Chosen
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Chapter 1: The Viper's Plot
"Two hours ago, a German cargo plane headed for San Diego nearly went down in your area," said Duane.
"Nearly? That sounds a little anti-climactic."
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Warfield sat on the steps of the cottage, watching Dagger give himself a manicure.
Malloy had Vampire opened up and was cleaning the engine.
Rax sat inside the cottage at the radio where he had been for the past three hours, working his way through a crossword puzzle book. And then he put his pencil down and began listening intently to the broadcast coming in through his headphones. Mayhem noticed his intent expression and went over to the table.
Rax's brow furrowed as his concentration deepened. And suddenly that furrow became a smile. "They're here! It's time!" he announced loudly, sending the others scrambling to their stations. Warfield ran for Manta. Malloy closed up Vampire and started it up. Rax and Dagger ran for the boat docked nearby. Mayhem strolled confidently over to his computer.
Cargo Flight 0717, headed non-stop from Düsseldorf to San Diego, was just about to cross into Brazilian airspace—its crew, the manufacturers of the cargo, and the purchasers of that cargo all completely unaware of the impending danger. Cruising placidly at 35,000 feet, no one ever expected thieves to strike.
Mayhem sat down in front his computer and with a few clicks sent a transmission to a hidden passenger aboard Flight 0717, another little computer, this one with few capabilities. But those few it had were all it needed to bring VENOM's plan to fruition.
Within moments, the plane's engines began to falter, and the craft began an unplanned descent, the engines cutting back in occasionally, just enough to prevent a nosedive. The pilots brought the plane low, where according to procedure the crew made ready to save the cargo from a crash landing, in this case somewhere in the lowlands of Amazonia.
Now airborne, Manta flew behind the cargo plane, Warfield watching as the panicked crew jettisoned their precious cargo from the rear door, parachutes taking it gently to the ground. It was just as Tavisson had told them it would happen.
"Miles, they just sent four crates out the back," called Warfield smugly.
"Keep an eye on those crates. Malloy you too. I'll be right there to help collect them." Mayhem paused at his computer, watching the rapidly scrolling readings flicker though the window. And then he hit the detonation switch for the parasite. "I must be getting soft in my old age," he sighed and headed for Switchblade.
Aboard Flight 0717, a small explosion shook the plane, a minimal blast of fire and debris jetting into the cabin but doing little damage, except to the deadly device of which only a few scraps of melted plastic housing remained. And suddenly the engines came back to life, operating as if nothing had ever happened. The stunned pilots were able to resume normal flight, one that landed at the next airport, half a world away from the original destination, sans cargo.
A fortune in small missile components, originally destined for a weapons manufacturing plant in the California desert, was now floating groundwards. Five VENOM agents were on their way to collect them. In Belem, a buyer waited for said components.
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A ringing phone woke Trakker from his afternoon siesta. Like the locals, he and Sector had taken to snoozing during the hottest part of the day. He fumbled his hand underneath the couch where he had left his watch and phone and the contents of his pockets. Only half-awake he flipped it open and put it to his ear. "Hello. Trakker here."
"Matt!" barked Duane Kennedy over the line, waking him further from his nap. "I think we've just found what VENOM is doing down there."
"Go ahead," said Trakker, trying to stifle a yawn. Sector, stretched out in the hammock on the hotel patio, was awake as well and listening closely through the open door.
"Two hours ago, a German cargo plane headed for San Diego nearly went down in your area," said Duane.
"Nearly? That sounds a little anti-climactic."
"The pilots reported that out of the blue all of the engines began to fail, and they would have crashed, had the engines not suddenly started working again. But not after the cargo had been pushed out in an emergency airdrop to save it. The plane went on to land without incident at the airport in Santarem and is awaiting the arrival of an investigation team."
"Ejecting the cargo? That sounds odd."
"Standard procedure for this carrier. Valuable cargo is given a parachute just like the rest of the crew."
"And what cargo was this to rate the first class treatment?"
"Twenty million dollars worth of military computer hardware, destined for a munitions plant near Barstow that manufactures small missiles. The computer cores are made in Germany by a company named Stempel, but the rest of the units are built in the US."
"That's a lot of silicon chips and salsa," said Trakker.
"And that's just the legal value. On the black market, such parts would be worth twice that at least. And that's where we think those parts are headed if VENOM's behind this heist. There are arms companies all over the world that would love to get their hands onto them, companies that Stempel won't sell to because of, shall we say, not wanting weapons in the hands of unfriendly sorts."
"It does sound like the sort of thing VENOM would go after."
"Highly likely."
"All right. We'll see what we can find. Any idea where we should start?"
