Gene Polanski, Male, 45

	- Business VP, husband of Tamara, father of Lauren, Finch, and Logan

	- tanned beige skin, 6'1, 210lbs, short peppered grey-black hair

Tamara Khouri-Polanski, Female, 43

	- Professor, wife of Gene, mother of Lauren, Finch, and Logan

	- dark olive skin, 5'6, 150lbs, shoulder-length curly rich brown hair with natural red highlights

Lauren Khouri-Polanski, Female, 15

	- High school freshman, daughter of Gene and Tamara, sister of Finch and Logan

	- medium olive skin, 5'8, 150lbs, back-length curly black-brown hair, colored white-streaked highlights

Finch Khouri-Polanski, Male, 14

	- Eigth-grader, son of Gene and Tamara, brother of Lauren and Logan

	- dark olive skin, 5'6, 145lbs, ear-length curly rich brown hair with natural red highlights

Logan Khouri-Polanski, Male, 12

	- Sixth-grader, son of Gene and Tamara, brother of Lauren and Finch

	- medium olive skin, 5'1, 110lbs, ear-length straight black hair

Holly, Female, 19

	- Companion to and 'researcher' for the Harrelmans, agent of Marker 1

	- Bronze-tanned skin, 5'1, 100lbs, straight shoulder-length straw-blonde hair

“Move! Run! Go now!” Holly's voice blasted through the plane's cabin just at the wheels came to a stop. She freed the door and the steps went down, the short blonde shouldering the machine gun as she jumped out.

“Run where?” Gene shouted into Holly's ear after he flew down the steps, the rest of the family just behind. “Where?!”

Holly pointed to the extended black SUV parked a dozen yards away. Gene pushed his wife and kids ahead, raced after. The SUV doors swung open on their own, except for the driver's door which remained sealed. Gene panted as Tamara pushed Finch and Logan into the middle row and climbed in. Lauren bolted into the vehicle with Gene on her heals.

Harvey came running, pistol in hand, then sprinted past the SUV and took cover behind a small tractor. The SUV doors closed just as crackles of automatic fire swept past. Holly shouted, ran up, ripped open the door and slipped in next to Gene.

A male voice boomed from the front, “Harvey, let's move!”

The short black man pulled something out of his pants, paused, tossed it off into the blackness, followed quickly by another. As he leapt into the SUV, twin explosions pounded Gene's ears from the right, followed by more gunfire.

The vehicle shot forward, hit something which gave way with a crunch, and raced off the pavement and onto the grass. They slid side-to-side as the driver accelerated, twisted the wheel hard left, yelled back, “hang on, get down!”

A loud explosion rocked the SUV from the left but didn't stop it. More automatic fire met them, the driver yelled, “oh, shit! Goddammit!” He ripped the wheel left hard again. Gene was thrown into Lauren, his hand momentarily grasping between her knees.

Another hard left, then a right, more gunfire. The darkness made it difficult for Gene to see out the thick tinted glass. He was out of breath, agitated. Lauren grabbed his hand and held on tight.

The only one not appearing terrified was Holly, who grinned as she exclaimed, “Jesus, Georges, you haven't introduced us to your friends.”

“Shove it, Holly. Don't blame me. They knew we were coming. If you'd have been thirty seconds later, I'd have had to leave and you'd have been on your own.”

“Coward.”

“Fuck you.”

“Maybe.”

“Whatever, Holly. First Squad has rallied at the safe house. We're not sure if it is compromised.”

“Guess that hinders the plan to not die.”

“It fucks up everything if they found it. You know that. We barely have plans for...” He cut off. “If you think this was chaos, try blacking a safe house and getting to another with no warning. Good fucking luck.” The driver growled, seemed to dismiss the young blonde. “I gotta put the hammer down. Fucking hold on.”

- - -

Lauren's terror level had been high on the flight, but the escape from the airport was worse. The explosions, the gunfire, the near collisions, sharp corners at speed, it left her gasping for breath and praying for her life. She'd instinctively taken her dad's hand in hers, needed that reassurance, needed to feel that he was in control.

