Author's Note: This is where we rejoin Vengeance after the end of my other story: Vigilante Fallout. Nine months have passed since Chapter 87 of Vengeance and around four months have passed since the final events of Vigilante Fallout.
Saturday, January 20th, 2018
Dreadnought House
Dollar, Scotland
Eighteen days.
That was how long the noisy bundle had been alive.
Cassandra Bedford was as proud a new mum as any woman could possibly be. While the birth had been traumatising, she had battled through it like every trial and she had come out the other end better than when she had gone in. She had been exhausted after almost seven hours of labour but the sheer elation at producing a perfect miniature human was simply indescribable. Naturally, her mother, Alexandra, had taken command of the entire event which had included ensuring that Andrew had a ringside seat to understand how much suffering his wife was enduring during said labour. Andrew was also tremendously proud of his newest child, Sean Richard Joseph Bedford, one that was his own. No slight on the two girls, nor the missing Jake.
Jake was a hole and despite her new child, she knew that her life, her family, would not be complete. The boy was missed by every member of the family which included the two girls who worried daily about their brother and his whereabouts, his condition, and if he was even alive. They all knew that Jake, if he was still alive, was being tortured for information. They knew he was trained in counter-interrogation techniques, but there was only so long a thirteen-year-old boy could hold out. Every night Kaitlin and Naomi worried if Jake had succumbed. They had suffered through Harper's disappearance and then her reappearance with dozens of wounds all over her body. Their overactive imagination could imagine the pain which Jake could be enduring, and the two girls often had nightmares.
They were not alone.
Blairhoyle
Stirling
Charlotte Perrin was in her own personal hell.
Her soulmate was missing and there was zero intelligence on his location. She had not slept much since he had gone missing and that had simply made the youngster angry, and her behaviour had deteriorated over the previous months, and she had spent more time in detention and exclusion at school than actually in lessons. The girl had been given a little latitude considering the situation, but that latitude was fast expiring. Twice a week, Charlotte would push herself to the limit at D-JAK in Edinburgh so that she might sleep just two nights without lying awake, dreading sleeping because of the vicious nightmares which would have her snapping awake screaming and dripping with sweat.
It was not the first time Alexandra had had to deal with a rebellious teenaged girl. Two had preceded Charlotte, some years before. However, this was a different breed of teenager and when 'Charlie' acted out, just about anything was possible. The soon-to-be fourteen-year-old had more skills than Alexandra could possibly be aware of which just made handling the girl akin to handling a live explosive device with a hundred potential triggers, many of which were unknown and/or hidden. Charlotte's injuries were also a problem. Her left leg was still healing, and while she was mobile, she was forced to make use of a single crutch which constantly got in the way and only inflamed her volatile temper all the more, especially when exercising.
Alexandra missed the happy girl who would help her cook and always have a joke to tell.
Somewhere in the North Atlantic Ocean...
Royal Navy Type 45 Destroyer - HMS DRAGON
Captain Richard Perrin in comparison was a very happy man.
For the past eighteen days he had smiled non-stop. That mood had been infectious and just about every man and woman aboard the destroyer was just as happy. Every task aboard was completed ahead of schedule and to perfection. Morale was off the scale leaving the vessel's first lieutenant with very little to do as he was struggling to find fault in the crew's work. The increased morale had begun way back in September when the captain had first announced to everyone that his daughter was pregnant.
That was when the pools had begun.
It was, unsurprisingly, the chief petty officers who had organised the pools – for cash – quite illegally. However, even the officers were quite literally onboard with it, including the captain who had placed his very own wagers. As the weeks had passed, the odds had narrowed based on information obtained through 'clandestine means', although Richard had an inkling that his wife was feeding the chiefs with classified information concerning his daughter's status.
Then, as the first watch had begun on the evening of New Year's Day, the tension had risen throughout the destroyer. News had filtered through that Cassandra Perrin had gone into labour almost as the watch had turned. The bridge watch was on tenterhooks as was the captain when he found he could not sleep so he chose to sit in his chair on the capacious bridge and watch the interminable darkness beyond the bridge windows. January 1st soon moved onto January 2nd annoying those you had bet on the 1st for the date of birth. It was 02:44 when there was a beeping sound indicating the receipt of a text message. All eyes turned on the captain as he fumbled nervously for his phone and then peered at the display. Everyone on the bridge saw the growing smile in the dim red lighting. The message was simple:
'CASS AND CHILD FINE. GRANDSON BORN 0234. 7IB 8OZ.'
As the message was read out, the young female able rate at the wheel yelped as she realised that she had correctly guessed the time of birth (within five minutes) – 02:34 – and later she would (happily) make off with £48.83 of winnings. Very swiftly – like wildfire (there are never any secrets aboard a warship) – the simple message found its way from stem to stern of the vessel and into every space. The executive officer, Commander Ben Shenton, walked off with £75 for coming up with the birth weight of seven pounds and eight ounces with a bonus of £14 for correctly guessing at the sex. But it was down to the oldest man aboard, Warrant Officer 1 Eli Lavin, to predict that the birth would indeed occur on the advised date of January 2nd, 2018.
For the unfortunate Captain Richard Perrin, the news that he now had a grandson did not help him get any sleep!
Chalfont Lane
Chorley Wood, England
For the young twelve-year-old girl, it was a dream come true.
