Lara Croft: Family Ties
Lara Croft fiction by Sarah Crisman
Scrisman@juno.com

Please note that the character of Lara Croft is © 1996 Eidos Interactive. The text of this work is © 1997 Sarah Crisman, and cannot be changed/altered without her permission. In no way is this story intended to be taken as canon concerning Lara’s past, and neither Eidos nor Core, or any of their affiliates are responsible for this story in any way, shape or form.
There…that out of the way, let’s get to the fun, shall we? Oh yes…mail is ALWAYS encouraged. *hint, hint*

Mike watched as the waiter flicked the match and deftly lit the two candles at the table. The twin tapers were quite new, and the flames licked at them hungrily, as though expressing some inner desire to melt and burn the wax and ruin the beauty of the candles with their heat. It was funny…for something as pretty as a candle flame to be created, you had to give up something else just as beautiful, namely the candle itself. He watched the hand pull away, and set the menu at his place. He went to open it, but first gave a glance to his companion across the table. She sparkled from head to toe with her beautiful necklace, and matching earrings, bracelet, wristwatch, dress, purse, and shoes. All of a sudden, he felt a little underdressed in his white dress shirt, bluish-gray tie, and black slacks and shoes. But he didn’t really care how he felt as long as she didn’t mind.
Lara looked absolutely radiant. She watched herself in Michael’s glasses; watched the flames flicker and dance, sometimes coming towards each other, other times moving away. Yes, she thought to herself, the fires acted exactly like two nervous, flirting teenagers. Getting close (but not too close) then moving away (but not too far away), and repeating the pattern over and over again.
Of course, the restaurant had been her idea, and she was the one paying for it. Michael, though he had an average bank account for his age, didn’t exactly have the resources to pay for something like this. And it was kind of nice to be in a position where she could pay for it all. The year before, if someone had described this exact scene to her, she would have scoffed. She didn’t have hardly a penny to her name, not that her family wasn’t wealthy, but they didn’t like her traipsing all across everywhere. Then her mother had died, and she had inherited a portion of the Croft family fortune. It had bought her most of her gear, and a house. She had invested the rest, and only used the royalties from her journals to finance other things. And the journals of Lara Croft were popular reads indeed. Even in America, they managed to turn up on the New York Times Best Seller list, and they had quite the tenacity to stay there for lengthy periods of time.
She smiled at Michael, sensing a bit of nervousness about him. “Something wrong, dear?”
Mike’s head snapped up from the menu. “I’m going to order the Chicken Teriyaki. Um…what did you say?”
“I asked if you were feeling alright, silly. You seem to have developed a twitch.”
Mike wrinkled his nose. “Um, I think I may be just a little bit hot,” he confided. He envied the fact that she was allowed to wear such a short dress without sleeves while he was stuck in a long-sleeved shirt and long pants. This chauvinistic view of attire would have to be done away with one day, he told himself. “Well, what are you going to have?”
Lara glanced at the menu. “I think the Filet Mignon with Belgian truffles sounds quite nice,” she said, mouth watering at the menu picture. “Garnished with a bit of French endive, and rounded out with a little bit of Chateau du Canada ’65.”
“Chateau du Canada?” Mike asked, staring at his menu. “What’s that? Where do you see that? I don’t see that…”
Lara tapped a second sheet of laminated paper that was inside her menu. “It’s on the wine list, Michael. They didn’t give you one, because you’re not old enough to drink it yet.” She giggled in a slightly nah-nah-nah-nah-nah way, but the sound of her laughter immediately put him at ease. She was enjoying herself, and even if it was at his expense, that was the most important thing.
The waiter returned, and took their orders, expertly complimenting Lara on her choice of drink, before returning to the kitchen and passing the instructions on to the chef. Within moments, he had returned to the table with a large silver chiller filled with ice, out of the top of which stuck the neck of a pale red bottle, the cork still inserted. “Shall I do the honors, madam, or would you prefer?” the man asked, offering Lara the bottle.
