Chapter 3 - Arrival
Both aircraft were, all across their night flights over the north Atlantic, within twenty nautical miles of each other. And they landed at London Heathrow airport within an hour of each other; Shego's flight barely missed the huge bank of transoceanic flights from the states and so was cleared on approach early. Kim and Ron waited for half an hour in a holding pattern with a frozen banana and equally tough roll to munch on before they were even allowed to descend into the arrival pattern. Once though customs, Shego boarded the Heathrow Express for the city two minutes before Kim and Ron stepped out of Terminal Three with their MI5 chauffeur. Kim didn't even think to ask any of the airport security officials if they'd seen any suspicious arrivals lately, but Shego had arrived only half an hour earlier; and so probably wouldn't have been noticed by security yet.
To those watching the camera it was a usual, early Tuesday morning at Heathrow, with a lot of people coming and going, and no time to check every single one of them who looked a little agitated - probably just because of jetlag. But in fifteen minutes one of them, a newer employee, would notice someone's face and it would remind him of something he'd seen on the news. And then he'd decided that hey, he had nothing better to do, and check up on his hunch. Within five minutes of sending the email with the woman in question's security camera mug-shot attached to his supervisor, the airport's local security service official was sitting next to the new member of the security staff, reviewing all his tapes before finally calling his supervisor with some bad news. They'd got another one.
Sitting in the back of a large burgundy BMW, Kim and Ron watched the scenery fly by as their chauffer raced along the crowded motorway into the city center, where he almost drove on the sidewalks to get them to their hotel. Kim guessed that it being owned by the British government, the car could be driven as fast as humanly possible if needed to. But, while being able to get them into London in what was probably record time, their chauffeur was not very much of a conversationalist, and he only spoke to Kim once, when she was stepping out of the car when they had reached their destination.
"Ms. Possible," he had called quietly to her as she followed Ron out the door, "if you ever need a ride, just let me know - my number's four-one- five-six."
"Thanks," she replied before following Ron through the revolving glass doors into their hotel. She turned to ask the driver what the rest of his phone number was, since she'd never heard of a four digit private number, but the car had already pulled away from the curb and was accelerating down the street. Kim decided to trust that the number was correct, and turned her attention to the interior of the hotel. It was a large, very expensive Marriot in Grosvenor Square, which - from the highly decorative interior and eighteenth century architecture - Kim guessed had not been a part of the chain for long. The reception desk was busy with the arrivals and departures of guests that morning so Kim and Ron had to wait a while before they finally got their room. They decided to go up, drop their bags off and check out their new digs for the next few days before going down and meeting with the people from the government who'd contacted Wade the previous day.
"Hey Kim, you gotta see this bathroom!" Ron exclaimed as Kim unpacked her bag. "They've got like two sinks! And a bath! And a shower! Man this is awesome!"
"Sure Ron, it sounds breathtaking," Kim called back sarcastically.
"Just because you aren't as well versed in bathroom luxury doesn't mean you can make fun of me," he complained as he stepped back into the room, his face still slightly wet from cold water he had splashed on it to wake him up.
"Umm, Ron? We need to talk about something before we go back downstairs," Kim said, her tone becoming more serious.
"Sure, what's up?" Ron replied nonchalantly as he lay back on his bed next to Rufus, who was fast asleep trying to recover from jetlag.
"I'm gonna need you to amp down a little bit when we meet these guys. They're some really important people from the British security services and I want to make them think we're professional. So could you please just try to act a little more. um. normal when we get down there?" Kim pleaded.
"No problem KP," he assured her, "don't worry about it."
"Great, thanks a lot Ron," said Kim, glad that he hadn't taken it too harshly -though she still could detect a hint of injury in his voice.
"Just wondering though," he said as they walked out the door a few minutes later after Kim had changed into some clean clothes and re-applied her makeup, "what's so different about these guys were supposed to meet?"
"What do you mean," Kim asked as she closed the door to the room.
"Well, we've met with a bunch of important people in a bunch of different governments, but you've never mentioned anything about making a good impression," he pointed out. "What's so different about this time?"
"Ron, you heard what Wade said yesterday in the car?" inquired Kim as she pushed the 'down' button on the elevator.
"Yeah, I was sitting right next to you," he replied as they stepped into the elevator.
"He said that there were over five villains who we know all too well supposedly meeting in London this week and they needed our help in case something happened," Kim regurgitated in case he'd forgotten. "That's five different people to deal with, not one, not two, not three, but five. Now, remember how hard it was dealing with DNAmy, Drakken and Shego that time in Middleton, and then think how fun it'll be dealing with five of them. Plus any henchmen, robots or evil doomsday devices they happen to bring along."
"It'll be bad, right," he asked, his face slightly blanched at the thought of so many villains to battle.
"Very," was Kim's not-so-chipper reply.
"And we came here why, again?" Ron asked, beginning to grow wary of the interior of the elevator, as if he expected someone to pop out of a mirrored panel with a knife.
"Ron, it's nothing to be afraid of," Kim tried to assuage his doubts, knowing she might have blown the whole scenario a little out of proportion. "But I think we'll just need to be a little more on our toes while we're on the mission. Kay?"