The house was massive, and Frieda had her own, equally large, personal part of it as her bedroom. Even better, her bedroom was next door to that of her fifteen-year-old big sister, Freya. Being so close to her sister as they slept and to see her every morning was quite simply the icing on the cake. Having a father figure was also agreeable to the girl. However, Frieda's elder sister, Freya, was not entirely convinced that their new guardian had properly thought through what he was taking on. While Freya was enjoying the space to rest and recuperate after her year in the jungle not to mention the further beatings to her body in recent months, she was concerned about her future and for the future of her sister.
Craig Lawrence could not have been happier. His home reverberated with the sounds of life and laughter. The two girls were swiftly changing his life – all for the good. Frieda was a handful, but she loved to sit and chat about anything and everything. Every weekday, she would return from school and avail Craig with every single activity of the day, narrating every step from first lesson to leaving through the school gates. Craig had been concerned about how he would feel having the two girls living with him but so far everything was working out brilliantly, he thought. Freya could be moody, but she was enjoying school – apparently – although she was not so vocal about her activities as was Frieda.
On a positive note, Craig had discovered that Freya could cook amazingly well, and she had made some significant changes to the menus and severely criticised his normal fare.
Further North...
Auchenross,
Scotland
Ariana and Dakota seemed to be constantly butting heads – or so it seemed.
Dakota was almost sixteen while Ariana was in the early months of being fifteen. Sinead spent much of her time defusing tense situations which twice had dissolved into actual fighting which was vicious when two skilled assassins tried their utmost to kill one another. Ultimately, it had been Gerome McFadden, her father, who had managed to mould the two troubled girls into two friends by directing their energies into semi-competitive exercises which more often than not ended in giggling rather than expletives and bruising.
Sinead knew that her father could be decisively manipulative, and she too had 'suffered' along those lines in her younger years. At first, Sinead had worried that Ariana would not fit in but that had changed dramatically allowing the family to flourish together. Indeed, her own mother had made a comment on Ariana which had embarrassed Sinead and Dakota: "It is so nice to have a determined young woman in the house who knows what she wants. Sinead was always a bit wishy-washy, and Dakota often has her head in the clouds." That had had Ariana giggling and Dakota scowling with Sinead simply frowning at her mother.
However, Sinead knew that it meant Ariana had been firmly accepted into the family.
Sunday, January 21st
Sheerness Lifeboat Station
At first, nobody paid much attention to the Range Rover Sentinel painted in a glossy deep blue.
Nobody appeared to notice the custom registration plate: S4 BRE. But when the front doors opened and two females stepped out, heads turned. It was broad daylight and to see two masked members of Vengeance out and about was very unusual. Both were clad in the undress dark blue uniform with their names embroidered above the Vengeance sabres on the left side of their chest. The names in this case were SCORPION and GOSHAWK. Neither was openly armed as was befitting the mission ahead of them.
"Good morning," Scorpion offered as she walked up to the reception desk. "I am looking for the coxswain of the lifeboat: George and Ivy Swanson."
"Er, yes...," stammered the female receptionist who vanished from sight.
Three minutes later, a tall man appeared, and he nodded at the two masked women, understanding immediately why they were there.
"It is good to see you both," he said.
"We have a debt to repay," the shorter female, Goshawk, stated as she handed over a white envelope.
The coxswain looked down at the envelope which was plain but for a single typed line: RNLI, Sheerness. Inside the unsealed envelope was a cheque made out to the 'Royal National Lifeboat Institution' for three million pounds and a folded sheet of A4 paper bearing generic type.
It is impossible to truly thank someone for saving lives.
On the night of July 21st, 2017, our helicopter, NIGHTSHADE, encountered difficulties and was forced to ditch in the Thames Estuary. Thanks to the support and expertise of the Sheerness Lifeboat Station, the crew of three and one passenger were safely rescued and returned to dry land by the highly professional crew who put their own lives at risk that night.
While a value cannot be put on a human life, let alone four, something must be done to thank the crew for their time and skill. Please use these funds to build a new Shannon-class lifeboat for service around the shores of our United Kingdom which we all serve with our lives.
With eternal thanks.
VENGEANCE.
The coxswain grinned as he passed the envelope, cheque, and letter to his crew who had appeared to see what was going on.
"Thank you," he said as the two Vengeance vigilantes nodded and left the lifeboat station.
It felt good to be able to thank someone personally for your lives, Kate thought as they pulled away from the lifeboat station. Just a few months before, they had come ashore right there after what was arguably the scariest activity of her short life. That flight had changed her life in more ways than one. That girl had come into her life with her uncle and caused havoc with her carefully arranged family life. But that was for the future – she was not about to allow 'that girl' to upset her happy day.
Keira was in a very good mood – providing funds for a new lifeboat felt really good and she knew that every hull was needed. It was a first for the pair of them to be out in public – in daylight to boot – as their alter egos, but it felt good. The respect received was amazing and demonstrated the feelings felt by the British public for the shadowy vigilante organisation. On the drive back to Edinburgh, Keira's mind drifted to her husband who was still in London but would be joining them the following weekend. She missed Blake but she knew that he had important work to complete as he ensured the wounded men, women, and children – military and vigilante alike – were able to leave the hospital and go home to recuperate. Keira also considered her nutcase of a sister: Harper, and her equally-nutty adopted daughter: Diana. They had both endured and suffered over the previous year but they had also become much closer as two girls in the same family. The bickering and teasing had almost stopped, making their home a much nicer place to be. Harper had commented that life was short and family needed to stay together – a remarkably mature outlook for the ten year old.
