3
Kim heard music, just barely over the clacking of her pumps as she walked for the front door. It seemed to have been echoing from the living room, a lone string instrument playing a soft, melodious tune like a river flowing. She had heard it before, but she couldn't put her finger on it, and for some reason it didn't feel complete without a whole orchestra playing along.
The steel door whooshed open quietly, and she clacked inside nonchalantly. The two guards on standby looked at her. She could see their heads follow her movements out of the corners of her eyes. One of them scratched their heads in bewilderment. But their footsteps didn't chase the clacking of her borrowed shoes as stepped in front of another door, sliding open smoothly as she felt the ground sink underfoot.
And that melodious tune filled her ears the second the doors parted, loud and raw like hairs were rubbed together.
The villa's living room was the same as it always been, catwalks crisscrossing above a sunken barren floor with a single Amazonian creek flowing though it. At the large table sat a group of gentleman, their identities growing clearer the closer she walked. The elderly man with salt-and-pepper hair had to be Senor Senior while the greasy muscle-bound hulk was his playboy son. The other two she didn't recognize.
*Must be our bombers.*
As she walked carefully down the gray steps, another maid trotted up the steps with a round tray of drinks in hand. The dark woman gently set them down upon an end table on the landing, watching intently as the purple liquid--wine sloshed around in the pink tinted glasses. The maid backed away a few steps before she walked briskly up the last flight.
"When in Rome." she sighed, scooping up the tray professionally and walking down the bottom flight.
She narrowed her glance at the olive-drabbed targets as she walked nonchalantly for the closest air duct. Curly brown hair capped the closest one, face twisted into a painful cringe as he imbibed a little of his beverage. Behind the wannabe Afro of the guy, a violin bobbed wildly, the ebony bow drawing across it madly only for both parts to cease into a gentle sway at times. She winced as the crisp rawness of the strings assaulted her ears, a very real reason she didn't like attending live concerts.
She managed to get to the air chute undetected. Her back pressed against the steel, the cold sinking through the cloth as she slid down, squatting near the grate.
"Okay Rufus." She whispered. "Get the Kimmunicator and take it up the air vent. I want you to eavesdrop on the conversation. Just push the button when you're in a good position."
"He-huh. K!" the little runt squeaked, and she pressed her fingers to her mouth as the little guy crawled across her body, trailing between her breasts, curving around her sides, and she lost contact with the rat somewhere on her bottom. But she heard something tap quietly on the floor. She turned around. The rat gave her a big smile and a salute before it went to work on the grate.
"Now where was I." she stood up and walked for the table.
***
"Gentleman, gentleman please." the old coot spoke. "I must say that was a very nice rendition of The Moldau. And it's clear that you people love your motherland just as well as Smetana loved his own, and will do anything to protect it. But alas, I am just a simple multibillionaire. What could an old timer like me do to further the cause?"
"Mr. Senior," he said, letting his ebony instrument lay flat upon the table with the bow alongside, "you're more than just an old timer. Sure you may have little time left, but you wont let a little thing like age slow you down. You just don't have dreams; you live them out. You really have no choice but to live them nowadays, given your condition. But won't you help us live ours? You're the only one who has the resources we need."
"As in money, correct?" the geezer frowned.
"Sadly, yes." He said kindly. "It takes money to further a cause, especially with a cause as big as ours. It also takes money and resources to take over the world, Mr. Senior. And a little thing like Euros doesn't seem to stop you."
"Because it's my money, son." There was a tap as he touched his cane to the floor. "This is not a bank. I am not a loan officer. You honestly cannot expect a simple old man like myself to heed your request."
"Unless of course," he grinned, "there's a certain something or someone you'd like me to take care of."
"Hmm." the coot put a wrinkled finger to his chin in thought. "Well. there is a certain someone I would have liked to ax--another multibillionaire like myself. His name was--"
"Philippe Bullion?" he smirked.
"Yes." The man said. "But. how do you know him?"
"A loan request that went south." He explained. "And he insulted the homeland right when Shia and I took a seat. That, to me, is inexcusable."
"How did he." the man's eyes looked away, wide while his all his teeth were bared.
"I had a friend take care of him." He snickered. "Poor guy was enjoying his beluga caviar in the Jacuzzi when the Grim Reaper touched him. Plus he took a souvenir. I thought it would put us in your good graces."
His fingers popped open his chest pocket and dipped inside. They pinched around the object, hooking into the loop just as he pulled it out. The ring rolled around on the table when he flicked it like a coin, clattering to a stop when it hit the coot's wine glass.
The man took it into his gnarled hand. "This is his ring." A guilty smile played across his lips. "Philippe is dead."
"Indeed." He nodded. "He made it look like a robbery gone bad. He can also sneak into a hospital and ax a VIP right under the guards' noses."
"Hmm." the coot laced his fingers together. "Interested. I am curious to know this personal button man of yours."
"Well you can talk to him right here!" he laughed as he cupped a hand onto Shia's shoulder. "Shia Bonnet, the VSA's personal silent assassin."
"You?" the muscle-headed pretty boy spoke up. He had his chin resting on his palm, face dropped into an expression of boredom while the other fingers drummed on the tabletop. "You look like that goofy kid from that Even Stevens show I watch."
"You may speak words, pretty boy." He looked to see the button man dive into his cargo pocket and come out with the bloodied handles of his personal garrote. "But my bloody piano wire speaks volumes!"
The pretty boy's eyes widened, and the annoying drumming was silenced. ".This is a good point." He said.
"Yeah, I know." The curly head nodded. "I'm so good!"
"Well." the coot spoke up, placing his hands on the table and the chair screeched behind him as he stood up. "In light of this great news, I'm more than happy to pay you what you need. Keep in mind: 'need' is the key word in that sentence."
"I know." He nodded, feeling that little bit of accomplishment swell in his chest. He reached into his chest pocket, and he grabbed the list the second the pads of his fingers touched paper. "I've made a list, and hopefully it shouldn't cause you to break your vault. According to our list: the weapons, vehicles, and the costs of constructing our headquarters should cost you just under 150 million in gold bullion. You can deposit in into a Swiss account, the numbers you will receive at a time of my choosing."
The muscle head slammed the table fiercely, the thin glasses jumping briefly. "But if I'm going to be a teen pop star, I'm going to need a luxury estate!"
"Junior," the man moaned, rolling his eyes, "this is not the time. It's mere change compared to your trust funds. But if I loan you the money, you must accept this one term. Sorry but it's non-negotiable."
"Shoot."
"You must take out this one person." He said. "The bane of the villainous underworld: Kimberly Anne Possible."
