NationStates Jolt Archive

New airplanes, even of conventional models, can be scarcer than the proverbial hens teeth, but what about the first of it's class - that makes it even rarer. And this one is unconventional to boot. So this makes is a once in a life time opportunity to fly aboard such a doubly rara avis. Oops, should one say rara Aerospatiale plane. The National Airlines is introducing its reportedly fabulous and very exclusive - less than two hundred passenger and crew - Hyper Sonic Transport.

The ballyhoo has been that one hundred and fifty -maximum - privileged patrons will get to 'turn back time' as they fly against time - not only round the world, but round the world in not the most straight-line miles.

No this is around the world in less than ten hours, and three intermittent stops - From London to Hong Kong --and any one who claims to be a world traveler and does not know just how, shall we say difficult,the Hong Kong International Airports landing approach is not what they are advertising themselves as--onward to Los Angeles and then hopping across the US and the "Pond" back to overcrowded Heathrow...

What more can one want, as this will qualify one for astronaut status as well, even before Virgin A Airlines so called 'Mothership' has even left the ground?

Now the only President aboard will be Ms Agatha Armstrong, the President of National Airlines - this is the inaugural, gala flight and therefore one can scarcely expect the President of the company to forego taking her nearest and dearest - as well as a small gaggle of PR executives -no flacks on this flight, too exclusive.

Max looked up from the semi snarkily toned piece in the C.E.O. Insider and smiled. He was going to be on that flight, and enjoy every minute of it. Even if he had to kill to do so. And if those damned paparazzi didn’t leave him alone he just might. He shook his beach blonde – the carefully done, better version of a bleach blonde; it had cost him fifteen hundred dollars, though only his accountant knew for sure - head and closed his infamous blue eyes for a moment. The chauffeured limo pulled away from the curb with his comfort in mind, barely avoiding running down a photographer with more guts than common sense.

And not a one of them knew he had a ticket. Just what he needed, far better than catching a fast train. After all one couldn't be two places at once. Far better than the merely perfect crime.

One should be glad that his smile was a private, hidden one..

Ten hours to flight time.

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Please, all OOC here Only OOC thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=561787)

Chuck dragged into the terminal and plopped down into one of the rather uncomfortable, plastic seats. Perhaps this was where the HST passengers were lining up, but more than likely it wasn't. Right now, however, he could scarcely care less. It had been a long night. Exhausted, weary, rain-soaked, and dirty, Chuck closed his eyes and attempted to slowly find his "happy place." He had ten hours until his flight was scheduled for departure. Six hours of sleep left him plenty of time to find a shower, take some medicine for the massive neck pain he would inevitably have due to this awkward sleeping position, and find the actual assembly area for the passengers of the HST.

By the way the media was covering this event, it was supposed to be huge. We're talking about, "Clear the airspace, the best thing since sliced bread and pockets on jeans is coming through," huge. Sure, Chuck was wondering what he had done to deserve a spot on one of the greatest airline departures in recent history, but who was he to argue with the ticket in his messenger bag? Ambassador Suite? Awesome. He had been watching the news coverage and the countdowns for the past two weeks, watching as some of the bigger names in the socialite world purchased their tickets with their limitless credit cards and trust funds. In a way, he resented being on the flight. Why would he want to be on a flight with a load of stupidly rich douchebags whose only practical real-world knowledge was how many mint sprigs it took to make a good mojito? Then again, he could make some very useful contacts on this flight - for future reference, of course. These thoughts and more poured through Chuck's head as he slowly drifted to sleep for the next several hours...

Bridget Hunter sighed and looked at her watch for what felt like the hundredth time in a minute. She was impatient. She was waiting in the terminal of London Heathrow for the launch of a new age in travel. Hypersonic Travel...whatever that was. She didn't understand the complete complexities of such a product but then she was on the board of one of the biggest software companies in the world so it was not surprising she was on the flight. There were more Executives and Papperazzi here than she could count, or ever care to count.

Bridget was here for one reason and one reason only. Only last week she had been pulled to Thames House, home of the Security Service, or MI5 for those who read only spy novels and watched brainless action movies. Into the Office of the Directior General himself, no less and it was there that her mission was laid out.

One of the world's most lethal killers, a man that MI5 had been paying very close attention to, was to take a trip aboard the new plane in Heathrow. His reasons for doing so were unclear but Bridget knew instantly how important and sensitive such a mission would be. She had been amongst dozens of agencies across the world who had tried to track him down and failed miserably. He always escaped the net at the last moment. Now though, he would be on a plane for 10 hours and she would be with him.

Bridget sighed again and tucked a strand of her long red hair behind her ear and looked down at her watch again. She hated waiting for anything. Planes, trains, buses or even for a taxi. She always felt uncomfortable in areas where there were large numbers of people. It made her feel exposed and uncertain, her old training kicking in as usual, like she knew anyone of them could be watching her. The Press knew her as a top Executive in a Software Company, MI5 knew her as something completely different.

So, for the moment, she waited contently, brushing off photographers and reporters alike. Just glad to have a moment where she could reflect on what she had to do during the flight. Find her target and track him, easier said than done. Although she had chased him across the globe, she had never seen his face.

So Bridget Hunter was content to watch and wait.

Janice let the phone drop and squeeled. It had her cube mate jumping in shock and clapping her hands over her ears.

"Janice?! What in the hell?" Betty snapped thoroughly pissed off at the young, widowed mother of two who was dancing around as if she'd just won the Publishers Clearing House Million Dollar Giveaway, with whats-his-name-heading to downtown Split Neck New York to present it to Janice...

"Betty! Betty ! I won, I won... Two tickets round the world!!!" OH My Gods what am I going to do?" The slender brunettes joy changed instantly to near tears as she realized that her dream prize couldn't possibly be of any use to her. "I guess I'll have to seel them, see if any one will buy them on such short notice." She wailed. Who would keep her kids, Ronald, ten and, Carole, eight. She raised them herself since her husband had died in a car accident three days before their divorce would have become final...Thank goodness for his unchanged life insurance, but even that had barely helped them scrape by. She'd entered the contenst on a whim, filling out the card that tumbled from her magazine, and almost not remembering to get it in before the closing date...

That was five days ago. Now Janice Rylander (http://img360.imageshack.us/img360/8496/kbby2.jpg) and Milton Donner, her fiancee of six years, were staying at the world famous Mayfair Hotel -- in seperate bedrooms, on seperate floors, Miltons insistance of course -- in London and their around the world flight was going to lift off in just ten hours.

She still had every penny of the two thousands dollars spending money, and intended to put it all in her children's college fund. However Milton had insisted she bring it 'just in case', and since his reasoning - he was an accountant - made sence she agreed. She was hopeing he'd agree to set a date, given the posh , exotic atmosphere, but he hadn't as of yet.

“Now, Charles, Ah just don’t know ‘bout dis here plane idea bein’ the best way to get the music out, know what I’m sayin? Couldn’t I just, ah dunno, make anotha’ album or somethin’?”

Quincy Baily, speaking in his low, gruff drawl, looked concernedly at Charles Danavov, his mangy eastern European record producer, in the dark of his studio. The pair had been planning a comeback for years now, and Charles jumped at the ad National Airlines had just released concerning their new plane. He knew this was the perfect opportunity to get the Duke of Blues back into the spotlight. Quincy seemed unconvinced, however.

“Look, Quincy, I’ll be frank. No one listens to Delta Blues anymore. It hasn’t been popular since for, like, fifty years. This is the perfect way to get people to notice you. Remember the last album? And the three before that? All tankers, but not because you’re getting old-it’s that today’s crowd is getting dumb. An event like this might just get us the attention we need to pull you out of the proverbial-forgive my saying so-Has-been gutter.”
Quincy growled with acknowledgment, knowing Danavov was right, of course. He eyed the envelope in front of him and took a spin in his swivel chair, wondering what was really going on here. Finally giving in, he pocketed the envelope and rose from his seat.

“Fine, Ah'll do it. Just don’t make me do anything like dis' again. You know how Ah feel around rich folk like these.”

Danavov laughed openly. “Rich folk? Do you know how much we had to spend on that ticket? You are rich folk, Duke.”

“Only 'cause I’ve earned it.”

Nodding, Charles pushed a second envelope into Quincy’s hands before he could leave the studio. “It’s from…the boss, Duke. He has something else in mind; I don’t know what. Just don’t open this until you get on the plane, got it?” Quincy groaned softly. Of course…there was always a hitch. It wasn’t like he could back out now, though. Nodding to Danavov, he turned and left the studio quickly, stopping only to select one of his many guitars off the wall.

“This Is the last time, Charles. Ah'm getting too old for this.”

The sharp pain ran through the back of Chuck's head. Jerking his head up, half awake, he caught a glimpse of a running paparazzi with a large camera dangling from his side.

"Hey watch it, jerk!" Chuck yelled as he felt the small bump on the back of his head. The paparazzi turned around - from the face he looked no older than perhaps eighteen - just in time for Chuck to send a kind word of one-fingered sign language his way. He checked his watch. Great, thirty minutes of beauty sleep he thought to himself as he picked up his bag. He stood, stretched, and rubbed his eyes. He wondered what he needed first: a shower or a cigarette. However, upon catching a whiff of his shirt, he decided the cigarette could wait.

The showers were quite a long distance back; he'd caught an eye of them on his way in. His bag was tossed over his left shoulder, and, disheveled as he was, caught a glimpse of a beautiful young lady standing near the HST assembling area. She looked irritated, but who wouldn't with all the paparazzi and press patrolling the area. Chuck knew not to stare - "Your eyes can give away your intentions," an old friend had once told him - but he saw enough. He continued to walk toward the showers, letting out a little smirk as he went.

"Now you know Cathy, Ms. Armstrong, is going to invite those from the Ambassador suites over for drinks with her few at a time by few at a time. She'd probably ask those she hits it off with to stay longer so we're going to have to keep a close eye on who goes in and out." Millicent or Millie to her friend, the senior attendant for the Presidential Suite ran over the last minute preparatory information.

"Air Marshal M. Scott will be undercover in the suite." He was the senior air marshal assigned to National Airlines, and thus practically guaranteed that he'd snabble up this flight by virtue of his position.

As terrorists had practically collapsed the airline industry over the last few years, nations had finally volunteered enough law enforcement personnel to cover every flight that crossed national lines. National Airlines wasn't an American ‘flagged’ airline, but since they were stopping in that nation twice, and they had major hubs in country as well, most of their in flight security was American, with the second largest number being Japanese. In fact the second, junior air marshal was Ken Takahiro who hailed from Tokyo. He looked like something out of a manga, and was as keen eyed and angular as Spike Segal of Cowboy Bebop.

“We're going to have two acclaimed artists on board, both wanting to ply their trades, so we're going to give them Ambassador East. They're taking out two of the 'casual seats' now, to accommodate them. We're going to put the two chess grandmasters in with them, they'll be so absorbed in their high altitude record chess game that the painting and the blues playing might not even get noticed. But we've arranged to leave the entry way open so, and piped through the rest of the body as well.

Cathy looked at Madison, Holly, Jill and Tiffany with a smile they all knew that Millie adored Blues and Jazz, and would probably spend her break time trading off with Ann who was assigned to Ambassador East - Even if they loaded up the Presidential suite with idiots, it wouldn't take all six of them to cover it, so Millie would probably get a chance to listen to the musician, one Quincy "The Duke" Bailey (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13891547&postcount=10), quite a bit.

And surely the world famous artist, Leinad Nillum (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13878671&postcount=4), would enjoy it as he painted those fortunate enough to obtain a sitting with him.

Staff information:

Millie, Cathy, Madison, Holly, Jill and Tiffany are the flight attendants assigned to the Presidential suite. Garrison is the Concierge, and Rob is the Mixologist ( he will also be handing the drinks for the two Ambassadorial suites ), and Lawton is the Chef. M. Scott is the undercover Air Marshal.

Anne, Patrick, Wayne and Charles flight attendants are assigned to the Ambassadorial suites. Marcus is the Chef. Miss Swales and Mister Foster are the secretaries / office assistants assigned to the Ambassadorial lounges.

The Previous Day

"Excuse me, coming through!" came the deep voice of Leinad Nillum as the crowds parted to reveal him standing there with a half dozen moderately sized canvas mounted frames bound in a thin rope for easier transport as well as inspection-friendly by airport security. Hanging off his other shoulder was a medium sized bag, simple and torn from several years of use. It even had paint splattered here and there; a victim of the hazards of creativity. They had halted him at the scanners, questioning him about his arsenal of painting supplies, but once he explained who he was and why he was there; and spoken as quietly as possible to the guards for paparazzi control, all of whom hung near the security checkpoint, un-allowed to venture further, thankfully. Of course, that didn't stop a few of them from recognizing him beneath his ball cap and dark shades. They were however smart enough to not pursue him with dogged questions and recorders shoved into his face; not in a place like this.

Soon enough, Nillum was easily striding toward the gate. As he neared, his eye caught sight of a wall clock, and he noted that it was still thirty-three minutes until boarding. Pulling out his boarding pass he noted the time of the flight as verification. Then, he gazed out of the window of La Guardia airport at the large 757 Boeing commercial airplane, currently being filled with luggage and supplies.

With a sigh, he seated himself down and pulled out his sketchbook, a small one rather than a larger one. He carried enough things as it was, and sure didn't need to add in size to the bulk. His gaze shifted from paper and graphite to the lovely attendant dutifully tapping an endless myriad of unknown things into a computer before her. Off to the side, a security guard was standing with his arms in front of him, looking quite bored yet still attentive. He mentally registered the arrival of the dark haired man wearing the ball cap, and looked away after committing to partial memory the man's appearance.

Nillum continued working on his sketch, shifting slightly in his seat as he did so. For a moment, he glanced at his watch and thought to himself. Several more hours, and I'm in London. Then, to the hotel and tomorrow...to commemorate to paint the posterity of tomorrow's undoubtedly historic history about to occur. Oh yeah, I wonder who'll be on the plane?

His graphite pencil now worked to darken shadows of the drawing of the attendant, focusing at that moment on her eyes, which looked up toward the unseen audience with a half smile on her face.

Chuck stepped out of the steaming shower and wiped his eyes. It always amazed him what a long spray of hot water could do to wake one up out of a slumber. He let out a loud sigh, wrapped one of the complimentary towels around his waste, and walked toward his locker in the large, locker room-esque shower hall. After a few turns of the combination lock, the door opened, and he reached in to grab his lone messenger bag from a hook in the back of the locker.

What to wear today... This is a magical day, after all... Chuck thought to himself as he pulled the only articles of clothing from his bag. He turned to a nearby trashcan and threw the garments he had worn just minutes earlier into the large bin. There was no point in carrying soiled clothes on a luxury airliner, not to mention the odd stench that was eminating from the jeans. Today it would be his favorite pair of worn-out khaki cargo pants, an old, torn, plain red t-shirt, and a pair of trusty flip-flops. He may actually enjoy this world traveler look after all.

Chuck carefully put on his brown leather belt, and immediately tucked the front portion of his t-shirt into his pants, going for the famed "half-tuck." Looking around, he reached into his bag and puleld out a small, sheathed knife (http://www.511tactical.com/511Images/WebImages/Products/2006Update/large/51001_firstResponder_tanto_lg.jpg) and attached it to his belt at the small of his back, and promptly lowered his shirt to cover it. With the deals that had been made on his behalf, he expected no problems going through the gate to the HST. Chuck shuffled around some various items in his bsg, as if he were searchin for something. The sound of avrious plastic pieces and papers rustling together would ring a familiar sound in any nearby student or disheveled businessman.

Stepping out of the shower hall and back into the now-bustling terminal area, Chuck strapped his bag across his right shoulder and began looking around. Now where's that cute little red-headed chick? he wondered to himself as he craned his head around in varying directions.

"Are you sure that bottle is going to fit in that bag?" Shelly looked doubtful as Sophy continued to wedge the bottle of Clos du Mesnil 1995 - it had been seven hundred and fifty dollars when it first came on the market - less than thirteen thousand bottles from a walled estate of less than five acres of the most delicate grapes ever grown. Now there were less than a hundred bottles left. After this flight there would be at least one less - or so was the intent.

"Yes it will!" Sophy replied fiercely 'And we are going to celebrate when we become just as out of this world as we really are!" With one last determined shove she got the bottle in and zipped the equally expensive bag closed.

"Well we aren't really going in to more than near space, even if NASA classifies anything above sixty two miles up as space." Shug looked up from her copy of A Sideways Look at Time and noted calmly.

"That's close enough for me" Shelly replied as she finished brushing her hair and gave it a pat as she checked herself in the mirror. "We deserve a vacation. Our investments have drawn extra dividends and the Seas have out done the Oceans."

That brought a round of whole hearted laughter for all three women. None of which looked anywhere near their real ages.

"Well with the boys and Maud off on the Mary, this is purely for fun." Shug set her book aside "But I'm still up for targets of opportunity.”

Shelly and Sophie exchanged looked, and nodded.

"The usual? I'm 'The Lush',” Sophie held up the heavy carry on as she nodded to Shug then Shelly “You’re 'The Sex Bomb' and you're 'The Ditz' …”

“And it's all Golden" They chorused as one.

They strutted out of the Dorchester Hotel’s Oliver Messel Suite, and were shortly being handed into a chauffeured limo that inturn would shortly deliver them to Heathrow. And to the private entry for those with the pull to belong to one of the private clubs that catered to the privileged who had for unfathomable reasons decided to descend from their Olympian heights to travel with the common man. They would board hours later after dining in style at the elegant and exclusive club.

They would be sitting in Ambassador West. They wondered who else would be.

Ruben Halifax disliked airports. The abundance of security personnel, cameras and other measures made him quite uncomfortable, although he would never let that show. Comfortably lounging on a couch within his own private suite located in the High Flyers complex of Heathrow Airport, Ruben studied all the information he had gathered on the Hyper Sonic Transport.