As for Diana, she was also taking on more mature outlook to life. The memory of being taken in Europe was still fresh in her mind but she had survived by using her own skills and that had meant a lot to her. Indeed, the entire Firestorm debacle had taught the youngster that she could cope with almost anything despite her major disability. Indeed, Laurel had had many nice things to say about Diana and her conduct which had included taking down Laurel when she had tried to run.
Keira was very proud of her family which also included Kate – to a point.
Tuesday, January 23rd
London, England
Charles Allerton was in his early twenties and his entire life, since he was seventeen had been occupied by the British Army.
The man was a trooper, or more specifically, a Lance Corporal of Horse, in the Life Guards Regiment of the Household Cavalry. One fateful day at the end of May, earlier that year, he had been on duty at Horse Guards when Vengeance had run into trouble*. He could remember the moment like it was yesterday. The piercing blue eyes of the mask beneath the hood and the two words: 'Help me.' Indeed, he had helped that lone female vigilante by disarming one man and killing the next. Then she had run at his own words: 'I can take it from here. Get out of here!' Afterwards, during an intensive debriefing with both the Red Caps (Royal Military Police) and Special Branch, he had pushed to identify the vigilante and if she was still alive, but he had been denied any useful response.
Then, in early October, he had received visitors in his barracks.
...+...
Two men in suits had appeared.
"Lance Corporal of Horse Charles Allerton?"
"Yes."
"SO15. Sergeants Beck and Ryder."
After taking seats in semi-private, all had become slightly clearer.
"May thirtieth this year, you came into contact with a Vengeance vigilante known as Spark," Beck began.
"Was that her name?" Allerton responded; his voice full of concern. "Is she alive? Is she alright?"
"We understand that you have been pushing to find out about the girl," Ryder pushed.
"I just wanted to know if she was okay."
"Would you like to meet her?"
"Yes! I would."
"As you can understand, there is intense security around Vengeance and we have had to check into your background which is impeccable, I might add."
Allerton had frowned at that intrusion into his life, but it was expected considering his position in the British Army.
...+...
Two days later, he had been told to appear at St Thomas's Hospital at 11AM that Saturday.
"Good morning, Lance Corporal. I am Commander Schneider."
"Why am I here, sir?"
"You enquired after Spark. Well, she survived London*, but then in late June during a mission in Africa**, Spark was struck by six bullets from an AKS-74U carbine."
"Jesus wept!"
"An emergency medivac took her to a surgical team who operated on her. She died but then came back to life. She was flown here a few days later where she has endured eighteen major operations. Right now, she is still a very poorly teenager with a long way to go until she is fully healed. Her age is helping her to heal but for now, we do not know the full extent of how long her rehabilitation will take. I just wanted to warn you before you say hello."
"Thank you for telling me, sir."
"This way."
The young soldier followed the officer down a corridor and then into a small private room where a single hospital bed took up the central space. In that bed lay a disgruntled looking youngster. She had long amber-coloured hair tied up in a messy ponytail and pale green eyes which had very little sparkle to them.
"Amber, you have a visitor," Blake offered. "Amber, meet Lance Corporal of Horse Charles Allerton. Lance Corporal, meet Amber Dawson, otherwise known as Spark."
Amber had not really reacted to the other man but then when her alter ego had been mentioned so openly, she 'sparked' up and stared at Blake.
"The Lance Corporal has been cleared for Vengeance, Amber."
"Okay. Who is he? Why is he here?" came the irritable response.
"For some reason," Blake said calmly, very used to the tantrums of females in general. "The man whose help you requested in May has been reaching out to check on you ever since."
"What!?"
"You asked for my help in Horse Guards, and I responded."
"Thank you," a humbled Amber responded.
"I understand you got yourself shot in the desert."
"Yes – wrong place, wrong time; that's me!"
Blake left the pair chatting.
A few hours later...
Scarlett felt weird being back on that hospital floor where she had spent so many weeks of her life after that event.
He had deserved to die, and she had by extension deserved to suffer because of him. Unconsciously, her left hand grasped the artificial appendage which had replaced her natural right hand she had been born with. She walked towards what had been Harper's room and paused, hearing voices. Unsurprisingly, she recognised one voice, and it was a voice which as usual did not belong in that room.
Amber was sitting up in bed enduring Diana.
"You are in the wrong room as usual, Diana," Scarlett commented.
"I was keeping Amber company," Diana responded.
"Amber is quite happy alone," Amber advised Diana.
"I'll leave you two together – I think Laurel needs some company."
Amber sighed happily once Diana had vanished and the door was closed. "She means well."
"This is the floor I spent weeks on when I lost my hand," Scarlett commented wistfully. "That room just over the way."
"Do you miss it?" Amber asked.
"The room?"
Amber glared.
"Course I do," Scarlett responded, knowing Amber meant her hand. "Though I can do most things, even some things I couldn't do with my real hand, there are many things I cannot easily do with this fake hand. I had to learn to masturbate with my left hand: that was a challenge."
Amber coloured and giggled at that last comment. "I think that was an over share, Scarlett!"