"Sure," he agreed. "But remember, if we find their secret lair, I am not being the distraction! Even two is a little much half the time."
"Don't worry Ron, I'll try and keep you out of danger," said Kim as they stepped out of the elevator and turned right into the restaurant.
Inside the large, softly lit dining room cum restaurant windows lined two sides of the room and looked out onto London's morning rush hour traffic, while a breakfast buffet was laid out to the left of the entrance. Kim kept a firm grip on Ron's arm to stop him from running over there and being piling a plate three feet high with food, and searched the room for the people they were supposed to meet. With a wave of his hand a youngish gentleman sitting with an older, more distinguished man dressed in a tweed suit and holding a cane in his hand, motioned Kim over to their table. It was one of the few set against the polished stone wall of the large room, in a corner, making it difficult for it's occupants to be seen from the street. The old man sat and sipped a cup of tea silently as his counterpart rose to greet Kim and Ron, extending his hand with a benevolent smile on his face.
"You must be Kim Possible, it's so good to meet you," the young man said, shaking Kim's hand profusely. His faced beamed with youth and excitement, and Kim knew he was one of those people who viewed danger and adventure as something gloriously fun. She herself tried to stay upbeat on a mission, but knew that jokes couldn't save you from a laser cannon, and so knew when it was time to focus and get down to business. But other than that the man in front of her looked like a pretty nice guy, dressed in a navy blue blazer, khaki slacks and a white Oxford shirt. His dark brown hair was parted on one side of his face, and Kim could see the beginnings of a receding appearing there. His eyes, which matched the color of his hair, glowed with the same exuberance that Kim had noted earlier, but she could see some seriousness there too. He too was able to buckle down and get to work, which she guessed was why he had gotten such a highly placed job in MI5.
"And you're Mr. Finch?" she asked, not sure if this was the man Wade had mentioned before they left Middleton the previous afternoon.
"No, no, that's my friend sitting at the table - I'm Douglas Hackney," he explained, gesturing to the surly Mr. Finch, who seemed as though he had not even noticed Kim and Ron's arrival. "Please excuse him, he's had a rough past few days and is feeling a bit run down at the moment."
"Not a problem, I know just how he feels," Kim sympathized. "We got off a flight this morning and I think we're still on US time."
The man laughed, moving back toward the table. "I know what you mean Ms. Possible. Please, have a seat, and would you like anything to drink?"
"Orange juice is fine, thanks," Kim replied, glancing over at Ron to make sure he was in agreement with this. He nodded an affirmative.
"Could we get two orange juices and another pot of tea?" said Hackney to the waiter, who had appeared at the table once they were seated.
"Certainly sir," the waiter said, turning back to the kitchen for the drinks.
"Now, Ms. Possible, this is Mr. Arthur Finch, our man at Scotland Yard," motioning to the other man, who had set down his cup of tea to shake Kim's hand.
"Pleased to meet you," said Kim, joining her hand with his, feeling his strong, almost viselike grip. Either he worked out regularly, or had been a soldier earlier in his life. From the scars and nicks on his face she assumed it was the latter. His hair was parted like Hackney's, but was beginning to thin out considerably and she could see his scalp underneath the salt and pepper gray hair. Unlike his now aged body, his eyes were a steely blue of someone twenty years younger, and Kim immediately viewed him as a determined, hardnosed policeman. A benefit to have on your side, but a bane to the person who was his enemy - he was the one she would probably get the most useful information out of. Hackney trusted sources, informants and reliable reports. Finch trusted his hunches and emotions, which after (Kim guessed) forty years of service, were extremely reliable.
"You as well," he replied tersely.
"Alright," Kim began, deciding to try and not notice Finch's apparent hostility toward Ron and her, knowing it would only hinder their search for the villains. "Would you mind filling us in on the finer details of what's happening here - Wade only told me that there were now over five villains in the area, and that you guys were expecting that something big was about to go down."
"That's very true. We have seen the following super-criminals, as we have come to call them here, arrive in the city through various means: Frugal Lucre on a low cost carrier from the continent, DNAmy in on a yacht from Africa, Dr. Dementor on a private jet from somewhere in the United States, Adrenna Lynn in with some star friends from Hollywood and Duff Killigan somehow snuck in under our radar in his blimp before he was sighted over York. There was also Senor Senior Senior and Senor Senior Junior in a small boat from their island and Gemini broke out of prison two weeks ago as was only seen yesterday in a small pub outside Manchester. Lord Montefisk, or as you know him; Monkeyfist, left his Alpine castle and we spotted him in the London Zoo late last night" Hackney informed her. "Even though we know all this, Finch and I must admit that we're stumped on this one. We have no idea where they are right now, if they're in the city or on an estate somewhere in the country. If they're planning to rob a bank, steal a diamond or take over the entire country, we won't know until it happens. And we fear that we have neither the forces nor the expertise and experience that you possess to combat these criminals."
"All right then," Kim began, getting right down to business, though a little flattered that the British government thought she was better than they were at stopping these guys. "Do you know of any type of classified project going on in or around the city, something top secret and that could be used as a weapon? These kinds of villains seem to love anything made by the government, even if they don't know what it does."
