Catchers
Martin Kane
Come fly the friendly skies

---

Author's note:

Anyone wishing to contact me may do so via the DtV messageboard for 
Readers & Writers.  I invite anyone to send any comments, good or 
bad, should they wish to.  I'm always interested in what others think
of my little tales.

Copyright is mine.  I'd be flattered if anyone wanted to use this 
tale elsewhere, but please seek permission first.

Needless to say this story is purely a fiction and all characters 
merely the products of an overwrought imagination

I'll abstain from the adult content warning, if you've got this far, 
you're certain to know what kind of thing to expect anyway.  

---


1

Ziggy walked through the gate at London Heathrow tube, manoeuvring her 
suitcase through the awkward barrier.  It inevitably got caught on the bar 
and she wrenched it free.

"Why?" Libby sighed.

"Someone's idea of a joke," Ziggy said.  She easily lifted the large case 
free.  "At least it's not very heavy."

"Yet," Libby remarked with a smile.

"I'll cope," Ziggy assured her.

And it was true, she would cope with the additional weight once the case was 
filled.  Though her clothes were chosen because they hid the fact, Ziggy's 
body was noticeably unusual - built of bulky muscles.  She was suited, 
power-dressing shoulder-pads hiding the fact that her shoulders genuinely 
were that round and robust.  Her arms filled the thick sleeves to capacity.  
Her skirt was loose and long, hiding the mass of her things as much as 
possible.

The result was surprisingly effective.  Unless they paid particular 
attention, watching for any slip, it would be unlikely for anyone to notice 
that she was anything beyond the average woman, and not the colossal 
bodybuilder she in fact was.

Libby was a contrast to her titanic friend.  Though actually only a couple 
of inches shorter, she appeared much smaller.  She was slight - elf-like 
almost.  In fact, she was so willowy that it never failed to shock anyone 
who actually saw her body in its true splendour.  Though she was indeed as 
slight and slender as first impressions had it, she was by no means 
undernourished or scrawny.  Like Ziggy, she had muscles, though hers were 
lean and sinewy, more like a gymnast than a bodybuilder.  Also similar to 
her friend, her conspicuous body was currently hidden from prying eyes, 
covered by a long coat.

They walked into the chaos and mania of people, all in a hurry, all 
important.

Ziggy stopped, checked a sign that hung down, pointing a dozen directions 
at once.  She led.  "This way."

Libby followed.  They went into the women's toilets.  The cubicles inside 
were far larger than most public toilets but it was still cramped with both 
women and one large suitcase.

It was a leather case, dark and soft but still sturdy.  Ziggy unbuckled it 
and lifted it open, revealing that it was in fact empty.  Libby had already 
whipped off her long overcoat, revealing her stunning body, clad only in a 
blue leotard.  It was skimpy but that was for practical reason rather than 
any intent to thrill.  It was going to be hot and stuffy.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Libby handed Ziggy her coat and stepped into the case.  She lay inside it, 
folding her body over into an unlikely contortion.  Ziggy winced at the 
sight, awed at how abnormally limber her friend was.

"Comfortable?"

Libby smiled as though it was perfectly natural for her ankles to be behind 
her neck.  She gave the OK sign and visibly relaxed her muscles, settling 
into the position she would have to hold for the next hour or so.

Ziggy closed the case and secured the pops, which held the fake buckles in 
place.  She folded Libby's coat and put into her shoulder bag.  Then she 
lifted the case, checking its weight.  It was heavy but Ziggy was hardly a 
weakling.  She walked out of the cubicle and checked her appearance in the 
mirror, checking her stance and posture.  She didn't want to appear in any 
way out of the ordinary.

She looked fine, even when holding the suitcase the thick suit jacket 
covered the telltale bulging of her arm completely.  Her natural blonde was 
covered by a black wig, neatly bobbed.  She looked the consummate 
businesswoman, elegant and professional.

Check-in was remarkably easy and quick.  She was wondering to herself what 
was going wrong when she realised that every other time she'd used the 
airport, it had been for international flights.  This one was domestic, she 
was heading to Manchester.

She checked the case in watching the conveyer belt carry her friend off 
behind the scenes.  She took her boarding pass and headed straight for the 
departure gate.  She'd left no time for shopping and besides, this was 
definitely business rather than pleasure.  In some respects she considered 
she had one of the hardest roles in this particular job, by doing nothing.  
Not the hardest perhaps, but the most stressful.  She would just have to 
wait, trusting on others to perform their parts.