Scarlett was surprised to hear the normally strait-laced Amber giggling but then realised that Amber had been through as life-altering a situation as she had.
"I met the guy who saved my life last year."
"The soldier?"
"Yes. The guy from Horse Guards. Apparently, the man's been searching for Spark to see if I survived. He ... his name is Charles Allerton ... he's been cleared for Vengeance. We talked for over an hour, and he has promised to come see me again."
"You like him, then?"
"Yes, I do. He knows that I'm an 'orphan with problems'."
Scarlett laughed as Amber used air quotes.
"You do have problems," Scarlett confirmed with a laugh.
"Yes, we do."
"True. I hope it works out for you, Amber, I really do."
Amber smiled as she considered that her wretched life appeared to be turning around.
Thursday, January 25th
Another member of the British military who had found themselves crossing paths with vigilantes in combat had been one Joanna Regis***.
The twenty-three-year-old Lance Corporal had served in the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers – part of the British Army - since her seventeenth birthday. She had struggled, initially, as she had resented authority figures but, in general, she had fitted in well as a professional soldier. Her minor disciplinary issues had made her ideal for a deep cover mission which she had leapt at as the day-to-day life of a British soldier when not in combat was deemed boring by the young woman. That deep cover mission had involved her going AWOL, inserting herself into a potential terrorist cell, and ultimately ended up with her being tortured by members of Vengeance and Honneur. On her return to blighty, the debrief from that episode had been epic. She had been censured for overdoing her escape from the Military Corrective Training Centre (MCTC) Colchester during which a Red Cap had been hospitalised. However, her commanding officer had been made aware of significant mitigating circumstances (her torture during a blue-on-blue – but not the exact details) which had allowed Lance Corporal Regis to maintain her rank as she was returned to her unit once her injuries had healed and she had taken three weeks of leave.
Considering her brush with Vengeance, Joanna had not been all that surprised to have received a visit – at home during her leave – from a female captain of Royal Marines who had put the fear of God into the young woman about the consequences should she breathe a word of what occurred or even mention the children she came across. In turn, as the New Year came along, she found herself attached to a shadowy unit based at the MoD Main Building in London. Indeed, she had met a very serious Royal Navy Commander who had advised her – in simple words – that she would see and hear things at her new posting which if ever mentioned or repeated could lead to a lot worse than she had suffered at the hands of a certain young girl.
The Commander had also given her a choice to remain or to return to her unit – the proverbial red pill or the blue pill of Matrix fame.
She had chosen the red pill...
..._...
Therefore, that very morning, she had been dispatched to Stanstead airport to make a pickup and ferry around a VIP – in civilian clothes.
The 'VIP' arrived aboard a silver Gulfstream 650ER executive jet carrying the American registration marking: N345AF. Apart from the national registration marking, the aircraft bore a Stars and Stripes upon the vertical stabiliser as well as a purple stripe which curved from the nose to the tail like it was alive. Joanna drove the Government Jaguar XJL towards the aircraft, stopping just beyond the port wing. The airstair lowered and four people descended onto the tarmac. The first was a tall man who was remarkably handsome. Joanna stepped out of the car and held open the rear door. The next out was a young woman – shorter than the man but full of confidence. The previous afternoon, Joanna had enquired about her providing protection for the VIP, but the Commander had just laughed without answering the question. Then Joanna's mouth dropped open as two children emerged – a boy and a girl. There was something about the pair which she could not place.
"Morning, sir, ma'am. Lance Corporal Regis."
"Good morning!" the man said in a perfect British accent.
"What he said," the woman added with an American accent.
"I got shotgun!" the girl said as she ran to the far side and jumped into the front passenger seat, leaving the boy to sit between the adults in the back seat.
"Your appointment at RAF Coningsby is arranged and we will be there in a little under two hours."
"Thank you," the woman responded.
Joanna started the car and drove them out of the airport, her mind racing as she tried to figure out the young girl seated beside her.
Thursday, January 25th
RAF Coningsby,
Lincolnshire
He still limped despite it having been six months since he had ejected from his Typhoon fighter jet.
"Godspeed, Husky Zero-One..."
The survival rate for high Mach number ejections was not a large one. Being blasted out of his disintegrating aircraft which was travelling at Mach 2 (twice the speed of sound) meant enduring significant wind shear which had threatened to tear his body apart as he sat strapped in his seat, tumbling over and over as the Martin Baker Mk16A ejection seat (designed for a maximum airspeed of around six-hundred knots and not double that figure) struggled to stabilise itself prior to deploying a drogue parachute which orientated and slowed the ejection seat enough that the seat could descend normally to the correct altitude where the main parachute had deployed, pulling him from the seat. He could not remember his descent before the parachute opened, nor after. He had regained consciousness in a field, somewhere in Cumbria, being licked by a large cow. His personal locator was activated (by the ejection seat) and confirmed by the pilot before the pain of his injuries had caused him to pass out.
He had broken his right leg in six places and suffered shock damage to his upper body from the windblast. That had required months in hospital where he had received a visit from Martin Baker to enrol him into the Ejection Tie Club – a dubious but pleasant award as it meant he was alive and the ejection seat had performed admirably, ensuring he lived. He would never fly again due to his injuries, but he had enjoyed almost thirty years of flying and he was due for early retirement and going out, quite literally, with a bang made for a good story even if he could not tell it in its entirety for security reasons.
