She stood motionless as he, apart from that one difference. She shed breath slowly in an effort to stay calm as she recited the new truth.

"Gentlemen. The prisoner is dead"


Chapter 10

2002 October 16, Hansen Island

They guards shook him, his body rolling around as a rag doll. Rigor mortis yet to set in, and she began on the second part of her plan. Yet the guards didn't want to believe that vital truth, they clutched at the ignorant belief he wasn't dead.

One of them shouted out through the door, "We need a doctor in here"

She turned sharply and straight on her heels, the black scratching in a quarter circle of the white floor of the cell. "You have one right here" her voice demanded.

The guard twisted around to her slowly and glared at her, "Why didn't you do something? You were here all the time!"

She equalled his stare, replying in a patronising manner. "Because." she started, looking over to the body, "There was nothing anyone could do. Not I, not you."

She held her head up high rather haughtily taunting his stupidity. And she knew very definitely that everyone in the room was as dense as she was implying, they'd have to be infact.

She carried on when his softened but confused features goaded her into explaining. "He had a cardiac arrest, and with all security here you'd never get to him in time rattling a trolley down the corridor, unlocking all the gates.and I notice you don't have medical pack anywhere around. Without the proper equipment there was little chance of reviving him by C.P.R. alone."

She turned away faking emotionalism, hoping he'd just accept her opinion as a doctor without question.

Another voice met her ears. "Are you certain that's how he died?"

She nodded vehemently as she sobbed into a handkerchief she held to her mouth.

The answer hit her joyously and she cried out of sheer happiness as he said "In that case we wont need an autopsy, just got to ship him out of here, no offence. You knew him didn't you?"

"Yes, he was a colleague at the military base I worked at. until." she faded of sounding evermore distant.

"You mean until he went psycho, right?" one of the guards retorted to the whole room, grinning at the comment rather viciously.

She span round spitting out her answer against her own will, "Yes, until he needed help." Emphasising the last word just to make it sound less harsh to her ears because she knew frank hadn't gone 'mental' this last time. He had just been a victim of his past and of an elaborate conspiracy and its preposterous cover-up, but that wasn't the kind of thing to say that would help her plan run smoothly.

Smith walked in, seeing the scene and backup to tell the accompanying attendants they weren't needed. She looked at the cart, which held a defibrillator as it rattled past the door on its way back to where it was kept. She hated to think about what would happen if anyone here really had a heart attack.

Smith glanced around, entering and moving over to her. "Ma'am? Will you be alright?"

Her bright eyes looked up to his, watering ever so as she replied, "Not right now, no." He looked down on her sympathetically and she thought for a moment that he might like her perhaps. That was something she could use. She chided herself for being so vulgar but the circumstances might call for such behaviour.

The administrator walked in. Having heard, obviously from Gresham, who followed him. He looked accusingly to the guard hanging over the body unsurely.

"Hart" the administrator barked.

"Sir, the patient is deceased. Our doctor here." he pointed towards Olga ".is sure it was a heart attack. What are we going to do with him? Parker doesn't have any real family."

The administrator sighed; obviously frustrated that something like this had happened again. She bet a reasonable number of deaths happened here and none of them, whatever the cause, were ever going to good for his reputation or career furtherment.

"Find out where he was stationed last. Pack him off to there, let them sort it out."

Hart simply nodded and the rest of them were hushed out of the room.


She sat on the plane waiting and fidgeted in her plastic seat anxiously.

The were waiting for parkers body to be loaded into the cargo bay since the plane was already going back to where they wanted him.

She heard a few clunks and noises in the back and concluded that perhaps they'd finally laden the plane with his still body.

Smith emerged into the middle of the plane where she sat and patted her shoulder as he passed, "We'll be taking off in a few minutes Olga"

She watched him walk up to the cockpit, which he shared with Gresham and wondered how he knew her first name, she'd never told him. He must have found out on his own accord and by his wishes to. She was pretty sure in that case that he would fit nicely for what she planned next, because Gresham whilst being nice to her was not someone that it would work on so well. Gresham was vastly more professional in approach to her.

She slid back in the seat before buckling up her seatbelt for the flight.


After the shaking takeoff she had sat bored stiff, in her place for roughly twenty minutes.