“Oh, you go ahead,” Lara told the man. “I’m afraid I would ruin something.”
“Very well, madam.” Placing his thumb and forefinger underneath the cork in just the right place, he gave a gentle twist, causing the cork to give way with a loud popping sound that caused heads to turn for a few seconds before resuming their dinner conversation. The waiter filled the glass half full, then placed the bottle back in the silver ice chest, bowing slightly, and walking away.
“I can’t believe we are eating here,” Mike breathed. “I mean, I knew Britain had fancy restaurants, but this is incredible!”
Lara chuckled. “Not to detract from the food or the service, but this is one of the cheaper ones.”
“Don’t like to spend too much money on your date, huh?” Mike asked.
“No, didn’t feel like waiting for two hours for seats,” she replied. “A bunch of members of the British Parliament are all going on some trip somewhere, and they would be eating at the fancier restaurants. The crowds there would be hideous. But here, no crowds. As you can see, they’ve still got tables empty.”
“Hope that’s not a foreshadowing of what the food is like,” Mike joked.
“I wouldn’t have taken you anywhere they didn’t serve good food,” Lara replied.
“You know, I would have been more than happy to take us out,” Mike said, breaking open a package of crackers. “Problem is the traffic. You folks don’t drive on the correct side of the road here.” He grinned, and she reached across the table and poked him.
“You, dear American, are the one who doesn’t know the proper side of the street to drive on. You folks always complain about making left turns…well, over here, left turns are very simple.”
“Yeah, it’s the right turns that’ll get you every time,” Mike joked.
They carried their casual table conversation on for a few more minutes before the waiter returned with two trays. He placed them before the guests and removed the lids, causing a mass of steam to rise from under each one, and then stepped back. “Do enjoy the meals. Andrew himself prepared them.” He disappeared again.
“Andrew?” Mike asked.
“The head chef of the restaurant,” Lara said. “The best chef on this side of the city.”
Mike bit into his chicken, and his mouth instantly felt like it was in heaven. The spices were all the proper blend. The rice laid just right. The skin light, yet just the right toughness. And the meat was absolutely stunning. It seemed to melt in his mouth from the moment it connected with his tongue. But the fact that he was washing it down with water didn’t seem quite correct. “Lara…let me have some.”
Lara skewered a truffle with her fork and placed it on his plate. “There you go.”
“No, not your meal. Some of the Chateau du Canada.”
Lara peered at him. “Michael, you aren’t old enough to drink in a proper restaurant yet.”
“I can drink in a pub,” Mike replied. “What’s the difference?”
“You won’t find this in a pub,” Lara told him. “The restaurant can lose their license if you drink champagne.”
“What, you think I’m going to get drunk? I only want a little bit. Surely you’re not planning on hogging the whole bottle yourself?”
Lara blushed a little. “Well, now that you mention it…” She cast a furtive glance around to make sure no one was looking, then edged her glass across the table to him. “Here. Take a sip. But do it quick before someone sees you.”
“But you’ve been drinking out of that glass!”
“And you care because? Look, think of it as a kiss. A very tasty, very expensive kiss.” She giggled. “Now hurry up and drink if you are going to drink.”
Mike took the glass in his hand, lifted it to his lips, and took a sip. It was quite good! He took another small swallow before passing it back to her. “Thanks. That hit the spot.”
She smiled a blackmailing smile. “Now, remember. I never gave that to you.”
He nodded and returned his fork to his meal.
The waiter returned to the table. “Pardon me, sir, madam. I’m terribly sorry to trouble you, but I’m looking for a Miss Lara Croft.”
Lara looked up. “That’s me. What do you need?”
“I’m afraid you have a phone call, Miss. Terribly important, they said. Though they wouldn’t mention what it was about… It’s on your phone that you checked in with us, if you’ll come with me…”
Lara rose. “Sorry, Michael. I’ll be right back. I’m sure it’s nothing. Daddy was eating with the rest of those Parliament members. It’s probably a call from him about something or other. I shant tarry.”