But that day, he was to receive a very special visitor, or so he had been informed.
..._...
Squadron Leader Pat Calder stood up as a man and a woman stepped into the room, escorted but the station Group Captain.
One they were alone, the woman approached him.
"I wanted to thank you, personally, Squadron Leader. I was aboard Husky Zero-One on that day as was my husband and daughter as well as my friends."
"I am glad that you made it to London. I understand the alternative is not worth considering."
"No, squadron leader, the alternative..."
"Humans will always remain intent on harming ourselves, even to the point of extinction."
"Yes, they will, but not on my watch. The world owes you and your men a lot."
"Any officer in my position would have done the same thing. One life means nothing to what could have occurred. Those responsible..."
"They won't have another chance to threaten us," the man said darkly.
Squadron Leader Pat Calder nodded in full understanding.
..._...
Mindy and Dave returned to the car to find their escort awaiting them.
"Sir, ma'am. May I ask a question?"
"Of course, lance corporal," Dave said.
"The girl and boy. I know them."
Mindy braced up.
"Must be almost five years. Yes, around summer, 2013. Stephanie and Jamie Reeman."
"You what?"
Joanna looked down to see the girl standing beside her and glaring into her eyes.
"I know you," Stephanie said.
"I am Joanna Regis. You are Stephanie Summer Reeman. The boy there is James Douglas Reeman. I used to babysit the both of you for your parents, Mark and Jocelyn Reeman. You all vanished when on holiday and I never found out what happened to you all."
Mindy was always conscious of anybody who knew Stephanie in her past as they almost always wanted to kill her. But the sight of tears on her daughter's face told her that what the woman was saying was based on truth.
"What's going on?" Jamie asked as he emerged from the Jaguar.
"This is Jo – do you remember; she used to babysit us when mum and dad went out," Stephanie said.
Jamie screwed up his face as he sought through old, murky memories.
"You used to help me prank Steph," Jamie said as he grinned enormously, and Stephanie scowled.
"Why don't we go and get a late lunch and have a reunion chat?" Dave suggested.
They did exactly that.
That same day...
London
For Julie Truman, the isolation was getting to the seventeen-year-old.
She had endured two weeks of intensive integration at the hands of the Metropolitan Police, Counter Terrorism Command, Interpol, and the French DGSE amongst others . . . then nothing. She had been remanded in a cell, in a Young Offenders Institution. That cell had been her home for over four months. She had not been allowed to socialise with the other inmates nor had she been allowed visitors – not that she had expected to receive any. After the interrogations, the lack of activity or even acknowledgment of her existence tore at her mental state. She was not a bad person in general, but she had strayed; she knew that, and she was trying to demonstrate remorse. She was not even eighteen and she wanted to have a life, but she had no idea how that would be possible as her only family was either incarcerated like her or did not want to even admit to her existence.
Then her cell door had opened one fateful afternoon and a familiar face had entered.
.._...
It was a familiar face – her own face in fact – but not a very welcoming one.
"Face the wall, Truman!" Kate growled.
Obediently, Julie turned to face the wall. She felt humiliation spreading as she was handcuffed, one hand above the other with rigid cuffs.
"Move!" her twin sister directed, pulling her towards the cell door.
Julie almost stumbled as she was pushed out into the public area outside her cell. Nobody else was about and that filled her with foreboding as she was marched through the prison and out into daylight.
"Where...?" she tried.
"Shut up before I tape your mouth shut," Kate hissed in her ear. "Your life is in my hands, and I am going to make it hell on earth."
Julie was led over to a plain white Ford Transit van which it appeared had been converted into a prisoner transport with a cage taking up six feet of the cargo area with the rest given over to seating, a steel partition separating the two sections.
"Get inside."
Julie did and her handcuffs were removed. Then the cage, part steel mesh, part thick transparent Perspex was slammed shut and bolted from the outside, followed by the outer doors which were slammed shut and audibly locked, making Julie suddenly feel very alone and not knowing her fate brought on tears as the van began to move to God only knew where.
..._...
In the cab, Kate sat beside her father who was behind the wheel.
"You don't need to be so hard on her," David said.
"Yes, I do."
David did not bother arguing; he knew what Kate thought of her twin sister who had 'gone bad'. He had tried reminding Kate that she too had 'gone bad' but Kate had not wanted to consider mitigating circumstances. As far as she was concerned, Julie cold rot in hell.
Whether those emotions applied to her uncle, David had not been able to find out. Oliver Truman was not doing well. His medical condition was worsening, and he was not expected to survive the year.
David knew that his adoptive daughter feared her life being torn apart after she had just settled down which was fair. Her school marks were well above average, and she excelled at almost everything that she put her mind to. But there was an overriding worry on her mind which concerned the rest of her life – her career.
Next month would come the crunch. She would be attending the Admiralty Interview Board, the outcome of which would decide if she was suitable for entry into the Royal Navy as a young officer. It was Kate's dream and she saw Julie and her uncle's appearance as an immediate and direct threat to that potential career path. Kate had a cruel streak a mile wide which had been born from her treatment as a Predator. Indeed, his own son, Craig, could vouch for the breadth of that cruel streak as he had fallen foul of his big sister many times, much to his chagrin.
As they drove north, David hoped that his seething daughter would see sense before things went too bad.
The Archive
Admiralty Arch, London
Level Six
Ginny Turner was having none of it.
"You can get to fuck, both of you!"
Her Royal Highness Princess Mary of Kintyre and Lorne AKA Belle scowled up at her personal protection officer. She and Electra AKA Rigour had been pouring over maps of London, planning nights out for Belle and Rigour. While the pair were accomplished fighters, their planning skills sucked – bigtime! On top of that, both girls were considering themselves to be all, but invincible which Ginny knew could never end well. London as a city was still reeling from the battles the previous year and major repairs were underway to the core of Government buildings. The Metropolitan Police were operating on a zero-tolerance approach to crime which had caused some escalations in violence on the part of the criminal fraternity. For two girls, one eleven and the other just turned fifteen, who also happened to be twelfth in line to the throne, London was a dangerous place to be after dark which was why they both wanted to be out there, to help those who could not help themselves. Ginny knew that if she left them to their own devices then they would go out on their own and God only knew what might happen.
They needed tactical support and somebody to plan their excursions with skill and the resulting idea that they should both return in more or less the same state in which they left. Naturally, Ginny would do just about anything to protect her ward which kind of extended to protecting Electra as well. Ginny had known that the two girls would want to go back out, so she had made some preparations based on new acquisitions.
"Well," Mary demanded. "Have you got a better idea?"
Ginny grinned.
"As a matter of fact, I do..."
..._...
While the lowest level was given over to accommodation, the next level up – Level Five – was given over to operations.
The level had never been utilised – since the Government archives had moved out – and had only been completed two weeks previously. It was based on the command centre at Safehouse Zulu, in Chicago, and was very clinical. Beyond the glass-enclosed entrapment area, a glazed corridor ran from left to right. The glass was opaque on both sides. To the right was a small computer centre where six computers were located for research purposes. To the left, a well-equipped armoury was located, filled with the expected lethal weaponry. Opposite the door to the computer centre, a pair of armoured double glass doors opened onto a capacious command centre. Underfoot, a steel computer floor spread out across the space upon which three computer stations, each with six thirty-two-inch screens were arrayed in a semi-circular shape. Occupying the opposite side of the circle, two curved tables were arrayed, each of which was fitted with a trio of forty-two-inch touchscreens. On each wall to the left and right were a pair of gigantic eighty-inch screens arranged horizontally side by side. Concealed LED lighting gave the opaque glazed walls of the facility a clean and clinical feel.
As Ginny led Mary and Electra into the command centre, they stopped dead as they saw that every computer screen was alive, and information was flitting across the screens. Five people were busy working at the computers and screens. Two were immediately recognisable to Mary and Electra.
"Abby! Eric!" Electra blurted out.
"Hello, Your Royal Highness," Eric smiled. "We and Abby are calibrating your systems and ensuring they are connected correctly into GCHQ and the London CCTV network."
A face looked up from one of the horizontal screens.
"Your Royal Highness, Electra," Commander Lawrence said. "This is Freya and her sister, Frieda. We are here to assist you with planning your operations. Abby and Eric will be returning to their own command centres after today and Freya will be your operational commander with assistance from her sister. Freya is highly skilled when it comes to operational planning, and she knows what needs to be done to keep you both alive on the streets of London town."
"Wow! I never thought I would ever meet a real Princess," Freya grinned before turning very serious. "I will plan your trips each evening and I will serve as Overwatch from Archive Central. You will both follow my orders, or I will take you to task on your return. Your Royal Highness, Harper suggested I remind you of a certain puddle – no idea what she was referring to, but I gather you have a habit of going off on your own. That will not happen on my watch, and I kid you not, I will make you regret putting your life at risk, or anyone else's for that matter, and I don't give a crap about your station in life. I have received direct orders from your father in relation to how I should treat his daughter. Electra, I hope you can be trusted to follow my orders, or you too will suffer my wrath."
If the Princess was unhappy about being lectured by another girl, her own age, she did not show it. She was determined to show maturity for her role, and she did not want to give Ginny or her father a single reason to pull the plug on her being Belle. Electra, quite wisely, also chose not to argue.
"We will obey," they both responded.
"Let's get down to planning then, shall we."
Mary and Electra moved towards where Freya stood at a horizontal screen and watched as their next night on the streets was planned out.
Ilkley,
West Yorkshire
The twelve-year-old girl was tired, and she hated being awoken by anybody.
For reasons she could never fathom, her best and closets friends enjoyed making her suffer. That morning, as she lay in her bed, dreaming of – er, something classified – she sensed something was not right. She opened her eyes and found herself staring into another set of eyes, just four inches away from her own. She knew who it was, but she was still surprised when the owner of the eyes kissed her on the nose before vanishing. Then she heard giggling which sounded suspiciously like Tanya. She groaned. She knew that they would carry on annoying her until she got up. The levels of annoyance would increase each time. There were times when she wished she was alone but that thought lasted barely two seconds as she then felt so glad to have people who really cared about her and who she really cared about in return.
"Bastards!" she growled out loud, causing Tanya's annoying giggling to increase in volume.