Hackney was the first to answer: "No; nothing that I'm aware of. Arthur?
"There's nothing going on around London," Finch confirmed, speaking with a finality that practically dared Kim to try and refute his statement.
"Ok-ay, do you know of any extremely valuable pieces of art, jewelry or technology that has recently been brought into the country," Kim tried, hoping to get a better response out of either of them. "Like something that they might be able to steal and then sell for a profit on the black market."
"Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that would require twelve of them to pull it off," responded Hackney, who Kim could tell was the more talkative of the duo.
"What about celebrities, any of them around here right now?" Ron inquired. Kim knew this was only because he didn't want to miss the chance of getting his picture with a bunch of stars. But the two men sitting across from them viewed it as something the villains might have thought about.
"Of course," said Hackney, "but none of them have gotten any kinds of threats and the security we provide them is some of the best in the world."
"I'd double it anyway - I've never known Professor Dementor to send a threat. He usually just blows a hole in the wall and takes what he needs," Kim advised, seeing that while having ulterior motives for asking it, Ron's question had been a good one. Though she never remembered one of her numerous foes doing it before, Gemini or Drakken just might decide that celebrity hostages were an easy source of income.
"Yes, quite." was all Hackney said, clearly viewing the words of caution as a little over the top.
"Mr. Finch, do you have any leads or theories on why they've all decided to take a trip to London?" Kim asked, turning to the older man.
"Nothing's come in through my office, I can tell you that. We know nothing concrete about their reasons for being here, just that there's ten of them in my city, and I don't like it one bit," he replied, taking a piece of toast from a plat and slapping butter on it a little harder than necessary - he definitely didn't shine to the idea of so many world-renowned villains being in London.
"Wait, ten of them? But Hackney only mentioned nine names. Who's the tenth?" asked Kim, confused by the discrepancies in head counts.
"A woman using the name Appleby," he answered, taking a bite out of his toast. "She arrived only minutes before you did on a flight from North America, and I was notified only moments before you arrived. She was using a pseudonym - she's really a woman named Shego, assistant to -."
"Dr. Drakken," Ron spoke up before Finch could finish. "So the gang's all here now, and we have no idea why."
"That's the long and short of it for now," admitted Hackney, who had just poured himself a cup of tea from the pot the waiter had brought over.
"Alright, I'll see if Wade can find anything out, and I'll check back with you guys if he does," Kim told them, sensing there was little else they could do sitting and talking. No one knew why the criminals were there, and it wouldn't help sitting around and talking. "Until then me and Ron will probably do a little sightseeing. Will you be at your offices for the rest of the day?"
"Until six, yes," Hackney replied and Finch nodded in accord.
"Great, we'll talk later then," Kim said, reaching across the table to shake both their hands in turn as they rose from their seats.
"Absolutely, and I want to thank you for coming on such short notice," said Hackney as Finch pulled his overcoat on and took his cane in his right hand.
"Not a problem, just doing the whole teen-hero thing," Kim replied before both of the men rose and left the restaurant through the street entrance. She looked over to see Ron already heading over to the buffet and, after deciding that a frozen banana was nowhere near enough food for breakfast, followed suit and headed over with her plate in hand.
* * *
While Kim and Ron were munching on scrambled eggs and toast, Shego was already heading to her first contact in London. Once in Paddington Station, she had dropped her bag in a locker and headed out of a small side door of the station, trying not to be seen. Constantly searching the street for tails, she then walked two blocks east to a small three-storey red- brick office building. Situated between a Burger King and a block of larger, modern offices it was easily missed by passers-by, but Shego had been there hundreds of times before and could have found her way from Heathrow blindfolded. At the top of a short flight of steps she rang the doorbell and waited patiently until the door hummed, signaling it was unlocked and that she could enter.
Shego knew the lock was not the building's only protection against intruders though - there were cigarette package sized cameras placed all over the outside of the house, along with motion sensors on both the windows and doors. If someone even touched one of the windows when these were armed, massive steel bars would slide in front of the window and the police would receive a distress signal from the house in seconds. In other words, this was more of a fortress than an office - which was just as Shego liked it.
As with the exterior of the building, its interior was bland and uninteresting - only a few cables running along the side of the ceiling were an indication of the amount of technology that had been installed here. Through the door was a small antechamber-like room with a few chairs placed against one wall. A single bare bulb hung unceremoniously from the ceiling for light, as there were no windows in the room, and Shego saw at least three holes in the wall that looked like cameras. She had no time to sit down, since as soon as she closed the front door another opened opposite it and in stepped a small man dressed in a checkered flannel shirt and baggy brown slacks. A headset with both earphones and a microphone rested around his neck, with the cord attached to a cellular phone resting in his shirt pocket. Short in stature, he had a leering air about him, and never smiled, only smirked - he was about as trustworthy as a chronic liar. But Shego had dealt with the man for over ten years and he knew that lying to her would be the biggest, and last, mistake he would ever make. And so whenever she was near he tried to keep at least a meter's distance from her hands, just in case she felt more murderous that usual that day.