"I'm sending you some maps that give a probable location for where the plane crew believes the cargo was jettisoned. It was in four crates about a meter square each. If VENOM is after those parts, I'm sure they'll be out there already looking for it. And if they aren't, well, consider salvaging them your good deed for the day."
"Thanks Duane." He closed the phone and lurched to his feet, then opened up his computer. In moments the files were there and displayed on the screen.
"Not too far from here, I see," said Alex, looking at the oval drawn casually in red atop a standard satellite map. "Just an hour or so away by air."
Trakker leaned in, peering at the coordinates, along with the flight path of the airplane. "We'll go check it out in Thunderhawk, but I'm thinking it's not quite time to call in the team yet."
"Agreed. Not at least until we know there are snakes out in the jungle."
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Trakker and Sector suited up and ran for Thunderhawk, parked outside their hotel on the outskirts of Belem. Trakker yanked off the tarp covering it as Sector opened the car, a wave of heat rushing from the vehicle as the doors flew upwards. "Ugh...nothing like the noonday sun to keep us cozy here. I'm glad I brought some water along."
"It's missions like these that make me wonder if we should design some lighter-weight suits," Trakker contemplated.
"I just can't imagine us in a seersucker uniforms."
"Don't even say that," he groaned and fought himself not to envision the result.
"We could at least put Gloria in a swimsuit. It would be appropriate to the amphibious nature of her vehicle," he said in a deadpan.
Trakker laughed. "I'm sure we'd all enjoy that."
Once airborne, Trakker turned Thunderhawk in the direction of the indicated possible drop-zone. The urban sprawl of Belem soon gave way to a green maze of rivers, swamps, and patches of forest. The rushing air soon cooled them and the car as they sped high above the flat humid landscape.
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It did not take long to find one of the jettisoned crates. Inside the estimated area they quickly spotted a large yellow and white parachute. And there was VENOM. Having cut the crate free of the parachute, they appeared to be dragging it toward a boat anchored in a nearby slough.
But flying low-altitude reconnaissance had its price, and after their pass, Switchblade was airborne and hot on Thunderhawk's trail. Trakker flew evasively, hoping Mayhem would not launch any missiles...the irony of it, considering the contents of the crate.
"Matt, if you can get me down I can spy on them while you keep them distracted," suggested Sector. "Just give me a low altitude bailout when Switchblade can't see me."
"Can do, Alex." Dropping low, Trakker flew hard, putting on some speed to put some distance between himself and Mayhem. And at a bend in the river, where the trees grew tall and close to the water, Sector noticed that they had lost Switchblade for the moment. "I can't see him, old boy."
"Me either. You ready?"
"Jackrabbit! On!"
"That sounds like a 'yes' to me." Trakker decelerated sharply.
Sector undid his seatbelt. "Good luck up there. I'll find out what I can," He said just before bailing from the red jet.
"Good luck to you too. Bring me back a lizard or something," Trakker chuckled over the com-link.
Sector laughed. "If I'm lucky I'll have a whole nest of vipers for you to pick up when the rest of the chaps are here."
Trakker punched the accelerator again and brought Thunderhawk upwards, only to find Manta coming right at him. "Great... looks like Vanessa wants a piece of me too."
"I'll be fine if you want to retreat. Just give me the coordinates of where we saw that parachute and I'll go from there."
"How about I just drop a locator beacon into their midst."
"That works too."
Dodging laser fire, Trakker searched again for the parachute, and on finding it, he launched a beacon into the jungle for Sector to follow. "There you go, Alex. Just follow the bouncing ball. I'm going to drag these two off on a wild goose chase now."
"Right-O, but just don't become a roast goose in the process."
"Same for you too."
"I'll keep you posted."
After eventually losing Manta and Switchblade, Trakker turned back for Belem. "Request satellite link to MASK computer."
A few beeps signaled that the connection had been made. "Interface secured, Proceed," responded the voice of the computer.
"Select the MASK agents most suitable for a mission in northeastern Brazil. Alex Sector already present."
The computer processed information for a moment before revealing its choices: "Selection complete. Recommended personnel..."
"Dusty Hayes. Auto and marine stunt driver. Vehicle codename: Gator. Amphibious vehicle capabilities recommended for Amazon basin location."
"Julio Lopez. Cryptography and analysis specialist. Vehicle codename: Firefly. Aerial reconnaissance may be essential."
"Calhoun Burns. Urban environment and demolitions expert. Vehicle codename: Raven. Amphibious vehicle capabilities recommended for Amazon basin location."
"Selection complete."
"Selection approved. Assemble Mobile Armored Strike Kommand."
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Chosen continues in Chapter 2: The River Battle
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M.A.S.K. and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of DIC Enterprises, Inc and Kenner Toys. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.
This fic is dedicated to Ben Chapman (1925-2008), Ricou Browning, and Tom Hennesey (1923-2011)
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