"Oh don't worry!" he growled at the name of that treacherous wench. She was THE reason why he and his full brother had to spend the month in hiding while the US dismantled the rest of his father's legacy. Fortunately, Israel was kind enough to cut the rope just when its noose was about to tighten. "When we meet again, I'll have a special someone waiting for her!"
"Wasn't she the one that gave you that Mercedes scar on your neck?" the curly hitman asked.
"For the last time, Shia, yes!" he growled. "No matter what I do, I can't get that *shikse* out of my head. Ugh. I'm starting to see her everywhere!"
The meathead's eyes narrowed. He could see the anger in the glare. "You'd better not hurt my blue fox!"
"Junior!" the father yelled. "What did I tell you about dating an arch foe!"
"Spitting upon villainy," his chin met the palms of his hands again, "I know. Blah, blah, blah."
"Junior, go to your room." The father drew his hand down his face. "When you can think villainous thoughts like a proper villain, then you can join us as an adult!"
"Ugh. whatever!" the chair squeaked loudly as the pretty boy pushed away from the table, standing up and hunching his way up the flight of stairs.
"And a proper villain doesn't hunch!" the father yelled as the door whooshed closed. "Ugh. what am I going to do with him? I sent him to train with that Asian that hangs out with that Drakken fellow, but that didn't work at all."
"Maybe you should leave him be." Shia yawned. "We are who we choose to be. If he wants to miss out on a life of fulfilling villainy, that's his decision."
"Hmm." the man angled his head in thought. "That's a good idea. But what are we doing? We haven't toasted yet. Maid!"
The man clapped his hands together. "Maid! We need three glasses of '61 Ballinger."
"Yes sir." The maid with the tray of drinks called. He laid his eyes upon the woman as she clacked the drinks closer, and felt a vague surge of familiarity sweep through him. That auburn hair, the petite stature, and eyes. those deep, emerald eyes he couldn't get out of his mind.
"Oh GOD!!" he buried his head into his hands. "Just leave me alone already!!"
The maid set the tray down upon the tabletop, casually passing out the pink tinted glasses of bubbly. After the last glass had been given, she carefully picked up the tray and clacked away.
"Hmm. that's odd." The geezer rubbed his chin.
"What?" he straightened himself in the chair, and he let his palm rest on the grip of his new Uzi.
"Maids don't wear heels." He said. "They're on their feet all day, and wearing shoes like that is impractical."
"Hmm.." His fingers wrapped tightly around the heavy gun's grip.
"It's probably nothing." He scooped up the glass and held it high above the center of the table. "I'd like to propose a toast: to the remembrance of departed Bullion and the start of a beautiful alliance."
"Cheers!" both Shia and he stood up, letting the glasses ring like a bell when they touched together. And in the sport of things, they took a nice big sip of the bubbly, savoring it as it lost carbonation in their mouths.
".Good year!" he perked his brow and took a glance at the glass.
"Yes." The man nodded. "Some of the finest Ballinger I've ever tasted, so I stocked up on it when I scored my first billion. Oh--Maid!"
"Yes Mr. Senior?" a thickly accented maid spoke up, who was standing near the creek. As the tanned blonde walked over with such a familiar swagger, another wave of repressed memory flooded him. He was certain he saw the woman before like the auburn, but he couldn't place where he had locked eyes with the woman. He stole a glance at the button man, who even cocked an eyebrow.
"Could we get some tea cakes, if we may?"
"Of course, Senor Senior." The familiar maid nodded. "I'll be right back."
As the woman walked away, he leaned in close to the button man and inching his lips toward his ear.
"Is it just me, or does that woman look familiar to you?" he asked.
"You bet!" the curly boy whispered back. "Permission to investigate?"
"Granted." He nodded. The boy stood up, angling a foot to her direction just as he latched his hand onto the cuff of his sleeve. "Just remember to keep it clean. We're visitors after all."
"Right." The button man nodded.
***
Kim sneaked her hand across her brow, silently letting the deep breath she took out. Uzi--Uzi Drazen! How could that terrorist still be alive, especially after she plunged that grapple into his throat? No matter. She felt a deep pit form in her stomach, head swimming with emotion while her hands clenched into fists. Uzi was her bomber, no doubt about it.
*If not, then he has to know whom. *
The blonde maid walked past her briskly, over toward the long table that sat near the creek. The woman bent at the waist gently, taking into her hands a plate of pastry, sticky pastry that glinted in the florescent light. But as the maid turned carefully around, the scratchy clothes of the curly headed kid wisped against her skin as he marched emotionlessly past her. Her heart picked up a notch as she saw those bloodied handles in his grip.
*Oh no.! *
--And the curly kid was all over the maid. A long, arced glint caught her eyes, whipping up into a crazy angle and the woman toppled over backwards, nearly taking her assailant with her. She could see the woman's hands scrambling madly underneath the hem of her short skirt, coming out briefly with what looked like a small pistol before it skipped and clattered away with a small crescent kick to the wrist.
The gun scraped against the cold floor towards her, stopping as it tapped against her shoe. She wasn't sure, but the black steel piece looked like that old Walther that James Bond used before that boring 18th flick.
"Uzi!" the kid said as his struggled with the woman. "Guess who I found--"
"What do you think you're doing!?" the elder man yelled. "She's just a maid!"
"Wrong!" the kid breathed as the woman slowed her resist, weakly flailing her limbs as the kid relinquished his piano wire. His fingers wrapped under the collar of the blouse, and the hacking woman was flattened onto her back like a rag doll. "It seems you've been hosting a spy!"
"What are talking about?" the man continued. "She's a maid. She just started a week ago!"
"And she's been working for the Mossad for a lot longer!" Uzi took a knee by the downed woman. "Commander Ariel Hershel, it's been a long time!"
Kim's eyes widened. *The Israeli government? Holy cow--! *
"Not long--enough. Uzi!" the woman breathed.
"So what's the deal?" the terrorist said mockingly, angling his head. "Did the loveable grumps at the Knesset find out I was going crazy already, sending you in to keep tabs on me, right? Damn, I wanted to surprise them too. It's a shame!"
"No!" the woman coughed. "That Possible girl not feeding you to the dogs! *That's* the shame, you fucking heretic!"
"Same old temperamental Hershel." he shook his head. "There's room in the homeland for only one race! Mr. Senior, have you fed the carp recently?"
--Kim's mind went blank, her heart beating in her ears as she scooped up the pistol at her feet, thumbing off the safety and training it at Uzi's head.
"FREEZE!" she yelled, putting a foot forward for support.