"Ah, Shego, A pleasure as always," he welcomed her without extending his hand. "Please, come right in."
"Thanks," she said in reply, walking through the door after him and closing it behind her. This room seemed as though it were in a completely different building - such as the offices of a software company. Six of the most expensive computers available to the public sat on a large table on the opposite side of the room, all humming away contentedly at their ordained tasks, while over twelve shells of others lay on the floor underneath them; clearly in the process of being upgraded. Against the wall to her left stood a row of filing cabinets and shelves packed with client files, new software, old software, and a series of strange blue and black boxes attached to a series of multi-colored cables leading to various outlets and computers around the room. Shego guessed they were modems for a high speed internet connection, but they could have been CD burners and she would have had no idea. The other remaining wall was covered in the screens and dials for the elaborate security system that had been installed which, except for the cameras, was switched off at the moment. 'Odd', Shego said to herself, 'he's so paranoid I thought he never turned them off.'
"Now, have a seat and tell me what I can do for you," the man began, motioning to Shego to sit at the large mahogany desk in the middle of the room while he walked around it and sat down in his very expensive and probably brand-new black leather chair.
"I need you to run a worldwide search for Dr. Drakken, and continue doing it for the next week," she said to him as he pulled a piece of paper and pen out of a drawer.
"A search for Drakken?" the man asked, a hint of disbelieve apparent in his voice. "But. don't you two work with each other?"
"Yes, we do," Shego replied evenly, her face expressionless. At that moment the man remembered who it was who he was talking to and that asking to many questions was also asking for trouble.
"Fair enough; and you want me to search for at least a week?" He asked, scribbling a few notes on the paper.
"Yes," confirmed Shego.
"Okay, I can do that. But I'll need some payment up front - one thousand U.S. dollars," he told her, knowing that she already knew this was the standard rate for his services.
"Give me an account number and I'll have it paid by the end of the day," Shego promised, and was given a small piece of paper with a series of digits written on it in return.
"Thanks a lot, and here's my number. Call me if you need anything," she said before placing a piece of paper with her cellular phone number on it. She then rose from her seat and left through the door she had entered, leaving the man mumbling to himself and scribbling ideas on the paper. A nod of goodbye was all she got before the door closed behind her, but she didn't care. The only thing that mattered was that he did his job, and found Drakken for her.
Once again out in the street, Shego walked to the nearest bus stop and caught a bus across downtown to Trafalgar Square, where she walked down a secluded side street off one of the main roads and into another office building. Half an hour later she walked out of that building with another account number in her pocket and caught another bus heading east. A few miles down the road she again visited another office, and there again she gained another account number. By the time she was done, she had visited over five different bounty hunters and professional 'people finders' - their only job was to search the globe for missing persons, whether for a government or people off the street that had enough money. Shego now owed these people over six thousand dollars in preliminary payments, but the largest bill was yet to come. If they delivered the whereabouts of Drakken she would have to pay five thousand more dollars per person.
So, after she visited a bank and had all the money transferred to various accounts she grabbed a bite to eat at the nearest fast-food restaurant and caught a taxi to her hotel; the Hilton at Paddington Station. There she picked up her bag from the locker and headed to the hotel's check-in desk, which was luckily devoid of customers.
"Good afternoon ma'am," the receptionist greeted her warmly. "How may I help you?"
"I'm checking in, my name's Carla Mitchell," Shego replied, handing the woman her second false passport and a credit card with the matching name.
"All right, let me just pull up your reservation. yes, here it is. A non-smoking twin double bed - is that correct?" the receptionist asked.
"Yes," verified Shego. The rest of the check-in process took little time, and Shego was about to leave with her room key in hand, when she was called back.
"Ma'am, I just noticed that we received two messages for you this morning," the woman informed her, handing Shego two small cards with handwritten messages on them. One said 'Carla, meet me and my buddies at ten pee' and the second 'We're going to meet outside the old office, hope you can make it'.
"I hope I wrote them down correctly," the receptionist commented. "The conversation was very short, and both times the other person spoke very fast."
"That's all right," Shego assured her. "I understand them fine."
"Very good ma'am," said the woman as Shego turned and walked over to the elevators. The messages had in fact been perfectly clear, and her mind was so preoccupied with Drakken's disappearance that she had almost forgotten she would be contacted. Though cryptic to most, to Shego and every other villain who received a similar message knew exactly what it meant - hidden in the commonplace phrases were both the time and location of the conference. It would be held that evening, at ten o'clock in a large, almost deserted warehouse in the town of Slough, to the west of the city.
Shego therefore had about six hours before she had to leave for the meeting, which she planned to spend fast asleep. Slumber had evaded her on the airplane and her eyes had already begun to droop on the taxi ride to the hotel. She needed sleep to stay alert, and so as soon as she closed the door to her room, she stripped off her grimy and wrinkled clothes and climbed into bed. Minutes later her cellular phone rang beside her bed, startling her from her nap.
"What?" she asked grumpily once she answered it. "Wait. wait. say that again. Yeah. Yeah. She's where? WHAT! WHERE!?"
Both aircraft were, all across their night flights over the north Atlantic, within twenty nautical miles of each other. And they landed at London Heathrow airport within an hour of each other; Shego's flight barely missed the huge bank of transoceanic flights from the states and so was cleared on approach early. Kim and Ron waited for half an hour in a holding pattern with a frozen banana and equally tough roll to munch on before they were even allowed to descend into the arrival pattern. Once though customs, Shego boarded the Heathrow Express for the city two minutes before Kim and Ron stepped out of Terminal Three with their MI5 chauffeur. Kim didn't even think to ask any of the airport security officials if they'd seen any suspicious arrivals lately, but Shego had arrived only half an hour earlier; and so probably wouldn't have been noticed by security yet.
To those watching the camera it was a usual, early Tuesday morning at Heathrow, with a lot of people coming and going, and no time to check every single one of them who looked a little agitated - probably just because of jetlag. But in fifteen minutes one of them, a newer employee, would notice someone's face and it would remind him of something he'd seen on the news. And then he'd decided that hey, he had nothing better to do, and check up on his hunch. Within five minutes of sending the email with the woman in question's security camera mug-shot attached to his supervisor, the airport's local security service official was sitting next to the new member of the security staff, reviewing all his tapes before finally calling his supervisor with some bad news. They'd got another one.
Sitting in the back of a large burgundy BMW, Kim and Ron watched the scenery fly by as their chauffer raced along the crowded motorway into the city center, where he almost drove on the sidewalks to get them to their hotel. Kim guessed that it being owned by the British government, the car could be driven as fast as humanly possible if needed to. But, while being able to get them into London in what was probably record time, their chauffeur was not very much of a conversationalist, and he only spoke to Kim once, when she was stepping out of the car when they had reached their destination.
"Ms. Possible," he had called quietly to her as she followed Ron out the door, "if you ever need a ride, just let me know - my number's four-one- five-six."
"Thanks," she replied before following Ron through the revolving glass doors into their hotel. She turned to ask the driver what the rest of his phone number was, since she'd never heard of a four digit private number, but the car had already pulled away from the curb and was accelerating down the street. Kim decided to trust that the number was correct, and turned her attention to the interior of the hotel. It was a large, very expensive Marriot in Grosvenor Square, which - from the highly decorative interior and eighteenth century architecture - Kim guessed had not been a part of the chain for long. The reception desk was busy with the arrivals and departures of guests that morning so Kim and Ron had to wait a while before they finally got their room. They decided to go up, drop their bags off and check out their new digs for the next few days before going down and meeting with the people from the government who'd contacted Wade the previous day.
"Hey Kim, you gotta see this bathroom!" Ron exclaimed as Kim unpacked her bag. "They've got like two sinks! And a bath! And a shower! Man this is awesome!"
"Sure Ron, it sounds breathtaking," Kim called back sarcastically.
"Just because you aren't as well versed in bathroom luxury doesn't mean you can make fun of me," he complained as he stepped back into the room, his face still slightly wet from cold water he had splashed on it to wake him up.
"Umm, Ron? We need to talk about something before we go back downstairs," Kim said, her tone becoming more serious.
"Sure, what's up?" Ron replied nonchalantly as he lay back on his bed next to Rufus, who was fast asleep trying to recover from jetlag.
"I'm gonna need you to amp down a little bit when we meet these guys. They're some really important people from the British security services and I want to make them think we're professional. So could you please just try to act a little more. um. normal when we get down there?" Kim pleaded.
"No problem KP," he assured her, "don't worry about it."
"Great, thanks a lot Ron," said Kim, glad that he hadn't taken it too harshly -though she still could detect a hint of injury in his voice.
"Just wondering though," he said as they walked out the door a few minutes later after Kim had changed into some clean clothes and re-applied her makeup, "what's so different about these guys were supposed to meet?"
"What do you mean," Kim asked as she closed the door to the room.
"Well, we've met with a bunch of important people in a bunch of different governments, but you've never mentioned anything about making a good impression," he pointed out. "What's so different about this time?"
"Ron, you heard what Wade said yesterday in the car?" inquired Kim as she pushed the 'down' button on the elevator.
"Yeah, I was sitting right next to you," he replied as they stepped into the elevator.
"He said that there were over five villains who we know all too well supposedly meeting in London this week and they needed our help in case something happened," Kim regurgitated in case he'd forgotten. "That's five different people to deal with, not one, not two, not three, but five. Now, remember how hard it was dealing with DNAmy, Drakken and Shego that time in Middleton, and then think how fun it'll be dealing with five of them. Plus any henchmen, robots or evil doomsday devices they happen to bring along."
"It'll be bad, right," he asked, his face slightly blanched at the thought of so many villains to battle.
"Very," was Kim's not-so-chipper reply.
"And we came here why, again?" Ron asked, beginning to grow wary of the interior of the elevator, as if he expected someone to pop out of a mirrored panel with a knife.
"Ron, it's nothing to be afraid of," Kim tried to assuage his doubts, knowing she might have blown the whole scenario a little out of proportion. "But I think we'll just need to be a little more on our toes while we're on the mission. Kay?"