* * * * * * * *

Lord Henshingly Croft glanced up from his meal at the guests around him. Being friends with the dignitaries certainly had its privileges. It was a pity about poor Arthur though. Sad to see the chap get sick on such short notice. And Arthur was such a nice fellow too. I would have really enjoyed his conversation, he thought to himself.
“The Japanese have put another tariff on our tea,” Arnett Jamison murmured as he took a sip of wine. “We’ll have to raise the price on their automobiles again.”
“Not another one?” Louise Fletcher asked, her eyebrows raising slightly. “Those bloody Japs don’t know how good they’ve got it, do they?”
“No, suspect not,” Jonathan Clemens sighed, his large form filling out the chair quite nicely. “But they will in due time. Charles will see to that.”
Lord Croft listened to the conversation intently, trying to understand how all these people had made it to such lofty positions. He had been offered once, by an associate, but he had turned it down. Politics was interesting to him, for sure, but he didn’t want to live it every day of his life.
“So, Lord Croft,” the gentleman next to him began, “how do you enjoy the rural life? All hunting and no play, eh wot?”
“Mr. Dillinger, you know me much better than that,” Lord Croft laughed.
“Indeed I do,” Dillinger chuckled back. “So, how’s that daughter of yours coming along?”
“Oh, quite nice. She’s with some American chap right now, actually. Found someone else who enjoys her line of work. Surprised she hasn’t gotten him killed yet.”
“An American? Better watch her carefully, Croft. Those lot are all zipper and no brain, if you know what I mean?”
“Nay, this Michael is a good, upright young fellow. Quite the compliment for her, I should think.”

The greeter at the front of the dining area glanced at the men walking towards him. “Excuse me, gentlemen, you need reservations to go in there.”
“Oh, yes, we’ve got them,” the first man said back, with a slight Irish accent.
“Well, sirs, I must see them first. There is an exclusive event going on, and I cannot let just anyone in.”
“Don’t worry,” the first man said, placing his gun in the man’s chest. “These are our special passes. They get us in anywhere.”
Before the greeter could react, the man pulled the trigger. The silencer hushed the shot, as the bullet slammed into the man’s chest and he fell to the floor. The remaining members of the group all pulled out various automatic and semi-automatic weapons and walked into the dining room, straight to the table where Lord Croft and the rest of the Parliament members sat.
The group raised their weapons to the ceilings and let lose a burst of rounds which shattered the skylight and several chandeliers, raining glass down on the assembly and causing several screams of surprise.
“Alright, listen up!” the first man hollered. “Who here is a member of the British Parliament?”
No hands were raised, no one spoke.
Without any sign of conscience, the man placed his handgun against the head of a woman seated near the entrance and pulled the trigger. She fell to the ground, the blood flying across the table, splattering the tablecloth and the food a sickening dark red color. “I will ask again: who here is with the Parliament?”
The hands beside Lord Croft went into the air slowly.
“Alright. Get up. All of you.”
The group stood up, while Lord Croft remained seated.
“What is this all about?” one of them asked gruffly.
One of the terrorists grabbed Lord Croft. “You too, Arthur.”
“Sir, I am afraid you are mistaken…” Croft started.
The man slammed his submachine gun into Croft’s back. “Don’t bullshit us. There are thirteen members of Parliament here. Only twelve people raised their hands. You are Arthur Dean. Granted, you don’t look a thing like your picture, but lots can happen in two years.”
Winded, Lord Croft could not raise his voice in protest.
The leader of the group came over and looked at Croft. “You’re the one we want.”
“Then let us go!” someone protested.
“Hardly,” the leader snapped. “Just because we want him does not mean we don’t need the rest of you. No, you are all necessary.”
“Sir, I assure you, when you leave this place, it will be crawling with guards,” Clemens threatened.
The leader rounded on him. “I don’t think so. You see, the ones who didn’t accept our payments before-hand are now wearing some most unfashionable ropes, chains, locks, and weights at the bottom of the lake back there. Now, all of you. Listen to me very carefully. Everyone but Arthur here will follow Grady over there out the side door. Now move!”
Without speaking, the group weaved their way through the dining area, following the man with the automatic rifle in his hands. The rear was brought up by four more men with high-power firearms.
“Now, Arthur, stand up. You and my two companions are going for a little ride.”
“What is this about?” Croft asked.
“Do not play the idiot!” the man yelled in his face. “But if you must know, we’ll talk about it on the plane. Now, walk that way.” He indicated the front door with his handgun. Lord Croft, in no position to offer resistance or argument, followed the weapon to the front door as the two remaining terrorists brought up the rear.
A running car was parked in the street, and Croft was ushered into it. “Keep your weapons on him, and get us to the airstrip. The others are already on their way.”
“Aye,” the driver replied.
“Search him to see if he’s wired,” the leader ordered.
“Right, Sean,” one of the men in the back acknowledged. His hands probed Croft’s pockets briefly before pulling out his wallet and all the cash contained within. “Well, well,” the man sneered, “looks like Arthur was gonna leave the tip tonight. Too bad the service stank.” A couple more seconds of searching, then, “He’s clean, Sean.”
“Very well. Give me the stuff from his pockets.”
The terrorist gave Sean the wallet first, then a pocket watch, a handkerchief, and assorted other items. Sean took them and looked them over with a smile until he saw the embroidery on the corner of the handkerchief. “What the…” He brought it closer to his face, staring at it in disbelief. “H.C…” He tore the wallet open and stared at the International Driver’s License staring back at him. “Henshingly Croft…What the hell…? This isn’t Arthur, you arrogant asshole!” he roared at the man in the back seat. “You fucked this up! This whole thing is fucked! We can’t go back to the damn restaurant and get him!”
“Calm down, Sean,” the man pleaded. “I know this guy. Seen him on the tele before. He’s worth even more than Dean is.”
“That’s not the goddamn point!” Sean growled. “We wanted Arthur and we got this prick instead. Where the fuck is Arthur? He must be with the other group…”
“Henshingly Croft?” the driver asked suddenly. “Hey, he’s the guy with that globe-trottin’ daughter who finds all that hidden shit. She’s worth something in and of herself. And I don’t mean money. She’s a goddamn fox, Sean.”
Gradually, slowly, a smile spread across Sean’s face. He flipped open the phone Lord Croft had carried in his jacket, and scanned the pre-programmed list. Sure enough, number one was his dear daughter herself. This would be good. Very good. His finger pressed the power button, then poked the button to dial Lara.
The phone rang twice, then was answered. “Sea Breeze restaurant for Lara Croft. Who may I say is calling?”
“My name is not important,” Sean told the man. “But what I have to tell Lara is. Put her on.”
“One moment, please, sir.”