Both boys looked over. The strangler merely cocked an eyebrow but she felt her heart was about to go into terminal arrest when she caught the furry in Uzi's eyes, his hand quivering on his Uzi, trembling with the sheer rage that seemed to burn its way throughout his whole body.
"THE WENCH!!" he screamed, the saliva nearly foaming as it splattered from his mouth. It was almost as if he forgot that a gun was trained on him as he tore for his radio, screaming into the plastic box as he ripped it off his shoulder. "Storm the villa--NOW!!"
Impulsively, her finger began to work the small trigger back at the sound of the whooshing door--
--And in a single moment, the tables had turned on her. The control of the situation seemed to crumble as she felt herself falling down, forced down onto the floor and her hands seemingly working their way onto her back on their own. Something cold and hard pressed into the back of her head roughly.
"Well, well, well." the terrorist said acidly. She could feel his hot breath brush against her hair. "Who do we have here? Well if it isn't Kimberly *Shikse* Possible, joining us for a little fun are we?"
"Ugh." she groaned against her assailants. "Get off me!"
"Um. no--I'm not going to do that!" He spat. "It is pathetic to see you Americans think you have the right to control the world as you see fit. Sadly, you and your treacherous government won't be alive to see all of-- what you call--Palestine returned to the Jew!"
"Ugh." she groaned as she felt her face press against the floor. "And neither. will--you! You're time. will come--soon enough!"
"Not as soon as yours, wench!" From the top of her sockets, she could see the stubbles that were his lips drop and his whole face twisted into a mask of unbridled fury. He stood up tall, shouting at the highest decibel his voice could muster.
"WE'RE LEAVING!" he shouted. "KILL THE SPIES AND MOVE OUT!!"
The pressure on her visage quickly resided as the goons above her lifted her by the wrists as another sized her by the ankles. The world around her bobbed up and down erratically as she was carried out of the fortress villa like a pig on a rotisserie stick.
*The only thing that's missing is an apple in my mouth. * Her mind whispered bitterly.
But as her body wobbled out of the whooshing door, she could see a little pink blob trot out of the air vent, her PDA tucked under its forelegs as it stood onto its hind legs. It let out a growl as it gradually trotted towards her just as the sliding door shut.
*Rufus--Ron--get me out of here! *
***
Ron watched helplessly in the Osprey as his friend and another maid were dragged out of the villa by a group of thugs, nothing more than an olive smear in the circle window. He had sneaked into the craft at an opportune moment, thinking that the whirligig would make a nice escape from Senior's Fantasy Island. But escape didn't mean anything like it had used to when the auburn and the blonde were tossed onto the ground, mere yards away from a gang of sentries with arms staring coldly at them.
A hairy kid walked out from among the mass of olive men, arms folded authoritatively behind his back. He could hear the gravel crunch gently as he walked close to the Osprey's spread wings, a little too close to the propellers.
As he gazed at the profile of the kid, his jaw dropped as something just clicked in his busy mind.
*The puffy hair, the grizzly face of stubble! *
"Uzi!" bile crept up his throat as he growled, carefully placing his face against the cool pane of glass. Though it, he could hear the kid bark orders and there was a loud clack of metal resounding from the line of men. Kim stood fearless though he could see some movement in her neck while the other clamped her eyes down.
"Get this rust bucket ready for take off!" the kid barked toward the cockpit, twirling his finger around like a helicopter rotor. The engines chugged and coughed, spitting out small plumes of smoke, dissolving in the tropical air before the strident ripping of the blades assaulted his ears.
He took off for the cockpit, his fists balled as he ran for the door, dodging pieces of equipment that were scattered about in the hull. He wasn't positive if Kim was going to make it out alive, but he'd make sure that Uzi would catch that dirt nap he missed a month back.
"Don't worry Kim!" he thought aloud. "I'm coming."
With a swift kick to the door handle, the piece of plastic flung open and he hurled himself toward the pilot with an outstretched leg taking the lead.
"Flying kick now!" he yelled, and he felt his sole connect with the man's cheek, as he was about to turn around--
--And his whole body flopped onto the control panel, shifting to the right slightly before Ron touched down. The floor clanged as the man flopped out of the chair in a heap, jerking the control yoke with it. The whole craft curved to the right, and he nearly lost his balance in the move- -
"AHH--!" someone screamed outside--and small sheets of red and whatnot splattered onto the windshield, oozing down the pane and pooling into a thin red line on the window frame, spotted with what looked like hair and bits of skin. Through the moving red, he could see the soldiers spun on their heels, some with their jaws dropped as they gazed toward the moving craft as Kim and the other woman hightailed it.
"SHOOT THE DAMN THING!" the curly haired one of the bunch shouted in Hebrew. And the glass around him seemed to implode in on the craft; thousands of shiny pieces flying past his face as little sounds of tings and pangs flooded his ears, barely over the erratic staccato of short explosive bursts.
He toppled onto the floor as he caught the sight of a copper shape barreling towards him, cylindrical and coned at the top. His eyes winced shut and his arms covered his head as he curled into a ball. But through the manic polyphony of his surroundings, a series of distinct clacks and clangs were seemed to emerge out of nowhere, seemingly from behind him and they grew louder till they slowed to a stop--
--"Ron!" a familiar voice shouted above him. "Move!"--
--And soon he felt himself being dragged on the floor, the bumpy texture of the cold floor sliding up his cheek hurriedly before everything stopped. His arms clanged as they fell onto the floor, and he lifted his head to see the Kim and the other woman in the cockpit--only to feel that his stomach grew a few pounds heavier.
"Aw. man!" he groaned, pressing a glove to his belly. "Where am I?"
From the cockpit, he could see the auburn hunch her back in the chair, breathing out slowly like she had just came out of a living Hell. The busted windshield no longer portrayed the barren prison that was the island villa, but rather a painting of warm and cool colors the flowed toward them with a bright circle sitting in the middle, colored in a burning red.
"Whew." Kim drew the back of her hand across her crown, the other ripping that tiara thingy off her hair. It nearly hit him in the face as she whipped it behind her blindly. "Glad we're out of that!"
"Indeed!" the blonde woman breathed, locks of her hair whipping wildly by the breeze through the holes that the bullets punched. "Ugh."
"You okay, Ron?" Kim turned at the waist, perching her head on the shoulder of the seat.
"Yeah.!" he took a knee, breathing in deeply and letting it out. "I was about to toss my cookies in a minute."
"Don't worry." She smiled warmly. "We're out of the fortress villa."
"Hmm." the blonde woman said, her voice thick with an accent he hadn't heard in over a decade. "Okay kids, it's answer time! Who are you guys and what were you doing there? You could have gotten killed!"
"Nice to meet you too, Ms. Hershel!" Kim shot.