The aeroplane used for the London-Manchester shuttle service was small but 
that was only to be expected.  The plane taxied onto the runway.  Then that 
eager rush for the sky.  One of the stewardesses was sat near her, strapped 
across the shoulders into one of the specialised fold-down seats.  As the 
plane left the ground she closed her eyes and crossed herself.  'Hardly 
comforting,' thought Ziggy to herself wryly.

Once they were flying level the stewardesses came around with drinks.  
Ziggy gratefully accepted a glass of wine.  She looked around the cabin, 
trying to spot the inevitable couple looking to discretely slip into the 
toilets together.

Then she saw the ambulance driver.  He was dark haired, looking scruffy in 
his uniform.  She caught his eyes a moment but neither one made any sign of 
recognising the other.  She was glad to note that he ordered a water and not 
anything stronger.  An ambulance driver on duty shouldn't drink alcohol 
after all.

Ziggy leaned back in her seat, sipping her drink.  The only thing that might 
go wrong is if there was some medical emergency on the plane.  If his 
expertise was called upon then there was the chance he'd be discovered as a 
fraud.

The flight was incredibly short.  It seemed that no sooner had the plane 
levelled out than they were preparing to land once more.  Ziggy had to 
quickly finish her wine as they came into descent.

Once in Manchester they disembarked.  There was no sign of the furore going 
on behind scenes.  The passengers were quickly herded off into the terminal,
none the wiser to anything amiss.  Ziggy was impressed by their 
professionalism.  If she hadn't any inside knowledge of the fact, she'd be 
none the wiser to any urgency or tension within any of the staff.

But that wasn't her concern anyway.  She followed the signs and left the 
plane behind her.

She was amazed at how quickly she was through the airport.  Without customs 
or passport control, the whole procedure was far more civilised.  She didn't
go to retrieve her luggage, instead hurrying out of the terminal building, 
picking up the car from the carpark and driving clear and free.

She drove to the warehouse, finding her way through Manchester City centre 
by memory.  The traffic was pretty bad and by the time she pulled up in the 
side street and walked into the warehouse, the ambulance was already there.

It was empty of its occupants.  Ziggy was more concerned that there was no 
one on guard.  It was sloppy.  However well the job had gone there was no 
reason to take unnecessary chances.

She walked through the empty space, heading to the room beyond.  Being of 
naturally suspicious nature, she paused and crept silently to the doorway, 
not wanting anyone to know she'd arrived yet.

She glanced through it cautiously.  Still no one.  They would all be in the 
lounge upstairs.  She knew that.  This uneasy feeling was just paranoia.

But what was it they said?  'I may be paranoid but that doesn't mean they're
not out to get me.'

Ziggy swore to herself and backed away from the door.  Undecided, she waited
and listened.  She felt the engine of the ambulance, still hot.  Checked its
interior; everything was as it should be.

There was no reason...  But her unease would not abate.

She swore again and silently crept back out of the warehouse.

Her car was parked down the street, out of sight.  She glanced up at the 
outside of the warehouse.  A dumpster was nearby, pipes and ledges, rough 
stonework, a jutting of concrete where the next level had been added, the 
window sill and the window itself.

Ziggy sighed to herself, removed the expensive suit jacket and folded it 
into her shoulder-bag.  She adjusted the straps to secure it tightly to her 
back, keeping her arms free.  Then she flexed her muscles and began to 
climb.



2

Libby folded herself over inside the suitcase, stretching out her muscles 
and letting her body close over itself.  She eased herself into position, 
getting as comfortable as it was possible to do so with ones ankles behind 
ones neck.

"Comfortable?" Ziggy asked her, a grimace on her face.

Libby smiled at her friend and gave her the OK sign.  Ziggy shrugged and 
closed the case, reducing Libby's senses by one.  With sight gone, she was 
down to five: sound, smell, taste, touch and that under-credited favourite, 
balance.

It was sound and balance that told the tale now.  Taste being her dry mouth 
and the apple that had finished her breakfast.  Smell and touch both told 
her only of the interior of the leather suitcase.

Balance and sound told her where they were.  She felt the case lifted, 
moved only a short distance.  It was a strange, nauseating sensation to be 
carted around in such a manner.  To her credit, Ziggy made every effort not 
to swing the case about too much.

