Author's Notes:
Sorry for the delay, it seems life continues to get busier and busier. Nonetheless, I bring to you the final chapter of Book 2—Book 3 is well underway, but it might take me a little time to finish tweaking it. I'll update here to let everyone know when Book 3 (as of yet, untitled) goes up—and, as always, thank you for your comments!
The massive chopper hit the water with its broad underside, kicking up an enormous wake. The force of the impact sheered off the right pontoon, allowing the helicopter to roll over onto its damaged side. As the list passed 30 degrees, the main rotor was forced into the waves where the rapidly spinning blades intersected the surface, sending debris in all directions.
Kim was not willing to wait and see how the chopper came to rest. Even before the impact she had Ron's shirt collar in her hand and was pulling him out of the cockpit. Only an instant later the glass panels that encapsulated the cockpit them exploded inward, allowing salt water, laden with deadly pieces of broken glass, to gush into the compartment where they had been seated only seconds before.
Kim leaned out of the main door, aiming her grappling hook and firing it at the oncoming submarine, which seemed to be headed directly towards them. The sudden roll of the helicopter threw off her shot and the hook sailed skyward, its long steel cable obediently in trail.
Kim felt Ron slip from her grip, and turned around to look for him. He was standing on what had previously been the sidewall, and luckily appeared unhurt. Neither of them was going to be in good condition for very long, she realized, if they didn't get out of the helicopter soon. The only question was whether the chopper would sink fast enough to avoid being hit by the oncoming submarine.
Ron was well aware of the urgency of there situation, as water was already swelling around his feet, climbing steadily higher towards his knees. Kim pulled herself out of the cabin, and laid down on what had previously been the side of the fuselage. She offered a hand to Ron, which he eagerly took, and helped him up to her position. She aimed her grappling hook again—the submarine was now so close that it seemed almost impossible for a shot to miss.
The hook landed at the base of the submarine's large dorsal sail. She grabbed Ron, wrapping her arm around his chest and holding him tightly to her side, then pressed a button which rapidly reeled the pair towards the oncoming metal monster.
The icy water made the short trip from the sinking helicopter to the sub even more unpleasant. Kim was overcome with a strong feeling of relief when she felt the firm, metal hull under her feet. She helped Ron up, noticing that he was shivering slightly but otherwise in good shape. It took her a few seconds to get her bearings, and Ron seemed to perk up only moments later, his mind finally catching up to the rapidly unfolding events that he had literally been dragged through.
"KP," he said slowly, his breathing labored, "we need to move."
It took Kim a moment to comprehend the reasoning behind his statement, but it was not long in presenting itself. Glancing forward, she saw the bow of the submarine only yards from the partially submerged hulk of their Sea King helicopter. Ron was already moving, unable to help Kim because he required both hands to keep from sliding on the slick surface of the submarine.
They safely cleared the impact zone with several seconds to spare, but the ensuing collision completely destroyed any element of surprise.
The heavy metal bow of the Kilo-class submarine tore into the thin aluminum skin of the chopper, literally ripping the large helicopter in two with a tremendous grating of metal on metal. Ron cringed upon hearing the horrible sounds, the sensation being made all the worse by vibrations transmitted through the Kilo's hull. Standing on the metal deck, every aspect of the collision was transmitted directly into their bodies as if they were pressed against a chalkboard as someone pulled their uncut nails across it.
The broken halves of the helicopter were pushed aside, floating for a moment in the frothy wake of the submarine before disappearing from view. Despite the fact smaller components of the helicopter continued to assault the Kilo's skin, the scene seemed almost silent as the horrible noise of the initial collision died away. All too soon it was replaced with new noises, one's which Kim and Ron found even more troubling.
Kim had realized that the impact wouldn't have gone unnoticed, but she was still impressed by the speed with which Drakken's henchmen had managed to respond. The red-clad men were already emerging from two hatches towards the rear of the vessel... the force easily two dozen strong if not more.
"Ron, get their attention... I'll get around behind them."
"How?"
"Do something... anything," Kim said as she began her surreptitious crawl along the sloping side of the Kilo's hull. Ron turned walked towards the center of the deck, standing up to his full height and facing the henchmen.
"Hey, ya'll. This is one cool cruise. I was just looking for the buffet. Can one of you guys give me a hand?"