"Don't give me that crap!" the woman growled. "I've spent nearly two months trying to get into the villa just for that meeting, and the next thing I know, you two show up and blow my cover!"
"Gee--" Kim said sardonically. "Thanks Ms. Possible for saving my sorry hide!"
"Possible?" the woman turned her head, blinking. "You're *the* Kim Possible of that Escutcheon incident a month back?"
"The very same!" Kim folded her arms behind her head, letting her body slouch in the seat. "That gave Uzi that Mercedes scar on his neck, of course. Pf. thought he bought the farm too. Shows how much I was wrong, eh?"
"Then who's the blond back there with the motion sickness?"
"Ronald. R. Stoppable!" he groaned, nearly falling flat on his face as he tried to push himself up into kneeling. "The man who put old man Drazen out of commission."
The woman stole a quick glance at him, moving her tan head hurriedly over her shoulder and back again. "Yep." The mat of long, blonde hair nodded. "Looks like picture on file."
"All right then!" the auburn said. "Now who might you be, Ms. Hershel? .If that's your real name."
"You're right," the blonde nodded, "it is Hershel. If you didn't hear back there, my first name is Ariel. I'm with the Mossad."
"Uh. okay--let's pretend I don't know what that is." his fingers gripped the corner of a nearby crate and he hoisted himself onto his feet, wobbling gently to the slight rocking of the craft.
"Israeli intelligence service, Ron." Kim interjected. "It's like their equivalent of our CIA or NSA--which ever carries out assassinations secretly."
"We do whatever we have to do in order for the security of the country." The blonde said. "Speaking of which. what exactly were you two vigilantes doing at the Senor Senior villa--?"
"What??" the auburn whipped her head around. "We're not vigilantes!"
"If you're not sanctioned by your government," the woman noted, "you're nothing more than the target to me. At least--that's how I take it. Now answer my question."
"Did you and your boys over in Israel hear about the bombing at an airport in Middleton?"
"Um--yes: to a certain degree." the woman's head angled slightly, briefly before it leveled on her blue shoulders.
"A friend of mine gave me a tip that the suspect could be attending a meeting with the Seniors. I wasn't sure why, until."
The females exchanged information parsimoniously, but he lost interest as they blabbed on about things already in the past. What's done is done, and there was nothing they could do about it. That intelligence service might have been a little ticked, but a simple grin stretched across his lips.
*As long as there are no more bombings, I think they can live-- *
The cuff of the leg of his pants moved on his shin erratically, and his smile dropped to a wince as he felt something pinch its way up its leg. He felt a soft patch of warmth as it managed to work its way under the pants' waist, the warmth sliding and pinching up his chest until he saw a little blob of pink poke out the shirt collar.
"Buddy!" he smiled warmly, and his fingers carefully wrestled the mole rat out of his shirt. "I was worried!"
"He--huh!" the rat nodded his little head. "Me. too!"
His chest swelled with joy as he soaked in the toothy smile of his friend--his family. As his lips spread, returning the gesture, his eyes couldn't help but lock onto a small patch of red, smeared onto the bottom of his buddy's buckteeth. It was almost as if he bit into something-- someone, just by the way the fresh red ran parallel to the grain of the enamel.
"I during the meeting, I was recording the conversation on a small recorder." The woman continued, voice a little thick with apprehension. He lifted his head, and he saw one of the woman's hands snake its way into her blouse. Rough crumples echoed throughout the cabin, lifting the thin device out of her blouse and quite a few parts tapped onto the floor. A roll of tape unraveled towards him, leaving a thin line of mud brown behind wherever its spool went. It clattered to a stop next to the crate nearby. "Crap!!"
"What the heck happened to it?" Kim said.
"Damn!" the console cried out a split second later, just after he saw the blonde's clenched fist lift up and fall down. "My station chief is going to kill me!"
"So not the drama, Ariel!" the auburn said confidently, and her hands began to run themselves over her body, patting in certain patches. "I just happened to record the meeting too. Now where's. oh no--Rufus!"
"Don't worry, KP!" he called, carefully letting down his son onto the floor. "He's right here."
"Oh--thank heavens!" he craned her head over the shoulder of the seat again, carefully curving around it just as her emerald eyes caught site of the buddy sitting nearby. "Do you have the Kimmunicator?"
"Yep-yep-yep!" the pink boy nodded, pointing blindly behind him.
Her pumps clanged on the metal floor as she walked towards him, and them behind him briefly. She walked past him, for the cockpit with her bulky, blue PDA in her slender grasp. Her rump met the cushion of the copilot seat with a squelch.
"Whew." she sighed. "It's all here!"
"Before or after his recital?" the blonde asked. "It's no good if you got nothing but his shoddy playing."
"After." She nodded, and a little thin sheet of metal stuck out of the PDA like it had been ejected. She took it into her fingers, holding it between the index and middle like a cigarette, and she held it close to the woman's blonde hair. "It's on this memory card. You can have it, clean and clear."
"BS!" the blonde looked over at her, eyes beaming sheer skepticism. "Nothing's free from you Americans! What's the catch?"
"You bring us into your government's operation." She smirked.
"Do I look like a recruiter to you?" the woman narrowed her gaze. "This is not Mission: Impossible, Possible! You can't expect me to pull strings just for you and Blondie back there!"
"I'm not asking you to." She shook her head. "I'm telling you to."
"What do you want then?"
"We help you clandestinely." She grinned. "This VSA group knows about you and your other boys at the Mossad, right?"
"And?"
"But they don't know about us." She explained, and he cocked an eyebrow. What was his crush getting at? "We can be your Aces in the hole."
"What the hell's in it for you guys?" the woman blinked.
"Did you listen to why I was here?" she moaned. "My only lead was hacked to pieces by the dang propeller! This VSA is the closest thing we have in the bombing! If I can get close to a unit--cell--however they organize, I might get an even better lead."
"Ugh!!" the woman briefly threw her hands up in the air before dropping to the yoke. "What good can you do if the whole damn world knows your face!?"
"I think of something." She slouched in the seat. "Where's this station of yours?"
"." The woman mumbled. ".Downtown Madrid."
"Good." She breathed. "Take us there."
"Right. My superiors need to debrief you anyway."
"Um." he spoke up. "Am I the designated clueless on this flight?"
"I'll try to clarify for you later, Ron." She said tiredly and shook her head. "Just try to think of what you want for dinner or something."
"Humph.!" He frowned, feeling that little tingle of annoying anger eat away in chest. Even when he saved her life from impending death a month ago, she still didn't give him much respect. Amazing how he dealt with it, really. "Whatever you say, KP."
