Ch.1 Departure
Miranda and I walked into Detroit Metropolitan Airport at 9:00 with a security escort like we were famous. We went through security with a breeze. I only had time to pack my Mac laptop, 2 weeks of clothes, and a few other things that would help me survive in France. We walked down the long hallway bustling with buisness men, reuniting families, and crying children. We approached the short little train that to our gate. As the train approached,I thought to myself how awesome this mission would be. We advanced to the gate 48g, to our surprise, we wern't the only ones there. There was a rich couple, us, and an elderly man. I sighed, because I thought we had the whole plane to ourselves.
"You must get going." Agent Johnson informed us. "Your driver, Eric will meet you in the lobby of the Airport. Gook luck Jake and Miranda."
"Thanks." We said untiedly as we stepped into the gate hallway. It got suddenly got cold, and i got the chills. Even though, I still continued down the hallway. I stepped into the plane as my backpack hit the 1st class airline. I walked down the aisle to find our table/ bed area. These planes were awesome. As i satdown, and pulled out my phone,
"Good morning," The pilot said," This is flight of 7691 from Detroit to Paris, France. The time there locally is 1:21 pm. We will be arriving in 8 to 9 hours."
Then they went into the whole thing about saftey and evacuating from the plane. It took us 10 minutes to get off the runway and into the air. I fell asleep after all of these random things happening. Maybe this was just all of a dream, I'll just pinch mysel-
"OUCH!" I screamed out in the middle of the aisle. Some people thought I had gone absolutley mad, but, I didn't.
We were 35,000 feet in the air in 30 minutes, and that's when I got out my Mac Book and looked on ABC News website. Well, these were the headlines.
Two Michigan mysteriously kidnapped.
It was December 19th, 2010 at 11 a.m. when 17 year old Jake Vanderhide was taken from a funeral unknown. There were no witnesses at this but the FBI and CIA told officials and family that everything will be alright. On the other hand, 17 year old Miranda Qute was at a Bowling alley with her friends. When she went to the bathroom, two men with black suits, dark sunglasses and bluetooth devices had taken her away into a black van witnesses say. If you have any information on this kidnapping please call (XXX) XXX-XXXX.
I'm hoping no-one found out our location or comprimised our cover. I turned on satelitte Television to see if they had the news on. To my surprise, they actually had a news broadcast about me and Miranda.
"Turn on channel 8 on the satellite tv. There is something on 'bout us."
I informed shakenly. Diane Sawer had been covering this. I got nervous, and turned it off. "Da-Da-Ding!" My phine went off.
"There will be a waiter coming to serve you breakfeast. The orange juice is poisoned, take a gun and get ready to shoot at some people." Just as if on que, a waiter came out with an omlett with orange juice. "Sir," I said just about as he left, "I think this Orange juice has something in it."
"What sir," He asked with a thick accent.
"I think its.." I got my hand and got ready to do something," GOT POISON IN IT!" I exclaimed as i threw it in his face. It started to bubble and his face turned blood red and it started to melt away.
"Acid." I murmered. He staggered back and pulled out a switch blade and stared to swipe it around. He could only see with one eye. Why not make him blind. I ran up tohim asMiranda got out a pistol and shot the waiters and waitresses that came out with MP5's. I grabbed this guys hand and punched him in the face multiple times. I took his hand with the knife and flipped it around. "
ARRRGH!" He screamed in pain as I stabbed him in the pupil and broke his wrist. He staggered back again and fell down. 1 down, about 9 more to go.
"Here!" Miranda screamed as she tossed me the gun. I caught it and hid behind a seat. I'm gld we were upstairs because the other passengers would freak out. Moments later, all enemies were down.
