Sometime during the frenzied drive, Annabel left. Remy looked around but couldn't see her ghostly form, nor feel her chaotic emotions. Frowning with uncertainty, he focused all attention on managing the vehicle. He was pushing the car to its functional limit; the engine whined uncomfortably from his demands. But he didn't care because only one thing merited his concern at the moment. Images of Rogue coming to harm flooded his mind, causing his stomach to reel with anger, contempt, and guilt. He should have been able to stop this. He shouldn't have let her run off back in the sewers. What if she was already on a plane, already flying off to a place he could not reach her?

Remy ground his teeth together as the facilities of Newark Airport came into view. He chose the unconventional method of entrance. Twisting the steering wheel to the right, he pulled the car haphazardly into the adjacent lane. Normally it would have been packed with opposing traffic, but in those pre-dawn hours, no other cars were present. His eyes flicked towards the speedometer--one hundred fifty-one miles per hour. With another twist the car leapt from the road. At such a speed, the vehicle screamed as it careened off the asphalt and crashed through the fence lining the runway boundaries.

Remy clamped his hands on the wheel in an iron hold as the car began to fishtail. Soon he was spinning donuts on the deserted runway. He eased off the gas pedal and fought to gain forward momentum. With a calculated jerk of the wheel, he managed to set the car straight. He accelerated once again to a dangerous speed, rocketing towards the lonely jet he had spotted not too far away. It was a small airliner, owned privately by a person of wealth--a person like Theodore Farrat. Suited men rushed away from the revving plane, boarding familiar vehicles to depart. The jet was turning around to begin its path down the runway. In a few moments it would lift off.

Remy's gaze was focused on the aircraft. He saw Farrat's men drive away but didn't bother to wonder about their next actions. The only important thing was getting onto that damn plane. He sped along the smooth gravel of several runways, catching up to the small jet as it began accelerating for flight. Possible courses of action flashed through his mind--each a risky gamble.

As he closed the distance between him and the jet, he noticed the storage compartments on its underside. It was a treacherous avenue of entrance--and if he failed the remains of his body would be terribly unpleasant to look at it. Remy pushed the thought out of his head. Gripping the steering wheel sturdily, he guided the car near the jet. The deafening scream of its thrusters assaulted his ears. His eyes became dry from the whipping wind and he struggled to keep himself oriented.

Focus, he told himself. Y've got t'save Rogue. Focus on Rogue.

The car waggled dangerously as he guided it under the jet. Craning his neck to get a better view, he eased the vehicle near one of the retractable wheels. He veered so close he could almost feel the frictional heat of its rapid gyration. Keeping his foot on the pedal, he snatched his bo-staff from his belt. He quickly shoved it horizontally through the steering wheel spokes and extended it. Both ends of the pole struck against opposite sides of the car, staking the wheel in place. Remy then rolled down the window and with his foot still on the gas pedal, eased himself halfway out.

The jet was accelerating; urgency shot through Remy's veins. In quick movements, he lifted his foot from the gas pedal and planted both haphazardly on the driver's seat. Immediately the car began to lag behind from loss of speed. Remy didn't give it a second thought--he hurled himself out of the car. For a brief, terrifying moment it seemed he wouldn't make it. Then his hands gripped metal and by reflex he pulled himself onto the leg of the plane.

Heat from the thrusters singed his hair as he climbed. Quick winds whipped at him, threatening to tear away his hold. It took all of his strength and will power to reach the jet's belly. His fingers found the storage compartment latch, tracing a circle around the lock. It blew apart in seconds and the latch swung loose. Suitcases burst out, narrowly missing Remy, and spilled their contents on the runway. The jet became temporarily unstable. One of the landing wheels ran over a few loose objects, causing the jet to lurch dangerously. But no harm was done as the legs suddenly retracted, bending up to their abodes as the plane left the ground.

Remy quickly pulled himself into the storage compartment, fighting against the escape of air from high to low pressure. In one strained swoop he pulled the latch closed again, charging the lock enough to melt it in place. He fell back against a crate, exhausted. All dis better be worth de effort, he thought tiredly. It would be just his luck if he would come so far only to fail.

A red light bulb in the wall was flashing. Remy frowned at it and realized the pilots were being alerted to his presence. He cursed under his breath. Jus' can't have it easy.

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"Is there a problem?" Farrat asked. His steely gaze flicked from Deaver to the pilot, back to Deaver. "Well?"

His henchman pointed at a blinking red light on the jet's dashboard. "The man says it's no big deal but I have my doubts."

An irritated sigh escaped from the pilot, "I'm telling you, sometimes the gauges and monitors tweak out during the incline. Give it a few minutes." He adjusted his head gear and turned his attention back to piloting.

"What was the jolt I felt earlier?" Farrat asked.

Deaver crossed his arms, "Ask him."

The pilot rolled his eyes. "Once again, little mishaps occur. If there was a real problem we never would have left the ground." He began flipping switches and turning dials as they ascended higher in the air. "I suggest you two strap down."

Deaver took the co-pilot seat while Theodore retreated back to the passenger cabin. Moments later the small jet met minor turbulence, rattling uncomfortably. Deaver pulled his harnesses tighter, relaxing only when they were soaring smoothly through the clouds. He looked at the dash, at the confusing jumble of meters and gauges. The red light was still blinking.

