Chapter Ten – The Welcome Mat
Somewhere over central Turkey, just over an hour into the flight, Kim headed up to the flight-deck for a chat with the pilots. Knocking softly, she waited until she heard a muffled 'Yes' from behind the door before entering. Inside, the co-pilot was scanning his instruments and working the radio while the pilot filled out some paperwork. Behind them, facing the instrument covered starboard wall of the fuselage, sat the aircraft's flight engineer. Though the other two men were busy flying the aircraft, he was mostly free for the moment – having just finished his routine check of Concorde's systems – and so could talk to Kim.
"Have a seat, Ms. Possible," he pointed to the jump seat on the other side of the narrow cabin. "How's the flight so far?"
"Uneventful," was her truthful reply. "Though I do have a couple of questions..."
"Go ahead."
"Kay – any idea how long is this flight is going to be?"
"You've got about six hours to go," the engineer replied, checking his statement with the flight profile on his desk.
"So what time do we land?"
"You'll get off at about eleven PM. The aircraft will land about an hour later," the man said, puzzling Kim.
"And how will we go about that?" Kim asked curiously, having never parachuted out of a supersonic aircraft before. [1]
* * *
A little under six hours later, she was about to find out. Standing by the rear port hatch of the Concorde, she waited impatiently to exit the aircraft. Following her brief question and answer session with the flight- crew, she had spent most of her time on board looking through the magazines the ground-crew had stocked the plane with. Or at least trying to, since reading news articles about events that occurred two months previously is the kind of thing that only insane people like to occupy their time with. Staring out the window was another possibility as they shot across Asia at twice the speed of sound. Unfortunately, there was little way of telling that they were actually traveling any faster than normal commercial airliners, since at sixty thousand feet everything passes by at the same speed: slowly. And their unusually lofty altitude meant that everything from the smallest of hovels to sports stadiums equal in girth to the Coliseum were reduced to tiny grey specks on a vast continent of mottled green and brown.
Even the in-flight refueling had been only mildly interesting, with a wide- body tanker aircraft floating about two hundred feet above and forward of the Concorde's nose, it's thin fuel boom bridging the gap between the two aircraft. Though she had been able to stay in the cockpit for the climb back to their cruising altitude and break the sound barrier, it had only been fifteen minutes in a seven hour journey. All of this combined had formed one of the most uninteresting voyages Kim had ever taken part in, and one that she was more than ready to end.
Now, in a heavy black jumpsuit and a parachute strapped to her back, Kim was back to waiting until the pilots dropped to her twenty thousand foot jump ceiling. And standing around in the darkened rear section of the aircraft wasn't proving to be much more thrilling than the previous six hours of her flight. The only light she had to see by was the eerie green glow emitted by the portable altimeter strapped to her left forearm, making it difficult for her to make out even the exit hatch. Though she was well aware of a halogen lamp hidden in the Kimmunicator – now strapped to her right wrist –, she also knew that the lights were dimmed for a reason: night vision. When she jumped out of the aircraft, it would be at both a high speed and altitude. She needed all her senses working at their maximum, since one slip-up would mean certain death. Though she had done thousands of jumps before, none of them had ever been from so high; or in the dead of night over lightless, jungle-covered terrain.
Fortunately, she knew the Brits hadn't scrimped on her equipment. The flight engineer had provided her with a large jumpsuit designed especially for high altitude dives, along with gloves, boots, goggles and a skull cap. All were matte black; no bare metal surfaces would accidentally glint in the moonlight as she fell Earthwards, tipping off anyone who wished her ill will to her position. Fitted with minute heating coils, the suit would to keep her from freezing to death in the -20° C temperatures outside – heavy padding did the job for the cap and gloves. But, though the gear was wondrous in its lifesaving capabilities, it lacked the mobility Kim was used to. The bulky gloves made it difficult for her to even grip the straps on the backpack; she feared she might be unable to find the rip cord for the 'chute when the time came. And the cap, while snug against her head through it's own elasticity and the form-fitting headband of the goggles, itched worse than the sweaters her grandmother loved to give her.