She glanced at him, saw the same fear in his eyes. She squeezed his fingers tightly and tried to hang on.

- - -

“Tail's reporting us clear to head for the house, no one following us.” After almost thirty minutes of racing across backroads in Belgium at incredible speeds, Georges slowed, turned North, and acted as if everything was normal.

Holly's grin had faded, the blonde suddenly looking tired to Gene. He leaned into her, asked, “what happens if the safe house is compromised?”

“We leave.”

“Leave where.”

She gave him a flat look, “dunno. They haven't told me yet.”

“And if we don't leave? What then? What happens to us?”

“All in time, Gene, all in time. Right now, just keep your pretty head down and enjoy the ride.”

- - -

Logan had stopped keeping his head down some time ago, trying to peer out the dark windows to catch shadows of hills and buildings. His terror had been high after the first few minutes, but once the adrenaline slowed and his breathing returned, he started to feel interested in what was going on. All the shouting had scared him a bit, but talk of safe houses and First Squad had caught his interest.

He felt like he was in a movie, one of the ones where the bad guys always lose in the end. He smiled slowly, letting his mind construct the plot and follow himself as the hero. Heroes get the girl in the end. That's the rule. Wonder who I'll get... He thought of his sister then, wasn't sure why. She was pretty enough. Yeah, Lauren would make a good prize for the hero. Wonder if she'd kiss me...

As the action played out in his head, he let his awareness of the ride move into the background. A John Williams theme played loud inside his mind as he caught a rope swing across a chasm, avoiding bullets and rockets, grabbing Lauren by the hand, and delivering her to the waiting speedboat. Engines roaring to life, they sped off, firing automatic rifles that never seemed to need reloading.

“Whoa... ok, First Squad's moved out the perimeter. Hold fast.”

Logan's mind snapped back to attention as he saw two grey-camouflaged men approaching the SUV as it slowed to a stop. It made him feel important, on a secret mission, ready to take on the world. Maybe I am a hero...

- - -

The engine drone was steady as the driver called back. “Mike-One has no clear indication that the safe house is compromised. Plan is to regroup there for the next hour and make a call. If the Colonel isn't certain by then, we have to black it and move. Plans forthcoming on that...”

Holly nodded her head, said to Gene, “not unexpected. When No Limits got into our sys, we caught it almost immediately, but they accessed some things, like the Whitehead surveillance. Possibly a safe house or two. We just don't know for certain. We lost two agents, though, that first day. No Limits got enough to identify them. Two more last weekend. A few others went to ground, we haven't heard from them since. Doesn't leave many of us still operating, no more than fifty.”

Gene said nothing, stared ahead as they rounded a bend and rose on a sloped hill. Farms dotted the rural area, just enough light from the rising moon to see barns and fencing. Holly said thinly, “we own all this. Pretty good cover until now. No one expects a bunch of dairy farmers to be hiding the most wanted man in the world.”

“What?”

“Didn't I tell you? No Limits isn't the only group interested in you. No, those weren't No Limits agents back there. From the arms and tactics, I'm guessing one of the less well-trained groups, like Kino or Playa Gordo. They have big goals, but they're new to the game and underfunded. We know Kino's been watching that airfield for at least six months. Three quarters of our flights in and out are decoys. Somehow they knew you were arriving, though. Hmm...”

“Goddammit...” Gene muttered, the situation quickly feeling too heavy to ponder, too impossible to outrun.

- - -

The farm house was abuzz with activity. Soldiers in grey camouflage shuffled equipment, staging it in piles in the grass outside the front door. People rushed from room to room, talking on the small phones similar to the one in Tamara's purse, the conversations coded to the point where it seemed they spoke in a pidgin English.

Tamara sat nervously beside her husband and children, eyes darting, bloodshot, trying her best to remain calm. Exhaustion threatened her mood and her ability to think. She exhaled sharply, sipped the coffee offered moments earlier by a thin young man wearing a t-shirt and bermuda shorts. He looked so out of place, could have been a surfer, a college-age frat boy, even a barista the way he slung cups of the hot beverage to anyone who wanted one.