"The sharks around here are looking for a buffet too," one of the henchmen said in a surprisingly witty comment, "and you're on the menu." The henchman motioned for several of the men around him to charge Ron, causing the young man to screech in panic before jumping to the right. One of the henchmen streaked by him, loosing his footing and tumbling down the side of the submarine. Another saw his comrade's misfortune and broke of his attack, swinging his body around into a position from where he could block Ron from traveling any further towards the rear of the submarine.
A third man lunged for Ron, getting a hold of his right ankle and pulling him to the deck. Ron squirmed, trying in vain to loosen the man's grip. Finally, the man's grasp weakened, and Ron broke free. The inertia of the violent movement pulled him across the slick deck, and Ron let out a high pitched squeal as he rolled down towards the violent wake.
"Ron!" Kim gasped, inadvertently alerting the henchmen she had been trying to furtively circle around. She swiftly jumped into the air, kicking the first of two approaching men before using his body to boost her into position to fight the second man. She quickly incapacitated him and made her way towards Ron, who was struggling to keep his head above water. Kim slid down towards him, deciding she'd get to him first, then figure out a way to get back onto the submarine. She grabbed his hand, pulling him close to her before flipping her body around to face the Kilo's hull.
She spotted a set of strangely irregular handholds which appeared to have been cut hastily into the side of the vessel. Despite the fact the sharp edges were almost certain to cut her hands, she decided it was her best option. She pulled Ron after her, struggling back up towards the main deck. Ron found the handholds himself and grabbed onto them, leaving Kim's hands free.
She pulled herself rapidly upward, grabbing what appeared to be the last of the handholds and began to pull herself onto the deck.
Suddenly, she stopped, as she felt a cold metal cuff encircle her slender wrist. Looking up, she saw a dark-haired woman in a green and black jumpsuit staring at her, her face contorted into a malicious grin. Grabbing at Kim's other hand, Shego slipped the cuff around it as well, pulling Kim up onto the deck.
"Now, I just wanted to toss you into the Atlantic," Shego said, her voice cold and impassive, "but you know Drakken. He doesn't want to take over the world unless someone is there to watch."
Kim looked the green woman in the eye. "You can tell Drakken we'd prefer the Atlantic."
"Actually Kim," she heard Ron's voice call out from behind her, "Drakken's plan sounds cool too."
Kim turned to look at her friend, noticing someone had managed to get him in handcuffs as well. "Why did you have to land in front of the submarine?" she asked in an irritated tone.
"Kim, we have bigger issues," Ron reminded her, acting as the voice of reason, something he rarely did.
Shego motioned to a group of henchmen, and in minutes Kim and Ron were secured next to each other, securely fastened to the wall by their hands, feet, waist, and neck. Rufus was placed in a small steel cage with so little room he couldn't turn around.
Kim heard footsteps on the metal floor and shifted her gaze towards the door as much as her restraints would allow.
"Kim Possible," a familiar voice blurted out. "I must say, though you're visit was certainly unexpected, I'm glad you came. This room needed some decorations on the wall."
"Drakken, give it up! You know this isn't going to work," Kim blared, her eyes narrowing and focusing intently upon the blue-skinned man.
"It isn't going to work? And who, who is going to stop me?" Drakken chuckled, then pointed at Kim with a gloved hand. "You?" He narrowed his eyes, bringing his face to within inches of Kim's. It took every bit of Kim's willpower to keep from cringing. In addition to the inherent repulsiveness of his blue face, his body reeked worse than rotting flesh. "You seem to be a bit tied up, Kim Possible."
Kim resisted the urge to spit in the villain's face. Suddenly, a familiar ringing tone caught her attention. She tried to reach into her pocket, but her arms were held firmly in place. Drakken grabbed her communicator, pulling it out of her pocket. "Hello?"
On the other side of the connection, Wade effectively hid his surprise at seeing Drakken's hideous features. "You better turn back now, Drew. You're in for a world of hurt if you keep going."
Drakken looked a bit ruffled for a moment, irritated by the use of his real name. He quickly regained his composure, though his latest attempt to put on the image of a true super villain was compromised. "No, Kim's little computer friend, it is you who are going to suffer... or is going to suffer. One or the other. You will suffer, when in only hours I take over the world!" The menacing blue figure broke into a fit of laughter, throwing the communicator down on the floor. He stomped on the small electronic device several times.
"I'll be back for you two later," Drakken said as he spun around. "Until then, hang tight."
"Hey, hey... good one," Ron said sarcastically. "You got to admit he is getting better," Ron said to Kim after the door had shut behind Drakken.
Jack Brigsby's lunch was quite rudely interrupted by his cell phone, and the special agent resisted the urge to immediately turn it off, all too aware of how important the message could be. He pulled the small phone from his pocket, flipping open the cover and checking the caller ID.
To his surprise, it wasn't someone from the agency. "Kim Possible's little computer buddy," he mumbled, moving his finger towards the disconnect button to cut off the call before it even began. After all, orders were orders.
Or were they? Brigsby's finger froze only a fraction of an inch above the button as devious thoughts swam through his mind. Had he not been professionally and personally humiliated a mere hour ago by Rich Melbourne? Hadn't Melbourne been giving him the most stressful and unrewarding jobs possible for several weeks? Hadn't Melbourne threatened him if he didn't yield to the old man's demands?
It was wrong, and Brigsby knew it, but he couldn't resist stirring up the waters. No one on Melbourne's staff, including Brigsby, were supposed to have any contact with Kim Possible's clan... but suppose that the caller ID did not kick in for some reason or another, thus allowing a brief conversation to ensue. There would be no wrongdoing on Brigsby's part, though he would be forced to file an anomaly report. But the fun was that Melbourne would be forced to explain that report to the National Security Council. However insignificant, answering this call would create hours of headaches for the Deputy Director—perfect bureaucratic-style revenge.
Pressing the button to open the line, Brigsby brought the small phone to his ear. "Jack Brigsby."
"Agent Brigsby, this is Wade, Kim's friend. I need your help."
"I'm sorry, son, but we're not supposed to be working with your agency. I wouldn't of even answered if you had shown up on my caller ID."
"Wait! Please sir, please, for the love of all that is good, hear me out!'
Brigsby had already begun to pull the phone away from his ear, the impassioned plea of the young man sending a shiver down his spine. He'd only talked to the kid on one other occasion, but he could tell it was highly unusual for the young man to get so emotional. Something big was up.
"Alright, kid, you've got two minutes."
Wade wanted to begin with a string of thank yous, a sense of immeasurable relief running through his body. But he knew Brigsby was a practical man, and would construe his expression of appreciation as a waste of time. Thus, Wade immediately went into the details of how Kim and Ron were trapped aboard a submarine, as well as the danger posed if Drakken succeeded.
Brigsby listened attentively, recognizing the seriousness of the situation. Finally Wade's speech wrapped up, and Brigsby had an opportunity to reply. "Son, you need to understand, there are a number of reasons why I can't help."
"Mr. Brigsby, we are talking life and death here. It doesn't get more serious."
"I'm talking official orders. Frankly, I've violated them by speaking with you this long. The National Security Council wanted no contact between the CIA and you and your friends." Brigsby's tone was gruff, and Wade felt a sinking sensation in his stomach.
Brigsby prepared to end the conversation once and for all, but a strange, nagging feeling prevented him from simply hanging up. Deep within him he felt an unusual stress as his brain accelerated rapidly, thoughts flying through his mind impossibly fast. "Wade, give me a few minutes, and I'll call you back." He closed the phone, cutting off Wade's thankful reply. He needed the time to think.
The order had to do with politics. Of that he was sure. The problem which was facing the two teens had to do with life and death, and if Wade was right, possibly the fate of the free world. Brigsby felt a burning energy emerging from deep within. He had joined the CIA to help people and to serve his country. His gruff attitude and short temper had always concealed his desire to do what was right, and the political atmosphere of the Agency had made him appear even more cynical. His desire to do what was right had been pushed aside as promotion ambitions took over.
But Brigsby's mind kept wandering back to that point which he had long ago forgotten about. He had joined the CIA to help people. He was rude and arrogant, but he also knew what was right. And in this case, Brigsby realized, the orders were not. Wade was right. Brigsby began to feel revitalized as a new wave of energy rushed through his body. This was his chance to go back to his roots, to do what he had joined the Agency to do. This was his chance to do what was right.
He opened his cellphone slowly, fully realizing what he was about to do would more than likely end his career, and could possibly land him in prison. But doing the right thing would mean being punished by others for a short time, doing the wrong thing would force him to punish himself for eternity. Despite all he was risking, all he was throwing away, his mind was set. He punched several buttons on his phone, bringing it to his ear.
"I'm in."