Then the noise of the airport.  A pause and then an elevator.  Then on the 
move again.  Then down.  Then a period of waiting, being shifted along 
every now and again, the queue to check-in.

Libby strained to hear the attendant when Ziggy checked in but gave it up.  
The case blocked out specific sounds, blurring everything into a dull, 
thudding drone.  Then a mechanical whirr that told her they had been 
separated.  No going back.

The sweat was dripping off her, the air stale inside the case, despite the 
specifically designed edging of gauze to let her breathe more easily.  'Not 
for long,' she told herself.

Waiting was the hard part, she pondered, not aware that precisely at that 
moment, Ziggy was thinking something similar.

She kept wondering to herself whether she was loaded onto the plane yet.  
Every time she came to a stop, positioned by rough hands, that surely this 
must be it.  But then, just as she was certain this was where she'd stay 
for the duration, she'd be shifted once more.

She'd been warned that airport baggage handlers had the nickname of 
throwers and she now saw it was appropriate.  Even with the shock-dampening 
framework built into the case, she felt like they were playing football with
the cases rather than loading them.

Eventually she was loaded on the plane and this time, the case was left 
alone.  She found herself in silence again.  God, she was going to be a 
mass of bruises once this was done.

And then the plane hit the skies.  She'd flown a few times in her life but 
never had any problem with it, she certainly had no fear of flying.  But it 
was different when you were folded in half, inside a suitcase, stuck in the 
cargo hold.

She bit down on her resolve, forcing the panic away.  Instead she focused 
on business.  She moved her hands with some effort and hit the light on her 
watch.  It seemed to flood the tiny space with unreal light.  Angling her 
wrist she could see the face by peering between her thighs.  She pressed 
the button and the counter began.

'Ten minutes,' she told herself.  'It's only ten minutes.'

It was the longest ten minutes of her life, but eventually, the wait was 
over.  She pulled the tab that popped open the fake buckles.  Then she 
tested the lid.  It was weighted down.

Her balance told her that it was the right way up at least, maybe some 
throwers could read after all, though it seemed just as likely to be sheer 
coincidence that they'd followed the instruction correctly.

She flexed and moved her body, pushing the lid up.  It moved but it took 
all her strength.  She gave herself enough room to reposition herself to a 
better angle, better able to hold the weight of cases on top of her.  With 
her back beneath the lid, she was able to heave it open far easier and did 
so, no longer concerned with stealth.

With a final, glorious burst of muscle, she threw her body out, uncoiling 
and throwing bags aside with as much regard as the staff.

The two men must have noticed her escape but were too engrossed in their 
fighting to react to her.

Libby walked up to the men, relishing the freedom of unrestricted motion.  
They were roughly trying to overpower each other, one clearly gaining the 
upper hand.  A vicious punch was thrown and one man staggered back, gasping.

The other man realised Libby was behind him.  He spun around, clearly 
expecting to now be attacked from behind.  He was right, but ill prepared 
for her assault.

Libby had been cramped in a highly claustrophobic and uncomfortable 
position for a long time, and she was well able to transfer those 
frustrations into physical violence.

She thrust a flat hand at him, the hard edge cutting against his throat and 
chopping him to the floor.  Then she kicked, a wet crunch issuing from the 
heap as her foot merged with it.  Then, just for good measure, she swung 
her body down, slamming a fist into him.  The crack that was heard as this 
blow fell was louder and far less ambiguous in consequence.

Libby stepped back from the man and began stretching her body, trying to 
squeeze the blood back into every corner of every limb.

"Fuck," the remaining man, Paul, muttered as he found his feet once more.

"Tosser," Libby told him without much passion.  "You were supposed to take 
care of him.  What if I'd been in a position where I couldn't get out of 
the case without your help."

There wasn't much he could say to this.  He just hung his head, genuinely 
embarrassed.  

Both of the men were dressed in dark suits, the uniform of the security 
firm they worked for.

"Never mind," Libby sighed, more concerned now with the matter at hand.  
"Can we get into the box?"

"It can't be opened by the couriers, standard security measure."

"OK, you better get to work.  Your tools are still in the case."

She was still stretching her body, pulling one amazing leg up and around, 
then the other, then leaning back, achieving the most amazingly poetic of 
bodily movements, graceful without effort.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" Libby demanded.  Her leotard was the 
barest slip of material, stretched to shape by her body.