Gripping a steel bar bolted securely to the wall just forward of the hatch with one hand, Kim used the other to scratch furiously at her head, trying to quell the annoying sensation. Her efforts proved to be an exercise in futility, and she was glad to be interrupted by a light above the hatch as it began to blink red. This being the signal that the aircraft was reaching its drop altitude, Kim checked her altimeter's LCD display to confirm that they only had one thousand feet to go. Once the Concorde leveled out and set its engines to idle, it took scarcely a minute for the engines to cool sufficiently for Kim to fall through their exhaust without becoming teen charcoal. As soon as engine temperatures reached this point the light switched to a steady yellow, the sign for Kim to open the hatch. Squinting in the low light, she groped for the controls protruding from the cabin wall and flipped open their protective plastic cover. After its security systems were disarmed – meaning the emergency slide would not be deployed when the hatch opened – she pulled the large yellow lever down to the position marked 'Open in Flight'.
Bolts holding the hatch in place slid out simultaneously with a dull whirr. The entire section of fuselage then pivoted slightly on its hinges, pointing the leading edge of the hatch outwards. Though the pilots had brought the jet down to within ten knots of its stall speed, the air outside was still speeding past the aircraft at enormous speeds – speeds great enough to immediately slam the hatch back into the cabin. Guided by a set of grooves in the inner wall of the fuselage, it was pushed aft of the now open hatchway, and a series of clamps locked it in place.
Kim now gripped the steel safety bar tightly as the air inside the plane's rearmost section rushed out into the night sky. To equalize the air pressure, the thicker air inside the cabin shot out of the open hatch with enough force to carry everything else that wasn't bolted down with it. Sensing a serious drop in ambient air pressure, the small oxygen tank strapped to Kim's right shoulder immediately kicked in, providing her with oxygen through a tube and mouthpiece strapped to her face. Without it, she would have been unconscious within seconds from a lack of oxygen. Once the pressure had fully equalized and Kim was able to release the safety bar, the light above the hatch glowed green, signaling the aircraft was over its drop zone and at the correct altitude for her to jump. In other words: go!
Without a moment's hesitation she moved in front of the doorway and leaped from the jet, aiming her body outwards and downwards. The passing air caught her instantly, slamming into her like a thousand fists and flinging her body back along the remaining length of the fuselage. Though the Concorde's lack of horizontal stabilizers [2] meant one less thing to worry about, there was still plenty else for her to fret over. The most important? Altitude – she had to watch her altimeter carefully, and make sure she pulled her 'chute almost exactly after passing five thousand feet. If pulled too early, she would be stuck hanging in air too thin to breathe, and her oxygen supply wouldn't last long enough for her to get down into thicker atmosphere. And pulling it too late might result in her not having enough time to slow down, spelling out a very swift, gruesome end to Kim Possible.
And then there was the issue of location – she had to stay within the ten kilometer drop zone until below the five thousand foot parachute ceiling. Once her 'chute was deployed a more precise landing zone could be established, but until then she needed to stay in the red area marked on her Kimmunicator. Though experience and high-tech gadgets on her side, maneuvering while in freefall was never easy. With her arms and legs spread- eagled to keep her speed relatively low, only slight movements with these appendages could – in the blink of an eye – veer her sideways by hundreds of meters. To keep this from happening, her arms and legs had to be as straight as possible, splayed out to reduce her airspeed. With the Kimmunicator strapped to her right forearm, it was difficult to even make out the map it displayed, much less the green dot representing her position. Shifting her eyes to the left, she saw that the altimeter was in the same position, its readout pointing skywards – completely unreadable. To her horror she realized that the two pieces of information she required above all else were now unavailable unless she wanted to pull her arms in and drop headfirst towards the ground. And only if she never planed on having to open her parachute, could this be done. Kim quickly realized she would need some help on this one.
Pulling her right arm in to rip off the oxygen mask, she felt her body yaw to the right and angle downwards, her airspeed increasing until she moved the appendage back into line with its counterpart. "WADE!" she yelled over the rush of air, knowing he always kept a line open in case she or Ron got into any trouble. "WADE!"