Kim heard music, just barely over the clacking of her pumps as she walked for the front door. It seemed to have been echoing from the living room, a lone string instrument playing a soft, melodious tune like a river flowing. She had heard it before, but she couldn't put her finger on it, and for some reason it didn't feel complete without a whole orchestra playing along.
The steel door whooshed open quietly, and she clacked inside nonchalantly. The two guards on standby looked at her. She could see their heads follow her movements out of the corners of her eyes. One of them scratched their heads in bewilderment. But their footsteps didn't chase the clacking of her borrowed shoes as stepped in front of another door, sliding open smoothly as she felt the ground sink underfoot.
And that melodious tune filled her ears the second the doors parted, loud and raw like hairs were rubbed together.
The villa's living room was the same as it always been, catwalks crisscrossing above a sunken barren floor with a single Amazonian creek flowing though it. At the large table sat a group of gentleman, their identities growing clearer the closer she walked. The elderly man with salt-and-pepper hair had to be Senor Senior while the greasy muscle-bound hulk was his playboy son. The other two she didn't recognize.
*Must be our bombers.*
As she walked carefully down the gray steps, another maid trotted up the steps with a round tray of drinks in hand. The dark woman gently set them down upon an end table on the landing, watching intently as the purple liquid--wine sloshed around in the pink tinted glasses. The maid backed away a few steps before she walked briskly up the last flight.
"When in Rome." she sighed, scooping up the tray professionally and walking down the bottom flight.
She narrowed her glance at the olive-drabbed targets as she walked nonchalantly for the closest air duct. Curly brown hair capped the closest one, face twisted into a painful cringe as he imbibed a little of his beverage. Behind the wannabe Afro of the guy, a violin bobbed wildly, the ebony bow drawing across it madly only for both parts to cease into a gentle sway at times. She winced as the crisp rawness of the strings assaulted her ears, a very real reason she didn't like attending live concerts.
She managed to get to the air chute undetected. Her back pressed against the steel, the cold sinking through the cloth as she slid down, squatting near the grate.
"Okay Rufus." She whispered. "Get the Kimmunicator and take it up the air vent. I want you to eavesdrop on the conversation. Just push the button when you're in a good position."
"He-huh. K!" the little runt squeaked, and she pressed her fingers to her mouth as the little guy crawled across her body, trailing between her breasts, curving around her sides, and she lost contact with the rat somewhere on her bottom. But she heard something tap quietly on the floor. She turned around. The rat gave her a big smile and a salute before it went to work on the grate.
"Now where was I." she stood up and walked for the table.
***
"Gentleman, gentleman please." the old coot spoke. "I must say that was a very nice rendition of The Moldau. And it's clear that you people love your motherland just as well as Smetana loved his own, and will do anything to protect it. But alas, I am just a simple multibillionaire. What could an old timer like me do to further the cause?"
"Mr. Senior," he said, letting his ebony instrument lay flat upon the table with the bow alongside, "you're more than just an old timer. Sure you may have little time left, but you wont let a little thing like age slow you down. You just don't have dreams; you live them out. You really have no choice but to live them nowadays, given your condition. But won't you help us live ours? You're the only one who has the resources we need."
"As in money, correct?" the geezer frowned.
"Sadly, yes." He said kindly. "It takes money to further a cause, especially with a cause as big as ours. It also takes money and resources to take over the world, Mr. Senior. And a little thing like Euros doesn't seem to stop you."
"Because it's my money, son." There was a tap as he touched his cane to the floor. "This is not a bank. I am not a loan officer. You honestly cannot expect a simple old man like myself to heed your request."
"Unless of course," he grinned, "there's a certain something or someone you'd like me to take care of."
"Hmm." the coot put a wrinkled finger to his chin in thought. "Well. there is a certain someone I would have liked to ax--another multibillionaire like myself. His name was--"
"Philippe Bullion?" he smirked.
"Yes." The man said. "But. how do you know him?"
"A loan request that went south." He explained. "And he insulted the homeland right when Shia and I took a seat. That, to me, is inexcusable."
"How did he." the man's eyes looked away, wide while his all his teeth were bared.
"I had a friend take care of him." He snickered. "Poor guy was enjoying his beluga caviar in the Jacuzzi when the Grim Reaper touched him. Plus he took a souvenir. I thought it would put us in your good graces."
His fingers popped open his chest pocket and dipped inside. They pinched around the object, hooking into the loop just as he pulled it out. The ring rolled around on the table when he flicked it like a coin, clattering to a stop when it hit the coot's wine glass.
The man took it into his gnarled hand. "This is his ring." A guilty smile played across his lips. "Philippe is dead."
"Indeed." He nodded. "He made it look like a robbery gone bad. He can also sneak into a hospital and ax a VIP right under the guards' noses."
"Hmm." the coot laced his fingers together. "Interested. I am curious to know this personal button man of yours."
"Well you can talk to him right here!" he laughed as he cupped a hand onto Shia's shoulder. "Shia Bonnet, the VSA's personal silent assassin."
"You?" the muscle-headed pretty boy spoke up. He had his chin resting on his palm, face dropped into an expression of boredom while the other fingers drummed on the tabletop. "You look like that goofy kid from that Even Stevens show I watch."
"You may speak words, pretty boy." He looked to see the button man dive into his cargo pocket and come out with the bloodied handles of his personal garrote. "But my bloody piano wire speaks volumes!"
The pretty boy's eyes widened, and the annoying drumming was silenced. ".This is a good point." He said.
"Yeah, I know." The curly head nodded. "I'm so good!"
"Well." the coot spoke up, placing his hands on the table and the chair screeched behind him as he stood up. "In light of this great news, I'm more than happy to pay you what you need. Keep in mind: 'need' is the key word in that sentence."
"I know." He nodded, feeling that little bit of accomplishment swell in his chest. He reached into his chest pocket, and he grabbed the list the second the pads of his fingers touched paper. "I've made a list, and hopefully it shouldn't cause you to break your vault. According to our list: the weapons, vehicles, and the costs of constructing our headquarters should cost you just under 150 million in gold bullion. You can deposit in into a Swiss account, the numbers you will receive at a time of my choosing."
The muscle head slammed the table fiercely, the thin glasses jumping briefly. "But if I'm going to be a teen pop star, I'm going to need a luxury estate!"
"Junior," the man moaned, rolling his eyes, "this is not the time. It's mere change compared to your trust funds. But if I loan you the money, you must accept this one term. Sorry but it's non-negotiable."
"Shoot."
"You must take out this one person." He said. "The bane of the villainous underworld: Kimberly Anne Possible."