The capabilities of the plane weren't really of any interest to Ruben, he simply wanted to know the layout in case anything occurred that would require evasive action. A near obsessive compulsive habit of being prepared combined with years of experience had taught Ruben to be ready for everything and expect the worst. So far that attitude hadn't failed him, at least not recently.

As far as anyone on the plane was concerned, Ruben was simply the marketing director of a very successful and global arms manufacturing company. Not really one of the A-list passengers but certainly wealthy enough to get a ticket without much difficulty.

Ruben grinned somewhat at his current situation. After a few bad experiences in the U.S, Africa and The Golden Simatar, Ruben had landed a job in marketing middle management for a failing arms manufacturer, Effective Solutions. It had only taken a few years to turn that company around and reach the top of the marketing hierarchy within ES. Marketing came easy to him. He certainly wasn't an expert in the multitude of so called legitimate theories and such, he didn't even have a business degree. Ruben had simply read a few text books, mentioned a bunch of buzz words and applied his own skills. As far as he was concerned, the core of marketing was manipulation. Manipulate the people around you into doing what you want. In another life Ruben may have been a legitimate marketer instead of what he was now, not that there was a word that really described what he was.

An alarm burst into life sourced by the clock on the counter across the room, causing Ruben to sit up. It was time to get changed and make his way to the boarding terminal. Ruben wasn't expecting the flight to be eventful but life was a harsh mistress, a mistress that would gladly kick you between the legs when your back was turned.

"Now remember ladies and gentlemen, we have Only fifty five people to keep happy this trip and you all only have to go as far as Hong Kong. The second shift will be changing out there." Nick looked at the ten flight crew - and remembered when they used to be called stewards and stewardesses- two galley crew - who could pitch in if extra 'up front' hands were needed -and one office assistant - that was a new one, but necessary now days.

Five of their sixty had been upgraded, he advised the intently listening crew -The Maynard family - very wealthy and politically connected Togovians - had suffered a family tragedy and cancelled just an hour ago. So it would be a surprise for five Corporate Class passengers to find themselves upgraded by Ms. Armstrong’s personal request. He didn't mention that the very public assassination had occurred there in London- the man who's vehicle had made such made-for-tv mess just off Hyde partk, at one of London's most exclusive hotels, had a different last name - though eventually the connection would be made.

He just hoped they were airborne before the newsies made the connection. He'd really hate the extra work. Turning to the next page he skimmed it quickly and continued with the last minute briefing.

Bridget leant against one of the walls and hummed an old Irish folk tune to herself, looking around at the crowd that passed her gate. She watched as airport staff, photographers, passengers and even well-wishers bustled beyond her on a human motorway through the spine of the airport. The air was filled with noise and conversation as people were welcomed to England, or bidden farewell to by tearful relatives. Some were just heading off in search of adventure across the globe, some were looking forward to spending quality time with their families on holiday. A thousand people living a thousand lives in a thousand different ways. None of which she was interested in.

She finished her song and sighed, looking around again at one of the large clocks to ensure that her own watch was correct. It was, and that meant there was another half-hour to boarding. She was bored stiff, standing and waiting, she had nothing in particular that she wanted to do in front of a legion of passers-by and so she stood and waited. The past few hours had dragged like a never-ending road. She was tempted to say it was worse than her wait in Belfast, but that would be a lie and so she omitted it from her thoughts.

Her head was swimming with the noise and bustle of the airport. She had always hated crowded spaces, they just didn’t appeal to her. She preferred the quiet and more intimate surroundings of the Irish countryside. It’s rolling hills, quiet woods and babbling streams. She even missed the drizzle that often fell during the warm, spring afternoons in her native Kilbridge just outside Dublin city. She missed those elements of her life very much, however, there were some that aspects that she did not miss.

It was then that her hand involuntarily drafted to the inside of her leather jacket and pulled out a small golden locket. Inside was an old faded photo. She looked at it sadly for a few moments, taking in every detail of the faded image, a portal to a happier time. Before her current woes, before her life had taken over her. She could already feel the tears pricking the corners of her eyes so she quickly snapped the locket shut and stored it safely back in the inside pocket of her jacket. Even so, it did not take the image away from her mind and she forced herself to think of something else to steer her mind away from a painful memory.

So she began to analyse each person that walked past her, taking in details such as their weight, height and wither or not they could carry a weapon. She enjoyed using her little talent, comparing people until she found the best, then trying to find someone better. It was not an interesting thing to do but for a troubled Bridget, it was more than enough.

So Bridget Hunter stood and waited.

A hour ago...

The vornskrari male yipped as he lowered the binoculars from his eyes. He didn't need them to see the rather large, spectular explosion or the former Mercedes leaping into the air as a burning chassis. "Bless me to Mira! Gorram, Gold, we wanted the Togo dead, not a smoking crater and a flying slag heap!"

Sargeant Gold Mira'ad of the Catawaban Miraaderic Guard glared at her brother and fellow guard, Mird. Another vornskrari walked up between then and shielded her sensitive eyes with a hand as the blast wave pushed her bright red mane back like a fan. "Wow, your boyfriend is one pup short of a pack, ya know, vod'ika?"

Gold stuffed the remote detonator back in a pocket. She got up and walked past the other female, lowering her shoulder to bump her sister out of the way. "JK is not crazy." A split second later she remembered to add, "And he's not my boyfriend, Dala'ika."

Dala'ika exchanged a glance with her brother. Mird rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, ner vod. But we need to move. And quicker now because your boyfriend just tried to push the Togo's car into low earth orbit." He started to gather his gear from around the roof top.

Dala'ika moved to do the same. "I bet he'll be excited about this one...."