"What's up?" he replied, his voice barely audible above the rushing wind.
"YOU SEE THAT DROP ZONE ON THE SCREEN?" she asked, still having to shout to keep her instructions as clear as possible. "I NEED TO STAY THERE!"
Wade understood immediately and used his direct screen link to match the Kimmunicator's display to one of the many computer monitors in his room.
"Gotcha KP, you're in the middle of the drop zone, drifting a little to the right," he told her, watching her movements all the while on his screen.
"Great – keep me posted," Kim said, her voice low now that she was sure Wade could hear her. 'He's probably got a microphone in my throat,' she joked to herself, grinning inwardly when she realized it was probably true. "And could you tell me when I'm below five thousand feet?"
"Sure thing – move a little to the left now."
"Kay', I'm putting the oxygen mask back on now," she warned him, knowing that the sudden change in speed and direction would be a surprise to her friend.
"No problem. Now head about three degrees to the right."
These types of instructions continued for the rest of her two minute dive, finally ending with Wade calling out "You're passed five-thou." In response she flipped her feet downwards and yanked the candy-cane striped rip cord to release the 'chute. A sharp tug at her shoulders and the queasy feeling of inertia was all it took before the parachute was fully open above her head and she was floating groundwards. Tugging gently on the control cables to angle in on the landing zone, Kim was able to relax now that the worst was over. Lady luck shined on her as the full moon peeked through the clouds to illuminate her landing site; a small clearing just two clicks to the north. Just as the Concorde's flight engineer reported while he helped her don the flight-suit on, it was a clearing barely large enough to serve as a landing strip for very small aircraft. Nestled between two low hills; it was sheltered from the strong winds that blew in off the coast, making for an easy approach and landing.
Kim came in over the treetops at about fifty meters; flying the length of the field before making a wide descending right turn. All the while scanning the clearing for any sign of humans, she saw nothing other than the crimson glare of the flare she supposed her contact had lit. Aiming just to the right of the flame, she descended quickly; angling up slightly as she neared the ground to keep from breaking her legs on landing. Pulling down sharply on the control cables only a meter above the field, she let herself glide for a moment before allowing the cables to slide through her hands, slowly dropping the 'chute to the grass. She hit the ground running, and jogged to a halt while unclipping the lines attaching her to the parachute. Turning around, she rapidly folded up the cloth into a tight, square package before removing her jump gear.
First it was the gloves, followed by goggles and hat. She paused to straighten her hair before pulling it back out of her face with a hair-tie stowed in her utility belt. The jumpsuit proved much easier to remove than it had been to put on, leaving Kim wearing her usual mission clothes. All of the gear was wrapped up in the jumpsuit and placed next to the parachute, forming a pair of neat, army green packages. Scanning the clearing for signs of her contact, she noticed movement in the tall grass to her left and then directly in front of her. 'I don't remember the pilot saying anything about a second contact,' she thought, pulling out her night- vision equipped sunglasses to investigate. They showed a group of six men approaching her position – two from the left and three straight on – but were no help in determining who they were or what they were doing in the clearing. Once they were within earshot Kim hailed them.
"Can I help you?" she asked, watching as the men froze. "Hello?"
"No move! Quiet!" one of them hissed angrily, his voice heavily accented.
"O-kay." Kim stood still, puzzled by this man's temper. The two men on her left emerged from the thicket of tall grass first, both were carrying Uzis. In a flash she knew these men were definitely not her contacts.
For a second she prepared herself for a fight, tensing her muscles and crouching slightly, ready to front-flip her way past the two antagonists. But with the emergence of the other two armed members of the group, she knew surrender was the best option. Though fast, Kim knew she couldn't dodge a bullet, and so grudgingly allowed one of the men to tie her up. As he did this, and frisked her – a little too zealously in her opinion – for any concealed weapons, Kim spotted her contact. Now seated on a tuft of grass, his hands tied behind his back and his feet bound loosely together, he looked up at her apologetically. Dressed in one of those short-sleeved, brightly colored tropical shirts, Kim could tell his captors had little difficulty in finding him. He was a pasty faced, slightly overweight man with a thin mop of hair atop his head now slick against his round skull from sweat – both in fear and the oppressive humidity of the Bornean jungle climate.