"Sure," he agreed. "But remember, if we find their secret lair, I am not being the distraction! Even two is a little much half the time."
"Don't worry Ron, I'll try and keep you out of danger," said Kim as they stepped out of the elevator and turned right into the restaurant.
Inside the large, softly lit dining room cum restaurant windows lined two sides of the room and looked out onto London's morning rush hour traffic, while a breakfast buffet was laid out to the left of the entrance. Kim kept a firm grip on Ron's arm to stop him from running over there and being piling a plate three feet high with food, and searched the room for the people they were supposed to meet. With a wave of his hand a youngish gentleman sitting with an older, more distinguished man dressed in a tweed suit and holding a cane in his hand, motioned Kim over to their table. It was one of the few set against the polished stone wall of the large room, in a corner, making it difficult for it's occupants to be seen from the street. The old man sat and sipped a cup of tea silently as his counterpart rose to greet Kim and Ron, extending his hand with a benevolent smile on his face.
"You must be Kim Possible, it's so good to meet you," the young man said, shaking Kim's hand profusely. His faced beamed with youth and excitement, and Kim knew he was one of those people who viewed danger and adventure as something gloriously fun. She herself tried to stay upbeat on a mission, but knew that jokes couldn't save you from a laser cannon, and so knew when it was time to focus and get down to business. But other than that the man in front of her looked like a pretty nice guy, dressed in a navy blue blazer, khaki slacks and a white Oxford shirt. His dark brown hair was parted on one side of his face, and Kim could see the beginnings of a receding appearing there. His eyes, which matched the color of his hair, glowed with the same exuberance that Kim had noted earlier, but she could see some seriousness there too. He too was able to buckle down and get to work, which she guessed was why he had gotten such a highly placed job in MI5.
"And you're Mr. Finch?" she asked, not sure if this was the man Wade had mentioned before they left Middleton the previous afternoon.
"No, no, that's my friend sitting at the table - I'm Douglas Hackney," he explained, gesturing to the surly Mr. Finch, who seemed as though he had not even noticed Kim and Ron's arrival. "Please excuse him, he's had a rough past few days and is feeling a bit run down at the moment."
"Not a problem, I know just how he feels," Kim sympathized. "We got off a flight this morning and I think we're still on US time."
The man laughed, moving back toward the table. "I know what you mean Ms. Possible. Please, have a seat, and would you like anything to drink?"
"Orange juice is fine, thanks," Kim replied, glancing over at Ron to make sure he was in agreement with this. He nodded an affirmative.
"Could we get two orange juices and another pot of tea?" said Hackney to the waiter, who had appeared at the table once they were seated.
"Certainly sir," the waiter said, turning back to the kitchen for the drinks.
"Now, Ms. Possible, this is Mr. Arthur Finch, our man at Scotland Yard," motioning to the other man, who had set down his cup of tea to shake Kim's hand.
"Pleased to meet you," said Kim, joining her hand with his, feeling his strong, almost viselike grip. Either he worked out regularly, or had been a soldier earlier in his life. From the scars and nicks on his face she assumed it was the latter. His hair was parted like Hackney's, but was beginning to thin out considerably and she could see his scalp underneath the salt and pepper gray hair. Unlike his now aged body, his eyes were a steely blue of someone twenty years younger, and Kim immediately viewed him as a determined, hardnosed policeman. A benefit to have on your side, but a bane to the person who was his enemy - he was the one she would probably get the most useful information out of. Hackney trusted sources, informants and reliable reports. Finch trusted his hunches and emotions, which after (Kim guessed) forty years of service, were extremely reliable.
"You as well," he replied tersely.
"Alright," Kim began, deciding to try and not notice Finch's apparent hostility toward Ron and her, knowing it would only hinder their search for the villains. "Would you mind filling us in on the finer details of what's happening here - Wade only told me that there were now over five villains in the area, and that you guys were expecting that something big was about to go down."
"That's very true. We have seen the following super-criminals, as we have come to call them here, arrive in the city through various means: Frugal Lucre on a low cost carrier from the continent, DNAmy in on a yacht from Africa, Dr. Dementor on a private jet from somewhere in the United States, Adrenna Lynn in with some star friends from Hollywood and Duff Killigan somehow snuck in under our radar in his blimp before he was sighted over York. There was also Senor Senior Senior and Senor Senior Junior in a small boat from their island and Gemini broke out of prison two weeks ago as was only seen yesterday in a small pub outside Manchester. Lord Montefisk, or as you know him; Monkeyfist, left his Alpine castle and we spotted him in the London Zoo late last night" Hackney informed her. "Even though we know all this, Finch and I must admit that we're stumped on this one. We have no idea where they are right now, if they're in the city or on an estate somewhere in the country. If they're planning to rob a bank, steal a diamond or take over the entire country, we won't know until it happens. And we fear that we have neither the forces nor the expertise and experience that you possess to combat these criminals."
"All right then," Kim began, getting right down to business, though a little flattered that the British government thought she was better than they were at stopping these guys. "Do you know of any type of classified project going on in or around the city, something top secret and that could be used as a weapon? These kinds of villains seem to love anything made by the government, even if they don't know what it does."
