Artis and Co. pillage the truck finding a veritable arsenal of small arms and high explosives. As they are going through the payload, the delivery van that was parked outside McLaren's Bait & Tackle passes by at a quick clip.

Biggin Hill Airfield

---

Jess is overseeing the preparations for the bust. She's back in the clothes she procured for her Samantha identity; camoed pants and a tanktop. Instead of the heavy coat, a pilot's jacket is protecting her from the wind, though it's still freezing cold. Still, the bulletproof vest helps slightly - no wonder people think it's a mobile turkish bath. Jess knows better, of course - she's worn an NBC overgarment.

The MP7 rests in a shoulder holster by her side, and she stares off into the distance.

It's not a question of smarts, Diane. It's about who's the last one standing, and I intend to be it.

Biggin Hill Airfield, 23:50 Zulu

A steady 20 kmH wind escalates the already dismal mood around the airfield as rain (In England? Imagine that.) begins to sheet on the tarmac. All units are standing by, filling Jess and Brian's earpieces with comm-chatter at their scheduled intervals.

-Alpha 2 (Brian) to Alpha 1, in (sniper) position.

-Bravo 1 (Blackhawk) to Alpha 1 (Jess), engines hot and standing by.
-Charlie 1 (Gulfstream) to Alpha 1. Engines hot, standing by.
-Delta 1 (Biggin Hill Control Tower) to Alpha 1, no tangos on radar.
-Echo 1 (Red Shirts) to Alpha 1. Standing by, awaiting orders.

Droplets spatter on Jess' cammied cover, as Jess impatienty waits for the inevitable.

Delta 1 to Alpha 1. One unauthorized target observed on radar! Correction, two...no THREE targets. All are moving towards the airfield, speed approximately 300kmH and closing fast! Over?

"Alpha 1 to Bravo 1 and Charlie 1, shut off engines and evacuate vehicles ! Everyone else near to Bravo and Charlie, maintain safe distance !"

Jess begins to run for the next building.

"Delta 1, ETA and direction of bogeys ?"

Bravo 1, roger that.
Charlie 1, roger that.

-Delta 1. Copy that, Alpha 1. Bogeys bearing East- South-East...ETA...70 seconds...Over?

"Alpha 1 to Delta 1, can you give me an estimate of where the bogeys were launched ?"

Brian comes over the comm-link.

Alpha 2 to Alpha 1. I'd bet my good pair of combat boots that those birds are choppers...Over?

"Just when I left my Stinger at the garage. Alpha 1 to everyone, hold fire. Bravo 1, stay away from the Blackhawk for now, I'll tell you when to get in."

The sound of chopper wash can be heard resonating through the rolling countryside.

Delta One to Alpha One, spotters have visual on three helicopters...one mile out and closing very fast...Over?

"Alpha 1 to Delta 1, copy. Stand by for further orders."

At McLaren's
---

"Ayumi, take our van!" Artis shouts at her, tossing her one of the assault weapons from the baddies' truck as he gets in the driver's seat. "Carla, you're shotgun," he adds, slamming the big bastard into gear.

The vehicles speed off after the Bait-truck, the shotgunners lock-n-loading their weaponry. A high speed chase this is not, but when you combine large moving vehicles on slippery Scottish rural roads, it's anything but riskless.

Trailing behind the Bait-truck, the lead vehicle (ADS, is this your truck or Ayumi in the van?) can see that the back gate on the vehicle is open...bristling with the ubiquitous spring-loaded goons.

Brian hunkers down in his position, double checking his rifle.

"Alpha 2 to my guys, heads up and prepare for incoming helocopters...stay frosty, we may have ground company as well."

*Somewhere in the Scottish Countryside*

The bait-truck speeds down the rural road with Artis spotting a familiar side route, attempting a hastened ending to this chase. Coming off the road, he sees the bait-truck barrelling down on him at 50MPH, delivering a glancing blow to Artis' front left quarterpanel. The impact spins the heavy van 90-degrees as it blows past with the Agency van close on its heels.

(Edited by Dieter at 4:41 pm on Dec. 9, 2003)

Artis takes a second to compose himself, muttering "Right, this is NOT a Ferrari..." before putting the lummox in gear once again and heading after his prey.

*Biggin Airfield*

Three helicopters come over the horizon illuminating the tarmac with high-intensity searchlights. Two begin their descent, the other hovering about 200ft above.

Jess' phone rings as the two helicopters touch down. It's Catesby.

Whoever you are, we need to talk to face to face and clarify why you so dearly want to impede on the future of Britain. If you wish to see any more sunrises, I suggest you get in the helicopter...

A sidedoor on one of the choppers opens, with two Black-Ops-ish looking people exiting and toting AKs.

Jess squints her eyes, trying to find out whether the choppers are close enough to the Claymores to use them effectively.

"I knew you wouldn't resist my invitation. I'm coming out now."

She closes her phone, then grabs the tac mike.

"Alpha 1 to Alpha 2, stand by for supressive fire, you'll know my sign when you see it. Echo 1, see if you can get to their backs without being seen. Bravo 1, get back in the chopper and prepare for a fast launch - but don't start the engines yet. This is Alpha 1, signing off."

That said, she yanks the headset from her ear and stuffs it under the jacket. Then, Jess grabs the suitcase and walks out of - but not too far away from - her cover, facing Catesby's men. She shouts into the night.

"This case here has my account numbers. If you want it in one piece, I suggest you lower your weapons."

"Alpha-Two...Understood. Waiting for your signal."
"Echo-One...Roger that. Moving in."
"Bravo-One...Standing By. Engines cold."

Jess walks closer to the two Ops, stating her claim about the accounts. Both are clad (head-to-toe) in black camouflage, their faces in ski-masks. One of them pauses, palm up with the universal sign of hang on a minute. A moment later, they lower their weapons gesturing for Jess to climb inside the chopper.

Brian waits patiently, sighting down his scope at one of the Ops and zeroing-in on a kill-shot.

Anytime you're ready...

Over the roaring helicopter turbine wash Jess shouts out that she's drawing her gun and laying it on the ground. Both Ops seem to on-guard, but are cool customers as she pulls out her pistol and motions to place it on the tarmac. Jess feigns her action, immediately moving towards the cover behind her and squeezing off behind her a stream of suppressive fire at the chopper.

Brian clearly sees the muzzle flash from Jess' case and instinctively pulls the trigger on his rifle. The bullet streaks towards the operative's neck, punching a thumb-sized hole through the carotid. Clunching his neck for dear life, the Op drops his weapon in favor of holding back the copious amount of blood now spurting forth.

The other operative hesitates for a second, perhaps doing a status report for the others, then immediately gets inside the chopper as it executes a hasty dust-off. Three Ops from chopper one exit onto the tarmac and move towards Jess' position while the hovering helicopter above follows her path and illuminates her current position...unleashing a hailstorm of bullets from its gunpod.

Jess manages to go unscathed, but there is a long path of high-caliber bullet holes tracing her sprint from the tarmac to cover.