Paul shook himself, somehow peeling his gaze from that body and mumbled 
something apologetic as he went to get the tools he'd need to break into 
the strong box.

When he returned Libby had lifted the box out of its case and rested it on 
top.  Paul didn't say anything about this, though he knew how heavy it was.
It had taken two of them to carry the thing in here.  He glanced at her body
again.  Thin was one thing but she had serious muscles on those arms, and 
she knew how to use them.

It struck him again just how easily she had defeated the real security 
guard, the man who had quickly and easily defeated him, despite Paul having 
the benefit of surprise.  He felt better about himself once he was kneeling 
by the lock-box, picks in hand.  This was his true strength, and it was a 
necessary one to the completion of the plan.

While he was working away at it, glad there was no turbulence, Libby went 
to the other specially marked box here.  It was white and had a huge red 
cross on the top.  It was not locked however.

She flipped the lid and looked at the heart which lay beating on the bed of 
ice.

"Oh shit," she remarked.  "They even got a real human heart.  I won't ask 
where it came from."

"The man can be very resourceful when he wants to be," Paul remarked, not 
looking up from his task.

One side of the box was the machine keeping the heart alive, wires rigged 
to the huge, bloody muscle.  Libby pulled the glass cover off, rendering 
all hygiene seals null and void.  She could feel the blast of cold air 
given off by the ice-cubes.

"How you doing?" she asked.

"Nearly there," Paul told her.  With a satisfied sigh, he leaned back.  He 
turned to Libby as she approached and lifted the lid with a flourish.  
"Piece of piss," he told her.

Libby paid him no mind, gazing in awe at the sight before her.  "A girl's 
best friend," she muttered, picking one of the beads out and holding it up 
to the light.

"Let's get them swapped over," Paul said.  "We're going to be coming in to 
land soon."

He went took the fake diamonds from his tool pack.  Then he glanced back at 
Libby.  She had a curious, far-away look in her eyes, as if lost in thoughts
of other people and places than the here and now.

"You OK?"

She didn't answer.  She replaced the diamond and walked up to him, her face 
still just as distracted and equivocal.

"Tell me something Paul; ever been tempted?"



3

Stephen was taken to the plane by one of the throwers, driving across empty 
runways in a large, empty baggage cart.  He saw a man in a uniform-style 
suit waiting for him by the plane.

He climbed off the cart and thanked the driver, carrying the white box with 
him.  The uniformed man stepped up and shook his hand.  "Stephen, right?"

"Yes, that's right," the ambulance driver agreed, running a hand through 
scruffy black hair.  

"I'm Nicky, the head steward.  Would you like to come this way?"

Stephen watched the man, trying to work out if he was actually gay or not.  
He certainly had about him that camp air that all aeroplane stewards 
possess.

He followed the man to the back of the plane where the hold was still open.

"You can leave the case here, I assure you it'll be safe," Nicky told him.  
"In fact, we've got two guards to look after it for you.  We're carrying 
some important cargo.  Very hush-hush."  He winked and tapped his nose.

The two men inside the cargo hold were dressed in dark uniforms, your basic 
security guard costume.  He nodded politely to them.  One of the men winked 
at him, but Stephen paid him no mind.

"I'm afraid I do have to take a peek though," Nicky apologised.

"No problem," Stephen assured him and flipped the box open, showing him its 
contents.  The man kept his professional smile but looked a little queasy 
as he nodded.

"That's fine."

He closed it again, smiling sardonically to himself.

An overalled man with the airline's emblem blazoned across his chest took 
the medical box from him and climbed a small mobile staircase to put it in 
place in the hold.

Nicky smiled and nodded to the man who began wheeling the stairs back.  
"Well that's all sorted then," he said.  "Let's see about finding you a 
seat then, shall we."

Stephen followed the man onto the plane and to his seat.  He thanked him 
and began making himself comfortable as the plane started to taxi into 
position.

He made a mental note to slap Paul later.  What the hell had that wink been 
about?  It was stupid, pointless gestures like that that got men caught and 
killed.

He wanted a drink but knew he shouldn't.  He debated saying fuck it and 
ordering one anyway but managed to fight the temptation.  When the 
stewardesses came around and asked him what he wanted, he asked for a 
water.  In truth, his throat was so dry, he was grateful for it.