Gold spared a glance back at the collapsing fireball, a slight smile of pride on her lips. "...he sure will be..." She couldn't wait to tell him later, but that was after they made their get away quietly. MI5 was already giving them generous leeway to take care of this scumbag. As long as Scotland Yard or the Metro Police didn't get them, this was all just favors exchanged between governments. Well, a gratuitious favor also went to whoever tipped them off to this scumbag.

~~~~~~

Closer to now...

The older man swung a hand into the crowd to get them to part and let them through. Flashbulbs flickered and snapped as paparazzi exposed shot after shot to capture an image of the ward the older man was sheparding towards the airport terminal.

Like a man freeing himself from quicksand, the older man took a deep breath and pulled his ward free of the photographers. She seemed impervious to the the annoyance. She grinned and blew kisses to the photographers, thanking them sweetly. The gentleman ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair and glared back at the vultures. He looked down to the young woman on his arm. "Are you okay, love?"

She looked up and patted his hand which gave a dull, hollow thump of plastic. "Don't worry, Andy. They're just my adooooring public. Tee."

Andrew Weber sighed at the girl's perky giggle and disposition and pushed a bit of her wavy red hair out of the way. "Aye, so they are, love, so they are...come we'll miss the plane."

He lead her into the security check point, privately dreading this. He hated the extra precautions and searches that his prostestics always demanded. They always set off the metal detectors. He always had to demonstrate that he wasn't hiding a weapon in his artificial hand or foot. Once security was confident that he hadn't shaved a long black mustache that he would twirl malovolently while plotting their doom, they let him past. As tedious as it was, at least Heathrow's security was better than American security.

His ward, Leroux Lloyd was standing at the other end of security. She twirled slightly as she waited, enjoying how her dress flew from her. At least his scrutiny saved her from so much trial and tribulation at security check points. She slipped her arm through his and allowed him to lead the way to the HST. All the while she regaled him with how much she was excited to be going on this trip and how cool and sweet he was and how she would buy him a teddy bear at a gift shop and and and and...and all of that the speed of an overly caffeinated squirrel.

The Heathrow public announcement system was very clear and easy to hear.

"The National Airline Sky Haven Lounge is now open for passengers of the National Airlines round-the-world transit. If you have a boarding pass you are welcome to make yourself comfortable in the Lounge.” The voice was melodious and welcoming – they’d paid a completely unknown actress a small fortune to have the rights to her voice. It was the voice that every woman wished she had but didn’t quite get jealous over. Studies had always shown that people responded better to a female’s voice in any sort of non emergency system.

Aboard the HST, the staff of the Starlight Lounges and the Premier Class were receiving their last minute walk throughs and fresh flowers to adorn the meal trays. Between the three sections – Starlight a and B, and Premier, they had just 36 Premier and 24 total in the Starlight. The flight attendants numbered 12, the on board chef and his two helpers, and four office assistants plus the Max the ‘midterm flight director’ who coordinated the crew for those three sections gave this section almost the strongest crew to patron ratio. And Max was an utter perfectionist – a smiling handsome brown nosing patron pleaser who had won every award the company handed out. And was cordially hated by every one he managed.

Almost all of the passengers had assembeled in one of the three lounges set aside for the inaugural Flight.

"The National Airline Sky Haven Lounge is now open for passengers of the National Airlines round-the-world transit. If you have a boarding pass you are welcome to make yourself comfortable in the Lounge.”

Ruben had just passed through security when the message announcing the Sky Haven lounge had filled his years. There hadn't been any issues at the security check-in, despite Ruben having two knives strapped to his legs. The blades themselves were carbon fibre; not exactly the best material for a blade but they were hard, sharp and didn't set off metal detectors.

Reasonably familiar with the layout of Heathrow Airport, Ruben took the most direct path to the lounge he was aware of, easily weaving amongst the crowd of people that seemed to always move a terribly slow pace. As far as Ruben was concerned there were far too many people in the world, most of them entirely too stupid to deserve being alive. Of course it wasn't his job to support natural selection, most of these people could further that cause themselves but when they crossed his path, Ruben had no qualms about clearing said path with lethal force.

Wearing a dark black suit complimented by a white shirt and dark red tie, Ruben looked somewhat like the playable character from the Hitman games. Ruben hadn't played the game but he liked the look that was coincidentally the choice clothing for a fictional killer.

Most of the media hadn't troubled Ruben as he passed by as they were evidently more interested in the celebrities and such that would be boarding. Some had snapped a few photos of him and he figured that would do for a ES publicity, at least for now. Ruben had other plans for that company that would result in far more publicity and controversy. The media would be all over it then, although he wouldn't be around for the fallout.

Entering the lounge, Ruben took a quick look around him. It was certainly a nice setup, perhaps not as nice as the High Flyers lounge but he had his own suite there. Privacy was always a big bonus as far as he was concerned.

"The National Airline Sky Haven Lounge is now open for passengers of the National Airlines round-the-world transit. If you have a boarding pass you are welcome to make yourself comfortable in the Lounge.”

Midway down the terminal arm from the gate, Leroux stopped when she heard the announcement. Leroux pouted and looked up at Andrew. He just barely suppressed rolling his eyes. "She speaks like she has a cheap voice coach. You have the best coach, my dear, and for that reason you sing like an angel."

She smiled broadly and hugged Andrew's arm tightly. Her frown averted and her spirits raised, Leroux went back to talking about some subject he hadn't be able to keep up with. All the while she missed the fact he'd complimented himself to compliment her. Well, it was not as if audiences clamored for Leroux's brains.

Andrew brought them to the Sky Haven Lounge. As he flashed their boarding passes to the receptionist, he idlely wondered to what lengths National Airlines would go, on this their grandest day.

The President of National Airlines, Ms. Agatha Armstrong (http://www.geocities.com/monaco70s/gracewhiteblue.jpg) looked about the most elegant of the three lounges and nodded in minimal approval. Only those lucky few who would be flying with her or in the Ambassadorial suites would be gracing this lounge - and it almost met her standards - which meant that it was opulent luxury to even most billionaires. But then again few really knew that Ms Armstrong was far more than some mere billionaire - she'd started National Airlines as a hobby, and a cover. But even fewer living knew that.

The Trianon Club was never intended to be seen by the riff and raff, but solely those of the Ton who would be choosing speed over the true exclusivity of a private chartered or owned airplane. It would be the only reason patrons of that caliber would descend from their exclusive atmospheres. But on among them, business, where billions were small change, was face to face, man to man – women of that species were mistresses, wives, mothers, and terrifying matriarchs but not a part of club. Thus the need for speed.

In six weeks there would be daily flights from Heathrow or Orly to Dulles, or Moscow, or Tokyo or . ...well nearly every major airport in the world. National Airlines was going to take the world by the ankles and shake it until every one who needed to be any were fast would be clamoring for a seat. All thanks to the marvel that was the HST.

There were three lovely young women with her, in their early twenties and dressed almost as if attending a red carpet affair. However like their hair and make up, the gowns were muted, to allow the women to more discretely blend into the background. Their job was to tell any who inquired, about last minute, surprise display in the Presidential Suite. A close friend was gifting the Victoria and Albert Museum several of his family’s Fabergé eggs and those, plus several pieces from the Hermitage collection of Imperial jewels would be gracing the HST’s Presidential Suite. Each of the three young ladies were wearing several million dollars worth of the jewels in the form of jewelry sets that complimented their looks and gowns. One was wearing rubies and diamonds that her warm skin hue and dark hair off beautifully. She was the shortest of the three and slightly buxom. The tallest a slender platinum blonde carried off the pearls and diamonds with style, and the redhead’s deep auburn hair set off the emeralds perfectly. They all had the most cultured of accents and perfect society manners. They each intended to snare a fat mogul by the end of the flight.


Next door - though it had been designed not to appear to be so -was the Sky Haven Lounge had a hostess greeting each guest as they arrived. There would be only those in the Starlight Lounges and the Premier Class in it's luxury. And the decor was as exclusive as it was meant to be.

"Mister Halifax?" The Hostess dipped her head to take a quick look at the gentlemans boarding pass and gave him a genuine smile of welcome "Please make yourself comfortable. Would you care for something to drink?" She gestured discretely towards the bar, then to the lavish buffet that had been laid out.

A second hostess, with a warm smile of welcome had come forward to greet the next couple - Mister Weber and his protoge Miss Lloyd "Good Morning and welcome to the Sky Haven Lounge. Would you care for tea or other refreshment?"

"Sir, if you could step over here for a moment."

Leinad sighed to himself as he nodded. It was apparently his luck today to have been chosen for the more invasive security search. While it was useful, he rather thought it was a waste of time. He held his arms out, spread his legs and watched as the wand was waved about his person. Satisfied after several minutes, he was released and allowed to move on toward his flight and toward a memory he'd never forget.

He overheard the announcement and out of the side of his eye noted a small conversation between a soft speaking man and a lovely younger woman. Something about better coaches and better vocalists.

Arriving where he had been directed by voice-over message relay, he held up his ticket briefly to whomever might care enough to look. Dressed in a light yellow polo, complete with a little blue polo player on his front breast, he finished it off with a pair of beige slacks, neatly pressed. Over his shoulder, he carried his trusty black bag splattered with paint, and in that hand also he carried the framed canvas pieces.

Setting down his canvases and bag next to a seat nearby, he sat down and brought his face to rest in his hands a moment as he breathed at last a fully relaxed breath. His fingers rubbed at his eyes, and while he appeared tired, he was not.

"Mister Leinad Nillum? I'm Grace Merriweather, your liason with National Air." The voice was soft and sweet with a faint British accent. "My deepest apologies for being so late to find you sir." She was of medium height with tawny brunetrte hair and a National Airlines security tag discretely clipped to her well tailored blazer.

"Your driver delivered you to the wrong entrance, and I just wasn't fast enough to catch up with you." She smiled apologetically as she offered her hand for a shake. "If you'll come with me, I'll have you in the comfort of the Trianon Club in two shakes of a lambs tail."

Bridget heard the announcement over the tannoy system and moved forwards towards the Sky Haven lounge. She was approaching the security section of Heathrow and she gave a small smile at the man who was standing and waiting to direct her through one of the metal dectectors. She obediently put her heavy bag into the x-ray machine and stepped through the metal detector. It remained silent as she walked through it and so she waited patiently for her bag to come through the other end.

When it had done so and she was moved off without any suspicion or even a second glance. She headed straight into the Sky Haven lounge, going for the toilet. She nodded to the Host and noted the other people in the lounge already. Some of which she recognised, some of which she didn't. All she knew was that her target was not yet here so she vanished into one of the rather expansive toilet cubicles and locked the door behind her. She took only a moment to enjoy the surroundings before she got to work.

Firstly, she took out a large, leather book, sealed shut by glue. The cover was something dreary and uninteresting, Role of Women in the history of the Greek Empire or something like that. The title did not interest her, all that interested her what was inside. She took out a small knife, one which she had managed to dismiss as a small personal item, all she had had to do was sign a specific form to tell the Marshalls and the Pilot that she was carrying it. She took the knife out and sliced through the pages, cutting between them to seperate the book into two parts again. The first thing she had done was take out the sheet of tinfoil beneath the front cover. The thign that would have reflected the X-rays and persuaded the Operator that they were looking at a reflective cover. However, when the cover was removed, the book's most important function was revealed.

Fitting inside a nice, snug little gap cut into the book's pages, was a Berretta 9000. A smaller pistol that she had been able to fit into the medium sized book. It was a simple method of sneaking a firearm onto a plane. She could have told them she was MI5 but that would betrayed her cover. Apparently, there would be an FBI Agent here as well to co-operate with but she would take that with a pinch of salt. Bridget did not hold the FBI in a very high regard.

Slipping the Beretta into a holster beneath her shoulder, closing her jacket and making sure that the book was properly sealed again, she walked out into the Sky Haven lounge and took a seat, twisted a strand of her long red hair through her fingers. Waiting.

Always waiting.

"Mister Halifax? Please make yourself comfortable. Would you care for something to drink?"

Ruben's attention was quickly engulfed by the young woman before as she checked his pass and welcomed him. She didn't appear to be a threat but the day Ruben stopped being suspicious of everyone was the day he would lie down and die.

"A scotch and dry, if it's not too much trouble."

Ruben didn't drink a lot of often but he did enjoy the occasional scotch. He considered alcohol a weakness for most people. With your senses and wits numbed by the poison it became very easy for people to take advantage of you.

Thanking the woman for her assistance, Ruben proceeded towards an empty booth that consisted of a comfortable looking couch and an ornately carved wooden table before it. There certainly was considerable effort evident in this setup but Ruben was not impressed by the ability to spend vast amounts of money.

A second hostess, with a warm smile of welcome had come forward to greet the next couple - Mister Weber and his protoge Miss Lloyd "Good Morning and welcome to the Sky Haven Lounge. Would you care for tea or other refreshment?"

Weber smiled in return. "A cup of tea would be great." He glanced down at his protege who nodded. "Two would be better, miss." All his interaction with the hostess included absolutely no eye contact. Lecherously, Weber's point of focus was centered upon her chest. Miss Lloyd was cheerfully oblvious.

Chuck heard the announcement over the intercoms as he perused several magazines in a local coffeshop he'd found in the terminal area. Thanking the barista for his frappé, he slid the copy of Maxim back into its place, picked up his messenger bag, and swiftly walked out of the small shop. He approached the security gate, and thus quickly pulled out his boarding pass and passport. He slid his bag onto the x-ray conveyor belt, and stood in line to get through the gate. Upon reaching the officer at the gate, Chuck handed his passport over. The guard quickly looked at the passport, nodded his head, and passed Chuck quickly through the gate. It was weird how things worked, but that's what happened when you have "connections." Picking up his bag and slinging it over his right shoulder, Chuck walked forward and finally found the HST boarding area. He checked over his boarding pass one more time, and found his specific lounge - something called the Trianon Club. He slowly walked forward, finally handing his pass to one of the petite, yet stunningly gorgeous attendants.

The girl - she looked no older than eighteen - looked over his boarding pass for a moment. During the moment, Chuck found himself looking around the area, taking note of the various people getting ready to board the flight, those already going through the check-in area, and others standing around the immediate vecinity. He slowly began to feel sick. He saw the people around him, filling their lives and their emptiness with gross amounts of money and wealth. Of course, one would have to have been where he'd been for the past several months to know exactly how he felt at this moment. Chuck had spent his last several months with the scum - the dregs, if you will - of modern society. He had played basketball with drug dealers and abusers whom he would be quick to call some of his closest friends at the time. He'd shared drinks with a convicted rapist, and had intimate, life-changing conversations with a heroin-addicted prostitute. He knew a woman who had, just days days prior, been murdered for her inability to pay various gambling debts. And here Chuck was, boarding what was to be one of the grandest, most luxurious flights in the history of modern aviation.

Chuck shook his head and ran his long fingers through his dirty blonde hair. He turned his attention back to the attendant, waiting for his permission to enter the pre-boarding area for the HST.

Rising to his feet as soon as he was being addressed by the rather lovely young woman, Leinad smiled warmly and shook her hand, "Ah yes, Miss Merriweather. They've hired angels for this entire affair, and a very lovely woman you are, if I might be so bold to say! It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance." Nillum replied as he quickly gathered his belongings and followed after her.

As they walked, he looked her over from behind, for she lead the way to the Trianon Club. She had all curves in all the right places, and he pondered the possibility of having her pose for a few paintings. She really was a beautiful woman, and that was coming from an artistic point of view. Then again, just about anything could be considered beautiful from an artistic view for artists found a strange attraction to the uniqueness of everything they encountered, including people.

"Will you be on this grand flight, Miss Merriweather, perhaps as a flight attendant?" Nillum pressed, hoping to have an opportunity to win her over and have her pose for him. Sometimes, he met people that he just knew he wanted to render an artistic depiction, and he would do whatever he had to in order to see that through to the end.

The terrible trio entered the Trianon Club hard on the heels of their cabana boy handsome escort, followed by their baggage porter. Ladies just didn't carry their own carry on bags.

"We'll, Aggie has certainly out done herself this time" Sophie gushed as she swooped down upon a tuxedo'd waiter and his tray of champagne, scooping up a fresh one for herself. It had been such a long walk from the private club.

"Oh look at those orchids!" Shug noted "And I wonder who he is? I don't recognize him from Debrettes" she was looking over at a well muscled, dark blond haired young man who was clad, in of all things worn-out khaki cargo pants, an often washed, tattered, red t-shirt, and a pair flip-flops "We haven't any prodigal sons inheriting the proverbial have we?"

Shelly looked over and frowned, her reply too soft to be heard by any one but the other two. "I think we have an anomaly."

As one their eyes took in the layout of the Trianon Club, noting entrances and exits, and every one else within. The young man and others would not be dismissed.

“Okay we have the meteor shower artist, and big bang that we know of and ...ah show time ladies, the curtain has just gone up.” Sophie’s smile became a high wattage model and she waved enthusiastically at Ms. Agatha Armstrong who had just entered through a private door. With many a glad crie and coo the three descended on their old finishing school chum.

Weber managed to tear his attention away from the hostess after she turned away to pour their tea and after Leroux trod on his good foot with the point of her heel. She spared him no glance or even seemed to notice the stifled curse under Andrew's lips as she strode towards a flat screen monitor quietly reporting the past day's happenings.

The bleach blonde anchor dutifully frowned as she came to a stretch of sad news. First was a report that featured eyewitness camera footage of the flying, burning Mercedes from last night. No one had stepped forward to claim responsibility for the bombing, but eyes quickly swept toward the Miraadery of Catawaba and the Herringdom of the Outback Organization. Both were former Togovian colonies, had good reason to want the Togovian victim dead, and where known for the willingness escue international legal means to take matters into their own hands or paws in the HOO's case.

This story had not impact or import to Leroux other than gaining an "oooaaah" reaction as one would during a fireworks display at a national celebration. The anchor then moved onto a story. Apparently two chess grandmasters had been rushed to hospital this very morning. A graphic appeared depicting the two older men (http://www.bear-town.com/images/for_journal/from-the-balcony.jpg). One named Waldorf J. Henson was tall with long hooking nose and prominent chin. The other was Statler M. Uppet who was a good deal shorter with bushy white hair and a equally bushy mustache. The two had apparently been eating breakfast at their hotel in London when they became dreadfully ill. While tragic, eyewitnesses reported that "they 'ad it comin', noisy ol' coots! Da tings dey said to me chillrun!" Though less important or graphic than a exploding, flying luxury sedan, it was still news on this slow news morning building up the the coverage of the flight of National Airline's luxury HST.

Leroux looked away from the monitor. Weber was accepting his cup of tea from the hostess, again leering at her. "Andy?"

"Hmm..eh what?" He snapped his attention away from the hostess's blouse to his protege, taking a quick sip to cover his flutter.

Leroux smiled and thanked the hostess as she accepted her own cup of tea. She lifted her cup and saucer towards the flat screen to point to the story about the old men. "Andy, aren't those the two men who were in the balcony last night?"

Andy raised an eyebrow and watched the screen for a few moments. "Hmm...yes those are the hecklers that interrupted your performance last night....food poisoning? Nasty business that, but can't say they didn't get what they deserved."

Leroux looked shocked. "But...but they were just grumpy old men, Andy!"

"They compared your singing to that of a pig and a puppet and then agreed that a pig puppet sang better. They have sown their kharma and reaped their illnesses." Weber leaned in and kissed her on the forehead.

Leroux blushed under the kiss and looked away to the screen again. "Hey, Andy, wasn't that our hotel they were staying in?"

Andy didn't glance. "Was it now? Fancy that. I hope my eggs were cooked better than theirs." He turned away and walked towards a glorious two person leather loveseat.

Leroux looked back at the screen. Had she missed what they ate? She shrugged, and hoped that Andy had had his eggs cooked longer before following him to the loveseat.