They'd been seated for almost fifteen minutes. Holly and Harvey had disappeared into the basement along with Georges, the driver. Tamara could see the weariness on Gene's face, lines of tight concern that sagged when he blinked. She still wasn't able to understand how her husband had kept such powerful secrets from her, and it pained her to wonder what else he might have lied about over the years.

Harvey returned, motioned Gene to follow him. Tamara started to rise, to go with him. Harvey shook his head, said, “just Gene right now. I'll come get you in a few minutes. There's toast and jam in the kitchen. See that you and your children get something fast, we may be moving again shortly, dunno when we might get a chance to find a meal.”

Tamara nodded weakly, shot Gene a tight smile as he followed Harvey, then went to the kitchen where several people milled silently with bags shouldered. Almost everyone wore a weapon of some sort. Many had pistols. The soldiers had black rifles, silver handguns, knife handles sticking up from sheathes attached to thighs or lower legs. Grenades were tucked into loops over thick vests. A couple of men had large tubes strapped to their backs, hard metal cases belted to their sides.

Tamara shivered, tried not to think about being in a war. Things had been so comfortable at home. The worst of their worries were usually related to which of the children were fighting at any given time. Those 'wars' were ones filled with words and tantrums, not bullets.

She pulled out plates from a cabinet and loaded them with toast, jam, butter, and strips of a rough-cut meat that looked like ham but smelled like bacon. Tamara spotted a platter holding oranges, put several in her purse, and returned to the room where her children waited restlessly, handing each a plate of food.

“Eat. I know you may not feel like it, but eat. Right now. Scarf it down. We may not have time to eat later.”

She bit into the sticky-sweet toast coated in currant jam and for a few moments, did her best to swallow the thick lumps despite the way her throat constricted and her stomach threatened to rebel.

- - -

“I'm Fleur. Colonel Densa Fleur. I command First Squad and have responsibility for this safe house and those inside it, including you and your family.”

The tall French woman wore tight black pants that hugged her subtle curves, a tight black mesh top that both flattened and accentuated her breasts. Two pistols were strapped to her chest on holsters fed over her shoulders in an x-shape. Two more pistols were on her waist, a short automatic rifle over her back. She wore shaded glasses, an earpiece. Her long brown hair was braided tightly and pulled back behind her. Gene swore she was going for Lara Croft.

“Gene... I'm Gene Polanski.”

“I know who you are, Mason Shay. I expect Holly has brought you up to speed on why you're here?”

“Sort of. I know No Limits wants me dead and you think I know something useful.”

“Good enough for now.” Fleur poured over a map a moment, looked up, said, “do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Know anything useful. Now would be a good time to spill it.”

Gene shook his head, “I don't know. It's been years since... since Whitehead. Nothing makes sense. We were into a lot of things... none of them that I can connect... to all this...”

Fleur studied him a moment, returned to her map, silent, sipping coffee. A young woman rushed up with a piece of paper. Fleur read it, crumbled it, tossed into the fire burning in the fireplace. Gene had seen several chunks of paper tossed there already.

“You're under my command now, Shay. You do what I say, follow my sergeants' orders, no hesitation, got it? They say run, you run. They say fight back, you fight back. We'll get you arms soon.”

The thought of being given guns was no salve to his fears. He managed, “Yes, understood. Please... Mason Shay... isn't me anymore. Gene, call me Gene.”

“Fine. Gene.” A man called down the stairs, the monotonous stream of words not registering meaning in Gene's mind. Fleur spoke sharply. “We're moving. Get your family ready. Long day ahead of us.” Gene nodded as Harvey led him up the stairs.

He heard Fleur shouting for Holly as he ascended the steps, the short blonde passing him without notice as he rose to the top. More shouts sounded as instructions were barked and movement became frantic. Gene felt the tension from everyone, looks of measured concern on most faces, outright fear on some. He hoped his own was measured, though, inside, his guts were churning and his mind racing with anxious anticipation.