"I know," the pilot said, before he could voice a word. "It's the storage compartment. Maybe the latch wasn't shut properly."

Deaver frowned, "Is it something to worry about?"

The pilot checked a few gauges and said, "No. Everything looks stable, but if the latch is loose then I suggest you go and tighten it."

Deaver narrowed his eyes at the pilot's demeaning tone. "I'll have one of my men take care of it," he said coolly. He opened the cockpit door. His hard gaze scanned the passenger cabin; Farrat was reading the newspaper while the mutant girl appeared to be glowering at him behind a curtain of hair; Perry sat by Farrat's niece and Napes snoozed with a baseball cap pulled over his face.

Deaver snatched the navy cap off the man's head and swatted him with it. "What'd I say about falling asleep on the job, Napes?"

After composing himself from the abrupt awakening, the brown-haired man quickly stood erect and stared straight ahead. "Sorry, sir. I always get drowsy on plane rides. Must be an effect of the aerodynamics."

"Imbecile," Deaver scowled. He tossed the hat back to him and pointed to a floor latch near the rear of the plane. "Go down to the storage compartment. Make sure the latch is secure and nobody's bummed a ride."

Napes nodded, "Can do."

Deaver watched as the youth pulled on his cap before following orders. With an exasperated sigh, he turned back towards the cockpit.

"Everything going well?" Farrat asked.

"Yes, sir. We're just taking precautions."

The gray-haired man nodded composedly. He spared a glance at his niece before looking back at the newspaper, "In a few hours this will all be dealt with and over."

"Looking forward to it, Mr. Farrat." Deaver realized all too well the truth behind his statement.

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It took longer for them to come than he'd anticipated. By the time one of Farrat's men lowered himself into the storage area, Remy was well-rested and prepared. He stood crouched behind one of the many large suitcases in poised prowess. He had noted the heavy packages, realized Farrat was planning an extended absence. No doubt he had taken Annabel with him, however and whatever she was. Her ghostly presence had not revisited; Remy wondered if she was busy draining other mutants. But if that were so, how would she be on the plane? There had to be something wrong with her physical body--and she must be occupied with it at the moment. Remy shook his head. It was so confusing to think about.

Napes swept the flashlight beam up and over suitcases and medical equipment. He didn't really understand what all the fuss was about, really. All he knew was a rich man was trying to sneak his pretty, but comatose, niece out of the country. None of it mattered to Napes anyway. This was simply a paying job--one that would give him enough money to attend the community college back in Buffalo. He had almost saved enough for four semesters. Contemplating the classes he would sign up for, Napes paid little attention to the surroundings. He came upon the latch Deaver had spoken of and found it securely in place. "Is it supposed to be melted like that?" he wondered out loud, cocking an eyebrow at the deformed lock.

"Mais, no, but beats havin' it floppin' free, hein?"

Napes didn't see the source of the voice. A dull pain erupted in his skull and he fell into another nap.

Remy stared at the unconscious youth. He scratched his head and wondered what to do next. Maybe he should have interrogated the guy first, found out what the situation was above. Dis what I get fo' bein' rash, he thought with a sigh. He saw the navy baseball cap on the floor and picked it up. Fingering the canvas, he noticed Napes was almost the same build as him, though a year or two immature. Remy didn't know any other way to fight with an advantage. He bent down and set to work.

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The small plane had glided into the jet stream, flying at a facilitated speed. Though the aircraft seemed like the common passenger jet, it possessed a unusual speed. They were getting farther and farther away from land. Rogue stared out the window at the passing clouds. She had never been on a real airplane before, only ever having ridden in the X-jet and Velocity. Her first experience was going to leave a memorable black mark.

"Hey, you."

She turned to face the red-haired goon, eyes dark with a glare.

Perry asked curiously, "What's your mutant power?"

"None of your business," Rogue snapped.

"Bit touchy, aren't you?" Perry smirked. "Why such a bad attitude?"

Rogue rolled her eyes, "Um, how 'bout 'cause Ah'm bein' kidnapped, moron?"

Perry chuckled in amusement. He opened his mouth to retort when the floor latch flipped open. "Anything down there Napes?" he asked the emerging figure.

Napes's back was turned to them, the baseball cap pulled firmly over his brown hair. He shook his head and allowed the latch to drop closed.

Rogue frowned as she studied the young man. Something was different from when she first saw him go below. When he turned around, the shadow of the cap's rim veiled his upper face. Rogue's heart skipped a beat at seeing the refined edge of his familiar jaw. She didn't even blink as he reeled on Perry with a punch. The redhead soared over the next row of seats and fell against Annabel's stretcher. The girl shook slightly from impact. With another fluid movement, Napes's handgun was clutched in Remy's hands, aimed at the head of Theodore Farrat.

"I wouldn't if I were you," the man said calmly.

Remy hadn't planned on pulling the trigger, but after seeing the nasty bruise on Rogue's face, he was seriously considering it. "An' why not?" he challenged.

Farrat looked down and Remy followed his gaze. The newspaper ruffled aside and revealed Farrat's hand resting comfortably on his lap. A shiny pistol sat within his aged fingers, aimed directly at Rogue. "Depends on how much you're willing to gamble."

Whew. What work. But it was fun. Stay tuned.

Next Chapter: Homeland Security

(Ironic title, don't you think, what with all the war-talk going on.)