Glancing around the cabin he spied Ziggy.  The muscle-bitch was all dressed 
up like some sort of businesswoman.  God, who was she trying to kid?  Put a 
thug into a suit and all you had was a thug with a suit on.

She caught his eyes but her gaze swept on, making no sign of recognising 
him.  Hell, at least she was professional.  He'd give her that much.

He noticed that she was drinking wine.  Sitting back all comfortable like 
she hadn't got a care in the world.  'Yeah, don't worry about a thing Babe,'
he thought to himself, 'because payday is here.'

The head steward, Nicky, came up to him almost as soon as the plane had 
landed and taxied back to the terminal building.  "We've got a slight 
situation, I wonder if you'd be able to help."

"Of course," Stephen told him, his face and voice all helpful concern.

Nicky led him to the front of the plane where the door had been opened and 
a set of steps rigged.

"We've had a bit of a situation I'm afraid.  You know we had two men in the 
hold?"

"Yeah, security guards."

"Well, one of them had some sort of panic attack.  Went a bit crazy by the 
sound of things.  Afraid he threw a bit of a fit or something.  His friend 
had to subdue him and, well, it seems like he's unconscious."

"Is an ambulance on the way?"

"Oh yes.  Plus your own one of course, been waiting for us to land.  Should 
be here any second."

And he was right.  Even as they descended the stairs Stephen could see the 
ambulance approach, ready to ship him and the heart off to the emergency 
surgery that was waiting on them.

The unconscious guard was laid on the floor of the cargo hold, a still 
conveyer belt ramp had been pushed up to the opening.

Stephen had to bite down his reaction when he saw that the unconscious 
guard was Paul, not the real security guard.  What the hell was going on?  
He ran up the still belt, crouching over his friend.  He gave him a 
professional check, ascertaining that he was indeed alive and was indeed 
unconscious.  His vital signs were weak though, he wasn't faking this, he 
was genuinely hurt.

He glanced around the hold, seeing the three significant cases here.  The 
medical box he was to walk out with, the secure lock box that the guards 
were guarding, and the leather suitcase that sat innocently amongst the 
rest of the passenger luggage.

His partner, Lucas, had arrived.  He pulled up the ambulance and got a 
quick summary from Nicky before bounding up the conveyer to join Stephen.  
He looked down at the unconscious guard and legitimately asked, "what's 
going on?"

"Nothing we can do here," Stephen told him.  "Another ambulance is on 
route, they'll take him.  We have to get the heart to the hospital."

Another ambulance was already in sight, but ahead of it was a black van, 
the logo of the security firm across its side.  Stephen looked up to see 
the other guard in the hold, looking slightly blank-faced, hanging dumbly 
back.

A security guard got out of the van and headed quickly up the ramp to the 
cargo hold.  There was an airport policeman with him who held back to speak 
to Nicky.  Another policecar pulled up and two more got out.

Then two more paramedics came racing up the ramp to join the over-crowded 
mass.  Nicky followed them up, trying to reign in some sort of order here.

"OK," hissed the security guard.  "Enough of this shit, no one goes 
anywhere until we sort out what's happened here."

"Afraid it's not that simple," Nicky told him from the conveyer belt.  
"These two gentlemen have a medical emergency of their own to attend.  In 
that box is a heart being transported for a transplant operation.  They 
can't be delayed."

"Fine let me see inside, then they can go."

"You have no authority here," Nicky assured him, getting ready for an 
argument.

"It's fine," Stephen said.  "Let him look if it'll shut him up."

He opened the case and showed the beating heart to the man, nestled within 
the bed of glistening ice.

He thanked Nicky, nodded to his colleagues from the other ambulance, then, 
together with his partner Lucas, went to their own ambulance, taking the 
medical box with them.

They drove the ambulance away from all the chaos and out of the airport, 
all lights and sirens blazing.



4

Paul felt the cruel tendrils of dread eat up from his gut as soon as he got 
to the hold with his partner for this journey.  The other man wasn't 
especially big but Paul knew that the physical stuff wasn't his strong 
suit.

He was friendly enough though.  This was clearly routine for him and he 
suspected nothing.

Just before they shut them both into the cargo hold, the head steward led 
Stephen to them, as per plan.  He gave his friend a wink and instantly 
regretted it, knowing it was a foolish gesture.  He also knew he'd get a 
slap later on for such stupidity.  Too late now.