- - -

Lauren's discomfort became too much to bear as she watched men and women hauling heavy boxes, bags, cartons, weapons, and equipment out of the house. She'd used the bathroom, her period coming heavily. Already she'd changed out the tissue twice since arriving. She found the nerve to ask a dark-haired woman wearing a faded green shirt and pants, “do you... do you have tampons? Please?”

The woman shrugged, didn't respond, kept moving. Lauren sank back and felt miserable. A round-faced red-haired man in grey camouflage sank to his knees beside her, said, “I'll get you some. Hold two,” then rose and disappeared into the back of the farmhouse. He reappeared a moment later, a package of twenty tampons passed into Lauren's hand.

She thanked him, disappeared into the bathroom once more, finally able to properly stem the flow of her menstrual blood. Lauren looked in disgust at the spots of dark red that had stained her grey panties. The bag holding the clothes she'd brought had already been taken from her, leaving her no access to anything clean.

Lauren exhaled, inserted the tampon and tossed the applicator in the trash can. She looked at herself in the mirror a moment. I look like hell... Her eyes showed dark circles, her face almost dusty, pale. Despite her olive-toned skin, the lack of sleep and the hours of frightening events had left her drained of blood, the olive complexion becoming more grey and pale yellow, sallow.

She turned, took a deep breath, and returned to her family, sank into a seat and waited for someone to tell her what to do next.

- - -

Logan couldn't stop his racing heart. Unlike the looks he saw on Finch's and Lauren's faces, his was one of excitement. He no longer fantasized about epic adventures in his mind. Logan was living one. He was surrounded by armed men and women, the bustle of action around him said the twelve-year old was caught up in something big, something important. For once, he ignored his hard little cock that tried to demand his attention.

His father returned, sank into a chair next to him, put his arm around Logan, hugged him tight a moment. Logan smiled, said brightly, “it's gonna be alright, Dad. We're heroes. Just wait, you'll be proud of me.” His dad didn't smile back and it hurt Logan to see his Dad not sharing his excitement.

Logan didn't let it sink his mood, though, and returned to watching the delightful chaos of movement around him. I hope they give me a gun.

- - -

It was all Finch could do to stay awake as the grey truck rolled South on a windy backroad. He was crushed into the back row of seats between his sister and his father, Logan on his mom's lap in the middle of the front row, Harvey driving, Holly on her right, eyes focused out the window. Finch's mind lulled, tried to shut down as the minutes passed in silence.

He grew foggy, his head nodding before he'd catch himself. Finch tried to get comfortable, couldn't, shifted as best he could in the cramped rear row. He started to fade again, fear no longer the intense sensation it had been just an hour before. He felt numb, unable to process his situation. Thoughts seemed to drift, hesitate, left incomplete as his ability to hold onto them slipped and grew weak.

His eyes closed. For just a few seconds, his mind sought safe thoughts, safe places, good memories. Once more, he turned over his mom's dirty panties in his hand, imagined smelling them. He picked up Lauren's panties, sniffed her odors, became aware during his near-sleep fantasy of how warm his sister's leg and thigh were against him. It sent a jolt into him, just a quick one, enough to plant the urge to touch her.

Finch let his hand slide down to his right where it came into contact with Lauren's leg. It took no effort to appear to fall asleep, his consciousness just barely aware of what he was doing. He leaned into Lauren, rested his head on her shoulder as his fingers rested just inside her left thigh. He drifted off for good, his penis swelling and dreams of Lauren's warm flesh soaking into his mind.

- - -

Her brother's head had sunk onto her shoulder, his hand positioned in such a way that Lauren wanted to move it from her leg. The cramped seat left her nowhere to go, and when his light snores started, she did her best to ignore the way his fingers twitched randomly against her inner thigh.

She stared out the window, tried to drown out the discomfort by imagining a hot shower. She smelled herself strongly, knew her ripe odors had to be obvious to the others. Lauren tried to keep her legs closed to prevent the strong scents from being worse.

