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Stories from the Verse
A Dozen Verses
Chapter 41: Kondor 269
Table of Contents
Previous chapter: Slade 264
As Zeke snored, Kondor looked out the window onto the darkened Mediterranean far below.
“Sea Turtle, the Gibraltar Route or say hi to the Frenchies?”
“How long have you been up, Komodo Dragon?”
“I got two hours of sleep in Cambodia.”
“Flying hours then since we got the call?”
“Forty-three hours, but I got an hour in Panama when I picked the team up.”
“We hope that the French are not feeling grouchy. Remind me, Chameleon, we really need a faster ride than this Chinook-47HX. I’ll need to see if C can put some pressure on our superiors at Langley to shake loose something supersonic for us.”
“Yes, sir. Something supersonic. My posterior would appreciate that very much, sir.”
The whirlybird tilted right, and Kondor spoke up.
“If the French are grouchy, what? They shoot us down?”
“Oh, no,” Komodo Dragon said after a throatcracking yawn. “They might tag us with missile radar, or buzz us. We’re really supposed to let them know a couple days in advance, but you versers don’t send a ‘hi, I’m dropping by’ now, do you? One time they made us land, and yelled at us for a couple hours before they let us go. Just games.”
The Chinook took them over France, and despite fears they only had a bored conversation with an air controller out of Calais.
“Feet wet,” Komodo Dragon said as they flew over the English Channel, and not long later “Feet dry” as they crossed over the white cliffs of Dover. It was a bare glimmering line in the darkness below. A bit more, and he was looking down on London glowing in the night, and the Chinook turned its turbines off, and as it sank it lost speed until suddenly the noise nearly stopped.
“Whisperblade. A stealthy bit. Londoners hate it if you wake them with screaming turbines or even loud chopper blades. We’ll be landing at Stansted, one of the six airports for London,” Komodo Dragon said, yawning again. He slapped his face. “Sorry guys, but it's Loud Music Time.” He put on a band Kondor didn’t recognize. “Audio Adrenaline alright? Got it for you, Dad.” Sea Turtle smiled.
The music after the near silence startled Zeke awake, and Kondor quietly explained events.
Fifteen minutes later, after going through an air pattern, the Chinook sank to a military area landing pad. It rocked a bit, and the sound of the blades which were quiet enough to talk over died away all together. Gecko reached over and turned off the music.
“One minute down, and the boy’s asleep again.” Gecko told everyone.
“Boa and I will carry him off to bed, and chuck him in it,” Cobra said. Boa handed out the gear for the two, and Sea Turtle led them both toward a parked and running limousine.
“More riding,” Kondor groaned.
“Yes, but I think your destination isn’t far,” Sea Turtle said.
“You don’t know?” Zeke sounded as surprised as Kondor was.
“No, need to know. We help the Brits on certain tasks. I know a little about versers, but not much.” Kondor and Zeke shook his hand, and climbed into the back seat of the limo. A young blond man in a neat suit waited for them. He put down his electronic tablet. The seat area was quite spacious with seats facing each other, and space enough for eight adults in comfort on the leather seats.
“Welcome, sirs, welcome. I’m Cameron, personal secretary to C. George is the driver.” George grunted from the front. “It will be about forty five minutes more, I’m sorry. Crash on the road creating a traffic jam. But--” he pulled off a silver top tray off two plates, and smells swirled into the air.
Kondor looked and saw eggs sunnyside up, and sausage. Zeke closed the door behind them, and Cameron offered them hot tea. Sausage links, back bacon, fried bread, a tattie or potato scone, tomatoes, mushrooms, hot buttered toast, and according to Cameron a slice of white pudding made up the rest of the inviting spread.
“I prefer the tattie scone to the regular one, but otherwise this is a welcome to England, hope we can be friends breakfast. The English breakfast.” The two set to eating with Cameron nibbling in as well, and Kondor realized he had said something about the comforts of modern life, including a shower on the ride, and so the meeter had made sure to offer a pleasant welcome. It was good, but it was also something to keep his guard up about. They were ready and able to manipulate which given they were a spy agency was probably par for the course. He would have to keep his guard up. Zeke was just moaning in delight as he ate an egg atop some buttered toast.
An hour later, they arrived at the thirty-eight story tall British Telecommunications Building in the middle of London’s streets, busy even as early as it was. George drove into a car park beneath it, and parked.
As to the old stories that have long been here:
