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Two CUFAFEDI scientists round a corner, focused on the viewpad they are holding. So focused, in fact, that they don't notice the one-armed man until he pushes them aside with his metal hand. Still stumbling from the shove, the officers then see two men dressed in black, one missing a hand, the other scuttling along the ceiling. They pursue their quarry around the corner and almost smash into a rapidly closing door. As the two Kempetai officers frantically try to disable the lock, the footsteps of the first man can be heard rapidly fading. One scientist picks up the viewpad, which he must have dropped, and glances at his companion. They both quietly slip into a nearby hallway, as the door is forced open by an officer's bare hands.

All of the vehicles on the CUFAFEDI's private airstrip were standard military issue, slightly modified for the more specialized needs of intelligence operatives. All except one. The sleek black craft looked like a cross between a DRAGON and a stealth bomber, and its grey segmented hull glinted in the afternoon sun. Its powerful jets idled softly, showing that whoever owned it was above fuel consumption regulations. It wasn't hard to deduce who it belonged to.

Michael Grayling was sitting in the pilot's chair, idly flipping a pencil. Then he heard an ear-killing screech as the pressure door was peeled from its posts. The man responsible was standing in the doorway, his one arm already reaching towards Mike.

"Whoah, whoah, hold it, mate. I don't know what you want, but I'm just the pilot!"

The man stopped, and glanced towards the console, realizing all of the readouts were in Japanese. He looked back at Mike.

"You can read this?"

Mike saw his chance and took it.

"Sure can, mate, I'm probably the only person in this country who knows how to fly this bird. It takes years to grasp even the basics."

"I suspect that it would take considerably less time for me to learn. However, seeing as I have no time, set a course for Adak Island."

Mike nods, not bothering to ask what the man wanted with an abandoned military base.

"Faster."

He glances up and sees the man glaring at two figures running across the strip.

"Oh yeah, they'll be pissed that you took their bird. Of course, it looks like they're already pretty pissed."

"Just fly."

"On it."

Mike twists a knob until it clicks, and the jets roar to life. As the transport rises, MIke turns around.

"Welcome to the Mitsubishi A12 Dragonfly. Powered by quad Nakajima Sakea jet engines, this bird has enough power to pull a small cruiser. Alternatively, if you don't need to haul anything, it can go really, really fast."

As Mike finished, the Dragonfly finally rose above the hangars surrounding the airstrip, and the jets fully opened. Mike hear a violent screech as the one-armed man's fingers tore through the metal inner hull as he struggled to remain standing under the intense acceleration. Mike himself was pressed into his seat. Then they were at cruising speed, and the extreme forces eased off. Mike leaned forward and confirmed that the computer had set everything correctly, then spun his chair around.

"Quite the ride, huh, mate? I figured you wanted the rapid exit package, so I exceeded a couple of safety recommendations."

Giving no response other than a grunt, the man sat down in the co-pilot's chair. Mike turned back around, checked a readout, then looked back at the man.

"You got a name, mate?"

"You haven't told me your own."

"Ah, that's a bit rude of me. I'm Mike."

"Alex."