Finch's fingers twitched again, his hand jumped, his palm pushed up an inch or two, threatened to contact her crotch. Lauren's clit rose from the touch. She flushed the horror quickly, tried to make herself smaller, and stared off into the flat green landscape that rolled by.

- - -

The light smell of fish and iron had been wafting over Gene's nose for several minutes before he connected the dots. His mind had been blank, mostly, exhaustion divorcing him from the ability to rationalize, to organize, to make sense of his new reality. At first, the smell didn't register. Over a few minutes, though, it became obvious that the odor belonged to his daughter. Instinctively he inhaled, wasn't turned on, but wasn't disgusted either. He supposed in a happier moment, he might have enjoyed the mix of strong odors.

It wasn't a happy moment, though, and what little energy he had left was spent trying to puzzle out what he might know, what might have driven No Limits to want him dead.

Whitehead had been involved in many closely-held operations. They were mostly hackers, technology experts, data analysts. They'd taken on clients with the deepest of secrets, the explicit guarantee of discretion perhaps the most important point of what Whitehead charged seven-figures to do.

It could be anything, Gene began to realize. Any one of those clients might have been on to something that had festered and grown over time into a big deal. There were deals with the KGB that undermined Chinese export protocols, money laundering that passed through a dozen accounts before being available to a paramilitary group in Chad, the discovery of information that had led to the killing of a rising politician in Venezuela.

In many ways, Whitehead enabled many of the world's underground organizations to do what they did without recourse. They were good at what they did, leaving no trails behind, at least nothing that wouldn't have taken a very specialized set of skills to unravel. It seemed that Marker 1 had such skills, and Gene wondered who else had managed to find out about him.

He reflected on Charles Utah, how he'd always been one step ahead of everyone else. A brilliant guy, really. The fastest mind Gene had ever known. Always involved with people he had no right to know. Utah never talked about his past, only his future. Gene had often wondered if the man was former CIA, perhaps even a deep-cover agent for the intelligence agency. Utah never gave out one word of detail more than he had to, and it had both intrigued and frightened Gene during their time at Whitehead.

It occurred to him that things were rarely what they seemed with Utah, rarely did he give someone an accurate depiction of things. It was carefully molded, crafted to reveal only what Utah wished known, nothing more, and often, the persuasive stories he presented had only the smallest elements of truth in them. Utah was a hard-core utilitarian, whatever his goals, so long as he achieved them, it mattered little how he got there.

Gene leaned forward, spoke into Holly's ear. “Tell me something. How do you know Utah's dead?”

Holly paused, said, “three agents closed in on a team from No Limits just a few minutes too late at his house. They found his body burning.”

“Sure it was him?”

“Dental records made it pretty obvious. Even found the implant in his jaw.”

Utah had had a small receiver inserted near his teeth that let him sync all sorts of gadgets and connect them to networks and sats. “Ah.”

“He's dead, Gene.”

“Maybe so.” He chewed his words. “I learned a long time ago to trust nothing 'obvious' about Utah.” Gene sank back and dozed a bit as his mind settled somewhere away from the death of his old partner.

- - -

The convoy of two dozen vehicles pulled to the side of the road where it ran along a low hill facing East. Tamara doubted they were still in Belgium, didn't know where they were heading. After three hours cramped in the truck, it was a welcome relief to lift her son off her lap and stretch beside the road.

Soldiers rushed out around them, heading down the road in both directions, a few into the trees. A few dozen people gathered around Colonel Fleur after she barked out a command to attend her.

“Fifteen minutes, tops. Eat, piss, do what you need to do. Don't wander. Stay close. Don't approach the perimeter. First Squad is jumpy, might shoot you. The next to last vehicle has water and rations. Get them now and be ready to move within ten minutes.”

The crowd separated, many moving back toward the rear. Tamara looked at Gene, his arm around Lauren's shoulder, then at her sons, said, “thirsty, anyone? Hungry?”

