Jess searches about the wreckage in the backseat. The impaled man is far too mangled to search but on the other she finds a passport, cellphone, and a pistol in the unconscious man's shoulder holster.
Cocking the hammer back, she looks for an exit...settling on shooting out what's left of the rear window. Several rounds spiderweb against the Lexan(TM) before it Jess is able to punch out a big enough hole.
Outside, Marilyn and Brian navigate the Rover through the massive pile-up of twisted metal and burning tires, relieved to see Jess extracting herself from the steel tomb.
Meanwhile...in Scotland
Artis goes to a low-crawl, moving towards the underbelly of the moving truck. He sees one pair of legs and a man taking a knee. The kneeling man appears to have been wounded in Artis' last barrage of automatic fire.
Not dead yet, eh?
He lines up a shot on what he can see of the two drivers.
*Click*....Son-of-a
Behind Goose, Carla and Ayumi are finishing off the two remaining goons. Ayumi continues her Gunkata(TM), narrowly missing with her pistol but still managing to slash the guard in the chest. Carla rakes twice with her tiger claws, swinging wide with the first and hitting home with the second. She retracts her blades from the man's ribcage, pulling out bone and sinew with it.
Marilyn drives towards Jess, positioning the Rover so she can get in quickly. As she gets in, Marilyn floors it.
"Sorry for the abrupt pick-up, but we really need to leave before people start asking questions...like why your friend is brandishing a sniper rifle on the M20."
The wheelman heads back into downtown London, running every redlight between the motorway's exit ramp and Thames House. While Marilyn explains to the police why she committed no less than thirty moving violations, Brian and Jess are immediately seen to Five's in-house infirmary.
The mixture of painkillers and aftereffects of the tranquilizer make Jess a bit...less than clear. While she's being treated, she mutters on.
"You know, those Russians, they had a drug that could kill alcohol in your system, make you think clear even when you had a few social obligations. Can't our eggheads mix up a Version 2.0 against these damn tranqs ? Really wearing on my nerves, these knockout darts..."
"Rugged good looks ? Get that man a reality check, STAT !"
Jess smiles. Then she slips away, letting the painkillers do their job.
I could be dead. Brian could be dead. The banter is just another defense mechanism, Kevlar for your soul. Conversations with dead people, people who are on borrowed time, trying to make death miss them by pointing the grim reaper in another direction. The light at the end of the tunnel - it's not a train. It's a primer, the bullet speeding down the muzzle you're staring into. Death is heading for you at supersonic speed, inevatible, undodgeable. And you go into the light, yes, you do - the image of the muzzle flash, burnt into your retinas, as your autonomous bodily functions cease. As you die.
Jess starts up again, breathing heavily for a few seconds before she calms down.
But then, if nothing matters, nothing gets done. I can not allow that.
She looks at her hand, flexing her index finger as if she was pulling a mock trigger.
The doctor gently pushes Jess' tensed hand back on the hospital gurney.
"Woah...easy there, love. There's a time and place for that sort of thing, but it isn't right here. Settle down, let the I.V. do its job. And you (glaring over to Brian), you best keep that Army mentality for the battlefield and not in my hospital...or I'll have to show you up like our football team did to yours last year."
(RN vs. RAF- Final Score: 3 to Nil)
Brian and Jess are sedated for treatment of their minor wounds. Marilyn, who suffered the least of the three, stands vigil outside the operating until both are in moved into recovery. They awake a few hours later to see her face.
Marilyn rubs the bandage places over her right eye, wincing a bit, putting down her incident report checklis and walking over to Brian.
"Um...not as much as you would probably like to know. Apparently the Russian Mob got wind of someone portraying one of their top bosses...does the name Samantha Illiavic mean anything to you? In their business, as you probably can well imagine, they do not like misrepresentation. Perhaps Agent Hummingbird should head up to Leeds* for a refresher course?..."
Despite the snide comments, Marilyn does appreciate the gravity of the situation.
"...But that can wait. Someone from your Agency's home office will be in shortly to give you a rundown of the current situation. As for me, I've got a mountain paperwork to fill out because of that little jaunt of the M20. Cheers."
Brian and Jess examine the gratuitous amount of bandages and sutures on them. None of them appear to be major, but nevertheless needed some tending to.
Through the door to their recovery room walks Philpott, his assistant in tow...giving him the minute-by-minute account of current events. The fatherly figure turns his attention away, smiling with a reassuring grin at Brian and Jess.
"Agents...it seems every time we meet, you're in need of medical care. I'll tell you what, next time we'll meet on my farm in Sheropshire...but I digress. It is good to see you and I wish it were on better terms. For the past hour I have been working my counterpart from Five and we have on good authority that Catesby is planning a strike in the next 24 hours..."
At the mention of Catesby, Jess sneers. The mention of 23 hours doesn't cheer her up any.
"I wonder if the Russians are going to be very happy about Catesby dealing with an imposter."
She touches one of the bandages and grimaces in pain, then goes on.
"There's a few things we can still do. First, we still have that videobug I smuggled into the meeting. Has the footage been analyzed yet ? Then, we can ask Harry to plunder all accounts of Catesby he's been able to find. It probably won't impede their operations, but if I judge Catesby correctly, it will piss her off to no end. Besides, I seriously doubt she can withstand her desire to gloat. Still, it's not an enviable position to be in."
She pauses.
"Can I get some more painkillers, please? My arm is killing me."
The attending who received Brian and Jess comes over. Nightengale looks at his badge.
Cmdr. Henry Hayes RN, M.D.
-Commander Hayes, my Agent needs more painkillers.
Hayes looks at Jess' arm.
"Ugh. I knew I should have overseen the procedure. Unfortunately at this time of night all we have on duty is a bunch of 3rd-year Med Students who spend more time at the pub than in their text books. Let's have a look at that. (examining the stitches) It seems they pulled a little tight on these last few threads. No worries, love. We'll have you out saving the world before morning tea."
The doctor fixes Jess' suture and gives her a pill for the pain. Karen hands Nightengale a Sat-Comm.
"HQ has examined the videobug. It doesn't add too much to your initial report, but it does shed some light on who is behind the operation. Remember the old man Catesby was consulting during the meeting? That man is Steven O'Leary, a top-ranking IRA member before the organization disbanded a few years ago. Rumor had it that he had left for America, but the footage you got shows that he anything but left Britain. Back in the day, I remember his cell of operatives. All cut-throat terrorists of the first order. If he has managed to put his crew back together and joined causes with Catesby...well, need I say the potential danger involved? As for the Russians, dare I say that you may want to keep your Samantha Illingworth identity under wraps for the time being. The last thing we need is an Agency-spawned mafia war..."
"My identity is compromised, I heard the Russians say that. They didn't seem to have any idea who I was, but they knew who I wasn't. Catesby probably also knows. It's clear that we won't find Catesby...we'll have to let her come to us. We can either see where she will probably attack and try to prevent it, or we can dangle some bait in front of her that she can't resist."
"That's good, because I simply hate having to make good agents do what they must. This is usually the part where I mention the notion of For Queen and Country, but you're one of those bloody Yanks..."
(Fade In, Close-up of the guard's armored torso being stabbed through.)
Ayumi's wakazashi slides between the kevlar and ceramic breastplate of the guard's vest as she fires off a shot underneath his chin. The back of the man's head explodes with Ayumi removing her blade from the decapitated body. Behind her, Carla goes Wolvie-Beserk-Style(TM) on her dance partner slashing across the man's face, gutting him like a fish with the other.
Across the lot, Artis empties his AR clip into the two guards, cutting them off at the knees.
Dieter