Hackney was the first to answer: "No; nothing that I'm aware of. Arthur?
"There's nothing going on around London," Finch confirmed, speaking with a finality that practically dared Kim to try and refute his statement.
"Ok-ay, do you know of any extremely valuable pieces of art, jewelry or technology that has recently been brought into the country," Kim tried, hoping to get a better response out of either of them. "Like something that they might be able to steal and then sell for a profit on the black market."
"Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that would require twelve of them to pull it off," responded Hackney, who Kim could tell was the more talkative of the duo.
"What about celebrities, any of them around here right now?" Ron inquired. Kim knew this was only because he didn't want to miss the chance of getting his picture with a bunch of stars. But the two men sitting across from them viewed it as something the villains might have thought about.
"Of course," said Hackney, "but none of them have gotten any kinds of threats and the security we provide them is some of the best in the world."
"I'd double it anyway - I've never known Professor Dementor to send a threat. He usually just blows a hole in the wall and takes what he needs," Kim advised, seeing that while having ulterior motives for asking it, Ron's question had been a good one. Though she never remembered one of her numerous foes doing it before, Gemini or Drakken just might decide that celebrity hostages were an easy source of income.
"Yes, quite." was all Hackney said, clearly viewing the words of caution as a little over the top.
"Mr. Finch, do you have any leads or theories on why they've all decided to take a trip to London?" Kim asked, turning to the older man.
"Nothing's come in through my office, I can tell you that. We know nothing concrete about their reasons for being here, just that there's ten of them in my city, and I don't like it one bit," he replied, taking a piece of toast from a plat and slapping butter on it a little harder than necessary - he definitely didn't shine to the idea of so many world-renowned villains being in London.
"Wait, ten of them? But Hackney only mentioned nine names. Who's the tenth?" asked Kim, confused by the discrepancies in head counts.
"A woman using the name Appleby," he answered, taking a bite out of his toast. "She arrived only minutes before you did on a flight from North America, and I was notified only moments before you arrived. She was using a pseudonym - she's really a woman named Shego, assistant to -."
"Dr. Drakken," Ron spoke up before Finch could finish. "So the gang's all here now, and we have no idea why."
"That's the long and short of it for now," admitted Hackney, who had just poured himself a cup of tea from the pot the waiter had brought over.
"Alright, I'll see if Wade can find anything out, and I'll check back with you guys if he does," Kim told them, sensing there was little else they could do sitting and talking. No one knew why the criminals were there, and it wouldn't help sitting around and talking. "Until then me and Ron will probably do a little sightseeing. Will you be at your offices for the rest of the day?"
"Until six, yes," Hackney replied and Finch nodded in accord.
"Great, we'll talk later then," Kim said, reaching across the table to shake both their hands in turn as they rose from their seats.
"Absolutely, and I want to thank you for coming on such short notice," said Hackney as Finch pulled his overcoat on and took his cane in his right hand.
"Not a problem, just doing the whole teen-hero thing," Kim replied before both of the men rose and left the restaurant through the street entrance. She looked over to see Ron already heading over to the buffet and, after deciding that a frozen banana was nowhere near enough food for breakfast, followed suit and headed over with her plate in hand.
* * *
While Kim and Ron were munching on scrambled eggs and toast, Shego was already heading to her first contact in London. Once in Paddington Station, she had dropped her bag in a locker and headed out of a small side door of the station, trying not to be seen. Constantly searching the street for tails, she then walked two blocks east to a small three-storey red- brick office building. Situated between a Burger King and a block of larger, modern offices it was easily missed by passers-by, but Shego had been there hundreds of times before and could have found her way from Heathrow blindfolded. At the top of a short flight of steps she rang the doorbell and waited patiently until the door hummed, signaling it was unlocked and that she could enter.
Shego knew the lock was not the building's only protection against intruders though - there were cigarette package sized cameras placed all over the outside of the house, along with motion sensors on both the windows and doors. If someone even touched one of the windows when these were armed, massive steel bars would slide in front of the window and the police would receive a distress signal from the house in seconds. In other words, this was more of a fortress than an office - which was just as Shego liked it.
As with the exterior of the building, its interior was bland and uninteresting - only a few cables running along the side of the ceiling were an indication of the amount of technology that had been installed here. Through the door was a small antechamber-like room with a few chairs placed against one wall. A single bare bulb hung unceremoniously from the ceiling for light, as there were no windows in the room, and Shego saw at least three holes in the wall that looked like cameras. She had no time to sit down, since as soon as she closed the front door another opened opposite it and in stepped a small man dressed in a checkered flannel shirt and baggy brown slacks. A headset with both earphones and a microphone rested around his neck, with the cord attached to a cellular phone resting in his shirt pocket. Short in stature, he had a leering air about him, and never smiled, only smirked - he was about as trustworthy as a chronic liar. But Shego had dealt with the man for over ten years and he knew that lying to her would be the biggest, and last, mistake he would ever make. And so whenever she was near he tried to keep at least a meter's distance from her hands, just in case she felt more murderous that usual that day.
