Thursday, June 22nd, 2017
10:34 GMT+2 (08:34 GMT June 22nd)
The Aegean Sea
Two hundred feet below...
The Project 945A Kondor submarine was known to the western powers as a Sierra II class submarine.
The 110-metre submarine had a crew of just sixty-one aboard. One man of that crew had a difficult decision to make. He was not in a position to send in his Spetsnaz troops to take control of the underwater facility – the British submarine had appeared on the scene far too swiftly. The submarine should not even have been in the Aegean Sea; that had been a very rude surprise. The plan had been for him to drop off a dozen Spetsnaz troops and then loiter in the area, but that plan was dead, and he was being hunted from beneath the surface by submarine as well as from above the surface by helicopters. At first, they had not known that it was a British submarine, but the submarine was so quiet that it could only be either a British Astute or American Virginia class submarine. It had quickly become apparent that they were facing a British submarine as more tonals had been analysed.
The captain had then examined the second half of his orders concerning what to do should the British ship on the surface not move and/or his Spetsnaz troops fail in their task to seize the underwater facility. The orders were plain, but they were also suicide with the British submarine so close.
There was one chance, and one chance only...
10:35 GMT+2 (08:35 GMT June 22nd)
Back on the surface...
The eighteen-foot weapon of destruction raced at five-hundred knots just thirty-two feet above the surface of the Aegean Sea.
The missile launch had been witnessed by Snake Zero Two who had called out over the Guard frequency: "Bruiser! I say again: bruiser!" The announcement had told everyone listening that an anti-ship missile had just been launched into the fray.
The SPY-1D radar aboard the USS ROSS immediately identified the missile launch and the AEGIS weapon system assigned a pair of RIM-156A Standard SM-2ER Block IV surface-to-air missiles to the inbound bruiser. On the bow, a siren sounded, and the forward Mark 41 vertical launch system of thirty-two missiles came to life as one of the hatches opened smartly. Then a blast of fire and smoke erupted as a Standard missile roared out of its silo and arced into the blue sky. Almost before the smoke had cleared, another missile blasted out of a neighbouring silo and followed the first into the sky. The two missiles raced through the sky at Mach 3.5, angling downwards to where the computer system believed the inbound Kh-59MK anti-ship missile, known to NATO as the AS-13 Kingbolt, would be at a given point in time. The Standard missiles would arrive there at the exact moment the Russian missile would – at least that was the plan.
The first Standard missile tipped over and dived downwards, where it exploded when it reached the point where it thought the Russian missile to be. The warhead formed shrapnel which blasted outward, but the expanding cloud of shrapnel narrowly missed the inbound Russian missile which had just altered course as it began to zig and zag. The next missile caused the big anti-ship missile to swerve as the explosion knocked it off course but the missile's computer brain swiftly commanded the control surfaces to bring the weapon back on course towards the large image stored within its memory which matched that which it could see on the horizon before it.
Then the Kingbolt missile entered its terminal phase, dropping down to just a dozen feet above the blue waters of the Aegean, boring in on the unmistakable target which was CALICO QUEST.
10:35 GMT+2 (08:35 GMT June 22nd)
And up in the air...
The AIM-132 ASRAAM missile roared off the launch rail and flew out from under the left wing of the Royal Air Force Typhoon FGR.4 fighter.
The Advanced Short-Range Air-to-Air Missile flew through the air at over Mach 3, jinking and twisting as it remained locked onto the heat emissions of the evading Russian Su-35S fighter. The missile easily ate up the gap, matching every move the Russian jet made and the computer brain ignored the flares which exploded out as a distraction. The Russian pilot became increasingly desperate as he tried to escape the clutches of the homicidal air-to-air missile. The missile could turn at 50G, something which the pilot would not survive, so inevitably, the missile moved in closer and closer until the laser proximity fuse triggered the 10-kilogramme blast/fragmentation warhead. The explosion blew apart the left quarter of the jet, shredding the port horizontal stabiliser and sending the port vertical stabiliser spinning off towards the sea thousands of feet below. The shrapnel from the explosion also destroyed the port engine duct and while the pilot struggled to contain the erratic behaviour of his damaged jet, the catastrophic battle damage tore away at the port Saturn Al-41F1S afterburning turbofan engine from the inside and after just three seconds, the engine detonated, taking with it the port wing. The pilot decided that flying less than half a jet was not the best idea, so he yanked his ejection levers and was blasted clear of his stricken fighter jet which soon after exploded, pieces plummeting seaward with the pilot.