* * * * * * * *

Lara accepted the phone that was handed to her. “This is Lara. Who’s calling, please?”
“Ah. Greetings, Ms. Croft.”
“Who is this?” Lara demanded.
“You don’t need to know my name. All you need to know is that I have your father and twelve members of the British Parliament. And you had better tell the bobbies when they show up to cooperate, otherwise, things could get quite out of hand.”
“Let me speak to my father,” Lara ordered.

Sean put the phone to Lord Croft’s ear. “Say hello to your daughter, Mr. Croft.”
“Lara?” Before he could get anything else out, Sean pulled the phone away. “There, you’ve spoken to dear old dad. Now, I will be making an announcement about this from the air. You will know more in about half an hour. I suggest you keep a radio or a tele turned on. Good evening.” Sean hit the power button, cutting her off before she could reply. “Keep driving,” he ordered the driver. “But don’t break the speed limit. No reason to get the local gendarmes on our backs before it’s necessary.”

Lara looked at the phone with the static of a broken connection hissing away in her hand. Then she slammed the trace recall button. It was her daddy’s phone, alright. And it looked like they were driving towards the airstrip. She ran back to the table and hauled Michael out of his chair. “Come on, Michael, we’re leaving.”
“Lara, wait a minute! The food wasn’t that bad…”
She opened her purse and slammed three bills down on the table. “Keep the change,” she instructed the stunned waiter.
“Uh…hurry back,” he called after them as they ran out the door and to her car.