[NN: Funny. Cat: Classic.]

As Chuck stood, waiting for the attendant to wave him into the HST waiting area, he felt his back pocket begin to vibrate. He held his hand up to the attendant, signaling he would need a moment to answer his phone, which he slowly pulled out of his pocket and held to his ear.

"Yeah?" Chuck answered the phone as he slowly stepped away from the attendant, who continued to hold his boarding pass in her hand.

"You're cut," the voice coming through the phone said in a matter-of-fact manner.

"What? Who is this?" Chuck asked hurriedly. He'd just heard the two words anyone in his line of work never wanted to hear. For some reason, Chuck was being dropped from the face of the earth.

The person on the other end of the phone hung up, leaving Chuck standing in a corner, facing a wall. He lowered the phone and replaced it in his back pocket. He checked his wallet to see what he had that would help him for the moment: eight hundred dollars in cash, various forms of identification, and three credit cards, which would no longer help him do anything than perhaps pick an unlocked door.

What's going on? he wondered to himself. For the moment, all he could do was get on this flight; after that, he could think about his next step. Slowly, he returned to the attendant and faked a smile, waiting to be waved onboard.

Grace blushed at his compliments, but only slightly- she looked good and knew it, but had never had undo vanity over it. She really preferred to respected for her rather solid intellect.

"Will you be on this grand flight, Miss Meriwether, perhaps as a flight attendant?"

"Actually I'm one of Ms Armstrong’s personal assistants. She's not trusting our most special guests to any one less. And please feel free to call me Grace" She led the artist into the privileged luxury of the Trianon Club, past a young man with dark blonde hair turned away and on his cell phone.

"Allow me to introduce you to Ms Armstrong, as I see she is here." Grace offered as one of the club attendants came to take his carry-ons so that he could be more comfortable.

Ms Agatha Armstrong (http://i22.photobucket.com/albums/b316/Drakia/agatha.jpg) was a regal blond beauty who was standing chatting softly with three other equally stunning women, all three of whom had very close resemblances to famous faces. Well to be honest all four did.

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Agatha, or as only her closest of friends could call her, Aggie, moved forward to meet her three old friends, her entire face lighting in a warm but restrained smile. "C's! oh it's good to see all of you again. And Sophie you aren't trying to sneak a magnum aboard my plane are you?" She demanded in a teasing tone.

"Just one" Came the laughing reply as air hugs and kisses were traded all 'round. "Now we've all heard so much about the Russian Eggs. You will let us in to see them right?

"Of course. You do the best reviews, and these are six that have been out of the public eye since the revolution." Aggie commented as all four took fresh flutes of mimosas from the server.

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Leroux and Andrew Weber had barely settled in to the indeed supremely comfortable love seat and finished their fragrant cups of tea when a tall, fashionably attired young man with dark hair and a deep tan strode up. With a half bow he introduced himself.

"Miss Lloyd, Mister Weber? I am Victor Hellemarke" He spoke in an odd, unspecificly identifiable European accent "Ms. Armstrong asked me to hunt you down and inquire if you would care to take advantage of a last minute opening in Ambassador East."

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Holly Winter looked at the most unlikely looking patron – his clothes didn’t even mutter ‘wealth’ much less look it. But his boarding pass and ticket were on the mark – when he’d stepped aside to take that call she’d double checked the computers data base.. It was legit, having been paid for by a governmental purchase order. She knew the coding but she still shook her head. Most governments willing to spend this sort of money just sent one of their national flagged carriers, or jostled the passenger aboard a military transport.

“Mister Fontenot, can I get you something from the bar?” Holly asked as she escorted him to one of the Trianon Club’s comfortable leather recliners.. She thought he looked rather odd after the call and she was concerned. The last thing this celebrity laden flight needed was any sort of trouble among the posh of the posh.

Andrew looked in surprise at Leroux who was visibly excited at the prospect of more luxury and grandeur. It was like all she'd ever dreamed of growing up on the family sugar plantation. Andrew laid his teacup and saucer on the arm of the love seat carefully. He got to his feet and helped Leroux to her. "It feels most irregular but most appreciated, Mister Hellemarke."

Miss Lloyd smiled enthusiastically. "First, our seats opened up at the last moment, and now this!"

Chuck sat in the recliner but did not recline. He sat up, running his hand over his face. When the attendant inquired as to his desire from the bar, it nearly scared him; he was intensly deep in thought.

"Uh," he said, taking a deep breath, "yes ma'am, a, um, mango mojito if you got it - extra mint leaves, if you don't mind." He smiled as she nodded and walked away. She was pretty, but not quite in the same way as the other attendants in the area. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was definitely something different about Miss Winter.

Chuck sat back quietly as his thoughts began to stir again. Who did it? And why? Especially now, of all times! Here I am, stuck on the most luxurious airliner of all time, looking like a dirtbag, and they decide to cut me!? As he was thinking, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He searched through it, finally pulling out a one hundred dolalr bill. If he wanted to start doing anything about his current situation, he was going to need friends, and who better to start with than his attendant? He'd noticed her looking him up and down - or moreso, he felt it - and knew he didn't look the part for the occasion.

Chuck slowly sat up again as he noticed Ms. Winter coming back from the bar.

Bridget found herself being unhappily sheperded by an Attendant towards a set of recliners that she had been told she really must sit in. She had no desire to do so, for Bridget Hunter always preferred standing to sitting but the young, smiling Attendant was insistant and Bridget was in no mood for a fight. She simply smiled and uttered a polite thank you before settling down in one of the comfortable recliners. It was cosy, she had to admit and they were luxurious, but such thoughts only distracted her from her objective so she tried to push them out of the way.

To her right was a man, rather disheivelled compared to the other Guests on the flight and he seemed agitated about something. He was having a drink of some kind of which Bridget could smell mint. She did not care about the drink and she did not care about this man but she was bored so she decided to play her game on him,
Even though he was sitting down, she estimated his height to be about 6' or so, with a weight between 180 to 210ibs, most of it being muscle of course. What interested her most of all, though was not his physical appearance, but his body language. Small jerks or turns, undetectable to all but the very best of the Police.
From the way he moved in his seat, she could tell he knew how to handle himself, that he was carrying a weapon of some kind, a knife or a handgun, in the small of his back, she knew there was something stressful in his life and he was doing his best to cover it up.
Such information had been vital in Bridget's former line of work, one she was not willing to dive into again unless absolutely neccessary and even then, it would be with great reluctance, most of the kills from that era of her life were still useful to her and she deployed them in the best way possible.
Deciding this man may be more interesting than she first thought, Bridget moved over a seat so she was sitting just one away from him. That was as close as she wanted to get for now. She wondered if he knew her. Most people did through her job as an Member of the Board at one of the largest IT Firms in the world, most of the public would not have recognised her at all.

"Hello," She nodded politely to the man, "I'm Bridget Hunter. I assume you're for this historic flight as well?" She gave a charming, some would even say enchanting, smile as she sat.

As the attendant returned to Chuck with his drink, and just before he handed the hundred dollar bill to her, he noticed a very beautiful young lady take her seat next to him. Quickly thinking, he tucked the large bill back into his pocket, politely nodding to the attendant and thanking her for the drink. He took note of her body and facial features, deciding he would most likely need to encouter her again for reasons he could not yet fathom.

As the attendant walked away, her feet seemingly gliding across the delicate floor, the lady in the seat next to Chuck introduced herself as Bridget Hunter. After taking a small sip of his drink, Chuck placed it in a cupholder next to him and turned his head to face the beautiful young girl. He smiled, for it was the same girl he'd noticed in the terminal as he hunted down the shower room. She seemed slightly more relaxed than she did in the terminal. However, there was something about the way she introduced herself. She was obviously not here for the same, obnoxious reasons as nearly everyone else on the flight, for she actually took the time to talk to someone. Moreso, she took the time to introduce herself to someone who looked like Chuck did at the time.

"Yes ma'am," he answered, smiling generously. "Charles Fontenot," he introduced himself, extending his hand in order to greet the woman. "What brings you aboard this flight, if I may ask?" he asked cautiously. Something was different about this woman, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He hated the feeling. Knowing there was something drastically out of place, but then again, not knowing exactly what was missing or what was there to begin with that shouldn't be... it was nearly torture sometimes.

She was gorgeous, yes she was, and she would serve as a momentary relief from the anguish he was experiencing at the time. Plus, he had to come across as naturally as possible if he was going to be able to use this new acquaintance anytime soon.

Bridget watched as the man, who had introduced himself as Charles Fontenot politely thanked the Attendant for bringing him his drink, then turn to her. She took the hand offered and shook it delicately, not able to stop herself smiling at his beaming expression. It seemed like he was glad to talk to someone. That was alright, for she was glad to talk to someone as well.

Then she saw him ask a question, saw his discomfort at asking it and knew something was wrong. She did not know exactly what it was but she knew something was very wrong. Even though she could not specify it, MI5 protocol and her own personal rules dictated that as soon as she thought something was wrong, she should break contact and withdraw from the area. But that wasn't possible now. She was in conversation with a man who seemed to have a sense of instinct, those were the one's she hated most, and she would see him on the plane anyway. She had a job to do, a killer to catch and she'd be damned if she was gonna give up this chance.

So instead, she thought for a moment before answering,
"I'm here for my company," She explained in her strong and easily identifiable Dublin accent, "They want to raise the company profile y'know? Plus I'm supposed to meet a big gun man we're working with and try and get some photos together, all publicity" She was quiet then for a few moments then spoke again,

"And you, Charles, what are you doing aboard this flight? Some businessmen you have to keep happily or strictly for pleasure?"

Chuck let out a muffled laugh and smiled again as he answered. "Well, a little of both, I guess. I'm obviously not of the greatest power of wealth aboard this ship," he said, again laughing as he motioned toward his attire. "Promise not to tell?" he asked, as if he was playing some childish game of "Who can keep the secret the longest?" It was quite pathetic, really, but he was going somewhere with it.

"See, I'm a freelance photojournalist. My sponsor got me on this plane to cover it from the 'inside;' undercover, if you will. But," he said, reclining in his chair and reaching for his mojito, "my sponsor just called a few minutes ago and said I was off the hook. Cancelled the job and everything. So now I'm stuck on this plane full of snobby rich folks who can't even make a proper mojito!" he whispered rather loudly, sipping his drink and placing it back down in the cupholder. His slight accent, something between a Southern American (re: Georgia) good ol' boy and an Australian Outback rancher, came across clearly as he spoke.

Chuck laughed again. The best cover, he'd always been taught, was yourself, simply amplified. Simply take yourself, and project yourself into another light. Something like that, anyway. But even if his cover was working, which it at least seemed it was, he had to discover what was going on with this lady. What exactly was it that was different about her?

"So, Miss Hunter - or is it Misses? - what brings you over to the likes of me? You're a beautiful, intelligent lady; should you not be with the rest of the elitists instead of the 'least of these' onboard? Not that I mind, of course."

"Allow me to introduce you to Ms Armstrong, as I see she is here." Grace Merriweather offered as one of the porters came forward to take Leinad's belongings. To this person, he somewhat grudgingly gave up his things, all except for his sketchbook and several graphite pencils. These, plus the kneaded eraser were shoved into a pocket while the book was held behind his back and he approached Ms. Armstrong.

"Well, I see the old saying is true. Birds of a feather flock together, and you four beautiful ladies are no exception to the rule." Nillum flashed his best smile, thankfully clean, as he sometimes forgot to brush his teeth each day. Such was the mind of this artist, constantly working in his mind or in physical form an artistic interpretation of something that inspired him that he would simply push aside more mundane tasks in the pursuit of his creative genius. He gave them a slight bow, well practiced for his clientele base was a sizable one, and it had its price when it concerned proper greetings. "Allow me to introduce myself. You might know of me not because of any heroic deeds in a distant land fighting for a noble cause, nor for leading a multibillion dollar industry, but for simply the gift of artistic interpretation and the skills to make such a reality. A humble artist in the traditional sense, in an industry that is dying more and more as the days pass by and mankind seeks the stars more so with each passing day."

He spun about slightly, waving to the others in the room with them, "A day of posterity," He now balled a fist and held it up to emphasize his point, "a historical moment in the history of mankind's greatest achievements, shall not be forgotten, not by one such as myself and through me, the countless numbers of art appreciators who shall see not a photograph, but a living painting of true history and know that the work is unique, special, and in a class all its own."

And now, he took each of their hands in greeting, delivering a theatrical, yet well done featherlight kiss upon the back of their hands. "Ladies, my name is Leinad Nillum, and it would be my honor to have even just one of you pose for me for a short time during our travel amongst the stars!"

Bridget nodded in agreement to Chuck's explaination of his presence, clucking sympathetically when he told her of how he had been cut by his employer, not believing a word of it. It was nothing to do with his own explaination, for it was very convincing and she smiled gently at his game of 'Who can keep the secret the longest?'. He was convincing, but there was an...instinct, of something being wrong. It was nothing personal, she actually quite liked the Man from the Deep South, judging by his accent, but there was no way that a journalist would conceal a knife behind his back. She had narrowed it down to some kind of blade, for a gun would not have permitted him to sit as he now was. It was skills like that which had kept her alive for so long.

She waited until he had finished, before she began to speak herself. She had to stop and think for a moment, trying to think of an explaination for why she was talking to him. She could not tell him her real reason so her mind went into overdrive and she quickly came up with a substitute,
"It's 'Miss' for now I'm afraid" She answered truthfully, her previous careers had not left much time for romance and, in fact, she could be very shy when it came to such situations,
"And you just looked so down, that I felt you needed cheering up" She explained herself, "But then I'm not surprised. Your sponsor was so mean to cut you like that when you were so close. What made him change his mind so late?" She asked innocently.

Chuck listened intently, smiling as Bridget shared her sympathies. However, something of her demeanor had changed. She now spoke as though this was an eight grade dance, and Chuck's girlfriend had just dumped him; meanwhile she had come over in her long, pink, poofy dress to console him and tell him everything would be alright.

It was this sudden change in speech that let Chuck know something was wrong. Either she was showing her sillier side, or she was lying. Plus, since when did the elitists of society care about what hurts or problems "lower class" people had, aside from telethons or multi-million dollar donations to various charities as to keep their hands clean and their heads large? Chuck had already grown to like the young lady, but knew he had to keep his guard up to protect both himself and her. Being cut endangered him greatly, but there was no room to be careless and bring somebody else into the sick game that was transpiring.

"To be honest, I have no idea," he responded to her question, his demeanor also changing, whether he meant it to or not. "I just got a call saying they had cancelled my job, and that was basically it." Chuck didn't really have any better explanation, and didn't intend on building some elaborate story to cover himself.

He sipped his mojito again, growing old of the taste (it was not the best he'd ever had, that's for sure). "Well Miss Hunter, I do appreciate your sympathy and hospitality. God knows I had expected it to be a more than lonesome flight, even if it only lasts a few hours," he said, reclining once again in the chair. "So what exactly is it that you do that precludes you from holding on to a relationship? I'm sure you had eleven guys hit on you in the terminal!"

Bridget did indeed notice his change of tone and knew it was because she had changed her own tune. She knew she had made a mistake in that regards and this was a man she could not take lightly. It was not how she wanted to think but it was how she had been brought up to think, to find the weaknesses in others and how to defeat them if it came down to a fight. She did not want to think of Chuck like that but it was how she did. She knew from his appearance and movements that she was faster, and probably more technical, but he would always have the advantage in strength and durability.

'Stop it!' She thought to herself, 'For the love of christ, get a grip on yourself. You're not trying to kill him!' Despite this, she continued to think of him in this way. To say Bridget was struggling with a lifetime's worth of problems was an understatement. She heard his question and answered instantly, with a well practised ease that only came when one had had to deal with the question many, many times over one's career,
"Well, being Managing Director of a Global Company, being responsible for co-operation with Governments and other Firms, leaves me with little time for a life outside of work."

It was truthful enough, she did not have a lot of time outside of work, although many in work did have quite an attraction to her. Like her Sister, Bridget Hunter felt she deserved punished for her earlier life and the horrible mistakes she had made over the years. Too painful. Even now.

So she forced the thoughts from her mind and smiled at Chuck,
"So, what did you do before you were ditched?"

Chuck smiled. "Well...," he began, pausing almost immediately. Not because he was thinking of something to say, but because he was remembering his life - something that justly called for dramatic pause. "I was brought up in this kind of environment. Trust-fund baby, if you will. Went to all the parties in the tuxes, the rich-kid private school with all the other rich kids who could multiply three equal derivatives of eighty-four and get you infinity... Graduated - not top of the class, but not near the bottom, either - and decided I didn't like the life that I was being forced to live," he spoke with such vivid memories that even he believed them. "One night after one of the big parties in the area, I had to be the DD for my mom because she was plastered. We got in a big fight about something stupid - I don't even remember what it was about anymore - so I grabbed a bag, stuffed some random junk into it, and took off for Sniper Country International Airport. I still had access to all my accounts my parents had set up for me, and in the back of my mind I knew they'd never cut it off; what horribly parents they'd become if I was to live without mass amounts of money! Yeah, but I just started traveling all over the place. Never really got back into the whole elitist thing. Started doing freelance photography and writing about six years ago, and been doing that ever since. It's not too bad, really. Just gets old traveling alone all the time. But I'm sure you'd understand..." he took a deep breath and realized he'd done nothing but talk for the past several minutes. He quickly glanced over at Bridget to see if she'd fallen asleep yet or not.

He laughed to himself. "So what about you, Miss Hunter? What makes you tick?"

In fact, Bridget had been listening avidly to the information that Chuck had just given her, some which she believed, some of which she did not. She believed the part about his early life but the part about Photography, she had already dismissed as being fiction. At least his life had had some measure of stability, unlike her own.

"Well," She began immediately, "As you can probably tell, I was born in Ireland. Dublin, to be precise, to a top Executive in a small but wealthy Irish Company. My Mother died when I was very young and the nature of my Father's business meant I travelled a lot, usually to the Far East or the Middle East. I also spent a few years in America before I returned to Dublin and went to Trinity University. I achieved top grades there, a PHD in International Diplomacy and Advanced Marketing, then I was enrolled in my Father's Business. That also meant I travelled around the World, specialising in Europe. However my Sister and Father had an arguement and she left to a British Company. I did the same not long after and here I am, Managing Director in one of Britain's, and the world's, biggest IT Companies, which still involves much travelling. In short, Mister Fontenot, I have spent most of my life outside of Ireland chasing things I have no interest in."

Her smile hide a terrible sadness in the truth that she spoke. The information was correct but she had substituted several facts with others and hidden the key part of her life, the main part that had dominated her Family. There were none that needed to know about her life. There were few that did know of her past life.

"Anyway," She shook her head to clear her thoughts before looking back at Chuck, "What do you think of this whole operation? The Celebratories and Media Coverage? Quite overwhelming, no?"

Chuck listened intently to Bridget's story, and inside, believed he felt as if she felt: abandoned, alone, and chasing ideals that had turned out to seem not so ideal. He believed it all; the emotion involved was so great, so intense, and he knew it would take the best of the best or a bastard of a person to pour so much soul into a story as such. Of course, it could be done. He'd seen it in his past six months. But for those who could pour so much into an identity that wasn't truly real, it was already too real. chuck could feel the weight of her sorrow; another "gift" that had been identified fairly early with his former employers. To this moment, Chuck refused to believe it was a gift - a curse, perhaps, but no gift.