"Oh don't worry!" he growled at the name of that treacherous wench. She was THE reason why he and his full brother had to spend the month in hiding while the US dismantled the rest of his father's legacy. Fortunately, Israel was kind enough to cut the rope just when its noose was about to tighten. "When we meet again, I'll have a special someone waiting for her!"
"Wasn't she the one that gave you that Mercedes scar on your neck?" the curly hitman asked.
"For the last time, Shia, yes!" he growled. "No matter what I do, I can't get that *shikse* out of my head. Ugh. I'm starting to see her everywhere!"
The meathead's eyes narrowed. He could see the anger in the glare. "You'd better not hurt my blue fox!"
"Junior!" the father yelled. "What did I tell you about dating an arch foe!"
"Spitting upon villainy," his chin met the palms of his hands again, "I know. Blah, blah, blah."
"Junior, go to your room." The father drew his hand down his face. "When you can think villainous thoughts like a proper villain, then you can join us as an adult!"
"Ugh. whatever!" the chair squeaked loudly as the pretty boy pushed away from the table, standing up and hunching his way up the flight of stairs.
"And a proper villain doesn't hunch!" the father yelled as the door whooshed closed. "Ugh. what am I going to do with him? I sent him to train with that Asian that hangs out with that Drakken fellow, but that didn't work at all."
"Maybe you should leave him be." Shia yawned. "We are who we choose to be. If he wants to miss out on a life of fulfilling villainy, that's his decision."
"Hmm." the man angled his head in thought. "That's a good idea. But what are we doing? We haven't toasted yet. Maid!"
The man clapped his hands together. "Maid! We need three glasses of '61 Ballinger."
"Yes sir." The maid with the tray of drinks called. He laid his eyes upon the woman as she clacked the drinks closer, and felt a vague surge of familiarity sweep through him. That auburn hair, the petite stature, and eyes. those deep, emerald eyes he couldn't get out of his mind.
"Oh GOD!!" he buried his head into his hands. "Just leave me alone already!!"
The maid set the tray down upon the tabletop, casually passing out the pink tinted glasses of bubbly. After the last glass had been given, she carefully picked up the tray and clacked away.
"Hmm. that's odd." The geezer rubbed his chin.
"What?" he straightened himself in the chair, and he let his palm rest on the grip of his new Uzi.
"Maids don't wear heels." He said. "They're on their feet all day, and wearing shoes like that is impractical."
"Hmm.." His fingers wrapped tightly around the heavy gun's grip.
"It's probably nothing." He scooped up the glass and held it high above the center of the table. "I'd like to propose a toast: to the remembrance of departed Bullion and the start of a beautiful alliance."
"Cheers!" both Shia and he stood up, letting the glasses ring like a bell when they touched together. And in the sport of things, they took a nice big sip of the bubbly, savoring it as it lost carbonation in their mouths.
".Good year!" he perked his brow and took a glance at the glass.
"Yes." The man nodded. "Some of the finest Ballinger I've ever tasted, so I stocked up on it when I scored my first billion. Oh--Maid!"
"Yes Mr. Senior?" a thickly accented maid spoke up, who was standing near the creek. As the tanned blonde walked over with such a familiar swagger, another wave of repressed memory flooded him. He was certain he saw the woman before like the auburn, but he couldn't place where he had locked eyes with the woman. He stole a glance at the button man, who even cocked an eyebrow.
"Could we get some tea cakes, if we may?"
"Of course, Senor Senior." The familiar maid nodded. "I'll be right back."
As the woman walked away, he leaned in close to the button man and inching his lips toward his ear.
"Is it just me, or does that woman look familiar to you?" he asked.
"You bet!" the curly boy whispered back. "Permission to investigate?"
"Granted." He nodded. The boy stood up, angling a foot to her direction just as he latched his hand onto the cuff of his sleeve. "Just remember to keep it clean. We're visitors after all."
"Right." The button man nodded.
***
Kim sneaked her hand across her brow, silently letting the deep breath she took out. Uzi--Uzi Drazen! How could that terrorist still be alive, especially after she plunged that grapple into his throat? No matter. She felt a deep pit form in her stomach, head swimming with emotion while her hands clenched into fists. Uzi was her bomber, no doubt about it.
*If not, then he has to know whom. *
The blonde maid walked past her briskly, over toward the long table that sat near the creek. The woman bent at the waist gently, taking into her hands a plate of pastry, sticky pastry that glinted in the florescent light. But as the maid turned carefully around, the scratchy clothes of the curly headed kid wisped against her skin as he marched emotionlessly past her. Her heart picked up a notch as she saw those bloodied handles in his grip.
*Oh no.! *
--And the curly kid was all over the maid. A long, arced glint caught her eyes, whipping up into a crazy angle and the woman toppled over backwards, nearly taking her assailant with her. She could see the woman's hands scrambling madly underneath the hem of her short skirt, coming out briefly with what looked like a small pistol before it skipped and clattered away with a small crescent kick to the wrist.
The gun scraped against the cold floor towards her, stopping as it tapped against her shoe. She wasn't sure, but the black steel piece looked like that old Walther that James Bond used before that boring 18th flick.
"Uzi!" the kid said as his struggled with the woman. "Guess who I found--"
"What do you think you're doing!?" the elder man yelled. "She's just a maid!"
"Wrong!" the kid breathed as the woman slowed her resist, weakly flailing her limbs as the kid relinquished his piano wire. His fingers wrapped under the collar of the blouse, and the hacking woman was flattened onto her back like a rag doll. "It seems you've been hosting a spy!"
"What are talking about?" the man continued. "She's a maid. She just started a week ago!"
"And she's been working for the Mossad for a lot longer!" Uzi took a knee by the downed woman. "Commander Ariel Hershel, it's been a long time!"
Kim's eyes widened. *The Israeli government? Holy cow--! *
"Not long--enough. Uzi!" the woman breathed.
"So what's the deal?" the terrorist said mockingly, angling his head. "Did the loveable grumps at the Knesset find out I was going crazy already, sending you in to keep tabs on me, right? Damn, I wanted to surprise them too. It's a shame!"
"No!" the woman coughed. "That Possible girl not feeding you to the dogs! *That's* the shame, you fucking heretic!"
"Same old temperamental Hershel." he shook his head. "There's room in the homeland for only one race! Mr. Senior, have you fed the carp recently?"
--Kim's mind went blank, her heart beating in her ears as she scooped up the pistol at her feet, thumbing off the safety and training it at Uzi's head.
"FREEZE!" she yelled, putting a foot forward for support.