"Ah, Shego, A pleasure as always," he welcomed her without extending his hand. "Please, come right in."
"Thanks," she said in reply, walking through the door after him and closing it behind her. This room seemed as though it were in a completely different building - such as the offices of a software company. Six of the most expensive computers available to the public sat on a large table on the opposite side of the room, all humming away contentedly at their ordained tasks, while over twelve shells of others lay on the floor underneath them; clearly in the process of being upgraded. Against the wall to her left stood a row of filing cabinets and shelves packed with client files, new software, old software, and a series of strange blue and black boxes attached to a series of multi-colored cables leading to various outlets and computers around the room. Shego guessed they were modems for a high speed internet connection, but they could have been CD burners and she would have had no idea. The other remaining wall was covered in the screens and dials for the elaborate security system that had been installed which, except for the cameras, was switched off at the moment. 'Odd', Shego said to herself, 'he's so paranoid I thought he never turned them off.'
"Now, have a seat and tell me what I can do for you," the man began, motioning to Shego to sit at the large mahogany desk in the middle of the room while he walked around it and sat down in his very expensive and probably brand-new black leather chair.
"I need you to run a worldwide search for Dr. Drakken, and continue doing it for the next week," she said to him as he pulled a piece of paper and pen out of a drawer.
"A search for Drakken?" the man asked, a hint of disbelieve apparent in his voice. "But. don't you two work with each other?"
"Yes, we do," Shego replied evenly, her face expressionless. At that moment the man remembered who it was who he was talking to and that asking to many questions was also asking for trouble.
"Fair enough; and you want me to search for at least a week?" He asked, scribbling a few notes on the paper.
"Yes," confirmed Shego.
"Okay, I can do that. But I'll need some payment up front - one thousand U.S. dollars," he told her, knowing that she already knew this was the standard rate for his services.
"Give me an account number and I'll have it paid by the end of the day," Shego promised, and was given a small piece of paper with a series of digits written on it in return.
"Thanks a lot, and here's my number. Call me if you need anything," she said before placing a piece of paper with her cellular phone number on it. She then rose from her seat and left through the door she had entered, leaving the man mumbling to himself and scribbling ideas on the paper. A nod of goodbye was all she got before the door closed behind her, but she didn't care. The only thing that mattered was that he did his job, and found Drakken for her.
Once again out in the street, Shego walked to the nearest bus stop and caught a bus across downtown to Trafalgar Square, where she walked down a secluded side street off one of the main roads and into another office building. Half an hour later she walked out of that building with another account number in her pocket and caught another bus heading east. A few miles down the road she again visited another office, and there again she gained another account number. By the time she was done, she had visited over five different bounty hunters and professional 'people finders' - their only job was to search the globe for missing persons, whether for a government or people off the street that had enough money. Shego now owed these people over six thousand dollars in preliminary payments, but the largest bill was yet to come. If they delivered the whereabouts of Drakken she would have to pay five thousand more dollars per person.
So, after she visited a bank and had all the money transferred to various accounts she grabbed a bite to eat at the nearest fast-food restaurant and caught a taxi to her hotel; the Hilton at Paddington Station. There she picked up her bag from the locker and headed to the hotel's check-in desk, which was luckily devoid of customers.
"Good afternoon ma'am," the receptionist greeted her warmly. "How may I help you?"
"I'm checking in, my name's Carla Mitchell," Shego replied, handing the woman her second false passport and a credit card with the matching name.
"All right, let me just pull up your reservation. yes, here it is. A non-smoking twin double bed - is that correct?" the receptionist asked.
"Yes," verified Shego. The rest of the check-in process took little time, and Shego was about to leave with her room key in hand, when she was called back.
"Ma'am, I just noticed that we received two messages for you this morning," the woman informed her, handing Shego two small cards with handwritten messages on them. One said 'Carla, meet me and my buddies at ten pee' and the second 'We're going to meet outside the old office, hope you can make it'.
"I hope I wrote them down correctly," the receptionist commented. "The conversation was very short, and both times the other person spoke very fast."
"That's all right," Shego assured her. "I understand them fine."
"Very good ma'am," said the woman as Shego turned and walked over to the elevators. The messages had in fact been perfectly clear, and her mind was so preoccupied with Drakken's disappearance that she had almost forgotten she would be contacted. Though cryptic to most, to Shego and every other villain who received a similar message knew exactly what it meant - hidden in the commonplace phrases were both the time and location of the conference. It would be held that evening, at ten o'clock in a large, almost deserted warehouse in the town of Slough, to the west of the city.
Shego therefore had about six hours before she had to leave for the meeting, which she planned to spend fast asleep. Slumber had evaded her on the airplane and her eyes had already begun to droop on the taxi ride to the hotel. She needed sleep to stay alert, and so as soon as she closed the door to her room, she stripped off her grimy and wrinkled clothes and climbed into bed. Minutes later her cellular phone rang beside her bed, startling her from her nap.
"What?" she asked grumpily once she answered it. "Wait. wait. say that again. Yeah. Yeah. She's where? WHAT! WHERE!?"