Chuck faked a smile, wondering how in the world two complete strangers, from polar opposites in life, sat down and just shared basic parts of their life stories with each other. Of course, details were left out, but this was, how to say, awkward, to say the least.

"Yeah," he began to speak again in response to her question, "much ado about nothing. Kinda makes me sick when I think about it sometimes. We'll run to cover a story about the latest luxury airliner, but turn our heads away from those in need. Hell, on the taxi way here I saw two guys shooting up - heroin, I guess. But who cares, you know?" Chuck stopped himself. "Excuse my language, ma'am. Sorry, I get worked up about these things sometimes. So... one of the largest IT companies in the world, huh? I guess drinks are on you this trip, eh?"

"No, it's okay," Bridget said a little too quickly, "I know what you mean, there's too much in the world that needs focusing on instead of things like this. However, as I am here for the purposes of publicity, I shall have to smile and shake hands with the Press for the rest of this trip" her eyes, her body language, even her voice suggested this was the last thing she truly wanted.
Bridget had always despised the Media but now it was a regular part of her job now, unlike her older and undercover jobs, she was now frequently in the spotlight as the Company's 'GoldenGirl' a bright young spark for the future. Who cares what Bridget Hunter thinks, so long as it generated a few millions worth of sales.

Even now, she didn't know what she was going to do with all the money the company had given her. They didn't know she worked for MI5 and they pushed her into the Spotlight whenever possible. When Bridget Hunter appeared in the Media, the Company's stock rose in value for some reason, like the Shareholders trusted the fiesty Irishwoman to make them money, even against her own wishes. She didn't like it but she could live with it.

"I guess," She smiled back, hiding her own doubts behind the enchanting smile, "Do you know where we're going with this flight? I was only briefly told myself"

"Um...," he hesitated, thinking of where exactly they were going. "I know Hong Kong is our first stop, then I think it's LAX, JFK, and back here to London. Don't take that as law, just what I am trying to remember. It seems right, anyway."

He hesitated before speaking again. Was he throwing out too much information? He'd nearly forgotten about being cut, but the sudden thought rushed back into his mind as he hesitated with his speaking. Throwing it out of his mind once more, he spoke.

"I'm thinking of getting off in Hong Kong... Maybe find the next big story? I don't really know. Your IT company don't got a photojournalist opening, does it?" he asked, lightly laughing to himself as he leaned forward in his chair. As he sat forward, his shirt rose up, revealing the lower end of the sheath which carried his knife.

"Ah," Bridget nodded, "Really around the world eh? The Globetrotters" She smiled at herself then listened again as he explained his intentions to her about getting off at Hong Kong. Something about his demeanor changed, weither it was a voluntery slip or a total accident, it did not matter. Bridget knew something had gone serious wrong. Nothing to do with photography but with whatever was worrying him. If it was serious then it may affect her own mission but then it may not. It was better to be quiet. Chuck had been rattled by something. She guessed something to do with being 'cut' whatever that was.

She laughed at his subtle question, knowing that he had no intention of taking a job with her company in the same way she had no intention of offering him one. She about to reply when she saw the sheath and quickly shut her mouth for a moment. It took another few seconds before she responded,
"Unless you want to photograph computers, I don't think it would be up your street" She smiled, internally reeling from the image she had got of the sheath.

She had seen it, a knife! She knew she could take him now, if it came down to a fight. Katie Bridget's skills with a knife were legendary and she wasn't too bad herself. She also had a gun with her and even now, she could arrest him as a Terrorist threat. This could be the killer she was hunting. However, she paused at the thought, her body screaming for her to take action. She was betraying her own emotions, she knew it. Four years ago, she would have taken action without a thought and Chuck would be dead. However, now she did not know what to do. All she could do was whimper quietly to herself.

[How does she know about being 'cut'?]

Dammit... Chuck thought. He knew his shirt had risen above the lower end of his knife's sheath. He looked over and noticed Bridget's demeanor had taken an extreme turn from the calm girl he was speaking with moments ago to a more serious, almost angry woman. He leaned back in his seat, reaching back toward his knife with the hand opposite Bridget. He was going to get to the point. His hand reached the knife, and he gently pulled the sheath from his belt, waiting to see what her move would be.

OOC: Consider it a fluke, she doesn't even know what it means.

Bridget saw Chuck reach for the weapon at the small of his back and knew she should do something. She had a handgun, she had her own knife and she was a killer with any part of her body. She could disarm this man with ease and have him escorted to Security. It would be nothing to her, she could do it in her sleep. She'd done worse before, much worse and she could do it now.
But Bridget was frozen. She did not know what it was, but she was caught like the rabbit in the headlights. She could do nothing. She was suddenly aware of thousands of eyes in the airport, the sudden and drastic change to her life, all the camera coverage would go to her and the political backlash would be a nightmare. Bridget Hunter was frozen completely, unable to defend herself or lash out and protect the others.

'What's happening to me?' She asked herself in fright, this was not the Bridget Hunter that had been recruited to MI5 or had roamed the world before that. This was not the Hunter who had been been assigned the mission of catching a deadly killer,
"Please," She whispered, eyes on the blade. All signs of courage and calmness had gone, she just looked frightened now, "Please don't"

Leinad Nillum & the girls

The foursome took a half step back as the seemingly hyper artist spun about then pumped a revolutionary fist into the air as he exclaimed. But his energy was infectious and had them all chuckling. Grace Meriweather had during all of this faded into the background, and once introductions began she discretely left to carry out her next set of instructions.

"A day of posterity, a historical moment in the history of mankind's greatest achievements, shall not be forgotten, not by one such as myself and through me, the countless numbers of art appreciators who shall see not a photograph, but a living painting of true history and know that the work is unique, special, and in a class all its own."

They exchanged eyebrow raised glances but did not demure as he kissed the back of each ones hands "Ladies, my name is Leinad Nillum, and it would be my honor to have even just one of you pose for me for a short time during our travel amongst the stars!"

Ms. Armstrong took charge of the return invitations, making Shelly Piffer, Sophy Lorenz and Shug Weaver known to the voluble artist. She chuckled and replied for the group "It would be my friends pleasure, I'm certain, as they will be flying with me in the Presidential Suite. Would you care to set your studio up there? It will give you far more room than even the Ambassador suite."

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Llyod & Weber

Ms Lloyd and Mister Weber were swept into the opulence of the Trianon Club just in time to see a tall, dark haired, rather heavyset man in a light yellow polo shirt over beige Dockers, pump his fist into the air and pirouette about in front of a group of four well dressed ladies partaking of the mimosas being circulated about. A second glance would place him as the highly acclaimed artist, Leinad Nillum.

“Might I have the pleasure of introducing you to Ms. Armstrong? She heard you sing last night and was just enchanted.” Victore added with a smile.


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Fontenot & Hunter

Holly noted that Mister Fontenot seemed to be recovering his self with the aid of the lovely Miss Hunter, one of the Starlight Lounge patrons who had been upgraded just now to Ambassador West. They would be able to continue their conversation on the plane and that seemed all to the good.

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In the Sky Haven Lounge…

"Excuse me, Mister Halifax, I'm Grace Merriweather, and I've been requested to let you know that an opening has come up in Ambassador East and we'd be honored if you'd accept it as a gift of the House." The voice was soft and sweet with a faint British accent. The lovely young lady was of medium height with tawny brunette hair and a National Airlines security tag discretely clipped to her well tailored blazer.

Chuck slowly pulled the sheath from his belt, and as he did so, heard the quiet whimper from Bridget. Like a small schoolgirl who had just been informed her father had died in a tragic plane crash, or perhaps more like a teenage girl whose boyfriend was attempting a date-rape, the whimper was soft and still. Chuck leaned forward, sliding the sheathed knife into a side pocket of his messenger bag.

"Are you okay, ma'am?" he asked concernedly. "I'm sorry if that startled you... I carry one with me everywhere. Some of the places I go - I can't afford not to be careful. And a good one is so hard to find, and when you do find a good one they're too expensive, especially to buy a new one after every flight."

The fear and distress in Bridget's eyes worried Chuck. He'd expected something completely different. Maybe she was exactly who she said she was - nothing more, nothing less.

"Miss Hunter...? Are you okay, ma'am?" he asked again. He wanted to reach out to her shoulder and physically find out exactly what kind of state she was in, but in a situation as this, he'd learned the hard way to keep his hands to himself.

"I'm...I'm fine" She shook her head again to clear it, taking a strand of red hair and twirling it around one of her fingers, "Really, I'm fine"

'Stupid, stupid woman!' Inside, she was both furious and terrified of herself. What had happened to her? What did she think was going to happen? He was going to stab her in the middle of a busy airport? She felt like such an idiot. He had been placing the knife somewhere more discreet, not threatening in anyway, how had she mistaken the signs so much? How had she messed up so badly? Was she now a coward? Someone afraid to take the risks needed at this level of espionage? She knew that was not true. She knew she could still fight if need be. It was just this man, she could not bring herself to defend herself. That was what was scary. No one had ever done that to her before. It was terrifying.

"I'm sorry if I startled you" She managed a weak smile that hid her internal trouble, "I was just surprised by it. That's all" She shook her head again, as if that could clear her head of all thoughts and trouble,
"When are we boarding?" She asked, managing to regain a measure of her former control.

"Um, I'm not really sure," Chuck replied calmly. "Bridget, are you sure you're okay?" he asked again, this time uncharacteristically using her first name instead of addressing her in a more formal manner. He watched her twirl her hair around and around. It was a girl thing, he knew, but he never quite understood why they did it. He had always guessed nerves, but it was another one of those mysteries about women he'd never quite grasped - one of the many reasons he'd never held onto a relationship in the past. He was forever damned to the single life, so it seemed.

As an attendant passed by, Chuck held up his half-full mojito glass and handed it off. The first few sips were good, but it was downhill from there. As the attendant walked away, Chuck looked around to see if anyone was potentially looking in on Bridget's and his conversation. Seeing everyone around wrapped up in his or her own world, he turned his attention back toward the lady, who had just moments ago seemed like an innocent young redheaded girl who was not only scared of the wrath of her parents for making a bad grade on a science test, but also melancholy over her classmates who teased her for her abundance of freckles.

They were random thoughts, but it was how Chuck's mind worked whenever he was around those of the opposite sex. Perhaps another reason he was damned to the single life.

"No, I'm fine!" She almost shouted it in an effort to control herself. It only took a few moments before she could fully regain control herself and revert back to the Bridget who was calm, calculated and ready for anything. A little more shaken than before perhaps but still calm and calculated. She did not want to go through that again. She decided that, next time, it may not be so innocent an incident and she may have to deal with it more ruthlessly than she had done so before. In all honesty what the hell was that whimper all about? She wasn't six years old for christs sake.

"I'll be okay, Charles," She replied calmly, "I just was not ready for that, and it took a few moments to regain myself. My apologies" She lowered her head apologetically then looked up again and smiled,
"Would you like a drink? I'll pay, of course"

“Might I have the pleasure of introducing you to Ms. Armstrong? She heard you sing last night and was just enchanted.”

The sweeping from lounge to lounge had been sudden and quick. It was quick enough to sweep Leroux off Andy's arm the moment the dashing and stereotypically tall, dark, and handsome Victore offered his strong arm to the engenue. The singer was positively beaming, as she mentally checked "be fawned over by tall, dark, and handsome" off her big List of Life. "She was? Enchanted?" She liked that word so much she said it again. "Enchanted...did you hear that, Andy? Miss Armstrong was enchanted." Alright, she liked it enough to say it three times.


Weber followed along behind, hiding his slight jealousy. "Yes, enchanted, bravo, good, Leroux." He had no taste for the word and only said it once.

However, like everything in the Trianon Club the drinks, and food - a lavish buffet spread - were complimentary. At this level of Patronage everything was and this was expected, normal, nothing unusual to those who regularly spent thousands
of dollars not just monthly but weekly on travel.

The gift baskets waiting for those who would board the plane in the priviliged luxury of the Ambassador East and West Suites would hold such things as

Bently Laptops (http://www.sybarites.org/2008/07/28/bentley-edition-ego-laptop) for the ladies, while the men recieved an Asus M70 in a custom hand crafted leather case, men would also find Mobiado Sealth Phones (http://www.sybarites.org/2008/01/03/mobiado-limited-edition-stealth-cell-phone/) and the ladies the Vertu Ascent Ti phone (http://www.sybarites.org/2007/10/03/vertu-ascent-ti-exclusive-review/) and both would recieve the perfect blend of technology and classic thought in a Neo~Classique pen (http://www.sybarites.org/2008/03/26/st-dupont-neo-classique-president-pen)

and those were just the beginning...

"Um, no," Chuck replied, scratching his head, "no thanks, I'm good."

He wasn't quite sure what set her off. She was that shocked that somebody in an airport had a knife? Surely as much time as she had spent traveling she had seen innumerable people pulled to the side in a security line for weilding some sort of conceived weapon, even if it was never intended for harming another person. The simple thought that airport security was fallible caused Bridget torment? Either this girl was full of enormous amounts of bullcrap, or she was really that weird.

Chuck really didn't know what to think of her by this point. She wasn't here as part of the cut; if she was, he'd already be dead. Not to mention, it wasn't their style to just kill somebody who had been cut. No, they would simply leave the one who had been cut wherever he was, without help, and let the elements take care of him. But this didn't happen often. In fact, Chuck couldn't think of anytime in his career that someone had actually been cut from the team. So why now? What was going on? Why him? What happened during these last six months?

Suddenly, it all became clear. As he sat back in his chair, the conversation between himself and Bridget seemingly stalled, Chuck watched as a tall, Hispanic man, clad in the finest linen suit, walked into the HST waiting area. Luis Obregon... Chuck thought to himself.

Luis Obregon was the essential head of the Obregon Brothers Cartel, a massive drug cartel which had DINO (Drugs and Illicit Narcotics Office) wrapped up in an ongoing battle back in Sniper Country. One of the largest cities in Sniper Country, Ghillie, had been wartorn and, for the most part, one massive slum thanks to the ongoing war between the Obregon Brothers Cartel, the Juarez Cartel, and the DINO. Juarez was now smalltime thanks to the Obregon Brothers. But Luis had strengthened his hold on Ghillie, and the cartel showed no signs of slowing down anytime soon, even with nearly all of DINO's agents involved in the fight against them.

But why did any of this matter to Chuck? I killed his brother... Chuck told himself in his mind. He turned his head down, pretending (rather badly) to search through his messenger bag for nothing in particular. Yes, just four days ago, Luis' brother, Diego Obregon, had been reportedly brutally murdered outside of a local bar in New York. Of course, the media was graciously given their information by detectives in the NYPD Anti-Narcotics Unit who had been in on the entire mission, but the cartels had high people in high places. What was Luis doing on this flight?His entire situation on this flight had just gotten seven layers thicker.

Chuck glanced at Bridget and smiled.

Bridget saw the smile and frowned at Chuck. He was looking at something beyond her and it only took a second to check and see who it was. It was a man in a well made suit. Perhaps he and Chuck had had some kind of altercation in past, the past he insisted on hiding from her. She had already revealed more of herself than she had intended. She had shown herself to be a timid and frightened mouse, not as a strong and imfamous...not that it mattered now. All that mattered was getting into that flight and finding her target. Then she could work from there.

"Who is that?" She asked him curiously.

"Ah... Nobody... Long story," Chuck said, not worrying about the sound of his voice. "Long story," he said again, "I'll have to tell you about it sometime."

Of course, Chuck had no intentions of ever speaking what was on his mind to Bridget. Thoughts rushed through his head as he sat quietly, reclined in his chair. Was it Luis who somehow had him cut? Does he have people in DINO? No way... How would he have known I was the one who did it? It was a major operation by several agencies! Does he have men on the plane? Whatever was going on, Chuck was going to get down to the root of it, and he knew it had something to do with Luis Obregon. How exactly was he going to reach him and go about his way during the flight?

Although it may not seem like it during his conversation with Bridget, Chuck knew what he was doing. He'd been cut, yes. However, one did not become what he truly was by being scared and witless all the time. One definitely did not go into one of the deepest undercover operations within organized crime and narcotics distribution in history for six months and come out alive by being careless. He was going to find out why he was cut, and along the way, he was going to discover what exactly Bridget was all about.

Bridget saw his expression, heard the tone of his voice and knew this was not just nothing that existed between him and this other man. She could read hi like she could read any other and there was nothing that physically impressed her. He did not seem at all powerful and he was no master of the arts as far as she could tell. But then, there were those who could mask their body language to decieve those like her who thrived on it. He was no good, that was one thing she knew anyway.

But then, Chuck was not all that he made out to be anyway. He could probably tell that about her as well. There was something about him that seemed wrong. Not the cover and the presence of the knife, but something else, just...instinct. Something fundementally wrong. He seemed to be suffered the same stresses that she was, although not as many and probably not as intense, for Bridget had two seperate lifetime's worth of stress to keep bottled up inside her. One day she was going to snap. So long as it was not any time soon, then she was happy.

However, now she decided this conversation had gone as deep as it was going to go. She had all the information she had come for and found a few other facts on the sideline. She smiled internally at how weak she had been, knowing she had told more about herself than she had intended to. For now, though, she had to break contact and find her own target.

"Well," She smiled, "I guess I have to go and find my opposite number in the Armaments company," She paused for a moment, brushing her hair out of the way as she got up,
"It was a pleasure talking to you, Mister Fontenot. I shall see you on the flight" She shook hands and, with that, was gone, vanishing into the crowd with a well practised ease.

Chuck shook hands with Bridget and smiled, saying nothing. He watched as she disappeared into the crowd, and smiled once again. Not the smile a teenage boy gave after his girlfriend had given him his first opinion of oral sex, but a more demented, almost mean-spirited smile. He knew what he needed to know.

Why did she whimper, "Please don't...," when he reached for the knife? Obviously, she had done something in her past to make her believe he would want or need to hurt her. Or she was on this flight doing something that would result in her harm. Who knows? Chuck thought to himself as he reached into his bag and pulled the knife from it's pocket and replaced it under his shirt. And who disappeared into a crowd like that unless they were doing so purposefully and skillfully? Why had she beaten herself up and even yelled after becoming so frightened of his knife? It was quite obvious she had learned - or been trained? - not to show weakness, even in the face of possible harm.

And here is where she made her mistake. She did show weakness. Sure, Chuck was positive he had as well; she looked like she knew six form of judo and invented four more, whereas Chuck could hit anything with a firearm but knew nothing of the martial arts. Therein was one of Chuck's most prominent problems at the moment. He needed a gun.

"Excuse me, Mister Halifax, I'm Grace Merriweather, and I've been requested to let you know that an opening has come up in Ambassador East and we'd be honored if you'd accept it as a gift of the House."

Ruben had been quietly enjoying his scotch and dry whilst reading a copy of The Financial Times, something appropriate for his cover to be seen reading. Despite actually being a marketing director that was actually employed by a large company, he always thought of these brief jobs as covers. They never lasted more than a few years and were simply a means to achieving his ultimate goals.

Looking up at the young woman, Ruben nodded and inclined his head politely. The upgrade was certainly a pleasant surprise but Ruben couldn't help but wonder why. Events never happened for no reason, there was always a cause, something behind the scenes manipulating them to a specific purpose.

"That is a pleasant surprise and I would be happy to accept such a generous gift."

Despite having never been privy to an advantaged youth, Ruben played the role of filthy rich businessman rather well, even if he detested the pompous formalities and disgusting waste of money on trivial things.

"If I may ask, Ms Merriweather, why the vacancy? I would assume a flight as prestigious as this would be booked to capacity."