Then Smith pulled back the curtain, popping his head in to check on her. Apparently he didn't like what he saw too much and came out presumably to cheer her up. He sat down besides her and she crossed her legs in his directly discretely, as he chatted reassuringly to her. He made idle conversation, mostly at her. She nodded in the right places; to be sure he'd carry on. If she let him know that she wasn't devastated by the events of the day then it was possible he'd go away, back to his own seat where he ought to have been assisting Gresham with flying the plane.

She figured she must have been atleast half convincing or the flying so easy because he stayed talking to her for quite awhile, before he slipped his arm around her shoulders. He'd made his move. And she felt it time to make hers soon.

Smith relaxed next to her, getting something out of his pocket. He flicked it open and closed as he sat next to her. She stared at it curiously. It was a weapon of some sort. Roughly resembling a knife, yet the end at the top was nothing like she knew. It curved off into a smooth sharp round no bigger than a fingernail and actually looking increasingly like one to her. She stared back up to Smith, who noticed her questioning look.

"You like? It was a gift, you could say, from my boss. Kline, you met him I believe."

She looked back to the strange knife again. He mistook this as a note for further curiosity.

"I guess you're wondering why, right? I've worked with him for along time now, me and Gresham that is." Smith's voice flecked up, coming into life with an intensity to this particular discussion as he simultaneously looked upon the 'gift'.

"Kline thought it might be useful."

He turned towards her smiling broadly. ".but as it turns out it hasn't been, and I don't think it will anytime soon."

In that second the information clicked in accordance with the delight she saw in him as he said it.

He'd done it.

Or not done, since she was talking of things that hadn't come true here and now. But she was 99% sure, seeing Smiths' joy over what she believed he meant. He wouldn't have said it if he'd known she could see his hidden implication in the sentence. The joy was over Frank Parkers 'untimely death'. Something that she felt he'd have had a hand in if she hadn't been there first.

Now she knew she'd feel no guilt over what she meant to do.

She turned away towards the window, cradling her arms around each other and the armrest, all the while getting another part of the plan out of the jacket hem that rided up from around the chair back its whole rested on.

A quarter. She wished it enough to work. All she needed was a few hours. Long enough to escape, for them not to be able to trace.

Slipping it in her mouth she tried the same trick as she had on parker. Not apologising this time. She put all her hate for the man into the kiss and pushing it roughly into his mouth.

On his face she saw him wonder what it was for a second as he backed away from her, she used it to surprise him. a strong graceful hand over his lower head and he had no choice but to gulp it down in his lust for air. He lurched towards her. Which was the point at which she was grateful that it was as fast acting as it was. He dropped to his knees halfway between her and where he'd been.

Gresham had obviously heard the scene and called out. She made her way over to the curtain, groggy with the small amount of the drug she had absorbed whilst it had been in her mouth, ready to strike out at his back through it. She intended to knock him cold but his hand grasped hers midway before even reaching through the red sheet. The grip was, however, loose at best with the fabric in the way and she slipped out of it as he ripped the curtain down with his other hand.

Gresham's furious face glowered at her. He stood up from his seat and faced her.

She set a look of determination on her face but secretly feared the confrontation. She hadn't been willing to take him on directly, her training hadn't been quite as comprehensive as say Parker's. She wasn't a soldier like Parker; parker could beat her hands down. She could see Gresham too, in both nature and knowledge superseded her physically.

He ran at her blindly and she took it all on one action. And in a way it worked.

Her shoe collided with his front, heel to face and he screamed out not having expected anything of the sort - his advance only having made the fierce impact worse.

Blood poured down to the floor as he staggered back, clutching at his eye. He growled almost, in pain. Spinning round in a circle towards the cockpit seat of his, blood spilling out steadily from the combined gash he'd gotten from the sharp edge of her weapon, on his eye and the surrounding skin above and below it.

And all in one second he slipped up, arms flailing from his bloody face for aid. Grabbing out as he fell into the cockpit.

She rushed towards him slightly, still fearful for his safety. Her aim wasn't to kill, just immobilise so she could get away.

But his head hit sharply on the second seat and he fell to floor between them, his head at an odd angle.

After that she stood shocked for a second or two before realising there was something else she should have feared more.

The plane alerted her to it as it dropped into a plummet.

She ran half way up to the cockpit, careful not to meet the same fate as Gresham by the blood on the bottom, yet in a hurry to reach the last place his hand had rested - one of the controls. The corresponding dial, altitude, she could feel was dropping dramatically - the plane radically out of control and heading towards the depths of the forest they were flying over.