The man she guessed to be the leader of the band of armed men, an Oriental almost a head shorter and about forty years older than her, stood nonchalantly smoking a hand rolled cigarette as he examined his catch of the evening. With the gleeful smile of a man about to make a lot of money in return for very little work, he nodded to his team and turned back into the tall grass, following a route only he seemed to know. The other men, none of them older than about eighteen, pushed their captives into line and marched them through the grass, following their leader. Glancing back wistfully, she hoped her Concorde flight-crew wasn't expecting the parachute and jump gear back anytime soon.
As they entered the dark forest surrounding the clearing, Kim looked back questioningly at her MI6 contact. Understanding immediately, he mouthed the words "drug dealers" in reply, receiving a stiff rifle butt in the back from one of the Orientals for doing so.
"No talk – move," he ordered, and they continued to walk in silence through the thick foliage, now following a well used path through the jungle. Looking down at her wristwatch, Kim noted they had less than twelve hours to find Drakken and get him to the nearest airport for the return journey to London. If this deadline couldn't be met, there might not be enough time to mount an operation against Grim, and stop him from releasing the virus. Being late wasn't an option, and so Kim began to examine their chances for escape from this motley band of captors. Unfortunately, tied up and guarded by trigger-happy teenagers didn't make for an abundance of escape routes.
[1] You may think she did at the start of 'Two to Tutor', but that was an ejection seat – a much more safe and controlled method of exiting an aircraft.
[2] Those little wings set back at the rear of most aircraft also called 'elevators', and used to control the aircraft's rate of climb or descent and angle of attack.
Author's Note (this should be read in that annoying man's voice used for film previews): With Ron slated for an early, gruesome demise and Kim held captive by drug dealers, what will happen next! Is this the end for our beloved heroes? Will Grim really get away with his devious plot? Tune in next... whenever I can be bothered to update.
Somewhere over central Turkey, just over an hour into the flight, Kim headed up to the flight-deck for a chat with the pilots. Knocking softly, she waited until she heard a muffled 'Yes' from behind the door before entering. Inside, the co-pilot was scanning his instruments and working the radio while the pilot filled out some paperwork. Behind them, facing the instrument covered starboard wall of the fuselage, sat the aircraft's flight engineer. Though the other two men were busy flying the aircraft, he was mostly free for the moment – having just finished his routine check of Concorde's systems – and so could talk to Kim.
"Have a seat, Ms. Possible," he pointed to the jump seat on the other side of the narrow cabin. "How's the flight so far?"
"Uneventful," was her truthful reply. "Though I do have a couple of questions..."
"Go ahead."
"Kay – any idea how long is this flight is going to be?"
"You've got about six hours to go," the engineer replied, checking his statement with the flight profile on his desk.
"So what time do we land?"
"You'll get off at about eleven PM. The aircraft will land about an hour later," the man said, puzzling Kim.
"And how will we go about that?" Kim asked curiously, having never parachuted out of a supersonic aircraft before. [1]
* * *
A little under six hours later, she was about to find out. Standing by the rear port hatch of the Concorde, she waited impatiently to exit the aircraft. Following her brief question and answer session with the flight- crew, she had spent most of her time on board looking through the magazines the ground-crew had stocked the plane with. Or at least trying to, since reading news articles about events that occurred two months previously is the kind of thing that only insane people like to occupy their time with. Staring out the window was another possibility as they shot across Asia at twice the speed of sound. Unfortunately, there was little way of telling that they were actually traveling any faster than normal commercial airliners, since at sixty thousand feet everything passes by at the same speed: slowly. And their unusually lofty altitude meant that everything from the smallest of hovels to sports stadiums equal in girth to the Coliseum were reduced to tiny grey specks on a vast continent of mottled green and brown.