Ruben's eyes took in everything about Grace physically possible from their vantage. She was a pretty enough woman but that's not what held Ruben's attention. Whether a flight attendant, register clerk or simply someone on the street, Ruben assessed everyone he came across. Were they are threat? Could they be used? What were their motivations? Would he need to kill them?

Grace appeared to be all that her role prescribed but Ruben would reserve judgement for later on. Suspect everyone and you might just catch the knife before it is plunged into your back.

"It would be my friends pleasure, I'm certain, as they will be flying with me in the Presidential Suite. Would you care to set your studio up there? It will give you far more room than even the Ambassador suite."

Leinad flashed yet another grand smile and nodded. "The setting of any portraits would be at any location on the plane you desire. I only need about as much space as to put my easel and things into their places as I work."

He glanced between all of them, "Would it be a group portraiture or individual?"

Chuck sat in his seat and watched as various rich people schmoozed each other, kissed each other on the backside, and made near-blatant sexual gestures toward the attendants. All too sickening to Chuck, however.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the attendant from earlier, Miss Winter, as he remembered, walked past his chair.

"Miss Winter?" he said, reaching into his pocket and finding the hundred dollar bill from earlier. The young girl turned around, ready to provide whatever form of unhealthy nurishment Chuck desired. "No, you're fine," he said, smiling. "I just forgot to tip you last time; I had company." He pulled the bill from his pocket and extended it to the girl.

"I just forgot to tip you last time; I had company."

"Oh I can't accept that sir." Holly protested "But thank you" She shook her head, her dimples coming out. Though she wondered what had happened to set the young man and the pretty lady at odds. They had been chatting animatedly just a few moments before.

"Are you sure your wouldn't like somethign from the buffet? Everythign is certified organic and we had a number of excellent vegan dishes, as well as low carb and carb free" Maybe his blood sugars were low, she knew she often wasn't at her best when it happened to her.

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"If I may ask, Ms Merriweather, why the vacancy? I would assume a flight as prestigious as this would be booked to capacity."

"Oh it wsa Mister Halifax, weeks ago. However we had some last minute cancellations and at Ms. Armstrongs request we held a random drawing from among those with seating in our Starlight Lounges" She unfolded a small slip of computer paper that had Ruben's name, seat reservation, and ticket number printed on it. It certainly looked as if it had been cut from a larger sheet of printout.

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"Would it be a group portraiture or individual?"

"Oh these three go every where together. I'm sure they'll want a group protrait, Leinad. And we'll set you up in the downstairs section of the suite, much higher ceiling and better light I think. oh! If you will excuse me for a moment" She looked over his shoulder at some new arrivals and gently excused herself.

Shug, with her usual animated gregariousness took over by asking the artist about what medium he prefered to use.

Agatha Armstrong strode over to where Victor had just entered with Miss Lloyd and Mister Weber "Miss Lloyd I can't tell you how much I adored your performance last night!" She was holding out both hands to the young soloist, and she looked over giving Andrew a warm, inclusive smile "Mister Weber you must be so proud of her. Has La Scala or the Met contacted you yet? I have friends at both"

"Oh it was Mister Halifax, weeks ago. However we had some last minute cancellations and at Ms. Armstrong's request we held a random drawing from among those with seating in our Starlight Lounges"

Ruben nodded, as if he were satisfied with that explanation. Inside his head he doubted the matter was as simple as a few cancellations. It took a lot of time and money to get on this flight and one wouldn't simply up and decide after all the effort of getting a ticket that they would cancel, no doubt with the airline keeping a sizable portion of the ticket price.

"I guess it's my lucky day then."

Taking a look at the printout, Ruben wondered who else may have been moved around and whether there was an intent behind such and not simply chance behind it.

"If you don't mind me asking, who else could I expect to be sharing the Ambassador East accommodations with?"

"If you don't mind me asking, who else could I expect to be sharing the Ambassador East accommodations with?"
Before she could answer Mr. Halifax, their attention was caught by one of the wide screen tv's scattered about the Sky Haven Lounge - it was the only one not turned to a financial channel, but instead to CNN. It showed a spectacular explosion - the remains might once have been a heavily armored diplomatic vehicle, but mass was so twisted it might also have been some bizzare modern art.

Grace paled at that and murmured under her breath "Oh those poor people"

Then determinedly her face cleared, and she made sure her voice was smooth as she answered his question. Turning away she began to lead him out of the Sky Haven Lounge, before any more disturbing news had air play.

"We have two note worthy artist flying with us today, Leinad Nillum, the portraitist, and Quincy 'Duke' Baily, will be playing some melodies from his newly released album, 'World Wandering'. It's already gone gold and recieved some wonderful reviews. Also Max Bolivar" She needed to say no more - the famous actor, with his intense blue eye was well known to be the life of the party where ever he went.

Chuck gave Holly an utterly awkward facial expression, hearing the words organic and vegan. Realizing he was probably making the girl rather uncomfortable, he smiled gently and took her hand.

"Take it," he said as he placed the bill in her hand. For all he knew, the attendants on this flight made more than he did, but he hoped his gesture would earn at least partial trust for the oncoming flight. He surely needed somebody he could rely on.

"Mister Nillum, what medium do you prefer to use?" Shug asked interestedly as Agatha excused herself.

"Leinad, might we call you Leinad?" Shelly gurgled airliy before the artist could answer "And certainly it must be the three of us! We're practically sisters! Can't you see the family resemblance?" She flirted her eyes at him, looking for all the world like she just woke up from a dasy dream.

Sophie nodded as she took a fresh Mimosa from a circulating waiter and sipped delicately. She kept a discrete but eagle eye on all the goings on in the Trianon Club. It wasn't hard there weren't that many people in this most exclusive of waiting rooms.

Ruben studied the images on the television carefully, attempting to discern the location of the smouldering wreck of what was once some form of vehicle. There was quite a good chance that the explosion on screen before him was one of those 'cancellations', whether Grace was playing along or legitimately didn't know anything further, Ruben wasn't sure.

"We have two note worthy artist flying with us today, Leinad Nillum, the portraitist, and Quincy 'Duke' Baily, will be playing some melodies from his newly released album, 'World Wandering'. It's already gone gold and received some wonderful reviews. Also Max Bolivar"

Ruben vaguely recognised the names but wasn't familiar with any of the people Grace mentioned. Celebrities had about as much use as a marketing sales projection graph. They looked good, made a lot of boasts but in the end rarely delivered and more time and effort was spent on them than it was really worth. Despite such, Ruben put on a slight smile and nod as if he recognised the names and was mildly impressed. Keeping pace with Grace, Ruben responded to her answer.

"With names like that aboard it should certainly be an eventful flight."

That was a lie, Ruben was dreading being surrounded by those people and would much rather slit their throats and sit in peace. Unfortunately that would likely irrevocably damage the public image of Effective Solutions and it simply wasn't the right time for that.

"Mister Weber you must be so proud of her. Has La Scala or the Met contacted you yet? I have friends at both"


Leroux was a loss for words as the distinguished and astronomically wealth Miss Armstrong congratulating her. She could only vaguely recognize the Victore left go of her hands and hardly realized that she placed her hands in Miss Armstrong's herself. Leroux was ready to cross "fawned over by a horrifically wealthy person" off her Big List of Life. She felt her cheeks grow warm as a blush redden her cheeks. She certainly hadn't expected this out of her career.

Andrew stepped up beside Leroux and placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder. A smile grew on his face as jealous over Victore vanished. "I am very proud, ma'am, very proud." His expressioned changed slightly, a more intrigued. "I'm afraid that neither has contacted me as of yet, as much as I have hoped they would. As much as we enjoy playing concert halls, it is a poor second to true opera house."

Leroux looked slightly mortified, mostly at the blunt nature of Andrew's words in front of the enchanted Miss Armstrong. "Andy! My fans have been really good to us, even in a concert hall."

"Mister Halifax?" Bridget had finally found the man she was looking for. She had finally found the Armaments man and she now she suspected she had found her target as well.
It had not been hard to find him, the man had stuck like a sore thumb in terms of body language and now she was as certain as an operative could be that she had tracked down her Killer. Maybe she was wrong, she would need to get closer and study a few things before she could confirm that thought, but her instinct was telling her that this was her man. She had thought it could be Chuck but that just didn't seem right, instead, she knew she had a good lead here,
"My name's Bridget Hunter," Bridget introduced herself politely, "I'm the Marketing Director for CompuTech, in London, I believe you were informed of my presence?" She smiled.

"Mister Halifax? My name's Bridget Hunter. I'm the Marketing Director for CompuTech, in London, I believe you were informed of my presence?"

Ruben spun around slowly to meet Bridget, taking her in with his eyes. The last thing he really wanted to do was run into another marketer but he supposed it would be better than putting up with the celebrities all flight. Keeping his slight irritation well hidden, Ruben returned a smile of his own. Years of experience had taught Ruben to hide his emotions behind a proverbial bunker of concrete, well beyond the view of anyone else.

"Ms Hunter, I had heard mention there might be another marketing director or two along for the ride."

Upon getting confirmation of being on the flight Ruben had also learned that he would probably run into some of his international peers. He was supposed to make friends with them, scout out any new talent that Effective Solutions could snap up from under another company's nose. Of course that wouldn't be necessary, ES didn't need anyone but Ruben and once he was done they wouldn't be needing anyone at all.

Something about the woman before him didn't portray her as a marketer. She seemed almost too confident, too forward in her manner. It could simply be her personality but Ruben's experience taught him that the real markers, those with actual competence in their field, were simply glorified manipulators that preferred to stand back and gently prod at the right places, shifting people where they needed to be without the people even realising it.

"I hope you don't mind doing away with formalities here and just call me Ruben. We might be here representing our companies but this isn't a conference room and I'd much rather relax a little on this flight."

Time would tell whether this woman was who she said she was. Suspicion had kept him alive to this point in his life and he intended to live for many more years.

Andy! My fans have been really good to us, even in a concert hall."

"I'm sure they have. But! I am seriously disappointed that Stéphane hasn't contacted you yet" She spoke of Stéphane Lissner, who had been appointed general manager and artistic director of the la Scala Opera in 2005.

She looked over at a young woman who had just entered with a well dressed gentleman into the Trianon Club and raised her hand slightly. The young lady took her leave as another lady approached the man she had escorted in, and moved swiftly to Ms Armstrong's side. She wsa introduced as Ms Grace merriweather, on of her personal assisstants.

"Grace, please get Stéphane on the phone for me"

Ms Merriweather nodded and disappeared briefly, returing with a cell phone.

"Mrs. Lissner, thank you... Here is Agatha" and she handed the phone off to Ms. Armstrong.

Agatha winked at the two and betan speaking in fluent French. The conversation was spirited and amiable, the two were obviously friends. Some minutes later she ws handing the phone to Weber with a smug grin on her face

"Take it,"

Holly slipped into the seat next to his, not letting og of his hand, not taking the bill "Mister Fontenot, I can't take it, really I can't. But truly thank you..." She hesitated a moment "is something wrong, do you need me to call security?" Her voice dipped softer, she was obviously trying to keep their conversation just to themselves.

"If you're concerned about the horrible murder to Mister Villefleur, we've been assured by the authorities that they are certain it was purely political, and the others of his family have cancelled their flight reservations with us. And they have done a second sweep of the Transport, that is always standard proceedure. Everythings safe here. I promise" She practically held up three fingers in the Blue Bird's oath symbol, she was so earnest

"I hope you don't mind doing away with formalities here and just call me Ruben. We might be here representing our companies but this isn't a conference room and I'd much rather relax a little on this flight."

"Of course, Ruben" She smiled slyly at the imformality of the suggestion. She knew what he was, both publicly and privately. She was far from perfect herself and she knew that she had to keep up appearances for now. Once they were out of the airport and in the air, then she could enlist the Marshalls and her counterpart in the FBI, if he was here, and arrest him. For now it was imperative that she maintain her cover with him.
She nodded,
"Our company is very interesting in helping your company to develop the next range of smart weapons for the military" She tucked a strand of her glistening red hair behind her ear and flashed a charming smile,
"A Deal would be very lucrative for both our Companies, no?"

"Mister Nillum, what medium do you prefer to use?"

"Many times I will alternate my medium, so as to not become too comfortable and forget what it means to be an artist, which is of course, to be an experimenter at all times. To find new ways to indulge the senses, to excite the audience about the work in question. However, for the duration of this trip, I shall be using acrylics as they dry fast, speeding up time that is used for the actual progressive work.

"Leinad, might we call you Leinad?" Shelly gurgled airliy before the artist could answer "And certainly it must be the three of us! We're practically sisters! Can't you see the family resemblance?" She flirted her eyes at him, looking for all the world like she just woke up from a dasy dream.

"Leinad is fine, as you'll find I prefer a much more relaxed situation between myself and my clients; in this case, the three of you. It would be my pleasure to paint the three of you." His smile was genuine, for there was no lie in his words or actions. If anything, he was making more connections to the kind of clientele whom chose him for their preferred works.

Some minutes later she was handing the phone to Weber with a smug grin on her face

Andrew raised an eyebrow and took the phone. "Mademoiselle Lissiner?" His French was grammatically flawless though he still spoke it with a British accent. "C'est l'honneur de parler avec vous, la Mademoiselle. Merci. Elle appréciera ces mots gentils. Que ? Doublure dans votre production de Papillon Madama? Pour Cio Cio San ? Mon mot, la Mademoiselle... qui est ... un moment." He pulled the phone from his ear, covering the reciever with a hand. Surprise and pride warred for control of his expression.

He looked to Leroux who was waiting anxiously, firghtened, excited at the reaction of her mentor and manager. She seemed about to burst. "Cio Cio San...Madame Butterfly, Cio Cio San? What about Cio Cio San?"

A wide smile split Andrew's face. "Mademoiselle Lissiner would like to know if you was like to accept the role as understudy for Cio Cio San. Shall we accept?"

Leroux's eyes grew wide. Cio Cio San...that was only one of the most dreamed of roles in opera, the female lead in Madame Butterfly. Her mouth worked but no words came forth.

Weber chuckled. "It's no HMS Pinafore, but if you would like me to decline..."

Leroux all but exploded, "Don't you dare!"

Weber laughed and brought the phone back up to his ear. "Mademoiselle ? Mademoiselle Lloyd serait honoré d'accepter votre position et est visiblement excité que sa première exposition à l'opéra être sur votre stade." He turned away to delve into details about her appearance, just basics. He would have to attend to specifics later after the flight.

Leroux turned back to Miss Armstrong. Bewilderment stretched across her youthful, pretty face. "I...I...I can't believe I just...why?"

"Our company is very interesting in helping your company to develop the next range of smart weapons for the military. A Deal would be very lucrative for both our Companies, no?"

Ruben chuckled to himself inside his head, this woman was a phony. She most certainly didn't act like a marketer and this topic of discussion wasn't even what marketing managers from other companies discussed. Whilst Ruben knew the specifications of every weapon ES produced very well, it was not something any of the other marketing mangers in the company were particularly familiar with. He had expected discussion on effective sales projections or establishing unique competitive advantages. This woman certainly had an agenda.

Flashing a smile of his own, Ruben politely pointed out the major flaw in her proposition.

"I'm afraid that would not be possible. The Assingtonian government does not allow any element of weapons development to be undertaken by foreign firms. National security and all that, we are bound by very thick contracts that would land us in a lot of hot water for violating."

There wasn't a single lie in his response, ES really wasn't permitted to deal with foreign firms in any weapons development projects, which made sense and a lot of governments did the same. When Ruben took on a role he made sure to know his field. He might not actually be a qualified marketer but he'd wager he knew more about marketing than many of the so called educated, if he were a gambling man.

Ruben was curious to see how Bridget would recover. Either she was hopelessly ignorant at whatever she was meant to be playing at or she was trying to test him, to see if he would slip up.

"I'm afraid that would not be possible. The Assingtonian government does not allow any element of weapons development to be undertaken by foreign firms. National security and all that, we are bound by very thick contracts that would land us in a lot of hot water for violating."

"Of course," Bridget did not even falter, "Our own Government would also ban us legally from developing weapons but I do also believe that the British Government was in talks with an Assington Delegation with regards to a potential joint-development weapons project. We were given permission by our own Government to prematurely approach you an enquire your availability for such a project" Bridget did know her stuff and was here on behalf of her own Company. She knew more about this trade than she was letting on. She was a stupid Marketing Developer after all.
She tucked more hair behind her ear and flashed a grin at Ruben,
"So, providing that our Governments can negoitiate a suitable treaty, we may be in business together."

"I...I...I can't believe I just...why?"

"My dear, I have the voice of a frog, a wretchedly sore throated one at that, but I adore music, song, and last night I sat enraptured. Your voice, and your talent deserves and demands wider recognition. And besides the word makes stars of pouting lipped hoydens who think that all there is to singing is wagging their underclad pelvises in some under aged brats face. And both you and I know that it is flat out hog wash." And she smiled "If some one needs a helping hand up I'll give it. Singing at La Scala is not for the unwilling to work and work hard, not for the hearted."

"You may not own Cio Cio this season, but you will in the years to come. And you can thank me by paying it forwards to the ones who come after you"

She nodded firmly and looked inquiringly at Grace, who dropped her eyes to her delicate wristwatch and nodded. Agatha looked back at Leroux and Lloyd and winked.

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Ms Agatha Armstrong could be in incredibly commanding woman when she chose…

Her voice carried clearly through the low murmurs of conversation and they quieted.

“For those of you who don’t know me personally I am Agatha Armstrong, and the HST is my pride and joy. This is our first passenger flight and it will be a doozy! We don’t have a sauna, or Jacuzzis aboard but we do have a masseuse, our own top rated mixologist, and our own chef. Flying with us today we have the marvelous portraitist Leinad Nillum, and Jazz master Mister Quincy 'Duke' Baily. Both are going to be honoring us with their talents. You can be in instant communication anywhere in the world as we have phone, internet and fax transmittal available. But mostly I hope you all will enjoy making history with me. So now, it’s time to board. Some of you are seated in Ambassador east, or west but every one is welcome, once we are airborne, to visit the Presidential Suite and take a look at the magnificent jewels on display there.”

The chief flight attendant opened the door that led to the red carpeted transit way to the HST, and the less than forty people in the Trianon Club began to gather their carry-ons and make their way onboard.

Agatha, Grace, Sophie, Shug, Shelly, Leinad and others of Agata’s entourage to the Presidential suite, turning left into the lower area, and then up the curving stairs to the living room, and private office above.

Ruben, Bridget, Chuck, Lloyd, Leroux , Bailey and six others being directed to ambassador east and west.

HST & Interiors (http://jkayjax.googlepages.com/hst)

"So, providing that our Governments can negotiate a suitable treaty, we may be in business together."

Ruben couldn't say for sure whether Bridget was actually speaking the truth but he figured it was entirely possible. The government was trying to establish more of a friendly reputation on the international stage so this joint venture with Great Britain certainly could happen. Ruben was doubtful about doing business with this CompuTech company though. He suspected something wasn't right with Bridget and by association, something wasn't right with CompuTech.

"Time will tell, no doubt. Has CompuTech considered the positioning strategies of any potential smart weapons? I know it's early yet but it never hurts to think ahead."

Ruben acknowledged the flight attendant ushering him towards the HST entrance and indicated to Bridget he was ready to walk and talk, moving with the pack out of the lounge and on his way to the Ambassador East seating.

Weber took Leroux's hand in the crook of his arm and lead the way as they were escorted to their suite on their suite in Ambassador East. Weber had a smug, proud smile on his lips as he walked into the grand hypersonic craft. Leroux, on the other hand, looked conflicted. Her eyes remained on the floor, her feet following Andy's lead unconsciously. She didn't even notice the grandeur and luxury that surrounded her.

When she looked up from the exquistely carpeted floor, she only looked up into Andy's face. "Andy...I...' She trailed off and looked away again.

Weber, still smiling, looked down at her. "Yes, my dear? What has you concerned? This is opportunity of a lifetime, fallen into our laps like wishing stars."

Leroux was silent for a few moments. She looked up into Weber's eyes. "That's just it, Andy...should we cancel our previous engagement?"