"Splash one Flanker!" Snake Zero One advised over the Guard channel.
The Typhoon pilot turned with his wingman to engage the second Su-35S Flanker-E.
10:35 GMT+2 (08:35 GMT June 22nd)
Back to the surface...
Two more Standard missiles roared out of their silos.
Only, the intercept equations were coming up short – the Russian Kingbolt would strike CALICO QUEST just seconds before the second salvo of Standard missiles arrived. There was no way that CALICO QUEST would be able to survive a hit from the 320-kilogramme high explosive warhead, not to mention the kinetic energy from the missile striking the waterline at almost the speed of sound. The vessel would burn horribly from the remaining fuel aboard the missile and her watertight integrity would most likely be critically compromised during the initial detonation and explosion of the warhead.
NIGHTSHADE roared out over the Aegean Sea, Keira punching out chaff from the launchers as rapidly as she could, to distract the ARGS-59 active radar seeker. Keira was a naval pilot and she knew a lot about naval weapon systems including those weapons which were designed to destroy the ships which she flew from. The basic Kh-59 missile was an aged TV-guided land-attack design from the early 1980s but upgraded over the years and also converted into a radar-guided anti-ship missile called the Kh-59MK. The radar-guided version of the weapon was susceptible to distraction and while CALICO QUEST was a civilian vessel (officially), she was by no means undefended (unofficially) but chaff and radar decoys only worked when a vessel was underway and the giant vessel was not moving an inch. The blossoming chaff clouds expanded and spread, creating a very attractive alternative for the anti-ship missile's radar-controlled brain – it was like an all you can eat blood bank to a vampire (or Hit Girl), and the missile altered course slightly, blasting past the CALICO QUEST and giving the inbound Standard missiles those precious extra seconds to intercept.
The first Standard missile detonated just ahead of the AS-13 Kingbolt while the second made a skin-skin kill on the centre of the Russian missile which was all but vaporised by the combined explosives of the American missiles and the warhead on the Russian missile detonating the remaining fuel on all three missiles.
The sections of remaining missile splashed into the Aegean Sea a little over a nautical away from the intended target.
10:42 GMT+2 (08:42 GMT June 22nd)
Below the surface...
HMS ARTFUL
Commander Charles Harvey stood in the control room of his command.
He was in very shallow waters which reduced his ability to manoeuvre and it was a bad place for sounds to propagate and for the sensitive flank sonar arrays to pick up those sounds and identify manmade sounds above the hundreds and thousands of biologicals. It did not help that things were blowing up above them and engines were racing, just adding to the cacophony of sounds. In amongst those sounds was a Russian submarine. There were also several helicopters up there, three on his side and one for the other side, not to mention that there was also a Russian frigate a dozen miles to the west.
The sonar crew were working hard to identify what was going on and to get a track on the Russian submarine. They had had glimpses of the enemy which they had classified as a Sierra II submarine which was a difficult foe and one which was well-armed and thus dangerous now a shooting war had begun, however, they could not shoot until fired upon, and as such, they had six torpedo tubes loaded with warshot Spearfish heavyweight torpedoes ready for launch at a second's notice...
"Torpedo! Torpedo! Torpedo! Torpedo red-one-seven. Torpedo! Torpedo! Torpedo! Torpedo green-two-zero!"
Commander Harvey leapt into action as he checked his ship's heading.
"Helm! Ahead flank! Weapons! Snapshot, bearing two-four-one. Snapshot, bearing three-zero-two."
Load clangs sounded from forward as a pair of Spearfish torpedoes were ejected out into the water.
"Weapon one away!" the weapons controller responded. "Weapon two away!"
"Helm! Cavitate! Starboard ten! Release noisemakers!"
As the deck tilted, Commander Harvey had to be careful not to break the fibreoptic cables trailing out from behind each seven-metre weapon. Their onboard sonar systems began to sniff out any sign of the enemy submarine, sending those signals back down the fibreoptic cables to the computers aboard ARTFUL which would collate the information and mix it in with the sounds being picked up by the various sonar arrays built into ARTFUL's hull.
"Sonar!" the commander called out. "Where are those inbound fish?"
"Both coming in red four-five . . . hold . . . we have one torpedo veering off to the east."
"Bloody hell!" Commander Harvey exclaimed. "Take us up, antenna depth!"
The submarine angled upwards sharply, the deck tilting.
10:45 GMT+2 (08:45 GMT June 22nd)
CALICO QUEST
Captain Hunt was very unhappy about the radio signal he had just received from the British submarine.
"Repeat: Calico Quest, you have a torpedo inbound, advise you manoeuvre."
"Mr Forbes! You know what to do," Captain Hunt directed one of his officers.
Third Officer Luther Forbes leapt down the ladders leading off the bridge and he jumped through two hatches and out onto the trunk deck just below the bridge. He raced around to the port side, overlooking the flight deck, and he yanked the grey cover off a weird looking device with eight tubes sticking out about a foot, seven of which were arranged in a circle with an eighth tube in the centre. The man then ran over to the starboard side and he pulled the cover off a similar device. He then raised a hand up to the bridge before running back around to the hatch at the rear of the deck.
On the bridge, Captain Hunt reached up to a control panel labelled EAD LAUNCHER CONTROL mounted on the back wall of the bridge and he twisted a black knob to the right. One-by-one, a blue LED lit up above and to the left of sixteen red buttons arrayed in two rows of eight. Captain Hunt then turned a key and a green LED illuminated above and to the right of each red button. Finally, he stabbed the first two red buttons. A claxon sounded up on deck and then there was a double thump as a single tube fired on each side of the trunk deck and a projectile arched into the air to port and starboard. A parachute deployed on each projectile, slowing them down as they dropped into the ocean some eighty yards from the side of the ship. As the projectiles struck the water, the parachutes were released, and the projectiles sank. A buoyancy bag was deployed from each projectile, suspending said projectile some eighteen feet below the surface where the projectiles began to emit sounds and underwater disturbances which, it was hoped, would decoy the inbound torpedo.
All they could do was pray.
10:42 GMT+2 (08:42 GMT June 22nd)
Below the surface...
HMS ARTFUL
The ninety-seven-metre submarine flew through the water like an overlarge fighter aircraft, banking sharply as it twisted and turned in its attempts to outmanoeuvre the pursuing UGST heavyweight torpedo.
The inbound seven-metre torpedo moved at fifty-knots and was drawing closer and closer as ARTFUL moved at thirty-one knots. Naturally, the torpedo could turn tighter and maintain speed, but the torpedo only had a limited range before it ran out of liquid propellant. On the plus side – yes, there was a plus side – the weapon was wire-guided and thus controlled by the mother submarine, but should the wire be cut, then the weapon would have to guide itself and torpedoes could be spoofed. One sure way to sever the guidance wires was to encourage the opponent to manoeuvre. ARTFUL had already cut the wires to her two Spearfish torpedoes and closed the bow caps to reload the tubes and accelerate. The two torpedoes were amongst the best in the world and they travelled at seventy knots, rapidly closing the gap.
"Contact! Red two-five! Sierra three-four cavitation!"
The Russian submarine had detected the inbound torpedoes and then figuratively stomped on the gas, accelerating hard and turning to avoid the deadly weapons pursuing them.
10:47 GMT+2 (08:47 GMT June 22nd)
CALICO QUEST
The giant vessel was moving slowly sideways and astern.
The thrusters moved the vessel at less than two knots, but enough to take her away from the underwater facility and also the torpedo decoys. The crew were scanning all around them with binoculars, searching for any sign of trouble. Then came some relief as one of the American Seahawk helicopters reported that the inbound torpedo was circling the decoy launched from the port launcher. Then came an amazing sight as a black object emerged from the surface of the Aegean Sea almost a mile away amidst a turmoil of seething white water. The Russian Sierra II class submarine had lost depth control while trying to avoid the inbound Spearfish torpedoes and broached. The large submarine was readily identifiable by the flat-topped sail and the bulbous towed-array pod mounted atop the rudder. The seething white water then boiled before exploding into the air as the first of the Spearfish torpedoes struck the hull of the submarine just forward of the sail, the 300-kilogramme directed aluminised PBX explosive tearing apart the outer titanium casing and severally damaging the internal titanium pressure hull.
The nine-thousand-tonne submarine was lifted partially out of the water by the force of the explosion and many systems aboard were shorted by the concussive force which also incapacitated a third of the crew aboard. The submarine began to take on tremendous amounts of water and there was not a lot anybody could do about it as two main ballast tanks had been torn asunder. Then the second Spearfish torpedo detonated beneath the dying submarine, the force of the explosion lifting the submarine clear of the water, snapping the keel. The submarine rolled over to port and entered its death throes. Several men could be seen scrambling out of a hatch near the bow of the submarine, only for them to fall into the sea and then vanish as the submarine continued to roll over and then take its final dive.
For those watching from the CALICO QUEST, it was horrifying, but to those about the ADMIRAL GRIGORIVICH, they were seeing their own kind dying before their very eyes. The Russian frigate captain decided that he did not want to be around when the British submarine decided to find another target for its torpedoes and he promptly turned away from the scene and headed north while his Russian Helix-A helicopter headed for the sinking submarine on the off chance some men might have survived. However, as the still spinning propulsor soared above the surface of the ocean, the helicopter pilot could see that it was hopeless, and he soon clattered off after the retreating frigate just as the last piece of the submarine vanished from sight.
The NIZHNIY NOVGOROD would never again sail the world's oceans.
Three hours later...
Nine nautical miles west of Mikonos
13:47 GMT+2 (11:47 GMT June 22nd)
CALICO QUEST
The remaining Su-35S had been blotted out of the sky by the vengeful Hellenic Mirages – no less than five Mica missiles had found the Russian jet which the British Typhoons had shepherded towards the angry Greeks.
To the north, the Hellenic frigate Hydra was escorting the Russian frigate north towards the Black Sea. To the south, the USS ROSS had taken station above the underwater Axis of Evil facility. The air and sub-surface skirmish seemed to have awoken the American Government to the threat, much as the killing across London had with the British Government. Indeed, the Sixth Fleet had received a Presidential Directive and the USS GEORGE H.W. BUSH was moving east so she could provide cover for the area. A second destroyer was already on the way as was a nuclear-powered submarine.
On the flight deck, forward, a US Navy MH-60R Seahawk had just landed to collect a pair of Russian sailors who had made it off the NIZHNIY NOVGOROD as it had sunk. The two sailors had been spotted in the water by two eagle-eyed sailors aboard CALICO QUEST and the seaboat had been swiftly deployed to collect the pair. The same helicopter had just plucked a very wet Russian pilot from the sea forty minutes earlier and was headed back to the USS ROSS. The two sailors had been checked over, from a medical point of view, then provided with dry clothing, despite the fact that one of their torpedoes had just finished going round and round in circles when its fuel had run out – the torpedo that had been intended for CALICO QUEST.
As for the other torpedo, that weapon had hit a rock outcropping when the guidance wire had been severed and HMS ARTFUL had lived to fight another day.
That afternoon...
15:47 GMT+2 (13:47 GMT June 22nd)
CALICO QUEST
Laurel sat staring at her interrogators.
"What are you guys involved in?" she asked.
"It is customary for the prisoner to answer the questions," Keira pointed out.
"I'm dead whatever I do, right?"
"Wrong!" Harper growled.
"I've gone bad – no coming back from that, is there, Harper?"
"Actually, there is," Kate said as she glared at Laurel. "I chose the wrong side and I fought against Hit Girl in Chicago. I sided with FEAR as she promised us so much – she gave us a new name; we became Marauders. We hurt people, all for fucking money – I've got several hundred thousand in cash stashed away which nobody but me knows about. That's blood money which I will never touch; I'd rather starve. The best thing that happened to me was being captured by Fusion and then given back my life. It was hard work and I had to prove myself to many people, but I was rewarded for turning my back on what I was and embracing the future. Yes, I'm damaged. Yes, I have skills I wish I had never learned, but all I can do is look to the future. A year ago, I was very much alone, and I fell into bad company. Now, I have a family and I have parents who love me for who I am. I have a job and I go to school. I have my life mapped out – for the next few years at least. If I can turn my life around, then so can you, Laurel Booth."
"Okay, what do I need to do to get a life?"
"Tell us everything you know about who you were working for," Jasper said.
"Where should I start?"
"At the beginning is always good," Jasper suggested.
