Disguise? An actor’s life is my past. Things that remain, that is what is so captivating! Old habits, my accent, or my apparel? I can always change these. C’od I ‘ev I bottle of wat’e, please?” He mimicked in a British accent. 

“I know you killed my son. You also killed Poirot. You are but a monster.” She ran towards Claude Darrell, but it was too late. The tiny chunk of metal had lacerated through my body, slowly tearing apart the remains. The wind blew and all that was left was the ashes in the cigarette tray. The building, the mountain, everything was gone. And so were Abe Ryland, Madame Olivier, and Li Chang Yen. But the Destroyer lived! Ah, how I would have liked to see his face once before I died–he was disguised as the butler of the hotel, the chauffeur at the lounge, the doctor of the Jasmine Case, the Russian chess champion! He pressed the trigger on the bullet again, aimed at the woman. But from my left, (I could hear a faint sound of a footstep)–then the sound of a shot. It was José. He held a rifle in both hands, and it fired at the Destroyer, who stared at him in disbelief.

“So you shot me, well done, you!” The destroyer was chuckling, and his laugh was the most sinister, vile one that I could ever let my eardrums receive. “I have hundreds of agents, detectives, spies out there, working for me; and we all have the same goal. World domination. As soon as they hear news about my decease, you’re finished. And how do you even know? That I might be the real Destroyer? Ha ha ha ha ha ha!” His body shook, and slowly started to fall.

The Destroyer, the powerhouse, and the one with all the weapons of this organization; had fallen. The black pistol slipped from his left hand, and his coat revealed an opening that was tore through by only a bullet of this magnitude…such velocity. His corpse fell beyond, beneath the deep abyss of the environment that had exploded, the mountain that gave in below all three of us.

“Ve-Vera. Jo-Joseph.” I pleaded.

“Oh, my god! Hastings, are you alright?” She was nearly sobbing. “Hold on, th-the police are on their way right now. Oh, dear. José, what are we going to do?” José bent over me and her.

“Friend, you have done a good job. You ended the organization. Not Poirot, not me, not anybody, but you.” As my eyes were slowly fading, he took off his hat and put it on my chest, covering the wound. 

“Honor me as to calling you, a hero. And may you fall asleep peacefully.” He bowed with nobility, as the woman sobbed again and again. My eyes closed, but my brain was still alive. I reflected on all the experiences that I’ve had, meeting Hercule Poirot, solving cases together, and marrying my wife, and my children…Oh, my children! The Big Four was an organization that was far beyond our reach, but it was able to be dissolved through perseverance, and it seemed all was done. Alas! I may be in peace now that the Big Four has been destroyed, and all right has been returned from the wrong…

The door knocked. A postman was standing in front of it, and it slowly opened. Inez Veroneau was the one who answered.

“Yes?”

“Madame, you have a le–actually, you have two letters from Captain Arthur J.M. Hastings and…” he turned the paper, looking at it from different angles. It was a blue envelope with red ink on it, but it was not visible by the sight of a human eye.

“Oh, come on. Give me the bloody sheet! How hard could it be!” Veroneau jumped. The postman looked at her as if she was out of her mind, but gave her the two letters and left. Yet, even she could not figure out what it said.

“A clever work of pranksters, isn’t this?” She talked to herself. She trudged over with her wooden cane to the radioactive microscope, which Beatricé Olivier had used in her works with the Big Four. Now that Li Chang Yen, Beatrix, Ryland, and the Destroyer–phew! At last!–what could be the arising problem?

She opened the letter titled after Hastings. The stamp read: SCOTLAND YARD.

TO MONSIEUR JOSÉPH AND MADAME ROSSAKOFF,

I WAS THE MANAGER OF, POSSIBLY, THE WORLD’S GREATEST DETECTIVE. AND I HAVE LEARNT QUITE A NUMEROUS AMOUNT OF KNOWLEDGE WHILST WORKING WITH POIROT, AND AMOUNTING TO SACRIFICES AMONG ALL OF US. I SHALL PRESUME TO HASTILY SEND YOU THIS MESSAGE, WHICH YOU SHALL RECEIVE HALF A DECADE AFTER THE DEATH OF THE BIG FOUR. I’VE LIVED, AND I’VE SEEN; NOW I BELIEVE THAT I DO NOT HAVE ANY MORE COMPLAINTS OR REGRETS ABOUT THE DECISIONS THAT I HAVE MADE IN MY LIFE. I AM HAPPY THAT THE BIG FOUR HAS TERMINATED, LEST THERE BE ANY MORE VIOLENCE IN SUCH A WORLD…

IT HAS BEEN AN HONOUR WORKING WITH ALL OF YOU AND LIVING WITH THE PERSONALITY: ARTHUR J. M. HASTINGS, AND TO MY DEAR FRIEND POIROT

ADIEU.

“Oh, poor Hastings.” She sighed again, as she brought the handkerchief to her eyes. She rose from the couch to walk over, but then remembered that there was another letter. 

She walked over to the microscope and adjusted the lens. There was a red 4 on the right side of the letter. Ripping the post-stamp open, she unfolded the white paper.

In the letter there were only five words; and written in red ink, that! It read: 

BEWARE OF THE NUMBER FIVE.