The medical case was put in place with more care and reverence than he'd 
seen anywhere else today and then the hold was sealed.

"First time you travelled in the baggage hold?" his partner asked.

"Yeah, I'm not a great flyer anyway," Paul admitted, hoping this would help 
explain his nervousness.

They strapped themselves into the fold-down seats and waited.

The plane taxied to the runway and he took note of the time as they exploded
into motion.

As they stopped climbing and levelled out, Paul unclipped his safety belt, 
breathing slowly to try and calm his adrenaline stoked body.

He picked his moment well, waiting until the other man had his back turned 
before leaping forward and punching out.

The man turned as Paul struck and most of the power from his blow was 
diffused.  He reacted immediately however, throwing Paul back and standing 
strong against him.  Paul swore to himself, knowing he'd screwed up his 
best chance, and launched at the man.

They wrestled clumsily, each trying to force the other into a submissive 
position.  Then he struck Paul a crushing blow to the stomach, winding him.
Paul fell back, gasping.

Through his pain, however, he saw something startling.  Libby stood behind 
the man.  He turned around to take her out too but she was too quick for 
him, felling him with a vicious blow to the throat.  She sank a foot into 
him as he fell and then finished it for good with a crushing power-driver 
punch down into his skull.

The crunch that this blow sounded left Paul in little doubt that he'd just 
witnessed a murder.  He watched Libby with a combination of fear and awe.  
He never had any idea she was so strong, or had such an amazing body.  She 
was thin and willowy, as he already knew, but there were muscles running 
the lengths of those limbs - lean, hard and surprisingly powerful.

She called him a tosser and he hung his head in shame.  Since he'd started 
working, he'd never been made to feel so small or so insignificant.

He collected his pack of tools from the pocket of her case and began 
working on the lock.  It was tricky but he knew locks and knew this one was 
no match for him.  He probed about inside, outwitting the lock's designer 
as he went.

It didn't take him long to finish.  "Piece of piss," he declared, feeling 
as though he had somehow made amends.

Libby approached, taking one of the diamonds and holding it up to the 
light.  She seemed mesmerised by its light, totally enthralled by the world 
as she saw it through that broken lens.

In fact, she seemed to be acting very strangely.  Distracted, almost.

He was feeling worried now.  It was paranoia surely but that didn't stop 
his head from running away with him.

Libby replaced the diamond and then turned to him.  He couldn't read the 
expression in her eyes and that fact alone scared him.

"Tell me something Paul; ever been tempted?"

"What do you mean?"

"Ever thought to yourself how easy it would be to just, you know, rip off 
your partners and disappear with the diamonds?  Why share when you could 
have everything?"

"I wouldn't do that," he stuttered.

Libby stepped up to him.  He backed away instinctively.  She matched his 
height and far more physically powerful.  Her eyes bore into him.

"Too honest?  Is that it?"  She closed on him and he backed away, feeling 
the inside wall behind him.

"Yes," he murmured, his voice small.

"An honest thief?"

"Please," he whimpered.

"Tell me something Paul," she began.

"Anything," he promised.  But she already had the confirmation she needed, 
she could see it in his guilt, see it in his fear.

Without warning, Libby gut-punched him, right where the security guard had 
earlier.  It hurt last time, now, it was excruciating.  It felt as though 
she'd smashed his internal organs to mush.  He felt sick.  He felt like he 
was going to...

Paul passed out.



5

Lucas got the call and drove the ambulance to where the plane had stopped.
A conveyer belt led up to the cargo hold.  Everything as it should be.

He got out, listened to the brief summary from the steward and headed up 
the ramp to join his friend.

He noticed two things.  First, the guard milling around in the shadows 
wasn't Paul.  He was about to ask Stephen about it when he saw who was 
lying unconscious before them.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Nothing we can do here," Stephen said.  "Another ambulance is on route, 
they'll take him.  We have to get the heart to the hospital."

The only thing he could think was that Paul had tried to jump the guard 
and got his own ass kicked instead.  But what about the girl?  She was 
meant to be the contingency plan.  What had happened?  It all made him 
very uneasy.

More people started appearing, ambulance-men to take Paul, police, albeit 
only airport police, the security firm that was supposed to be protecting 
the diamonds.