"When Urban Predator came apart, I was with Vulcan – er, Koby Morrow – and we were in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. We were abandoned. Then came hell on earth as we ran and ran, then we ended up in Taiwan. We fell in amongst a bad crowd in Saudi Arabia who were supposed to have helped us, but they were just using us. Then we fought – me and Koby – and I hurt him badly on a boat to Seattle. When we got ashore, Koby vanished – he ran without me . . . I don't really blame him, to be honest. I was given an ultimatum – work or die. They knew what I could do; I hadn't hidden it too well. I was thirteen and I was alone being made to do petty crime to bring in cash. They paid me some, but I just went out and did more for them."
"They had you hooked," Keira commented.
"I was too good for my own good, I suppose," Laurel grimaced. "I was sent from Seattle down the coast to Los Angeles where I met a woman called Rosa who worked for a stuck-up bastard!"
"He wasn't called Dieter was he, by any chance?" Jasper asked as he took notes.
"Yes."
"Nice chap, was he?"
"He was the fucking worst! He was fucking evil – Rosa tried to keep me doing minor tasks around L.A. but Dieter seemed to know a lot about Predators and I was used to beat up store owners and threaten their families in some protection racket he had running. That man had his fingers in many different pies – I . . . I started taking detailed notes on his activities, just in case, you know?"
Jasper nodded approvingly.
"And these notes of yours – where are they?"
"Safe."
"How extensive are they?" Jasper pushed.
"There's about eight months' worth of recordings, personal notes, computer files which sort of found their way to me – enough to put Dieter Mannheim, Noah Trembley, William Fraser, Susan Cummings, Séverin Coulomb , and Gabriel Agreste away for the next ten thousand years without parole."
"Ah, Cummings and Coulomb – well, we took them out, a couple of weeks ago," Jasper said dismissively. "However, the rest are still at large."
"You intend on taking them down?" Laurel asked.
"Every damn one of them," Rylee confirmed.
"I know Mannheim was pissed when Radford got taken out – was that you guys?"
"I spent time with Radford and his daughter," Harper said as she pulled up her T-shirt to reveal some of her multitude of scars. "Keira blew the cunt away."
Lauren had winced at the wounds on Harper's chest, recognising torture when she saw it.
"If I get you my notes – they are up to date as of about six days ago – will that buy me my freedom?"
"It'll buy you a house in Santa Monica if it's as good as it sounds," Jasper said. "Where is it?"
Laurel grinned.
"I'm rather proud of myself where I've hidden it, actually, but I ain't gonna tell you because I don't fucking trust any of you – I don't even know any of you."
"We can take you to get it," Keira said.
"It's in sections," Laurel said. "We need to go to Berlin, first."
"Berlin?" Tanya asked.
"That's in Germany," Laurel pointed out.
"I know that!" Tanya growled as Laurel grinned.
"Well, let's go visit Berlin, shall we?"
"How are we going to get there?" Laurel asked.
"We fly," Jasper said.
"I only fly First Class," Laurel pushed.
"Oh, I think we can do a little better than that," Jasper commented.
Alya grinned as she went to make a phone call.
A few hours later...
19:47 GMT+2 (17:47 GMT June 22nd)
Over the Ionian Sea
Southwest of Greece
G-CNVY (NIGHTSHADE)
They had launched from CALICO QUEST a little over an hour previously, and they were making directly for Valetta, Malta from where they would catch a Boeing 787 to Berlin.
Laurel was stunned by the opulence of the helicopter in its civilian guise – the girl had not seen it as the military registered ZJ998 helicopter known as NIGHTSHADE but only as the civilian registered G-CNVY. The girl sat – sans restraints – in on of the four aft seats, two of which faced forward and two which faced aft. Laurel occupied the window seat facing forward. Opposite her sat Harper and Simon while Tanya sat beside Laurel – it was unnecessary as there was plenty of seats for the ten of them in the back of the giant helicopter. Cameron, Jasper, David, and Adrien sat in the forward section of the aircraft leaving Rylee and Alya sitting in the two of the four seats which faced inward, and Rylee sat grinning at Laurel while Alya busily tapped away on her tablet. In the front office (the cockpit) Keira and Kate were busy flying the helicopter.
With the carpets, headlining, and luxuriously upholstered seats installed, the helicopter was amazingly comfortable to fly in and relatively quiet compared to when it was stripped out.
..._...
The three hour flight allowed Laurel plenty of time to consider what she needed to do and how she was going to do it.