Weber looked down at her, befuddled. "Sweets, I don't know..."

"Our previous engagement, Andy, it will conflict with the role in Paris. We owe it to Miss Armstrong. She did get us this chance..."

Weber glared sternly at Leroux to quiet her. He allowed the attendant to conduct them the rest of the way in silence. At their suite, Weber pushed Leroux into the room and shut the door after them.

"Time will tell, no doubt. Has CompuTech considered the positioning strategies of any potential smart weapons? I know it's early yet but it never hurts to think ahead."

"At the moment, no. Our own planning of this project is only in the preliminary stages. Our Board of Directors decided that it would be better not to get too far ahead until we could arrange the definite co-operation of a major arms company, such as yourselves" She smiled, "However, as we are new to this market of arms, we would value your advice on this matter"
She nodded as well to the Attendant and only just noticed the Patron of the HST Flight as she walked with Ruben. She had sized him up and knew this had to be her man, there was something out of place with him, something very out of place with him.

Chuck held Holly's hand and squinted as she spoke of the murder of some man he'd never heard of. It all sounded tragic, but Chuck had items of a different matter on his mind at the time. When she mentioned security, he raised his head slightly, swiftly thinking of a quick way to procure a much needed firearm. However, before he could reply to Holly, Ms. Armstrong spoke up and began the boarding procedures for the flight. Without delay, Holly jumped up, seeing various passengers to their seats in either Ambassador Suite.

Chuck slowly rose, placing his messenger bag across his left shoulder. He watched as Luis Obregon, clad in his fine linen suit, laughed and joked with another well-dressed man. The two entered Ambassador West together, and it was at this moment that Chuck decided he had to be seated in Ambassador East. As he walked, he passed Bridget, who was busy entertaining another male friend with her beautiful hair and intriguing conversation. He passed behind her, but caught eyes with the man to whom she was speaking. Chuck nodded his head in that respectful, "good ole boy" manner he had been raised to exchange with other men, but he continued walking nonetheless. As he continued walking, he noticed an older man, from what Chuck could tell, forcing a pretty young girl into a room, after which he promptly shut the door behind him. Chuck squinted, questioning in his mind what exactly could be going on between the two, but he didn't dwell on it for too long. He found himself waiting for screams of, "Rape! Rape!" to come from the room, but he quickly threw these thoughts from his mind, laughing to himself as he did so. Upon reaching the area at which the assistants were directing people into either Ambassador East or West, Chuck slipped by unnoticed and found his seat in the East. He removed his bag from his shoulder and placed it on the floor next to his seat. He crossed his left leg over his right knee, clasped his hands behind his head, and sat, closing his eyes for a moment before the plane began it's long taxi to the runway.

"However, as we are new to this market of arms, we would value your advice on this matter"

"As far as smart weapons go I'd say there are two main angles to approach the issue from. Obviously governments are looking for the latest most efficient technology, the real cutting edge stuff to get the job done so it's important to work on a 'the future of warfare and weapons' image. The other thing to stress is the lives these weapons will save, at least for those pushing the buttons. These smart weapons require less personnel to be involved and at further distances. Pilots will find themselves out of jobs one day and thus won't die if something goes wrong."

Ruben noted one of the passengers give him a nod as he passed, a somewhat sly expression on his face. He could have laughed if he wasn't busy trying to figure out what Bridget's agenda was. He supposed it wasn't difficult to assume any man talking to Bridget would have other intentions, she was a beautiful woman but Ruben never let such things distract him and he didn't have time for romance.

Whilst he was sure Bridget wasn't an actual marketer she hadn't given any indication of what she might actually be about. Possibilities such as cop, government agent, impersonator or even someone like him crossed his mind. Of course it was too risky to reveal himself, especially if she was one of the earlier possibilities. Ruben viewed trust as a weakness and he wasn't weak. He would figure out what this woman wanted with him and if she proved to be a barrier, well, he knew how to deal with them.

"As you say though, it is early and we don't want to get too ahead of ourselves, especially considering nothing is set in stone yet."

Gathering what things remained with him, Leinad Nillum followed the entourage, speaking occasionally with one of the women he had been charming with his smile and well chosen words. It wasn't long before they were on the fabled plane of the Future, soon to become a part of the Now.

As he settled into his seat, he scanned his gaze over his belongings, currently secured for safety purposes in a wall mounted pocket with an overhanging mesh flap. It was as if they had thought of everything in something so simple as where to put luggage while inside the cabin itself.

As agreed, they'd wait for the flight to level off in flight, a matter of a few minutes really before he quickly set up and began his first commissioned work on this fabled flight.

"As you say though, it is early and we don't want to get too ahead of ourselves, especially considering nothing is set in stone yet."

"Correct, Mister Halifax but it never hurts to be prepared for when the decision is made," She smiled, for she too had noticed the sly nod from the male passenger. She knew what he was thinking and she didn't really bother with it. She had been used to it all her life, even during her earlier, less forgiving life,
"We have a 'tip'" She smiled again, "That the British Government and your own government are keen to develop an exclusive and internal range of Smart weapons before the Americans have a chance to monopolise the market. The hope is that we can start research and development within the next 12 to 16 months,"
She was thinking of that deal. It was a real deal and it would be worth billions when the order finally came through. A chance to rearm both the British and Assington Armed Forces with Smart Weaponry with no dependence on the United States. She knew that Halifax himself had no interest in the deal nor did she. She was interested in him alone and she knew that he was interested in her,

"So, is there a chance for our Companies to work together?" She asked airily, glancing around to see if she had time to grab a coffee before she reache the plane. Deciding she hadn't, Bridget resolved herself to getting one while on the flight.

Sophie, Shelly anfd Shug sauntered along with Agatha and her small following of hangers on. A nephew, the famous actor Max Bolivar, several assistants, and the V.P. of National Airline Marketing division. THey chattered among theimselves making soft voiced comments on the Presidential Suite. They nodded cordially to the Butler as he softly advised them where thier carry ons had been stowed.

The second floor with it's dramatic artwork and custom ebony and ivory leather sofas had them nodding approvingly while taking seats back towards the back. The gift baskets were tucked underneath but they ignored them for the time being. Though some didn't and pawed through them excitedly.

The girls were as eager as kids for the take off on to this latest adventure, though they hid it behind decorous smiles.

Chuck, by chance, moved his left leg just a bit, and felt it hit something under his seat. He opened his eyes, and, unclasping his hands, bent down to see exactly what his leg had stumbled upon. Pulling the elaborate package from under the seat, Chuck promptly opened it.

Perfect... he thought to himself as he pulled the laptop from its case. He turned it on, and set it on the small, coffee table-ish table next to him. He retrieved the next item, a rather sleek, black phone, and after turning it on, found the phone's number. Quickly storing the number to memory, he set the phone to vibrate and placed it in his pocket. Finally, he pulled the small pen from the elaborately-adorned gift basket, and placed it in a slot on his messenger bag, not recognizing the built-in flash drive.

He pulled the laptop back to his lap, and after checking around to make sure no one could notice what he was doing, began typing away. He was tucked away in a seat in the corner, which allowed for no one to come up behind him. This was good, especially considering the "Who's Who of Shady Characters" to whom this flight was catering. He pulled up the internet browser, thankful the flight carried a high speed wireless connection with it. He cracked a few of his knuckles, and began the long, arduous process of attempting to access one of many SCAF databases he had access to before he was cut. Accessing them now would be much harder, but not nearly impossible. It had just been a long time since he'd gone through this class...

"So, is there a chance for our Companies to work together?"

Ruben nodded after a few moments thought. Of course the final decision wasn't really up to someone in marketing but he didn't care. Within twelve to sixteen months Ruben would be onto another stage of his plans and wouldn't have anything to do with the remains of Effective Solutions.

"I think we can come to an arrangement that will keep everyone happy."

Whether Assington and Great Britain could develop their own smart weapons without American assistance didn't really concern Ruben in the slightest. A weapon was a weapon and as long as it did what it was supposed to do effectively then it didn't matter who made it.

As they entered the plane Ruben began to follow directions leading towards the Ambassador East seating.

"Whereabouts are you seated for the flight? If we're not in the same area I'd be happy to discuss potential business a little later once the flight levels out."

"I'm afraid I am in the Ambassador West seating," Bridget sighed and shook her head, hair weaving about "I shall look forward to discussing a potential deal with you. It would be good to go back to my board with something concrete that we can feed the Government," so she shook hands, turned her back and walked to her seat.
Chuck was there, she only just noticed him for she was deep in thought. She was sure that she had found her killer, he was the one she was looking for. Now, how to get near enough to make an arrest, that was the difficult part. She would need to recruit the Marshalls on the flight, if there were any. She would also need somewhere to keep him until they landed and he could be shipped off. Until then, she would have to bide her time and wait. Bridget hatred waiting but it was something she was getting used to so she decided she might as well sit down and enjoy the luxury of the flight. It was not like she had anything else to do in the meantime.

The limited number of passengers, and the very quality of said passengers, made boarding quick, even back in the Corporate class, the economy class of the flight. Though of course the boarding was accompanied by as much fanfare and news coverage as National Airlines could arrange.

Only those in the holy of holies, the Trianon Club escaped the furror.

But shortly the HST was rolling down the runway and making a picture perfect take off- on live tv, shown around the world.

"I shall look forward to discussing a potential deal with you. It would be good to go back to my board with something concrete that we can feed the Government."

Ruben nodded as the pair took their separate paths, glad to be away from the woman for a moment. She was probably a cop of some description and that was certainly a slight complication. Despite such, Ruben wasn't particularly worried about Bridget's presence. If she had any evidence on him that could be called legally legitimate then she would have arrested him before boarding. Any background checks performed would only locate information Ruben said was true. Even the university he claimed to have obtained his degree from actually had detailed records of his enrolment and achievements.

Finding himself a seat in the corner of Ambassador East, Ruben withdrew his own laptop from his carry on luggage and began connecting to the wireless network the HST provided. A few emails here and there would be necessary to gather a little information and ensure everything would be in order for the Hong Kong stop.

Cruising altitude for the vast majority of commercial passenger flights is between 30,000 and 40,000 feet and it take between fifteen and twenty minutes to reach those altitudes. And it took that long for the HST to reach those altitudes, then the monsterous scram jets flared to life and boosted the big plane into the rareifled hights of near space, at double that of normal airliners...

and the 'please remains seated' lights went out as the flight attendants went about taking drink orders and offering the freshly baked snacks - finger canapes, miniature quiches, rumaki, and other tasty delicacies.

They had had the barest moment alone before the occupants of their Ambassador suite entered. Whatever had gone on left an air of disagreement and ill will in the air. Leroux and Weber sat next to each other but both were leaning as far away as they could from each other. Leroux locked her attention out the window on details too uninteresting to warrant the intense study she gave them. Weber was giving the same thought to the cabin bulkhead and drumming his crenched fist on his thigh.

They remained in this state until the 'fasten seat belts' sign was extinguished. Leroux immediately unbuckled and left her chair. She stalked out of the room quickly and made a point to slam the suite door behind her. Weber sneered. "...bloody typical, manky giddy kipper," He mumbled.

Leroux leaned against the corridor for a moment, eyes closed. That stuffed up, malodorous...she growled to herself and set course for the Presidential Level. Somewhere to get away from him.

Chuck had barely noticed Bridget enter the room. He sat, precariously typing away at his newfound laptop, finding various loopholes and scratched documents he would be using in the near future in order to discover what exactly was going on. Through his digging, he was able to find one of the many accounts he'd used in prior operations and transfer a couple thousand dollars from it to a limited access account he'd used in another, off the record, operation. With various documents saved onto the laptop's hard drive, and other broken links and documents stored in the flash drive, Chuck password protected the computer, closed it, and slid it under his seat. He rose, glancing over at Bridget and giving a slight smile. He slowly walked toward the door of Ambassador West, and stepped out. He found one of the many waitresses aboard the plane, and smiled as he took a canape from one of the various trays.

He watched as a young girl - the same that had been forced into a door by an older man several minutes earlier - stormed away, heading for what looked to be the Presidential Suite. He shrugged, as he didn't care to get involved in the situation unless he needed to. He looked around, wondering to himself where exactly he'd been told the bar - or, mixologist, as it were - was.

Ruben decided to stay where he was for the moment, even when the seat belt light faded away. The internet connection provided was certainly useful but Ruben didn't exactly trust the security. Being reasonably skilled with computers himself, Ruben knew it was easy enough for a service provider to monitor the activity of those using its service. All messages had been either legitimate business or discrete enough to not give away what they were really about.

Currently a map of the region known as Fatal Terrain was displayed upon Ruben's screen, the map detailing current nations and those that had recently plunged into anarchy due to a lack of government. A number of projects were already under way in order to deal with new threats in the region such as the well armed warlords that had sprung up almost everywhere. In most cases the only way to deal with such people was to out-gun them and it was up to Effective Solutions to give the military those guns.

Shifting his attention from the computer screen to the Ambassador East Lounge, Ruben took in the sights around him, memorising possible exits and noting anyone else in the room. Whilst Ruben had hoped for a smooth trip he had the feeling something was going to go wrong.

Bridget waited patiently until the seat belt sign was off before she got up from her seat. It had been a relatively quiet takeoff compared to some of the planes she had travelled in during her time and it was nice just to be able to sit back and focus on getting into the air. Bridget did not mind flying at all, it was the takeoff and landing that made her nervous. She hated it when the pilot accelerated or cut the thrust from the engines. It always made the paranoid part of her think that something was going wrong.

It wasn't though, and Bridget was soon able to stand up, giving a small nod to Chuck as she saw him walk past in the direction of the bar. She could drink later. For now though, she had other important things to focus on. She knew that her killer was onboard. She knew where he was and she knew where he would go if he had to. For now though, she had another assignment. She had to find her Marshalls and get her some backup.

In both Ambassador East and West there were two doors, the forward doorway leading to the corridor they had boarded through. The wide - for a plane - corridor ran across the width of the plane - the right side doors leading to Ambassador East and West, and the left side door leading into the Presidential suite. Interior lay out (http://jkayjax.googlepages.com/hstfp2.jpg/hstfp2-full.jpg)

At the rear of each of the Ambassador suites was a door that led first to a flight attendant prep area then the narrower corridor that ran like the first corridor, widthwise - on the right side of this corridor lay the Starlight Lounge One with it's manned bar and seating area.

The Presidential suite, on the lower floor held a round dining table for ten on the 'west side' of the room and on the right side had a mini grand piano, the wet bar and some loosely laid out divan seating was arranged. It was in this area that the artist Leinad Nillum, would be working. The mixologist was busy at the well stocked bar. Second from top (http://jkayjax.googlepages.com/hst1a.jpg/hst1a-full.jpg) Lower Presidential Suite.

The Air Marshal aboard was currently in the upper section (http://jkayjax.googlepages.com/presup.jpg/presup-full.jpg) of the presidential suite, watching over the display of Faberge Eggs and other priceless jewelry

One of the aides, the brunette wearing the ruby set of jewelry was currently at the piano giving a well done rendition of Gershwin's Rahpsody in Blue (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V0DMEqtAKGo).

Leinad Nillum was quick to remove his seatbelt and open the small port window shade and gaze outward. The world spun beneath them at a dizzying rate, causing him to groan slightly and shut the shade once more. Rising to his feet, he gathered his things and made his way to his first customer, one of the ladies he had met prior to boarding this magnificent flight.

"Which of you ladies would like to pose first?" he announced with a smile. "And, just so you know, so long as you are comfortable, I am more than willing to do portraiture of yourselves in the nude. Now, before you start calling me a pig or a "typical male", allow me to explain. I feel that in the nudity taken by a model, all layers of deception, all layers of psychological defense are relaxed. Only then does the true person stand out, naked in truth and beauty...and I find that it only becomes more stunning to observe them in my paintings. I make an effort to capture them as they truly are, but of course, nothing is as perfect as real life."

Another glance around with a second smile, "So, that being said...who here, is ready?"

So, that being said...who here, is ready?"

Actually Leinad, I don't think any of us has any objection to posing nude - in fact we've always wanted to do a variation, or reprise of Raphael's famous "The Three Graces" (http://www.abcgallery.com/R/raphael/raphael10.html)." Sophy suggested with a winesome smile.

"We like his better than the Rubens, they're too..Rubenesque" Shug laughed tossing her hair back. All three of the terrible trio were in excellent physical condition.

"Actually if you've ever read Heinlien's "I Will Fear No Evil" an artist in the novel does a variation wherein the Three Graces are reclining on a couch, rather than standing - that might be easier on us" Shelly nodded to the lavish couch near the baby grand piano. "Perhaps you could paint each of us holding a Faberge egg, instead of the pomegranites used by Raphael."

"Ohhhh! Maybe Agatha would let us modle those fabulous necklaces as well" Shelly exclaimed excitedly.

"What do you think Leinad?" Shug asked, her face lighting up with her fabulous smile.

"Actually, my three most beautiful models..." Leinad replied with a flourish of his hand and a winning smile, "I have a different idea..." He casually closed the distance between them and himself, leaning his head in toward Shug's exposed clavicle, inhaling her flowery scent. "Mmm..." A soft, fleeting kiss, and then he pulled back. "A combination of your ideas."

With a turn, he gestured to the couch, "Comfort is a must..." His eyes flickered to Sophy as his hand now brushed her fair cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Such beautiful skin, my dear. Most ravishing!" Her blush earned her a smile from him.

His attention now turned to Shelly, his two hands caressing her face, pushing back the waves of beautiful hair that shadowed her face. A small gasp as he widened his eyes, "And your eyes! I don't think I've ever seen eyes as beautiful as yours!" A soft pat of her cheek, and he spun away back to his equipment, quickly setting up what he would need. As he worked, he spoke quickly and clearly.

"You three shall recline on the couch as you see fit, as you would wish yourself to be seen. Let it reflect you, and the necklaces and Faberge eggs resting in such a way as to not dominate the painting, but to accentuate it."

A gesture to each of them, "To accentuate your individual and collective beauty." He could see their eyes sparkle at him. Perfect. They were most like themselves when they were most happy, most excited. "Now, will one of you lovely Graces of the New Millennium be so kind as to obtain the necklaces and eggs?"

He turned away, resuming his work on setting up his equipment. First the easel came out and was expertly set up. Then, with almost reverent behavior, he pulled out his pallete and set it aside on a nearby table, and set his paints evenly spaced amongst each other next to it. Last came the hard plastic tube that housed the canvas cloth wrapped Taklon acrylic paintbrushes. Fine paintbrushes for the task at hand.

An artist was only as good as his tools, and Leinad took pride in them, caring for them, cleaning them with a scrutinizing eye and employing them with the caress of a lover's touch. Each of these, he inspected carefully, looking for strands that might have accidentally shifted from their intended positioning, pleased to find none out of order. His thumb ran over the bristles softly, ensuring that no paint residues from past works remained. He knew it was needless to do so, but it was always good to check just one more time.

Sophy gave a quick nod to the others and strode off- of the three she was slightly closer to Agnes than the other two.

Shortly she returned with a exquisitly done bejeweled 'easter basket' holding three of the priceless eggs and necklaces - one each of emeralds, rubies and saphires all paired with dazzaling diamonds.

One egg was the The Empire Nephrite egg - also known as the Alexander III Medallion egg - made in 1902 in the empire style of white jade, decorated with diamonds and a medallion portrait of Alexander III of Russia. It had been among the missing eight until just recently.