Somehow Stephen sweet-talked their way for them.  They were allowed to 
leave and Stephen picked up the medical box, carrying it down the conveyer 
belt.  Lucas quickly followed him.

They got into the ambulance and Stephen ordered him to drive.  Silently he 
obeyed, taking the ambulance at high speed as Stephen sat in the back, 
opening the case and then letting out the most improbable stream of 
obscenities he'd ever heard.

Stephen joined Lucas at the front.

"No joy?" Lucas asked stupidly.  "Maybe he couldn't beat that guy, he never 
was that great at the rough stuff."

Stephen shook his head.  "No.  There's more to this shit.  That other guard,
it wasn't the dude that got was on the plane when it took off."

"What?"

"It's Ziggy.  I think she realised that we were going to double cross them.
Fucking Bitch."

"So where are the diamonds?"

Stephen just pondered.  "What we've got to do is find out where the new 
rendezvous is."

"So how are we going to do that?"

"You know what a tracer is?"

Lucas shrugged.  "A kind of bullet isn't it?"

"No," Stephen told him, pulling a small device out of his pocket.  "This 
kind of tracer.  I fitted Paul with a small bug while I was examining him."
It was the shape of a large calculator with an oversized screen.  When he 
switched it on, it began beeping.



6

Libby's main concern was that Nicky, the steward who had met them, would 
immediately see through her disguise, or at the very least, realise that 
she didn't recognise the man as the one who'd got on the plane.  She cursed 
her temper.  A little self-control and this whole mission would have gone a 
lot smoother.  Still, too late to worry about that now.

However, seeing the blooded and unconscious state of Paul, Nicky was 
immediately thrown into a panic, trying to deal with the situation as best 
he could.  He barely paid her any notice at all.

Nicky went straight to get Stephen, as she knew he would.  How Stephen 
reacted was also crucial.

She scratched at her throat.  The metal device beneath the latex mask was 
painful but she had to admit it was quite amazingly effective.  She was now 
glad that Ziggy had insisted upon the second mask, always having a 
contingency plan.  The other mask was a perfect replica of Paul's face and, 
however shaken up he might be, the steward would have noticed that.

She stayed back in the shadows and hoped.  Stephen arrived and ran up to 
the unconscious guard.  She saw his expression remain fixed as he realised 
who it was.

He barely had time to react, the police were arriving, first one ambulance 
and then the other, the security firm that was employed to protect the 
diamonds in transit.  She hoped that in all the chaos they might still get 
away with it.

And then the security guard was in her face - a big, ugly man whose mood 
matched his appearance.

She gave him a brief summary of the story while he checked both IDs.  "He 
went crazy, had to be subdued, accidentally hurt him more than meant to."  
Needless to say, the man was less than pleased.

She ignored him and inwardly breathed a sigh of relief as Stephen and Lucas
left, taking the medical case with them.

Jesus, the stupid guard even insisted on checking it first.

Then he was in her face again.

The paramedics saw her predicament and helped her out.  "We've got to take 
this guy now.  One of you coming with us?"

"Do you want to take the diamonds, or stick with him to the hospital?" she 
asked innocently.

"You ride in the ambulance, I'll stay with the diamonds."

"Sure thing."

"Come straight back to the office as soon as possible.  I want a full report
on this."

"Sure thing."

He also insisted on searching her.  This is what scared her.  But a 
combination of his carelessness, the genius design of the suit and, not 
least, the muscles that lined her body, it didn't even occur to him to 
doubt that she was in fact the man she appeared to be.

Libby followed the stretcher into the back of the ambulance.  Nicky slammed 
the door and wished them luck.

They pulled away, speeding out of the airport with the lights and siren 
blazing.



7

Ziggy managed to force the window without smashing the glass.  She 
supported herself with perfect balance, holding her body flat against the 
wall, the tiniest of ledges all that was keeping her from a lethal drop.  
The wood of the frame splintered in under her insistent pressure, ripping 
away a foot long splinter.  It made a noise but was far quieter than 
shattering glass would have been.

The upstairs of the warehouse was a collection of empty rooms, what once 
had been offices.  The lounge was the only one with any furniture in it, a 
wooden chair, a black and white TV sitting on a crate, hooked up to a car 
battery.  And now, as she peered carefully in, an ambulance stretcher with 
Paul lying on it.  He did not look well.  If was still alive then he 
certainly wouldn't be for long.