Would they be angry with her for using them? Probably. Would they see that she had no other choice? Probably. Could she trust them? It was difficult to say – she had not trusted anybody in months. She knew that she was putting herself in danger and putting herself out in the open where she would probably be killed, but if it solved her problem, then her death would be worth it every time. With her planning semi-complete, Laurel stood up and walked forward. She could feel Rylee's eyes watching her as she walked – Rylee did not trust her at all . . . she was a good judge of character, Laurel considered.
As she peered into the cockpit, her eyes went wide at the hi-tech screens and arrays of buttons and switches. Even more amazing was the fact that Kate knew how to fly. Laurel had heard rumours about Predator Kestrels, but she had not known that the rumours were actually true.
"You actually know what all these buttons do?" Laurel asked Kate.
"Most of 'em," Kate replied.
"Can Kate really fly?" Laurel asked Keira.
"Oh, yes," Keira confirmed. "Kate can really fly."
"You think this is all faked?" Kate asked Laurel.
"I don't know what to believe about everything, to be honest."
"We're here to help you," Kate said. "We're not here to trick you. What can we do to persuade you that you're safe with us?"
"I don't know – but I'll think about it," Laurel promised.
Kate went back to her work as Laurel walked back down the helicopter.
Two hours or so later...
21:55 GMT+2 (19:55 GMT June 22nd)
Valetta, Malta
If Laurel had been stunned by the plush helicopter, her jaw had almost hit the deck of an even more amazing aircraft.
The aircraft was a Boeing 787-8 Business Jet in white with a logo floodlit on the tail and the single word 'Cockburn' on the forward fuselage. The aircraft was stunning on the outside, but the inside blew Laurel's mind. At the top of the aircraft steps which led to the second door on the port side, directly ahead of the wing, three uniformed stewards welcomed them all aboard and they were all directed through a corridor created from dark wavy wood panelling, and they entered the main cabin which was screened off from the corridor. As Laurel passed around the screen, she found four cream leather seats, two per side, facing forward. On the back of the wooden screen was a large forty-eight-inch flat-screen television. The floor was carpeted in a pleasant cream and brown plaid while the ceiling was clear of all obstructions and the space was illuminated by discrete LED lighting. Beyond the leather seats, there were a pair of chaise-longues in the centre of the cabin with sideboards beneath the windows to port and starboard. Then there were two four-seat sofas, each below the windows which ran the length of the aircraft. Each of the sofas was complemented by a table and a pair of dark leather seats facing each end of the tables.
"Welcome aboard!" a voice called out which was remarkably familiar to all but Adrien, Alya, and Laurel. "I am Lara Cockburn, and this is my Senior Steward, Amelia Hunt who will make you all comfortable."
Amelia guided everyone to their seats in the aft cabin and ensured that they were securely strapped in. Then she turned to Lara.
"Lady Cockburn, your seat, please."
Laurel's ears pricked up at the use of Lara's title. Things were getting more confusing by the moment, she thought as she sat back in her seat. They did not have much time to wait as the aircraft soon taxied for take-off and then accelerated hard down the runway and then they roared into the dark sky. The jet turned to the north as they climbed to altitude.
Flight time to their destination, Berlin Tegel Airport, was two hours and forty-two minutes.
..._...
Once the Boeing 787 Business Jet had levelled off, there was a lot of activity as the main cabin was prepared for supper.
Then Amelia called everyone forward for food. Everyone, except for Lara, was stunned to find an amazing mix of food arranged as a buffet. Rylee, Tanya, and Simon were the first to pile up their plates with sections of fresh steak, chips, chicken breast, and corn on the cob. Kate noticed that Laurel actually smiled as she filled her plate with food and Kate waved to a seat beside her.
"It's not poisoned," Kate commented as Laurel poked at the meat on her plate.
"I know," Laurel grinned as she chewed on a chunk of sirloin steak.
Part way through supper, Lara stepped over to where Laurel and Kate sat.
"Laurel, I understand you have no luggage – we've sorted that out for you, and you will find a holdall with toiletries and some clothing at your seat," Lara said.
"For me?"
"You needed some clothing, right?"
Laurel nodded as she felt a little overwhelmed.
"Stop being a cold bitch and start enjoying life," Kate suggested as she continued to eat.
Laurel was not sure about that, so she said nothing.
..._...
Keira smiled as Lara joined them.
"Lady Cockburn."