Even the in-flight refueling had been only mildly interesting, with a wide- body tanker aircraft floating about two hundred feet above and forward of the Concorde's nose, it's thin fuel boom bridging the gap between the two aircraft. Though she had been able to stay in the cockpit for the climb back to their cruising altitude and break the sound barrier, it had only been fifteen minutes in a seven hour journey. All of this combined had formed one of the most uninteresting voyages Kim had ever taken part in, and one that she was more than ready to end.
Now, in a heavy black jumpsuit and a parachute strapped to her back, Kim was back to waiting until the pilots dropped to her twenty thousand foot jump ceiling. And standing around in the darkened rear section of the aircraft wasn't proving to be much more thrilling than the previous six hours of her flight. The only light she had to see by was the eerie green glow emitted by the portable altimeter strapped to her left forearm, making it difficult for her to make out even the exit hatch. Though she was well aware of a halogen lamp hidden in the Kimmunicator – now strapped to her right wrist –, she also knew that the lights were dimmed for a reason: night vision. When she jumped out of the aircraft, it would be at both a high speed and altitude. She needed all her senses working at their maximum, since one slip-up would mean certain death. Though she had done thousands of jumps before, none of them had ever been from so high; or in the dead of night over lightless, jungle-covered terrain.
Fortunately, she knew the Brits hadn't scrimped on her equipment. The flight engineer had provided her with a large jumpsuit designed especially for high altitude dives, along with gloves, boots, goggles and a skull cap. All were matte black; no bare metal surfaces would accidentally glint in the moonlight as she fell Earthwards, tipping off anyone who wished her ill will to her position. Fitted with minute heating coils, the suit would to keep her from freezing to death in the -20° C temperatures outside – heavy padding did the job for the cap and gloves. But, though the gear was wondrous in its lifesaving capabilities, it lacked the mobility Kim was used to. The bulky gloves made it difficult for her to even grip the straps on the backpack; she feared she might be unable to find the rip cord for the 'chute when the time came. And the cap, while snug against her head through it's own elasticity and the form-fitting headband of the goggles, itched worse than the sweaters her grandmother loved to give her.
Gripping a steel bar bolted securely to the wall just forward of the hatch with one hand, Kim used the other to scratch furiously at her head, trying to quell the annoying sensation. Her efforts proved to be an exercise in futility, and she was glad to be interrupted by a light above the hatch as it began to blink red. This being the signal that the aircraft was reaching its drop altitude, Kim checked her altimeter's LCD display to confirm that they only had one thousand feet to go. Once the Concorde leveled out and set its engines to idle, it took scarcely a minute for the engines to cool sufficiently for Kim to fall through their exhaust without becoming teen charcoal. As soon as engine temperatures reached this point the light switched to a steady yellow, the sign for Kim to open the hatch. Squinting in the low light, she groped for the controls protruding from the cabin wall and flipped open their protective plastic cover. After its security systems were disarmed – meaning the emergency slide would not be deployed when the hatch opened – she pulled the large yellow lever down to the position marked 'Open in Flight'.
Bolts holding the hatch in place slid out simultaneously with a dull whirr. The entire section of fuselage then pivoted slightly on its hinges, pointing the leading edge of the hatch outwards. Though the pilots had brought the jet down to within ten knots of its stall speed, the air outside was still speeding past the aircraft at enormous speeds – speeds great enough to immediately slam the hatch back into the cabin. Guided by a set of grooves in the inner wall of the fuselage, it was pushed aft of the now open hatchway, and a series of clamps locked it in place.
Kim now gripped the steel safety bar tightly as the air inside the plane's rearmost section rushed out into the night sky. To equalize the air pressure, the thicker air inside the cabin shot out of the open hatch with enough force to carry everything else that wasn't bolted down with it. Sensing a serious drop in ambient air pressure, the small oxygen tank strapped to Kim's right shoulder immediately kicked in, providing her with oxygen through a tube and mouthpiece strapped to her face. Without it, she would have been unconscious within seconds from a lack of oxygen. Once the pressure had fully equalized and Kim was able to release the safety bar, the light above the hatch glowed green, signaling the aircraft was over its drop zone and at the correct altitude for her to jump. In other words: go!
Without a moment's hesitation she moved in front of the doorway and leaped from the jet, aiming her body outwards and downwards. The passing air caught her instantly, slamming into her like a thousand fists and flinging her body back along the remaining length of the fuselage. Though the Concorde's lack of horizontal stabilizers [2] meant one less thing to worry about, there was still plenty else for her to fret over. The most important? Altitude – she had to watch her altimeter carefully, and make sure she pulled her 'chute almost exactly after passing five thousand feet. If pulled too early, she would be stuck hanging in air too thin to breathe, and her oxygen supply wouldn't last long enough for her to get down into thicker atmosphere. And pulling it too late might result in her not having enough time to slow down, spelling out a very swift, gruesome end to Kim Possible.
And then there was the issue of location – she had to stay within the ten kilometer drop zone until below the five thousand foot parachute ceiling. Once her 'chute was deployed a more precise landing zone could be established, but until then she needed to stay in the red area marked on her Kimmunicator. Though experience and high-tech gadgets on her side, maneuvering while in freefall was never easy. With her arms and legs spread- eagled to keep her speed relatively low, only slight movements with these appendages could – in the blink of an eye – veer her sideways by hundreds of meters. To keep this from happening, her arms and legs had to be as straight as possible, splayed out to reduce her airspeed. With the Kimmunicator strapped to her right forearm, it was difficult to even make out the map it displayed, much less the green dot representing her position. Shifting her eyes to the left, she saw that the altimeter was in the same position, its readout pointing skywards – completely unreadable. To her horror she realized that the two pieces of information she required above all else were now unavailable unless she wanted to pull her arms in and drop headfirst towards the ground. And only if she never planed on having to open her parachute, could this be done. Kim quickly realized she would need some help on this one.
Pulling her right arm in to rip off the oxygen mask, she felt her body yaw to the right and angle downwards, her airspeed increasing until she moved the appendage back into line with its counterpart. "WADE!" she yelled over the rush of air, knowing he always kept a line open in case she or Ron got into any trouble. "WADE!"
"What's up?" he replied, his voice barely audible above the rushing wind.
"YOU SEE THAT DROP ZONE ON THE SCREEN?" she asked, still having to shout to keep her instructions as clear as possible. "I NEED TO STAY THERE!"
Wade understood immediately and used his direct screen link to match the Kimmunicator's display to one of the many computer monitors in his room.
"Gotcha KP, you're in the middle of the drop zone, drifting a little to the right," he told her, watching her movements all the while on his screen.
"Great – keep me posted," Kim said, her voice low now that she was sure Wade could hear her. 'He's probably got a microphone in my throat,' she joked to herself, grinning inwardly when she realized it was probably true. "And could you tell me when I'm below five thousand feet?"
"Sure thing – move a little to the left now."
"Kay', I'm putting the oxygen mask back on now," she warned him, knowing that the sudden change in speed and direction would be a surprise to her friend.
"No problem. Now head about three degrees to the right."
These types of instructions continued for the rest of her two minute dive, finally ending with Wade calling out "You're passed five-thou." In response she flipped her feet downwards and yanked the candy-cane striped rip cord to release the 'chute. A sharp tug at her shoulders and the queasy feeling of inertia was all it took before the parachute was fully open above her head and she was floating groundwards. Tugging gently on the control cables to angle in on the landing zone, Kim was able to relax now that the worst was over. Lady luck shined on her as the full moon peeked through the clouds to illuminate her landing site; a small clearing just two clicks to the north. Just as the Concorde's flight engineer reported while he helped her don the flight-suit on, it was a clearing barely large enough to serve as a landing strip for very small aircraft. Nestled between two low hills; it was sheltered from the strong winds that blew in off the coast, making for an easy approach and landing.
