43, Getaway

“This is more disappointing than that night we went out drinking in Prague.  Remember when I took that good looking guy back to my hotel?”  Von Stryker’s voice rang in the agents’ ear pieces.  They could tell she was running but she wasn’t completely out of breath yet.

“Usually I can’t keep track of your sexual conquests, boss, but I remember that guy,” Master Thief Owens joked back to her ear piece.  It was in the middle of the night on a new moon and the Siberian prison power had gone blackout.  Not even the emergency lights were working, but Owens could see in the dark as if the every light was on at full blast.

“All that Czechoslovakian asshole did was blow his nose into my towels and cry the whole time.”  Even while running, Von Stryker laughed to herself.

“For real?  You two never smashed?”

“Nope.  He was too drunk, too scared, too intimidated, whatever, but the power went out to half the city and no shots were fired, metaphorically or literally.”  

“Dang, cuz I sensed you were grumpy on the flight back to London.  This makes sense now.” 

Von Stryker was almost to the getaway plane and saw no bad guys through her night vision goggles as she jogged.  “I don’t care if I don’t get to shoot anyone tonight, but I was hoping for some excitement, maybe. I don’t know.  This is just, well, kind of a let down.”

“Well speaking of let downs, I admit I’ve disappointed a few women that still haunt me to this day.  Not from crying necessarily, but from,” Owens paused to find the words, “from a radically shortened duration of sexy time due to, ah,  overexcitement.”

“Jesus, Owens,” Sergeant Schuman grumbled behind him.  “Are you and Von Stryker talking about your pathetic sex lives right now?  For fucking real?”  Moments earlier she’d been sleeping in a prison cell.  Currently she had her hand on his shoulder as he guided her through the labyrinth of pitch black hallways.

“We’re talking about shooting Russian guards, and call me Fish Man while we’re in here.  Oh, and don’t judge, miss I’m in love with a skinny Colombian boxer and life is unendurable until I see him again.”  Owens was referring to Schuman’s unhealthy love obsession.

“I deserve that,” Schuman said with a smile in the pitch black.  “But I’m not fucking calling you Fish Man.”

The sounds of guards yelling in Russian could be heard echoing through the facility with occasional flashlights throwing beams of illumination to and fro.  A few minutes earlier, Master Thief Anastasia Boothausen had clicked the wrong sequence of buttons on a computer screen and accidentally unlocked all of the jail cells at once instead of only opening the three that were holding the imprisoned American agents.  The inmates thought the prison woke up to the loud sound of doors slamming open.  Shortly after that the Americans employed a secret technology to knock out the power system.  In the complete blackness, confusion reigned supreme.

A few paces behind Owens and Schuman ran special agent Bradley McVandalay.  He could also see perfectly in the pitch black as if it were mid day.  “If you two are talking about disappointing your former sexual partners, Murdock here could talk for hours.”

“Now, now, Bradley, there’s no need to drag me into this conversation and ruin my perfect reputation as an international man of leisure.”  Special agent Trent Murdock held onto the shoulder of McVandalay as the two men navigated through the lightless building.

“You could write a ten volume series on what not to do when you get women into your bed, you prick.”   

Murdock didn’t protest.  After all, moments earlier he too was a prisoner of Mother Russia, and now he was just as helpless as his friends with super vision powers were pulling a jail break.  “More women have left my bed smiling than frowning,” Murdock paused, “I think.”

Owens lifted his wristwatch to address Boothausen with his dumb code name for her.  “Ninja, report.”

This was the first official mission for master thief Anastasia Boothausen with Team Whiskey and she was loving the action.  “I’m looking at the front door of this place, wondering if I should blow it to pieces or just walk through it and leave no damage.”  Like Owens and McVandalay, her vision in the pitch black was flawless.  

“Your call, Ninja.  The freak in me says blow it wide open, but finesse is so much more elegant and it pisses off the officials after the fact when they can’t figure out how the breakout happened.”

“Good point.”  Owens could hear her fiddling with metal on metal.  Even in the dark, no lock could stop that woman.  In the space of one breath, she said, “I’m out.  Meet you at the bird.”  

“Gang,” Von Strykers’ voice sounded nervous, “there are jeeps driving up from the opposite side of the complex.  They’ll be to our side of the prison in a minute or two.”

McVandalay didn’t have an ear piece so he wasn’t a part of the conversation, but with his super vision he could see the problem up ahead.  “Owens, you see them?”

“Yup.”

Murdock and Schuman added, “We can hear them.”

“Thoughts?”

“We don’t have enough time to go around them.  Do your thing, brother.”  Owens turned to Schuman and said, “McVandalay is gonna have to clear us a path through the prisoners.  This’ll take a second.”

Von Stryker heard the comment and replied through his ear piece, “you guys don’t have any time to lose, dammit.  Those jeeps in the distance are acting like they know we’re here.”

A large group of inmates were jumbled up in a large mess at a doorway.  It wasn’t connected to the computer control system so it was locked.  The inmates were beating on it in an attempt to knock it down.  McVandalay put Murdocks’ hand on Owens’ other shoulder and went to work.  As quickly as a hummingbird can fly, one by one he incapacitated the inmates with karate chops and kidney punches.  The sound of men yelling and pounding on the door was replaced by groaning and falling unconscious bodies.