Simon and Tanya grinned at their tired friend as she threw back the duvet and swung her long legs out so her feet could touch the floor. Rylee Clarkson glared at her friends as she stormed off to the bathroom. After her usual activities, Rylee returned to her bedroom, peering around for trouble. The troublesome duo had seemingly vanished . . . seemingly. Very quickly, Rylee pulled off her pyjamas and dressed. While dressing, she considered that Simon and Tanya were up to something, and her eyes were darting around the room and her ears were straining for any sound of movement. Carefully, once dressed, she peered out onto the landing before she moved to the stairs and peered over the banister but saw nothing untoward. Carefully, she ventured down the stairs and furtively peering into the kitchen.
"What the fuck are you doing!?" Tanya demanded.
"Tanya!" Rachel called out. "Language, young lady!"
"Like she's a lady!" Rylee growled as she slumped into her chair at the table, glaring at Simon who simply blew her a kiss, totally unrepentant.
"Ewwww!" Tanya declared.
"I wish you two would stop winding up Rylee," Rachel said as she dumped three slices of toast down before her daughter. "She's delicate."
Simon, Tanya, and Rachel laughed loudly while Rylee turned the air blue as she plastered her toast with Flora and Golden Shred.
Paris
France
The city was full of people out enjoying themselves.
Paris glittered with lights. Le Tour Eiffel took the crown as it rose above the city, dwarfing the other monuments such as the Sacré-Coeur and the Arc de triomphe. At night, the city hummed with activity from those enjoying a good meal overlooking La Seine or strolling down le Champs-Élysées looking for an expensive bargain in the many shop windows. While the darkness allowed the city to sparkle, the darkness also provided assistance to others who while operating a business and providing employment but not necessarily following the letter of the law. But there were others out there to ensure that the law of the land was followed during those nighttime hours.
La Terreaur was in her element. It was dark and she was all but invisible to the hundreds of Parisians getting drunk on du vin below her perch atop a building. Clad in her deep red combat suit with chest, shoulder, and grieve armour, she carried a SIG Sauer P320 Tacops Carry pistol on her utility belt along with the usual encrypted communications equipment and other accessories as well as a combat knife. On her back, she carried a Ninjatō on her back, the hilt angled over her left shoulder. While perfectly capable of looking after herself, she was not alone on the streets of the French capital that night.
She was slim and her curvaceous body was covered from her head to the tips of her fingers and toes in a very formfitting bodysuit equipped with a layer of equally formfitting carbon fibre composite armour which merged in perfectly with the red and black pattern of her combat suit. On her right hip she carried a SIG Sauer P320 subcompact pistol and a 28-inch shinsakutō sword on her back angled to be drawn over her right shoulder and on each calf, she carried a twelve-inch tanto blade. Around a thin waist were several items which included encrypted communications equipment and certain other devices. Her identity was protected by a blue wig with pigtails and a domino mask which matched the colour scheme of her combat suit and surrounded her eyes.
Je m'appelle Marinette,
Une fille comme les autres.
Mais quand le destin me choisit pour
Lutter contre les forces du mal,
Je deviens
Ladybug!
"Baise-moi!" La Terreaur growled as she heard the commentary in her ear.
Papillon noir, Paris mystère,
C'est mon histoire, plutôt ètrange,
La magie noire, me désespère,
Et La Chat Noir n'est pas un ange.
"Quelqu'un a appelé?" Chat Noir responded.
Uh uh oh
Amour chassé-croisé,
Uh uh oh
Mon Coeur aime Adrien.
"Je déteste quand ils font ça!" La Terreaur moaned.
C'est moi Chat Noir,
toujours present,
J'ai des pouvoirs superpuissants.
Pour la Victoire,
J'en fais serment,
Je me bagarre éperdument.
"J'en ai eu assez!" La Terreaur growled as she turned her back on La Coccinelle and made for the fire escape.
She was followed by Chat Noir. He was clad in a catsuit of his own which was black, and he carried heavier armour than La Coccinelle. Upon his right hip sat a .357-calibre SIG Sauer P226 Legion with a 28-inch Shinsakutō sword on his back angled to be drawn over his right shoulder. On each calf he bore a twelve-inch tanto blade. He was the quintessential alpha male and his persona as Chat Noir made him in an instant target for most young women in Paris who would dream of catching sight of the cat-suit clad vigilante. Indeed, the fact that his posters outsold those of La Coccinelle was a major bee in the ladybug's proverbial bonnet. However, as far as merchandising was concerned, there was one poster which outsold all others – except those of Hit Girl and Wildcat of course. Much to the chagrin of the eleven-year-old La Terreaur, she and her twelve-year-old consort shared a poster and that single product had sold out four times!
"Vous n'obtiendrez pas de conneries de filles chantant de ma part!" Termino growled as she leapt down beside La Terreaur.
Termino was clad in his usual deep blue combat suit which covered him from head to toe with additional chest, shoulder, and grieve armour. He carried a SIG Sauer P320 Tacops Carry pistol on his utility belt along with the usual encrypted communications equipment and other accessories as well as a combat knife. On his back, he carried his pride and joy, his Ninjatō, the hilt angled over his left shoulder. Despite their outward attempts at despising one another, they were remarkably close, and both had hated to see the other injured during their trip around Europe. However, they had both made the effort for the posters and they were seen as an example of teamwork for the youth of La France. There were also many (usually 'les filles') who read romance into the image – something La Terreaur vehemently denied (in public, at least).
