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!!0ZviLFh59My 01/29/12(Sun)23:33 No.17729814 File1327898001.jpg-(58 KB, 600x656, 1325936736093.jpg)
>>17729575 >pic related
Your takeoff roll goes smoothly, considering your plane is carrying about as much weight as a moderate air-to-ground bomb load, with all the contraband you've shoved into the fucker. The new turbo-supercharged engines haul the Black Widow off the runway with no problem, though, and soon you're airborne, climbing for 10,000 feet - about as much altitude as you can get before your short 26 mile journey to Castle Barin, in Dover, is over.
"Perrine?" Ian asks on the radio. "Where'd you get those handcuffs?"
"An MP gave them to me," she says.
"What else did he give you?" Sean mutters on the intercom. Ian snorts. "I don't think he knows he gave them to her," he replies on the 'com. "She's got pretty deft hands, when she wants to."
"What'd she give YOU?" you say, putting just the right tone of shock and horror in your voice, and all three of you crack up. It's only an hour past nooon, and for a change, the day is gorgeous, especially from ten-thousand feet.
"Tally ho, six on your nose!"
"Right, time to earn our pay."
"Sean," Ian asks. "Bearing on that chatter?"
"Does it look like I've got a triangulation rig, Mac?"
"Scratch one firebee!"
"They sound close, from the signal strength," Sean muses. "Lemme warm up the set."
"We can't," you remind him.
"Sure we can. I stacked the bottles 'round the edge of the dish. Hell, the refrigeration might improve it." A minute or two later, Sean complains; "no joy."
You change radio frequencies as you resolve on calling the operator. "Sheffield Tower, this is BlackBird One-One, copy back?" |