While special agent Bradley McVandalay twisted the doorknob off and ripped the door off its hinges, Pilot Porter’s chipper voice filled Owens ear.  “Our ride is ready when you all are!”  She sat in the pilot seat of a very fast Russian military transport jet.  Her mouth watered and her body tingled in a sexual way.  Flying always made her horny, but this was her first time stealing a plane.  It was almost too much for her sexual excitement to bare.

Mikayla Doniak sat perched at the top of the stairs to the plane with her eye sharply looking through her night vision sniper scope attached to her rifle.  Her voice filled their ears.  “It would be best if y’all got here before those jeeps see bodies running across this campus.  Ginny is almost here.”  She used Von Strykers’ silly code name to amuse Owens.

Von Stryker was now out of breath.  “Ha friggin ha, lady,” she panted.

Seconds later, Anastasia Boothausen was running up the stairs to the plane.  It startled Doniak because she hadn’t seen the thief until she was right in front of her.  “Fuck, Ana!  How’d you get here without me seeing you?”

“I don’t know,” Boothausen said as calmly as if she’d been relaxing in a hammock.  “I was running from that front door over there, so it’s not like I was hiding.”  The truth was the woman naturally blended into the background perfectly even when she was moving.  She was a good person who was born to be a thief, and now that she was working with Team Whiskey, her true super natural talents were starting to become apparent to the crew.

“We’re only a minute or two away from the same front door,” Owens said in their ear pieces.  

“Ginny and Ninja are on the bird.  We’re waiting for y’all and we’ll ditch this joint like a bar at closing time,” Doniak joked.

The four agents found their way to the front door.  As it opened, the stale windless winter Siberian cold momentarily stole the air from their lungs.  “Fuck!” Shchuman yelled.  “It’s colder than my ass out here!”

Owens asked innocently, “Is your ass normally cold?”

“Jesus, Owens, you’ve never snuggled with a woman?”  Schuman laughed.  “Of course my ass is cold, even when I’m in a hot tub.  I’m a female, dipshit.”

“Oh,” Owens sheepishly replied.  “Thanks for the info,” he said genuinely.

The four agents stepped into the stale pitch black night and heard the jet engines firing up.  The lights on the plane were the perfect beacon to follow.  Murdock tried to lighten the mood.  “I spent the night with a beautiful lady in Thailand once that had a warm ass.”

As if the two were a comedy duo telling corny homoerotic jokes, McVandalay replied without hesitation.  “That wasn’t a lady, dude.”

Schuman jumped in on the bullying as the four of them ran towards the plane.  “McVandalay is right.  If her ass wasn’t cold, it wasn’t a her, pal.”

Murdock didn’t have time to laugh as gunshots could be heard from the direction of the plane.  Doniak expertly shot at the jeeps that were rapidly approaching the jet.  Two of the six vehicles went careening off in different directions as the remaining four stepped on the gas.  “Hurry up, fuckers!” Doniak yelled, but her voice was drowned out by the loud jet engines firing up.

Automatic gunfire came from one of the open windows of the jeep, but the shooter wasn’t braced and his rifle kicked back hard, ending his short lived attempt.  Doniak fired round after round and a tire blew out on the lead jeep which caused the other jeeps to stomp on their breaks and swerve out of the way.  The distraction allowed the four agents to get to the plane and scramble up the stairs.  

“Welcome to shit show airlines!” Doniak joked as she slammed the door shut behind the last agent piling in.  “We’re all here, Porter!  Get us out of here!” 

On cue, the pilot aggressively drove the plane away from the portable stairwell and lined it up perfectly on the runway.  By now the remaining jeeps had regained control and were trying to pursue the plane, but Porter seemed to be able to manipulate the jet with ease as she accelerated much faster than any of the other agents were used to.  The noise was so loud that her command of “buckle up!” was simply wasted breath.  Twenty seconds later, the plane was off the ground and heading east.

The agents all found seats and buckled themselves in as Doniak slammed herself into the copilot’s chair.  She put on her headset and complimented her friend.  “Fuckin A Porter, that was amazing!”

“You’re the first girl to ever say those exact words to me!  Usually it’s the boys saying it!”  Her heart pounded and her body ached to get laid.  Stealing a jet was the most erotic thing she’d ever done.  Despite her horniness, she kept an eye on the radar and muttered, “shit, we’ve got company.  Sixty clicks out.”

Doniak was looking over the instrument panel as well.  “I see them too,” as she pointed to the radar.  “What now?”

A sadistic grin spread across Porters’ face.  “We leave them in the dust, of course!” 

Porter was already several hundred feet off the ground but suddenly jammed the jet downward.  The sudden drop in elevation made everyone hold on for dear life, but Porter’s heart was beating even faster from the excitement.  “They can’t see us if we’re under fifty feet.”  When her instruments said they were where they needed to be, she hit the throttle and the jet screamed forward.  “Next stop, Japan.  This won’t be a long flight.”

In the distance, a Russian fighter pilot smiled uncontrollably with lust from the cockpit of his MIG-29 as his radar completely lost its target, knowing that the American pilot of his dreams had just slipped away from him yet again.