Lara kicked off her dress shoes as she ran, then began undoing the straps on her dress.
“Lara, what the hell has gotten into you?” Mike asked as he ran along side.
“Unzip me,” she ordered him, pointing at the zipper on her back.
“This is hardly the time,” Mike muttered, pulling the zipper down in small jerks. The dress parted in the rear, showing her bare back as she struggled to undo the straps again. She got one free, and the dress flopped lazily in the wind.
They made it to the car, Lara pressing the button to unlock the doors. Mike hurried over to the passenger side, and jumped in as Lara finally ripped the other strap in anger, then pulled the entire assemblage over her head. She tore open the door, lunged into the seat, tossed the dress in the back, slammed the door, threw the keys into the ignition, and gunned the engine before taking off down the road. “Get me that pile of clothes from the back seat,” she ordered.
Mike complied, trying very hard not to stare at her exposed figure. “Lara, what the hell is this all about?”
“They’ve got daddy,” Lara responded, weaving her way through traffic and ignoring a stop light.
Mike’s head snapped back to the front seat. “What? Who?”
“I don’t know. But they called me on his phone. He said something about heading for the airstrip, and they are on Herfordshire St. now. They have it straight until the left onto Dorschetshire to get there. And we have about twenty minutes to catch them. Do you have those clothes yet?”
Mike grabbed the mass of fabric from the back seat and dropped it into her lap.
“Alright. Good. Switch me places.”
“Lara?!? I can’t drive in Britain! I’m not licensed to do that!”
“I probably won’t be either after this,” Lara told him. “Just trade me places. Climb over here on my lap, and I’ll wiggle out from under you.”
Mike glanced at the speedometer. “At 115 kph? Are you nuts?!?”
“You’re right. I should be going faster. Just do it, will you? While the roads are semi-clear?”
Mike took a deep breath and made the transfer. He didn’t know how Lara got out from under him, but she did, and hurriedly pulled on her socks, shorts, top, and boots. He didn’t see panties or a bra in there anywhere, but his mind was too occupied to give it much thought. The sound of honking horns kept his attention riveted on the road ahead of him as he swerved off on to the shoulder to avoid a Lexus that was only doing 90. “Anytime you want to take over driving is fine with me.”
“Give me a damn minute,” she muttered, wrapping her hair into a fast pony tail. “Alright, get ready. Same deal I’ll come in, you move over here. Ready? 1…2…3!”
She jumped on to his lap, and he wriggled out from under her and into the passenger side seat. “Cripes, that was close…”
“Get your clothes out of the back and change. I threw in your T-shit, jeans, and shoes.”
He looked in the back. Sure enough, in a neat pile sat his clothing. “Are you always this prepared?”
“I try.” She executed a massive right across three lanes of traffic causing two cars to collide and lots of brakes to squeal. “Damn it…” Lara cursed.
“Lara, how are we going to catch them? They’ve got such a massive head-start on us.”
“I know a few shortcuts. And unless they’re breaking the speed limit and attracting every police officer in the area, we can catch up with them.” She tapped the phone, punching in the police call number. After a single ring, the phone was answered. “Sergeant Body here.”
“Sergeant, this is Lara. Listen to me: my father and twelve members of Parliament have been kidnapped.”
“Lara? Please tell me you are joking…”
“I wish I could. Listen to me: they’re heading for the airstrip. Try and set up a road block. I’m going after them.”
“Lara, where are you?”
“Don’t worry about that; I can take care of myself. Just scramble everyone from the station between Herfordshire and the Devon airstrip and set up a road block. And be careful; my daddy’s in the car.”
“Lara, they may kill him if they see a roadblock.”
“I know…but we can’t let them get airborne. Just hurry. I don’t know where they might be.”
“Will do, Lara.”
A sudden squealing of tires and blaring of horns sounded as Lara passes several cars.
“Lara, what the hell is going on there?” Body blared.
“Look, give me the ticket later and get my father away from these people,” Lara yelled. She hung up the phone angrily. “Watch for a dark green four door car,” Lara ordered.
“Why?” Mike asked.
“That’s the car they’re in,” Lara replied.
“How the hell do you know that?”
“The sat-phone traces with a satellite image. My daddy’s phone is in that car.”
“Christ, Lara, how am I supposed to see at this speed?”
“Just try your best,” she ordered.
“You know, in the daylight this would be hard enough, but on a dark night with a new moon, it becomes just a teensy bit more difficult, you know?”
“Don’t waste your time. We’re not on the road yet.” Lara executed a brutal right turn. “OK. Now we are.”
Mike’s eyes glanced at the cars as Lara passed them, then almost jumped out of his seat. “Hey!” he hollered, “That’s them up ahead! We caught them!”

“Um, Sean…” the driver began.
“What is it?”
“Well…there’s car behind us.”
“Of course there’s a car behind us, idiot. There are other drivers on the road.”
“Um…no other driver out there is doing 120 kph,” the driver replied.
“WHAT?” Sean looked out the window. Sure enough, there WAS a car coming at them at an insane speed. “Well, lose them!”
A passing street light illuminated the faces in the car behind them. “God damn it, it’s the girl!” the driver shouted, looking in the rear-view mirror.
“Then use our little upgrade,” Sean ordered.
“Aye, Sean.” The driver flipped the face of the stereo down to reveal a hidden switch, which he pulled down slowly. “Damn good thing this road is clear…” Exhaust vents sprung from the rear of the car as a larger engine rose out of the hood. A jet of flame shot from the rear vents, and suddenly the car rocketed forward, screaming away from Lara’s vehicle.

