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Jenna York lay face down on the floor of the plane. She listened to the thrumming of the propellers dragging the craft through the night air. She could do little else, bound, as she was, from head to foot in long strips of soft, white cotton. The softness of the fabric was the only mercy, as she could see it, in the horror that was unfolding before her. To her captors she resembled a mummy, a relic from an Egyptian tomb: bound and preserved for the after-life.

She wriggled her body and so could just move her head to one side which took the pressure off her nose and face. The floor of the plane had not been designed with comfort in mind. The weight of her body pressed uncomfortably onto her folded and crossed arms. Jenna began to get pins and needles in her fingers. A single tear petered down her cheek. Jenna was angry with herself for such an open display of emotion.

She began to wonder how long this was going to take when suddenly two things happened. The DC-3 aircraft appeared to reach it's altitude because she noticed a perceptible change in the tone of the engines. Suddenly, a hand gripped her right shoulder, pulled and rolled her onto her back. Jenna York looked into the face of her captor.

A cocophony of emotions tore through her body. Despair, realisation, disbelief and deep, deep sorrow. She wanted to scream into the face of her captor.but she was taped and bound. He brought his face close to hers. Her breathing laboured now, a taped mouth made breathing nearly impossible, nostrils wrapped in cotton and steadily filling with tears, difficult. The noise of the DC-3 appeared to ceased as he began to speak.

"You understand why I have to do this." A statement rather than a question. More tears, a shake of the head.

"You must be stopped."

The plane engines droned on but his voice was the only sound that connected with her mind. Her whole being was focused on his face: unreadable and calm. A living death mask. Had she been able to speak she doubted whether she could penetrate his exterior.

Time slowed and the moment expanded. She reflected on her childhood: her youth, the discovery, being a mother and now this. The circle almost complete.

"You know why I have to do this." Jenna shook her head again, her expression clearly contesting his words. "You are too dangerous and must be stopped. Too many lives are at risk. Goodbye."

He leant forward to kiss her, pausing for a fraction of a second as she struggled against the soft, cotton bindings. His lips felt dry and warm against her brow. The only warmth in the last moments of her life.

It was at this point that her emotions broke free. Tears welled up in her eye sockets, blurring her vision. She breathed noisily as panic and fear choked her. Painful cramps began to grip her left calf. Through her discomfort she still had clarity. Her captor stood up and moved towards her feet. He bent down and picked up a narrow roll of fabric. Holding one end, he through it towards the rear of the plane. As it arced through the air it uncoiled like a silk snake.

He turned to face her again and knelt at her feet. Had the bindings not been so tight Jenna would have struck out with her feet and attempted to kick his head clean off his shoulders. But she knew it was futile to even attempt this. He knew and she knew that once bound a person could not bend their legs, their torso or turn their head easily.

Beneath the soles of her feet, was the splice. The only binding that did not follow the contour of Jenna's body. Separate and yet an intrisic part of the whole. A sturdy, fist-sized loop, through which one end of the long strip of silk fabric was now being tied.

This was it.

A loud crack startled her as cold air filled the fuselage of the plane. For the first time she noticed her captor was not alone. Two pairs of strong hands lifted her gently and moved her to the open door of the plane. 

 Gravity took her...

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