The second was the Czarevich Egg. The shell is lapis lazuli, with Louis XV-style gold cagework in a design of leafy scrolls. Two large diamonds, one at top and one at bottom, are encrusted into the egg's surface, showing the initials of Czarina Alexandra Fyodorovna, the year of presentation- 1912- and the Imperial crown.

The third was the Lillies of the Valley Egg. The egg is covered in pearls and topped with pink enamel. The egg is supported by cabriole legs of green-gold leaves with rose diamond dewdrops. The gold-stemmed lilies have green enameled leaves and pearl flowers. A knob on top of the egg reveals portraits of Czar Nicholas II and his two oldest daughters: Olga and Tatiana. The portraits are framed in rose diamonds and backed with gold panels engraved with the presentation date of April 5, 1898.

"Here you go Leinad. Just what we wanted"

While the artist readied his canvases and supplies for his first masterpiece, well dresses flight attendants saw to every legitimate need the passengers had. Fine drink and exquisite food- the on board chefs had the finest of fresh produce and meats to work with and they produced their own artistic masterpieces of gastronomic delight. Live music wound it's way through the Presidential suite, and elsewhere first run movies played on wise screens.

The flight was incredibly smooth, and the first leg would take less than three hours to go from London to Hong Kong, an unbelievably short time for the immense distance being covered.

"Mister Halifax, can I get you something to drink, or an appetizer?" One of the flight attendants, a pretty young woman with dark brunette hair enquired with a smile as she stopped by where he sat.

Chuck would find either mixologist - the one at the the Presidential Suite bar or the one in the Starlight Lounge - well trained and able to get him almost any brand alcohol or beer that he desired.

Bridget would be told, should she ask any of the flight attendants, that the air marshal, Marshal M. Scott, was in the upper section of the Presidential Suite.

"Excuse me, Miss Lloyd. Is everything alright? Can I get you anything?" Garrison, the Presidential suite's Concierge asked the young chanteuse concernedly as she stalked angrily away from the Ambassadorial suite.

"Upper Section of the Presidential Suite eh?" Bridget nodded her thanks to the Attendant and headed through the plane in that direction. She wished to tell him that a part of her luggage was missing and that she was growing concerned about it and it's contents. That had been enough to convince the Flight Attendant that her reasons were entire innocent. Until she found the Marshall, that was.
She found the Presidential Suite soon enough and looked in to see a man standing there, glacing out one of the windows,
"Marshall Scott?" She asked innocently in her thick Dublin accent, "My name is Bridget Hunter and there is an issue I must discuss with you"

"Mister Halifax, can I get you something to drink, or an appetizer?"

Ruben looked up from his laptop into the pretty face of the flight attendant. Ruben could appreciate a nice looking woman as well as the next man but he didn't have time for distractions and as far as he was concerned a woman was the worst type of distraction. Life had taught him that lesson harshly a long time ago and it was one he would not be prone to make again.

"No thank you, I'm fine."

As she made her way down the aisle, Ruben returned his attention to the laptop. With no immediate business to look over Ruben had decided to examine the marketing plans sent to ES as part of a joint operation with the local university. The company would give students real life marketing scenarios and goals, leaving them to design an action plan and conduct the necessary research.

Chuckling to himself, Ruben couldn't help but be amused. These kids were spending three years of their lives to learn how to make up crap and throw in some fancy graphs decorated in buzz words in order to deceive other businessmen into paying for the whole useless idea. Marketing most certainly would cease to exist as a discipline if the consumer wasn't so horribly stupid.

Closing down the laptop, Ruben opted to recline in his chair and rest for a moment. He rarely had time for reflection and he always felt it was important to assess were one was at with their assorted plans to ensure one remained on the correct path.

Leroux stopped, wanting to curse herself. She'd let her emotions show, break to the surface. She took a deep breath and turned. She forced a smile. "I'm sorry about that, sir. My manager and I were having a disagreement."

"My name is Bridget Hunter and there is an issue I must discuss with you"

Marshal Scott looked the young woman up and down with keen eyes, taking a moment to assess her then he replied with a faint Texan accent "Pleased to meet you Miss Hunter?"

He was a tall, spare built man, with a faint tracery of gray in the dark hair at his temples, but his eyes surrounded with faint crowsfeet were lively and alert. He motioned toward the empty seat that was next to his. "Please have a seat and we can discuss issue more comfortably, and less obtrusively."

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"I'm sorry about that, sir. My manager and I were having a disagreement."

"My dear Miss, there is nothing to be sorry for!" He paused a moment "Can I get you some tea? I've always found that a cuppa was wonderful for restoring harmony to the soul" He offered softly, still concerned - she reminded him so much of his own dear grandaughter. He considered for a send then made an additional offer "We have a small private lounge, if you need some alone time."

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As Ruben was reclining his seat, while it could not adjust to 'fully flat' it still reclined more than one might expect, another attendant stopped to offer him one of the custom made blankets and pillows. "I can also adjust the pink noise level if the chatter is distracting" She added.

"Please have a seat and we can discuss issue more comfortably, and less obtrusively."

"Yes," Bridget delicately took a seat next to the Marshall. She had already analysed him in a more precise way than he had managed with her. No doubt this guy was good...but she was better.

Much better. And now she was going to prove it.

"Marshall Scott..." Bridget glanced around to see if they were alone. To her delight, they were alone. The rest of the suite was empty and so she felt there was nothing to fear for the moment anyway. Later would be a different manner.

So the Irishwoman took a small wallet from her inside coat pocket and flipped it open to show the main card to the Texan Marshall,
"Marshall Scott," Bridget explained in a whisper, even though there was no one around, better safe than sorry, "I am with the British Secret Intelligence Service," She used the formal title, for even a Marshall must know the proper name for MI6,
"I am here because we have located a dangerous and high-profile killer as a guest aboard this flight. I must ask, what facilities do you have for containing such an individual? How many Marshalls are on this flight?"

"I can also adjust the pink noise level if the chatter is distracting."

Ruben gave the air hostess an appreciative smile but shook his head after accepting the pillow. He required simply comforts and certainly wasn't bothered by the noise around him.

"The noise is fine, thanks."

As Ruben lay there, his thoughts drifted towards Miss Hunter and what her agenda was. Whatever she said she was, that was a lie. Ruben was sure of that much and he hated variables that he could not be sure of. He was positive they hadn't met before and yet something about her suggested she was there because of him. The way she had looked at him wasn't quite right for a newly met business acquittance.

A good chance that she was a cop of some description existed and whilst that certainly was inconvenient, it didn't worry Ruben that much. He was exactly who he said he was and there was nothing in a background check that would say otherwise. Waiting for the air hostess to move on, Ruben leaned forward as if he were stretching and quickly place his hand up the right leg of his pants and promptly retrieved the carbon fibre blade that had been resting there. The grip possessed an intricate pattern upon it that made obtaining fingerprints impossible and it was quite light.

Still doubled over with outstretched arms, Ruben had the blade concealed behind his forearm and as his arms moved forward he secured the blade under the seat before him. It was important to have an easily accessible weapon in case the situation went pear shaped. Satisfied with his little act, Ruben leaned back into his chair once again, a content expression upon his face.

Alone. That was not where she wanted to be at the moment. Alone made her...well alone, and private lounges gave privacy...no, Andy would like some privacy with her at the moment. Leroux held her smile towards the older gentleman in the livery of the airline. "A cuppa...cup of tea would be lovely, but I'd rather not be alone, Mister...?"

"Here you go Leinad. Just what we wanted."

A gasp escaped Leinad as he beheld the priceless treasures so carefully handled by Sophy. He was captivated by their sheer illustrious beauty, and his fingers reached out to gently caress them and ever so gently place them down on cushions set aside for that very purpose. With a relieved sigh, for he very much appreciated the skill in their creations, he released his hands slowly, hovering over the treasures briefly and turned at last to the three women. His demeanor changed now and he approached Sophy first, the closest to him. "Thank you, my dear..." he breathed as he caressed her neck with a roughened hand, his hands that had seen many years of hard labor, both for income, and also for his many projects in the arts that spanned the various mediums available.

"And now...if you ladies would be so kind as to allow me the opportunity--no! The pleasure--of revealing yourselves before me, I would be most honored. You have my word, you will be treated as carefully as I've handled those utterly breathtaking pieces of priceless art that shall accommodate you today." He handed each of them one of the necklaces that would adorn their neck and lend additional stunning beauty to the painting of the three sensually alluring women.

A nod from Sophy was soft, the smile alluring on her face. He glanced to the other two, whom also nodded, approaching him and halting a pace away. His returned smile was given and he swept around behind Sophy as his arms wrapped around her slender waist and undid her clothes piece by piece. He moved like that of a lover, his rough hands gentle and soft on her body as he drank in her unveiling beauty. By now, he was in front of her, holding her at arms length to gaze upon her. "My my...you are indeed a specimen worthy of desire..." he murmured as he leaned in to kiss her upon the cheek. Then, he swept a hand to the small of her back, turning her toward the couch. "Lay here, this way." he indicated and watched as she sat down, and curled her legs up slightly, and leaned to her right. Her head was propped up by her right hand, her left arm sweeping upward and past her neck casually. A satin sheet was draped over her right leg that protruded forward with its knee before it curled back under her left leg. Her attention was to be directed foward at the viewer as if to silently acknowledge them looking upon her.

Standing back and crossing his arms while planting a thoughtful finger on his chin, he nodded. "Excellent!" he complimented her. Then, he retrieved one of the eggs and nestled it in the curved hollow offered by the bend of her right leg, strategically placed so that it would cover a view of her body, and yet ironically give a daring point of attention to such. A tasteful appreciation and commentary on her as priceless as the egg she held now.

Now, he turned to Agnes and like Sophy, he undressed her with care and wonder at how such a beautiful woman could come to be. She too was soon lead to the couch, but instructed to sit at a slight angle toward Sophy, her right foot planted on the edge of the couch ahead of Sophy's left leg. Her torso was turned to the right slightly with the aid of her left arm planted on her opposite knee, the hand draped downward. In these fingers, a second egg was placed, and it rested upon Sophy's upper thigh for additional support and ease of mind over the egg's safety. Like the first egg, it too was ironically used and demonstrated as if it were nothing but a mere trinket in the all too casual hand of Agnes, whose attention was facing to her left and meant to look upon Shelly in the painting. The effect of her attention would cast further assumption that the egg was not as valuable as it really was.

Shelly now, having seen what Leinad planned to do, stepped forward with barely concealed enthusiasm. She held her arms out for his ease in undressing her as he looked into her eyes the entire time he did so. Only when she was fully undressed did he turn his eyes away and a smile crept across his face as he looked upon her. She too was soon placed upon the couch, leaning to her left with her torso facing upward more. Her head leaned back slightly, her eyes allowed to close. A small smile played across her lips giving the impression of her experiencing a pleasant dream or fantasy. Her right arm disappeared behind her body, while her left stretched forward for support and then curled back her hand to cushion her breast. In the crook of her arm, the third egg was positioned, to complete the overall impression of nonchalance about the eggs and their priceless values. The necklaces shone brilliantly upon the soft naked flesh of the three women.

Leinad, at long last, and with some personal hesitation, retreated to take in the entire view. He inhaled with appreciation, nodding enthusiastically. "Oh this is going to be a most amazing masterpiece, I'm sure!" The glint in his eyes and the smile he gave them earned him a trio of small laughter and smiles. He retreated to the easel at last, picking up his palette and the largest of his brushes. He'd start with the background and build upward and closer to himself from there until at last, his masterpiece was to be finished.

"And so begins the most challenging and yet most enjoyable project I've yet undertaken!" he said aloud, more for his own benefit than theirs. His brush delicately dipped into paint as his eyes now assumed that of a well learned and gifted scholar of the fine arts.

The stroke fell upon the canvas and the only sound that filled the room now was the ever so soft scraping of fine brush strands gently and quickly applying the paint to its surface.

"I am here because we have located a dangerous and high-profile killer as a guest aboard this flight. I must ask, what facilities do you have for containing such an individual? How many Marshalls are on this flight?"

Marshall Scott looked at her idnetification carefully, then sat silent for a long minute before replying in an equally low voice. "We have enough to keep things secure, Miss Hunter. However the British Secret Intelligence Service is not a law enforcement agency. Do you have a warrent for his arrest, or any proof that he plans illegal activities while aboard the HST, or any violence against the HST or it's passengers?"

He could not just detain some one on her say so, asnd as far as facilities for detaining some one, that he wsn't going to answer.

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A cuppa...cup of tea would be lovely, but I'd rather not be alone, Mister...?"

"Oh it's just Garrison, please. And if you'd like to watch Mister Nillum at work, he's a remarkable artist, he's in the lower section here and Miss Madison is playing some very nice Gershwin on the piano. We have a wide variety of teas available, is there any that particularly suite you?"

"Do you have a warrent for his arrest, or any proof that he plans illegal activities while aboard the HST, or any violence against the HST or it's passengers?"

It took just a moment for Bridget to fish the paper from her pocket, a piece of paper, sighed by the Directors of both the Secret Intelligence Service and the Federal Bureau of Investigation. It was a page long but, in short, it gave her the power to arrest and detain the criminal upon the discovery of his identity and gave her the power to comandeer law enforcement agencies to restain the individual as she judged was neccessary.
Bridget let Marshall Scott read the letter, without letting go of it herself. After a few moments she spoke again,
"We don't know if he is planning something for the HST but, rest assured, he has no lack of targets here. The best place for him will be behind bars. So I ask again," The Irishwoman said it without anger or manelovence, "What facilities do you have onboard to restrain this individual?"

Leroux's smile grew more natural in the presence of the kindly old man. "Mmm...whatever seems as exotic as possible. Mister Garrison." There was no way possible she was going to call this sweet old man simply Garrison. She hadn't been raised that way. "I think I'd like to see the painter. Music's...well, can't be at it all the time."

"What facilities do you have onboard to restrain this individual?"

"What proof do you have of this individuals identity. Have you seen his passport or any picture I.D.? You have no proof of identity, save your say so." He snorted and continued

"The FBI has no jurisdiction in international airspace when no crime has been committed, or listed in these papers." The Marshall said stermly "And the SIS has no jurisdiction here to arrest people. Particularly those NOT citizens of Greaat Britian. You have no warrent listing specific crimes committed, these papers are worthless, and you have no juristiction over me."

He stood, his face stormy "I don't know who claimed these papers were legitimate, but I would question their competence. This plane isn't neither US or British flagged. I am a US Air Marshall, but even if I were British, or German, or Japanese, I'd be responding to you the same way. Good day miss, and if I find that you are in any way harrrassing a patron who is in no way causing disturbance, or that you have current, hard evidence of planning such, I shall be arresting you."

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"I think I'd like to see the painter. Music's...well, can't be at it all the time."

"We have some sixty year old Mangzhi Pu-erh tea, the scent is marvelous and each leaf in the cake is distinct. Subtle but profound. I will bring you a pot" He smiled genially at her as he lead her to a remarkably comfortable club chair that gave her a clear but discrete view of the impromptu dias that the famous artist had created to place his models upon. Yet it was situated so that it did not intrude upon the artists or models concentration. And the Gershwin from the piano could still be heard as soothing background music.

Leroux gasped quietly and blushed at the sight of the three nude models. Sure and enough, she hadn’t stumbled onto an intimate moment. She’d learned in her schooling about how the great painters used to paint with real nudes, but she hadn’t thought that painters still did that.

Well, outside of telly, but that was the telly after all. The telly lived to set up any situation with a little flesh.

Leroux supposed that this wasn’t an intimate moment she was intruding on. It was business-like…a performance of sorts. Her cheeks blushed darker at the line that thought lead down. She glanced up, a little embarrassed, at Mister Garrison, her voice hushed. “I’m not intruding, am I?” Her eyes turned back to the sight before her. This had certainly not been what young, niave, and prudishly raised Leroux Lloyd had expected.

Shug heard the gasp and looked over at the young chanteuse, and grimmed impishly. "Oh come now, I don't think there isn't a person in this lounge that hasn't seen us nude at one time or 'nother...either after too much bubbly aboard a yatch, or a party at the current villa aufait or on Saint Tropez's sparking beaches..." Her voice held not a bit of censure, distain, disapproval - merely utmost galic shrug of the shoulders matter of factness and cheer -

The impossibly rich truely were differnt and as one of them once put it, courtesy of Bridehead revisited

"I'm a pagan..."

"No, you are a hedonist...

"Even better..."

Not a single person (other than the gently bred and raised Ms Lloyd ) appeared to have noticed that the three women were unclad. The mingling,l gossiping, sipping of delicious bubbly and nibbling of exquisite comestables went on with not a ripple. To have noticed much less commented on, well the trio certainly weren't cavorting in such common places as the Tivoli fountains, or at Cannes, much less the even more unfashionable Washington Mall...And they certainly had better figures than some who'd gotten 'razzied' of late...

"So are we going to get to hear you sing at La Scala?"

Leroux knew one person for sure who had never seen them disrobed. Herself. She'd naked girls before in gym locker rooms and once or twice during sleep overs, but she'd never, never seen three women flaunt their bodies so openly.

She wasn't disapproving; she could hardly help but stare. They were gorgeous with bodies. Late-blooming and waifish Leroux was frankly envious. She broke her stare and looked down at her hands, partially wishing as she fought her blush down that she had the cup of tea already. It would give her a purpose to look down. "Umm...well, I'll be the understudy, Miss. I'd like to sing, but I wouldn't want anything to happen to the prima donna."

"Oh I absolutely understand, and neither would I, but one must always be prepared for the vagaraties of life and fate."

Shug noticed the young singers blushing nervousnes and smiled inwardly. Though Laroux would have to get over that nonsense and quickly. The world of opera was as cuthtroat and its movers and shakers as ...unique...as any in the performing arts - if a bit more gentile about it.

She noted Garrison was approaching with the requested tea, along with a tray of scones with Devonshire clotted cream and wild heather honey. "Oh if thats a tea he's recommended that will be simply devine. I know half a dozne wealthy that have offered him fabulous sums to come run their estates, but Garrison loves to fly and thus he is immune to their blandishments." She exclaimed as Garrison pour the first cup.

"Oh ma'am I nearly suscumbed to Lord Willimonte, he and his family have a plane in the air almost constantly, but he drinks ...Ozarka" The proper butler looked scandalized, then winked.

Leroux was grateful for the steward's appearance. It was a welcome distraction. She smiled at Mister Garrison and accepted the cupe of tea. However hearing about Lord Willimonte, she misunderstandingly looked serious and commiserating. "That poor family. It must be tough to live through the lord's drunkeness." Ozarka water is hardly well known much beyond the region near its source in the Ozark mountains of Arkansas. Such a joke is entirely wasted on someone less than familiar with American bottled water and more familiar with American hard spirits.

The proper but not at all stuffy butler turned majordomo for Agatha's high flying sallon just smiled very faintly but Shug gave a hoot of laughter.

"Whqt Garrison's too polite to say is that they have been pickling themselves from the inside out for what, oh ten generations now...The family saved their fortunes by marrying the heir to a pleasant, beautiful but acknowledgedly dumber than a brick daughter of an immensely wealthy american who made his forune in the triangle trade, then the two angle trade after importing slaves became a loosing proposition. Then just the rum trade. Wonderful people, born drunk, live drunk, die drunk."

"But ma'am you must admit one a generation is born with brains, uncommon business sense, and keeps the rest of them afloat." Garrixon murmured diplomatically.

"Yes and this generation it's Belinda, and she's a fire cracker." Shug acknowledged. "Garrison, could I have some of that tea, I've had enough champaigne for the time being and it is just a tad chilly in here."

Garrison whiked away, and Shug turned back to Larou, - and by this time both Sophy and Shelly were listening in intently to the conversation.

"So what do you think of this marvelous plane? Agatha is soo proud of it, she's one of the industry leaders in promoting these hypersonic transports."

Leroux carefully kept her gaze in a...non-intimate area, so hard to do with so much exposed, when Garrison left. She used Shug's question as a prompt to admire the decor. "It's really nice. It's like a beautiful flying hotel lobby...not like an 'air lorry' or that's what Andy calls regular airliners."