Both boys looked over. The strangler merely cocked an eyebrow but she felt her heart was about to go into terminal arrest when she caught the furry in Uzi's eyes, his hand quivering on his Uzi, trembling with the sheer rage that seemed to burn its way throughout his whole body.
"THE WENCH!!" he screamed, the saliva nearly foaming as it splattered from his mouth. It was almost as if he forgot that a gun was trained on him as he tore for his radio, screaming into the plastic box as he ripped it off his shoulder. "Storm the villa--NOW!!"
Impulsively, her finger began to work the small trigger back at the sound of the whooshing door--
--And in a single moment, the tables had turned on her. The control of the situation seemed to crumble as she felt herself falling down, forced down onto the floor and her hands seemingly working their way onto her back on their own. Something cold and hard pressed into the back of her head roughly.
"Well, well, well." the terrorist said acidly. She could feel his hot breath brush against her hair. "Who do we have here? Well if it isn't Kimberly *Shikse* Possible, joining us for a little fun are we?"
"Ugh." she groaned against her assailants. "Get off me!"
"Um. no--I'm not going to do that!" He spat. "It is pathetic to see you Americans think you have the right to control the world as you see fit. Sadly, you and your treacherous government won't be alive to see all of-- what you call--Palestine returned to the Jew!"
"Ugh." she groaned as she felt her face press against the floor. "And neither. will--you! You're time. will come--soon enough!"
"Not as soon as yours, wench!" From the top of her sockets, she could see the stubbles that were his lips drop and his whole face twisted into a mask of unbridled fury. He stood up tall, shouting at the highest decibel his voice could muster.
"WE'RE LEAVING!" he shouted. "KILL THE SPIES AND MOVE OUT!!"
The pressure on her visage quickly resided as the goons above her lifted her by the wrists as another sized her by the ankles. The world around her bobbed up and down erratically as she was carried out of the fortress villa like a pig on a rotisserie stick.
*The only thing that's missing is an apple in my mouth. * Her mind whispered bitterly.
But as her body wobbled out of the whooshing door, she could see a little pink blob trot out of the air vent, her PDA tucked under its forelegs as it stood onto its hind legs. It let out a growl as it gradually trotted towards her just as the sliding door shut.
*Rufus--Ron--get me out of here! *
***
Ron watched helplessly in the Osprey as his friend and another maid were dragged out of the villa by a group of thugs, nothing more than an olive smear in the circle window. He had sneaked into the craft at an opportune moment, thinking that the whirligig would make a nice escape from Senior's Fantasy Island. But escape didn't mean anything like it had used to when the auburn and the blonde were tossed onto the ground, mere yards away from a gang of sentries with arms staring coldly at them.
A hairy kid walked out from among the mass of olive men, arms folded authoritatively behind his back. He could hear the gravel crunch gently as he walked close to the Osprey's spread wings, a little too close to the propellers.
As he gazed at the profile of the kid, his jaw dropped as something just clicked in his busy mind.
*The puffy hair, the grizzly face of stubble! *
"Uzi!" bile crept up his throat as he growled, carefully placing his face against the cool pane of glass. Though it, he could hear the kid bark orders and there was a loud clack of metal resounding from the line of men. Kim stood fearless though he could see some movement in her neck while the other clamped her eyes down.
"Get this rust bucket ready for take off!" the kid barked toward the cockpit, twirling his finger around like a helicopter rotor. The engines chugged and coughed, spitting out small plumes of smoke, dissolving in the tropical air before the strident ripping of the blades assaulted his ears.
He took off for the cockpit, his fists balled as he ran for the door, dodging pieces of equipment that were scattered about in the hull. He wasn't positive if Kim was going to make it out alive, but he'd make sure that Uzi would catch that dirt nap he missed a month back.
"Don't worry Kim!" he thought aloud. "I'm coming."
With a swift kick to the door handle, the piece of plastic flung open and he hurled himself toward the pilot with an outstretched leg taking the lead.
"Flying kick now!" he yelled, and he felt his sole connect with the man's cheek, as he was about to turn around--
--And his whole body flopped onto the control panel, shifting to the right slightly before Ron touched down. The floor clanged as the man flopped out of the chair in a heap, jerking the control yoke with it. The whole craft curved to the right, and he nearly lost his balance in the move- -
"AHH--!" someone screamed outside--and small sheets of red and whatnot splattered onto the windshield, oozing down the pane and pooling into a thin red line on the window frame, spotted with what looked like hair and bits of skin. Through the moving red, he could see the soldiers spun on their heels, some with their jaws dropped as they gazed toward the moving craft as Kim and the other woman hightailed it.
"SHOOT THE DAMN THING!" the curly haired one of the bunch shouted in Hebrew. And the glass around him seemed to implode in on the craft; thousands of shiny pieces flying past his face as little sounds of tings and pangs flooded his ears, barely over the erratic staccato of short explosive bursts.
He toppled onto the floor as he caught the sight of a copper shape barreling towards him, cylindrical and coned at the top. His eyes winced shut and his arms covered his head as he curled into a ball. But through the manic polyphony of his surroundings, a series of distinct clacks and clangs were seemed to emerge out of nowhere, seemingly from behind him and they grew louder till they slowed to a stop--
--"Ron!" a familiar voice shouted above him. "Move!"--
--And soon he felt himself being dragged on the floor, the bumpy texture of the cold floor sliding up his cheek hurriedly before everything stopped. His arms clanged as they fell onto the floor, and he lifted his head to see the Kim and the other woman in the cockpit--only to feel that his stomach grew a few pounds heavier.
"Aw. man!" he groaned, pressing a glove to his belly. "Where am I?"
From the cockpit, he could see the auburn hunch her back in the chair, breathing out slowly like she had just came out of a living Hell. The busted windshield no longer portrayed the barren prison that was the island villa, but rather a painting of warm and cool colors the flowed toward them with a bright circle sitting in the middle, colored in a burning red.
"Whew." Kim drew the back of her hand across her crown, the other ripping that tiara thingy off her hair. It nearly hit him in the face as she whipped it behind her blindly. "Glad we're out of that!"
"Indeed!" the blonde woman breathed, locks of her hair whipping wildly by the breeze through the holes that the bullets punched. "Ugh."
"You okay, Ron?" Kim turned at the waist, perching her head on the shoulder of the seat.
"Yeah.!" he took a knee, breathing in deeply and letting it out. "I was about to toss my cookies in a minute."
"Don't worry." She smiled warmly. "We're out of the fortress villa."
"Hmm." the blonde woman said, her voice thick with an accent he hadn't heard in over a decade. "Okay kids, it's answer time! Who are you guys and what were you doing there? You could have gotten killed!"
"Nice to meet you too, Ms. Hershel!" Kim shot.
"Don't give me that crap!" the woman growled. "I've spent nearly two months trying to get into the villa just for that meeting, and the next thing I know, you two show up and blow my cover!"
"Gee--" Kim said sardonically. "Thanks Ms. Possible for saving my sorry hide!"
"Possible?" the woman turned her head, blinking. "You're *the* Kim Possible of that Escutcheon incident a month back?"
"The very same!" Kim folded her arms behind her head, letting her body slouch in the seat. "That gave Uzi that Mercedes scar on his neck, of course. Pf. thought he bought the farm too. Shows how much I was wrong, eh?"
"Then who's the blond back there with the motion sickness?"
"Ronald. R. Stoppable!" he groaned, nearly falling flat on his face as he tried to push himself up into kneeling. "The man who put old man Drazen out of commission."
The woman stole a quick glance at him, moving her tan head hurriedly over her shoulder and back again. "Yep." The mat of long, blonde hair nodded. "Looks like picture on file."
"All right then!" the auburn said. "Now who might you be, Ms. Hershel? .If that's your real name."
"You're right," the blonde nodded, "it is Hershel. If you didn't hear back there, my first name is Ariel. I'm with the Mossad."
"Uh. okay--let's pretend I don't know what that is." his fingers gripped the corner of a nearby crate and he hoisted himself onto his feet, wobbling gently to the slight rocking of the craft.
"Israeli intelligence service, Ron." Kim interjected. "It's like their equivalent of our CIA or NSA--which ever carries out assassinations secretly."
"We do whatever we have to do in order for the security of the country." The blonde said. "Speaking of which. what exactly were you two vigilantes doing at the Senor Senior villa--?"
"What??" the auburn whipped her head around. "We're not vigilantes!"
"If you're not sanctioned by your government," the woman noted, "you're nothing more than the target to me. At least--that's how I take it. Now answer my question."
"Did you and your boys over in Israel hear about the bombing at an airport in Middleton?"
"Um--yes: to a certain degree." the woman's head angled slightly, briefly before it leveled on her blue shoulders.
"A friend of mine gave me a tip that the suspect could be attending a meeting with the Seniors. I wasn't sure why, until."
The females exchanged information parsimoniously, but he lost interest as they blabbed on about things already in the past. What's done is done, and there was nothing they could do about it. That intelligence service might have been a little ticked, but a simple grin stretched across his lips.
*As long as there are no more bombings, I think they can live-- *
The cuff of the leg of his pants moved on his shin erratically, and his smile dropped to a wince as he felt something pinch its way up its leg. He felt a soft patch of warmth as it managed to work its way under the pants' waist, the warmth sliding and pinching up his chest until he saw a little blob of pink poke out the shirt collar.
"Buddy!" he smiled warmly, and his fingers carefully wrestled the mole rat out of his shirt. "I was worried!"
"He--huh!" the rat nodded his little head. "Me. too!"
His chest swelled with joy as he soaked in the toothy smile of his friend--his family. As his lips spread, returning the gesture, his eyes couldn't help but lock onto a small patch of red, smeared onto the bottom of his buddy's buckteeth. It was almost as if he bit into something-- someone, just by the way the fresh red ran parallel to the grain of the enamel.
"I during the meeting, I was recording the conversation on a small recorder." The woman continued, voice a little thick with apprehension. He lifted his head, and he saw one of the woman's hands snake its way into her blouse. Rough crumples echoed throughout the cabin, lifting the thin device out of her blouse and quite a few parts tapped onto the floor. A roll of tape unraveled towards him, leaving a thin line of mud brown behind wherever its spool went. It clattered to a stop next to the crate nearby. "Crap!!"
"What the heck happened to it?" Kim said.
"Damn!" the console cried out a split second later, just after he saw the blonde's clenched fist lift up and fall down. "My station chief is going to kill me!"
"So not the drama, Ariel!" the auburn said confidently, and her hands began to run themselves over her body, patting in certain patches. "I just happened to record the meeting too. Now where's. oh no--Rufus!"
"Don't worry, KP!" he called, carefully letting down his son onto the floor. "He's right here."
"Oh--thank heavens!" he craned her head over the shoulder of the seat again, carefully curving around it just as her emerald eyes caught site of the buddy sitting nearby. "Do you have the Kimmunicator?"
"Yep-yep-yep!" the pink boy nodded, pointing blindly behind him.
Her pumps clanged on the metal floor as she walked towards him, and them behind him briefly. She walked past him, for the cockpit with her bulky, blue PDA in her slender grasp. Her rump met the cushion of the copilot seat with a squelch.
"Whew." she sighed. "It's all here!"
"Before or after his recital?" the blonde asked. "It's no good if you got nothing but his shoddy playing."
"After." She nodded, and a little thin sheet of metal stuck out of the PDA like it had been ejected. She took it into her fingers, holding it between the index and middle like a cigarette, and she held it close to the woman's blonde hair. "It's on this memory card. You can have it, clean and clear."
"BS!" the blonde looked over at her, eyes beaming sheer skepticism. "Nothing's free from you Americans! What's the catch?"
"You bring us into your government's operation." She smirked.
"Do I look like a recruiter to you?" the woman narrowed her gaze. "This is not Mission: Impossible, Possible! You can't expect me to pull strings just for you and Blondie back there!"
"I'm not asking you to." She shook her head. "I'm telling you to."
"What do you want then?"
"We help you clandestinely." She grinned. "This VSA group knows about you and your other boys at the Mossad, right?"
"And?"
"But they don't know about us." She explained, and he cocked an eyebrow. What was his crush getting at? "We can be your Aces in the hole."
"What the hell's in it for you guys?" the woman blinked.
"Did you listen to why I was here?" she moaned. "My only lead was hacked to pieces by the dang propeller! This VSA is the closest thing we have in the bombing! If I can get close to a unit--cell--however they organize, I might get an even better lead."
"Ugh!!" the woman briefly threw her hands up in the air before dropping to the yoke. "What good can you do if the whole damn world knows your face!?"
"I think of something." She slouched in the seat. "Where's this station of yours?"
"." The woman mumbled. ".Downtown Madrid."
"Good." She breathed. "Take us there."
"Right. My superiors need to debrief you anyway."
"Um." he spoke up. "Am I the designated clueless on this flight?"
"I'll try to clarify for you later, Ron." She said tiredly and shook her head. "Just try to think of what you want for dinner or something."
"Humph.!" He frowned, feeling that little tingle of annoying anger eat away in chest. Even when he saved her life from impending death a month ago, she still didn't give him much respect. Amazing how he dealt with it, really. "Whatever you say, KP."