Small nods were returned. “I'll get you something. Go use the bathroom if you need to.”

Lauren's voice was pained, weak, “what bathroom?”

Tamara looked around, could see a man urinating in the tree line, two women squatted nearby with rolls of toilet paper in hand. She pointed, said, “that one, apparently. Be fast. See if you can get tissues from someone, I need to go as well.”

Lauren groaned audibly, but headed toward the trees anyway.

- - -

It wasn't something she'd ever thought to do where people could see her. Lauren stood a moment, some distance from where the two women were wiping, pulling up their pants. She'd seen hints of pubic hair for just a second before they were covered again.

Lauren called out, “can I use that?” making a motion that showed she needed the toilet paper. One of the women nodded, walked over, handed her the roll.

The fifteen-year old waited as her bladder and bowels strained, allowed the woman to move away. She panicked a moment, unsure which way to face to avoid any wandering eyes, then decided she was too tired, too overwhelmed to much care. She pulled down her pants and panties, eyed again the dark blood in the crotch, and sank into a squat. She yanked out the bloody tampon and tossed it into the woods before her stream began to flow strong and steady.

- - -

Finch hadn't meant to watch but how could he not. He'd moved toward the treeline after eating a can of rough-cut salty beef and drinking a cup of water. Lauren was squatting, her ass toward him, and he could see her urinating strongly. He stopped a moment, looked around. His dad and brother were still eating, sitting on the grass. His mom had gone back to the rear to grab food for herself and Lauren.

Finch turned back, saw Lauren's soft round butt cheeks and couldn't help growing hard. She started to defecate and he turned away, not wishing to see it. But the image of her sexy backside was plastered in his mind.

He stepped into the wood line and leaned against the tree, pulled out his hard penis and tried to piss. It took a moment, the excitement of seeing his sister's naked butt making it difficult to urinate. The flow finally began and for a moment Finch pissed onto a low bush.

His stream slowed, his cock became hard again. Finch looked around quickly, saw Lauren wiping herself, could just see a hint of dark hair between her legs. His fist instinctively grasped his cock and stroked it as he watched. Lauren stood, her bush then clearly visible as she slid her panties up and returned her pants to her waist.

Finch stroked quickly, intense pressure built quickly in his groin. His eyes darted to where a female soldier was squatting and pissing. The angle was just right for him to see her shaved pussy, the woman's large labia open as the urine flowed between.

Finch groaned, thrust against his fist, and ejaculated into the bushes. Quick, fast spurts shot out, draining his balls into the woods. He shuffled immediately, tucked his leaking penis back in his underwear and fastened his pants again. He buzzed as his orgasm continued to wave in, his sperm drooling from his shrinking cock.

- - -

Tamara knew what she was watching. Her son thought he was hidden, partially behind and leaning against a tree. She saw his fist moving, saw him watching first Lauren, then the female soldier. Tamara had been halfway back to her husband when she'd stopped and couldn't keep walking. Sperm shot out of Finch's penis and he quickly pulled up his pants and returned to where Gene, Logan, and Lauren were sitting on the grass.

She shuddered, tried hard to erase the image. She'd never seen anything like that. The moments on the plane had been obscured, her son's genitals not in view. It had been many years since she'd seen Finch's penis, and she suppressed another shudder which have undoubtedly been followed by her rising clit and wetness in her vagina.

- - -

“Two minutes. Let's move, people!” Colonel Fleur climbed into the passenger seat of the third vehicle and disappeared. Logan was fascinated by her, the woman's commanding presence had him eager to hear her speak, to see the way she looked so powerful in her black suit, wearing guns like she'd been born with them.

His mom sat in the front of the truck next to Holly and Logan settled onto her lap again. He really liked sitting like that, his mom's body under him. Something about it was exciting, sitting higher than everyone else, feeling her warm skin below, her skirt barely separating her flesh from his. He rocked his legs as the vehicles started rolling again, humming to himself a cartoon theme song, anxious to see what other exciting adventures were in store.