Kim came in over the treetops at about fifty meters; flying the length of the field before making a wide descending right turn. All the while scanning the clearing for any sign of humans, she saw nothing other than the crimson glare of the flare she supposed her contact had lit. Aiming just to the right of the flame, she descended quickly; angling up slightly as she neared the ground to keep from breaking her legs on landing. Pulling down sharply on the control cables only a meter above the field, she let herself glide for a moment before allowing the cables to slide through her hands, slowly dropping the 'chute to the grass. She hit the ground running, and jogged to a halt while unclipping the lines attaching her to the parachute. Turning around, she rapidly folded up the cloth into a tight, square package before removing her jump gear.
First it was the gloves, followed by goggles and hat. She paused to straighten her hair before pulling it back out of her face with a hair-tie stowed in her utility belt. The jumpsuit proved much easier to remove than it had been to put on, leaving Kim wearing her usual mission clothes. All of the gear was wrapped up in the jumpsuit and placed next to the parachute, forming a pair of neat, army green packages. Scanning the clearing for signs of her contact, she noticed movement in the tall grass to her left and then directly in front of her. 'I don't remember the pilot saying anything about a second contact,' she thought, pulling out her night- vision equipped sunglasses to investigate. They showed a group of six men approaching her position – two from the left and three straight on – but were no help in determining who they were or what they were doing in the clearing. Once they were within earshot Kim hailed them.
"Can I help you?" she asked, watching as the men froze. "Hello?"
"No move! Quiet!" one of them hissed angrily, his voice heavily accented.
"O-kay." Kim stood still, puzzled by this man's temper. The two men on her left emerged from the thicket of tall grass first, both were carrying Uzis. In a flash she knew these men were definitely not her contacts.
For a second she prepared herself for a fight, tensing her muscles and crouching slightly, ready to front-flip her way past the two antagonists. But with the emergence of the other two armed members of the group, she knew surrender was the best option. Though fast, Kim knew she couldn't dodge a bullet, and so grudgingly allowed one of the men to tie her up. As he did this, and frisked her – a little too zealously in her opinion – for any concealed weapons, Kim spotted her contact. Now seated on a tuft of grass, his hands tied behind his back and his feet bound loosely together, he looked up at her apologetically. Dressed in one of those short-sleeved, brightly colored tropical shirts, Kim could tell his captors had little difficulty in finding him. He was a pasty faced, slightly overweight man with a thin mop of hair atop his head now slick against his round skull from sweat – both in fear and the oppressive humidity of the Bornean jungle climate.
The man she guessed to be the leader of the band of armed men, an Oriental almost a head shorter and about forty years older than her, stood nonchalantly smoking a hand rolled cigarette as he examined his catch of the evening. With the gleeful smile of a man about to make a lot of money in return for very little work, he nodded to his team and turned back into the tall grass, following a route only he seemed to know. The other men, none of them older than about eighteen, pushed their captives into line and marched them through the grass, following their leader. Glancing back wistfully, she hoped her Concorde flight-crew wasn't expecting the parachute and jump gear back anytime soon.
As they entered the dark forest surrounding the clearing, Kim looked back questioningly at her MI6 contact. Understanding immediately, he mouthed the words "drug dealers" in reply, receiving a stiff rifle butt in the back from one of the Orientals for doing so.
"No talk – move," he ordered, and they continued to walk in silence through the thick foliage, now following a well used path through the jungle. Looking down at her wristwatch, Kim noted they had less than twelve hours to find Drakken and get him to the nearest airport for the return journey to London. If this deadline couldn't be met, there might not be enough time to mount an operation against Grim, and stop him from releasing the virus. Being late wasn't an option, and so Kim began to examine their chances for escape from this motley band of captors. Unfortunately, tied up and guarded by trigger-happy teenagers didn't make for an abundance of escape routes.
[1] You may think she did at the start of 'Two to Tutor', but that was an ejection seat – a much more safe and controlled method of exiting an aircraft.
[2] Those little wings set back at the rear of most aircraft also called 'elevators', and used to control the aircraft's rate of climb or descent and angle of attack.
Author's Note (this should be read in that annoying man's voice used for film previews): With Ron slated for an early, gruesome demise and Kim held captive by drug dealers, what will happen next! Is this the end for our beloved heroes? Will Grim really get away with his devious plot? Tune in next... whenever I can be bothered to update.