That night, they were taking it easy despite having a mission, having been back on the streets for just two weeks. But their absence, as with Chicago and London, had allowed vermin (criminal gangs) to spread and dig into the city as they spread their disease (drugs and guns) and caused misery (people trafficking and prostitution) to those who could not fight against those vermin.
Where were 'those vermin' coming from?
Gémeaux!
The French arm of the so-called Axis of Evil had been decimated, fragmented. Their mercenary soldiers had broken away once the money retaining their services had come to an end as bank account after bank account was frozen across the world by international agreement. New organisations sprung up making use of their 'skills' to make money and maintain themselves in luxury – for the new bosses at least. As for the old bosses, one was at the very top of the Honneur hit list but for one it would be difficult. The man who had once instilled fear by his very presence was now on the run from his own country. But he had chosen to hide in France's most populous city as he planned for his future, only his future was measured in mere minutes.
Despite having paid out many thousands of Euros to his mercenary protectors, one had wanted more and had exchanged what he knew for a reduced stay in La Santé Prison.
..._...
Javel
The neighbourhood itself dated back to the fifteenth century.
But the buildings were very mixed in composition, but some had been modified over the centuries to face various national emergencies be it revolution or invasion. Some buildings made themselves more suited as a hideout than others. For Gabriel Agreste, the sounds of gunfire were more of an annoyance, and he did not panic as he gathered up his papers and shoved them into a small leather briefcase. He took nothing with him as he moved from room to room of the fourth-floor apartment checking for anything which could give away his destination – of course, there was nothing. He had planned meticulously for every possibility and the appearance of the authorities – or more likely Honneur – had been planned for and mitigated. He took a moment to check a row of monitors showing security camera feeds. Three armed men stood guard outside the main door to the apartment. Two of his protectors on the first floor were being killed by . . . it was La Coccinelle. So, he mused, Honneur had found him. He watched another screen which depicted two smaller vigilantes ripping apart more of his men. For all his attentiveness, Gabriel never noticed the missing member of Honneur.
The building had had been modified in the previous century during the German occupation of Paris and the escape shaft led into the basement where it intersected with tunnels dug during the French Revolution in the eighteenth century. The decades old wooden ladder within the shaft creaked but it was in good shape, allowing for a swift descent. The lighting in the tunnels was about as old as the wooden ladder if not older. Soot still clung to the ancient brickwork as evidence of the lamps used in the distant past which ran on oil, paraffin, and eventually gas long before electricity arrived. The electric lighting amounted to little more than bare bulbs fitted into sockets which were space about ten feet apart along a long section of electrical flex which was worn – at best – and a threat to life – at worst. Not that Gabriel Agreste cared as he crept along the tunnel built with much shorter people in mind.
The man never saw or heard the vigilante who was stalking him. He had no idea that his life was ticking away with each and every step he took. To him, his plan was foolproof, but he had not taken into account the tenacity of his own blood. Then he stopped dead as he was certain that he had seen movement up ahead in what should have been an empty tunnel. A shape emerged out of the darkness. A shape with piercing pale blue eyes which stared out of the darkness and bore into his very soul. As the shape passed through the nearest patch of light, Gabriel was able to identify that the shape was a Parisian vigilante clad in armour from head to toe which was generally black but with pale blue highlights. A tag on the left breast identified the vigilante: CHAT NOIR while a flash on the right shoulder read: HONNEUR. So, he was to be taken down by a vigilante – it was fate.
"C'est la vie," he muttered under his breath as he realised that he was trapped with no viable escape options.
He did not even consider drawing the pistol which hung in a shoulder holster beneath his lightweight jacket.
..._...
Death did not come directly.
Instead, the vigilante came closer, but with no weapons drawn. For a moment Gabriel was confused but then came the electronically enhanced voice which he had heard before.
"J'ai prévu quoi te dire depuis que j'ai découvert que tu étais un laquais de l'Axe."
Gabriel frowned as the vigilante stopped speaking and reached up to his neck before he began to speak again – this time in a voice all too familiar.
"Tu n'étais pas là quand ma mère est morte. Tu m'as laissé à l'école - ça fait sept ans, papa! Il m'a fallu du temps pour réaliser à quel point tu es diabolique. Mais ensuite vous êtes devenu membre d'une organisation qui est au-delà du mal. Comment peux-tu?"
"Adrien," Gabriel breathed, astounded to find his son in the tunnel and even more astounded to find that he was a Parisian vigilante – and the enemy. "Il n'y a rien que je puisse dire. Je pourrais dire que je n'avais pas le choix, mais ce serait un mensonge en partie."
Adrien/Chat Noir did not see his father in that tunnel. He simply saw evil. To him, his father was dead, and he preferred to remember him for what little happiness the man had given him as a young boy. Though the man was family, he had a family who loved and cared for him, so losing the last of his blood family would not worry him going forward. Without hesitation and in one smooth movement, he drew his .357-calibre SIG Sauer P226 Legion pistol and put a single bullet into the head of the man before him.
Gabriel Agreste was dead before his body struck the earthen floor of the tunnel.
* Chapter 28 – Part III – Twist and Shout of Vigilante Fallout
** Chapter 55 – Part VI – Strike Back of Vigilante Fallout
*** Chapter 34 – Part IV – A Bad Surprise of Vigilante Fallout