The room was internal on all sides.  That was why they'd chosen to use that 
one - no window, reducing the risks of being seen.  It had two doorways 
into it, neither with a door, one on the north wall, another on the west.  
It was the north doorway she now peeked through.  No one would expect her 
to come from that direction.

Inside the room Libby was sitting on the wooden chair, the stretcher 
before her, in the centre of the room.  There was something about her 
posture that was uneasy, unnatural.

She was being held at gunpoint.  A careful lean further, confirmed this to 
be true.  It was Lucas.  He was sitting on the crate where the TV normally 
stood, the near corner opposite Libby, carefully out of sight of both 
doorways, backed into the corner that lay between them.

Libby saw her then, being in a far better position to do so.  She made 
absolutely no reaction or motion that might possibly give the game away.  
Lucas had his body angled so that he practically had his back to Ziggy.

Twisting her shoulders back, Libby stretched, feigning stiffness.  She 
brought her arms up and hands to the back of her head, thus blocking them 
from Lucas' view, enough at least to gesture out of the west door and mime 
a gun.  Then she stretched her neck, twisting her head around.  It gave her 
the opportunity to look right at Ziggy, enough to see the hand signal 
motioning its communiqué.  Libby finished her yawn with a thumbs up.

She was still wearing the same skimpy blue leotard, volumes of toned flesh 
on casual display.  Her careless stretching demonstration had done little 
to diminish Lucas' leering fascination.  As distractions went, it rated 
high.  Behind her head, Libby counted down visibly with her fingers from 
Three... down Two...

...they moved as One.  As soon as Lucas made to respond to Libby leaping up,
he found his actions hindered by a muscular arm wrapped around his neck 
from behind.  Another arm was instantly parallel to his own - an arm thick 
with muscles.  A powerful hand closed around his, grasping the gun in his 
grip tighter than he could imagine was possible without the aid of a 
steelwork vice.

His cry alerted Stephen to the fact that all was not well.  Stephen 
actually had time to turn and raise his gun before Libby had kicked it out 
of his hand and sent it flying.  Then she was on top of him, cracking him 
to the floor with a head-butt, and keeping him there with a rib-smashing 
kick.

"Hold him," Ziggy ordered.  Libby nodded and complied by stepping across 
him and closing her legs together, trapping his head between her knees.  
She grabbed a handful of his scruffy black hair and dragged him upwards a 
bit, positioning him comfortably between her thighs.

"As for you," she told Lucas, and she twisted.  His arm splinted with cruel 
ease, bones snapping slowly as she turned.

"Should we kill them?"

Ziggy seemed unsure.  She lifted her arm back a little, seemingly unaware 
that this choked her captive even further.  She held him there with one 
huge arm, his shoulders pinned back against her broad torso, his face 
turning blue and his heels kicked uselessly, banging against her shins.

She reached to her back and pulled her bag forwards, searching through it 
for her mobile phone.  She switched it on and dialled.  The conversation 
was brief, Ziggy only saying a few words before hanging up.  She shoved the 
phone back in the bag.

"Kill him," she said, snapping Lucas' neck with ridiculous ease, barely 
even changing her position, just giving him a quick, flexing jerk.

Libby squeezed and Stephen began to scream.  He was clawing at her thighs, 
as hard and smooth as concrete, his arms wrapped around them, trying to 
wrench them apart.  She cooed sympathetically, then flexed.

His jaw cracked first, then his neck.  He was already dead when she felt 
his spine snap and she finally released him.

"I hate to admit it but I enjoyed that," she said.

"The others?"

"Dead.  These two jumped us, shot them both.  They're downstairs."

Ziggy nodded.  "Well that only leaves one piece left to complete."  She 
turned to the stretcher.  "You killed him."

"Did I?  He was still alive when the plane landed," Libby insisted.  She 
examined Paul carefully.  "No, wait, he is still alive.  Just about.  You 
want me to finish him off?"

"No," Ziggy told her.  "We'll let nature take its course."

This got a surprised response from Libby.  She turned around to look at 
Ziggy quizzically.  When she did so, she saw that the big woman had taken a 
knife, a long and sturdy hunting blade.

"After all," she said, regarding the weapon, "you slit someone open from 
gizzard to groin, then it's natural that they should die."

She closed on the unconscious man.  "Now let's get those diamonds."