"Stop with that," Lara groaned. "What's with moody ice queen?"
"Laurel has been through a lot and she has no idea who to trust," Jasper explained.
"But there's something else about her," Keira said. "She's like Harper was when she first got back – secretive, devious, and with one hell of a chip on her shoulder. I don't trust her."
"I am not devious!"
Keira jumped at the sound of Harper's voice.
"Don't sneak up on people, Harper!" Keira growled.
"I don't trust her either," Harper said.
"Don't listen into other people's conversations, Harper," Keira added.
"Can't help it – I am what I am."
Harper grinned at her sister before she walked off to see Rylee.
"See?" Keira said. "She is what she is, and so is Laurel. They are both sneaky little..."
"I heard that!" Harper threw back over her shoulder.
"Little shit!"
"That too!"
Cameron laughed, knowing full well that Keira and Harper were inseparable, despite outward appearances. However, Harper was very astute, and she had read Laurel just as well as the adults had. Cameron was concerned that Laurel had another agenda and as such, suitable arrangements had been made for when they arrived in Berlin. For the moment, Kate appeared to be the only person to whom Laurel had opened up to, and Kate had been directed to see how far she could go in figuring out the young Firestorm.
Once everyone had eaten, the aircraft was flying over Salzburg, Austria and Amelia guided everyone back to their seats in the rear of the aircraft for some sleep.
Friday, June 23rd
00:02 GMT+2 (22:02 GMT June 22nd)
Berlin Tegel Airport
Berlin, Germany
The Boeing had landed without fanfare at two minutes after midnight.
The thousand-mile flight had been smooth, and all the passengers were still fast asleep even as the aircraft taxied up to gate 15A of Terminal D, the large wingspan of the Boeing easily spreading over gates 15 and 16. The two giant Rolls-Royce Trent 1000 engines wound down after a power connection was made to the Berlin electrical grid and the aircraft crew settled down for the night. Amelia, the senior steward waved goodnight to the pilots who headed off to their hotel before she secured the main door and then headed aft to check on her passengers. Spread amongst the eighteen first-class seats in the aft cabin, twelve people were fast asleep. Amelia grinned at two of the youngest, Simon and Rylee, who lay facing each other. Next to them was Tanya who had Harper lying beside her – Harper was moaning as she slept, obviously in the middle of a minor nightmare. Moving on, Amelia looked down on the newcomer, Laurel. The fourteen-year-old girl was sleeping on her own and she was not sleeping well. The girl's electric blonde hair was spread across her pillow even as she twitched through her own nightmare. Two seats away, the oldest child there, Kate, lay sprawled across her lay-flat seat. A white bandage was visible on her left bicep, evidence of a recent injury. Amelia was well aware that her passengers were not ordinary people and that the children were not normal children – not at all. Her employer, she also knew was something special and she respected the young woman who had been thrust into the limelight after a most horrific time in her life. Indeed, Amelia was aware that every child in the aircraft at the moment had endured some hell or another. Amelia did not know the exact details, but she knew enough to know that she did not want to know any more.
Amelia had previously worked for Virgin Atlantic, some years before she had been poached by Lara's father to look after what was then their in-build 787-8 Dreamliner Business Jet – the only one of its type in the world at the time. Amelia was in her early forties and she had been a stewardess for near on eleven years. Prior to that, she had spent ten years in the Royal Army Medical Corps which had included a single tour in Iraq during which she had been injured and she had received the Military Cross – she had left the Army as a twenty-seven-year-old Corporal in 2004. As such, she could recognise combat stress and combat injuries. It was her prowess at customer service and her skills as a combat medic which had caused Richard Cockburn to pirate her away from Virgin Atlantic with an amazing salary and employment package, after one of his exceedingly rare flights on a commercial airliner. She had served the man in first class during a flight to New York and she had had to endure the extremely immature behaviour of a nasty fifteen-year-old teenager called Lara Cockburn, but she had taken control and given Lara cause to tone down her attitude which had amazed her father. Indeed, she had received a letter offering her a job that very evening as she was re-boarding the aircraft to fly back to London. The rest, as they say, was history.
She was also the aircraft's primary defence against attack on the ground and her background ensured that she was extra cautious as she checked on her colleagues who were asleep in their own seats at the back of the aircraft before she walked forward to confirm all was secure before she herself turned in.