“A supercharger?!?” Mike eeked. “Shit, we’ll never catch them now…”
“Don’t be too sure,” Lara muttered, slapping the parking brake aside and pressing the button that sat under it. Within moments, her car had small fins on the side, six more exhaust vents under the trunk, and a more powerful engine on the hood as well. The burst of speed that greeted them as the charger fired pressed Mike back into the seat. “Good God! When did you build this thing?”
“I had a mechanic in the army who owed me a few favors,” Lara responded. “We have to catch them soon though, because this baby really burns fuel. But I’m betting theirs does too. And I don’t think they have a reserve tank like I do.”

“Son of a haggis, she’s got one too,” the driver remarked. “This is gonna be one hell of an escape.”
“Armand, slow them down,” Sean ordered.
“Right.” Armand wound the back window down and stuck his gun out. The barrel roared as the ammo flew away from it at Lara’s car.

“They’ve got a gun,” Mike shrieked. “Shit, shit, shit…we’re all gonna die.”
Lara didn’t even blink as the bullets slammed into the windshield…and stayed there.
“Bulletproof glass?” Mike asked.
“Look, I didn’t take any chances, OK?”
“What if they shoot the tires?” Mike asked. “They don’t make bullet-proof tires.”
“It’s alright,” Lara said. “They’re filled with Bitron. Any holes, the Bitron closes them right back up as fast as they’re made. At this speed, the stuff is hugging the inside of the tires anyway.”

“Kenner, this is Body. Where are you?”
The pilot of the chopper picked up his radio. “Body, this is Kenner. We have visual contact and are closing.”
“Good. Remember, they have hostages in the car, so don’t fire. Just keep the pace.”
“Right.” Kenner shut off the radio.
“Hey,” the man next to Kenner said. “You can pick up the speed a little.”
“What do you mean?” Kenner asked.
“Kenner, Body here,” the radio crackled. “What do you see?”
“Two cars speeding away from us,” the copilot answered.
“Well, Kenner, get your speed up,” Body ordered.
“I’m flying at top speed already,” Kenner argued. “Something has to be wrong…I’m maxed out at 255 kph!” As if to agree with him, the copter’s engines gave a complaining whine.
“How can you be losing them?!?” Body roared.
“I don’t know,” the copilot answered, “but they’re doing at least 270 down there.”
“Jesus Christ!” Body roared. “We don’t MAKE cars that can go that fast!”
For a moment, there was silence. Then: “I lost ‘em,” Kenner reported. “I don’t see them anymore. But they must be coming up on the roadblock you’ve got set up. That’s your only chance, Sergeant.”

Body spun in his chair. “Damn it…” He snapped his radio on. “Alright, Hagen, listen up. They’re coming your way. And fast.”
“Don’t worry, Sarge,” Hagen answered. “We’ve got enough cars, men, and firepower here to stop a tank. They won’t make it to the airport.”
“Remember: they have Lord Croft in the car. Don’t do any erratic firing.”
“Right, Sarge.”

Sean looked through the windshield and saw the flashing lights down the road. But they couldn’t be to the airstrip already. “Cut your speed. There’s a damn roadblock up ahead.”
The driver waited a few minutes, then hit the brakes when the roadblock could see him. Doing a complete U-turn, he sped back in the opposite direction, whizzing past Lara and Michael.

“Damn it,” Lara swore, spinning the car into a series of doughnuts before facing in the right direction and tearing after the car again.

“What are you doing?” Sean roared.
“Breaking the roadblock,” the driver said back.
“You’re heading away from them,” Sean said. “And away from the airstrip.”
“Hey, if I know British coppers, they love nothing else than a good chase,” the driver said back. Soon enough, flashing lights flared in their mirrors. “Ah, the good ol’ boys o’ the police force,” the driver laughed. He pulled one last U-turn and headed back at the police cruisers.

“This is one mixed-up bastard,” Lara muttered, turning the wheel in an attempt to keep up with the driver of the car in front of her. “First he doesn’t want the police, now he heads right for them…” Realization hit her like a left hook. “Oh shit! They’re breaking the roadblock!”

The driver whizzed through the section of stunned police drivers, causing several to turn sideways, and one to crash into a second, throwing the first across the hood of the second, sliding across the road, and into a ditch by the side of the street.

Lara slammed on her brakes as the police cars broke formation, watching the massive accident, the cruisers sprawled across all the lanes of the road, and her quarry getting away. “Damn it! They’ll get to the airstrip now!” She pounded the wheel in frustration. “Damn it all!”
“Lara…”
Mike was interrupted by the ringing of her phone. Lara grabbed it, opened it angrily. “Hello?”
“Well, my dear, you certainly do make one’s night interesting.”
Lara’s eyes welled up with fire. “Listen, you pile of shit-“
“No, my dear. YOU listen. To me. Right now. We’re going up in the plane. From up there, we’ll make our demands. No heroics, understand? If you or the police, or anyone tries anything, I’ll kill every single hostage I’ve got. And I’ll start with dear ol’ dad. Do you hear me?”
“Look…” Lara was pleading now. “Just let him go! He has nothing to do with you or what you want. Just please-“
“Listen to you. Begging like some whore who wants more for her money. Well, let me open your eyes. You have no money to gamble with, my dear. You were fucked, and I didn't pay.” The click as the phone on the other end shut off seemed ear-splitting in the enclosed space.
Lara kicked open her door, and Mike got out on the other side. She ran over to him, no longer able to hold herself together. She hugged her arms around him and cried, letting the tears roll down her face, soaking his shirt, coating his neck, running down his back. “They have to give daddy back!” she sobbed softly. “They just have to.”
“They will, I’m sure,” Mike said, knowing he sounded like the optimistic nerd from all those action movies. ‘Oh, it’s OK. They’ll get your wife back, I’m sure.’ Well, the wife sometimes came back alright, but often it was not in one piece.

* * * * * * * *

Sean jumped from the car and ran towards the airplane with his driver, henchman, and Lord Croft. The engines were turning already, as the rest of the group had gotten there shortly before.
“What the hell took ya so long, Sean?” the man at the door asked.
“We had a little fun with the police,” the driver grinned. “And we got the best of Lara Croft at the same time.”
“Lara Croft? What the hell did she have to do with Arthur and the rest of the Parliament?” the man asked, as they hurried up the catwalk and into the large plane.
“Absolutely nothing,” Sean replied. “You know what, boys? I have to admit something. We fucked up.”
“No fucking way!” someone argued.
“Oh yes. I’m afraid so. See, we don’t have Arthur.”
“Then who the hell is this bloke?” the large, dark-skinned man asked.
“Gentlemen, let me introduce you to Lord Henshingly Croft.” Sean made a mock sweeping bow.
“Oh my God!” one of the others uttered. “Sean…what about Arthur?”
“I don’t know,” Sean replied. “But Lord Croft is almost as good, don’t you think? By the way, where are the rest of the ‘guests?’ ”
“In the cargo hold,” the man closest to the luggage door pointed. “We’ve got Blair and Henry back there watching them. They’re not going anywhere.”
Sean nodded. “We’ve got to get in the air quickly. The police will be on their way.”
“We’ve got Murray and O’Donnel in the cockpit now.”
“Then let’s get this damn show on the road,” Sean muttered. “Are the video units ready?”
“Whenever you are, Sean.”
There was a jerk as the plane headed off the airstrip and into the sky. After several thousand feet, they settled into a circle, much like a holding pattern. Sean ran a comb through his hair, then sat in the chair across from the camera. “Turn it on, and channel the feeds,” he ordered. “I want every bloody Brit in the area to see us.”
The cameraman complied. You’re on, he mouthed.
Slowly, Sean brought his head up. “Good evening, my friends. You may consider me your news flash for the evening. Because, at this very moment, I hold twelve members of the British Royal Parliament about twenty thousand feet above your heads.”

* * * * * * * *

Lara looked like a completely different woman. Gone were the tears. Gone was the shaking little girl of before. In place of that was a hardened, embittered warrior who was about to play quite rough. “Get me up there to that plane,” she told Sergeant Body. “I don’t care how. Get me up there.”
“Lara, I can’t do that. I won’t risk the lives of thirteen people. And neither should you! You father is up in that plane!”
They were standing in the control tower of the airstrip, watching the plane circle on the radar. The technicians running around them were clearly very nervous.
“I have to get up there,” Lara argued.
“Like hell you do, girl!” Body roared at her. “Give me one good reason!”
“Sergeant, you better look at this,” one of the officers said, pointing to the television screen. Sean’s face appeared as he spoke.

“You are probably wondering to yourselves right now, ‘Who is this madman?’ and ‘Why would he kidnap members of our government?’ Well, let me allay your fears. First of all, ‘madman’ is not an accurate term. I am a very pissed off man. Glad we’ve got that distinction down. And as for why I would kidnap these upstanding folks…well, let’s just say that some new legislation that is supposed to come up later this week has a lot to do with my home country. You know that personal firearms were banned in your country. However, Great Britain, being the ‘superior intellect’ in these matters, has decided that not only should guns be banned here, but they have decided to dictate terms to Ireland. Terms that have many zeros attached to the end of them. And, to be quite frank with you, I am a pissed off man because I happen to enjoy owning large quantities of weapons. So does the rest of the IRA for that matter. I could show you all my followers, but it would be redundant. And it would waste your time. Which is something I’m not wanting to do.”
Sean paused, took a breath and a sip of water, then returned to the camera. “You are probably all at home now, dinner is over, the dishes are washed and put away. I’m interrupting you favorite show. I apologize. But this is what happens when people don’t mind their own business. And, to show just what a good soul I am, I am perfectly willing to let all these nice people free. Yes, you heard me correctly. I will let them walk away completely unhurt. But, just like most television commercials, there’s a catch. You see, I don’t feel my gun collection is anywhere large enough. So, instead of spending lots of money, or asking for it from good, moral, upstanding citizens, I am merely asking the British Government for a massive supply of firearms. And their promise to stay away from Ireland. Now, anyone can say the latter. But sadly, I must receive payment before I let people go.”
He took another sip of water. His mouth was dry, but he had to do it. Had to say the next sentence. “Now, I’m sure some of you are thinking, ‘Well, why not let the stupid bastard see how long his Irish luck can keep that plane airborne before it needs fuel.’ This is not entirely an incorrect thought. But let me say this: if this plane touches down, and the weapons have NOT been delivered, I will execute every hostage on board this plane. But not all at once. You see, I have a conscience, and the less killing I have to do, the better I will sleep at night. So I’m not going to kill them all at once. Say, one every half hour, forty-five minutes or so. Sound good?”

* * * * * * * *

Sergeant Body’s face went chalky white. “I don’t believe this…”
“The following transmission of the arms we want will only be broadcast over police channels,” Sean said. “We now return to your regularly scheduled programming. Have a nice evening.” His face disappeared to be replaced by the current BBC broadcast.
The radios on all the officer’s belts suddenly crackled to life as a voice that was not Sean’s read down a long list of weapons. “Desert Eagle .45s. Kahlashnikovs. RPG-7 rocket launchers…” The list trailed on. With each weapon named, Body got whiter and whiter.
“Where on earth does he think we’ll get that kind of equipment?”
“LAW ATMs. .44 Magnums. Ingram Mac-2 semi-automatic sub-machine guns. Beretta M92Fs…”
“Christ,” an officer commented. “These guys want to wage World War Three themselves?”
“M16A Assault Rifles…”
“Does he think this is the Goddamn USA?”
“Our armed forces have them left over from Desert Storm,” Body whispered silently.
Mike looked up. “Lara, how do you think…” He stopped. Where had Lara gone?
The roar of an engine answered his question, as everyone looked up to see a lone airplane streak off the runway and up into the clouds.
“No, no, no,” Body whispered to himself. “She’ll get herself and everyone else up there killed.”
“Have a little faith in her, Sergeant,” Mike said. “Lara is one damn good girl when it comes to overcoming impossible odds.”

Lara pulled the stick back, thankful now for the three month piloting course her parents had made her take. She climbed steadily, her course set to intercept the plane above. She looked at the rocket-propelled grappling hook next to her. She had bought it to help her climb a mountain in Mexico, but given the circumstances, it could be useful here as well.
Within minutes, she was below the plane, exactly where she wanted to be. Setting the plane to fly out over the Atlantic so nothing would be in danger when it crashed, she flicked the auto-pilot and walked over to the door. She put on the oxygen mask she had, and depressurized the cabin slowly. She felt her ears pop because of the altitude, but they quickly adjusted, and she breathed through the mouthpiece. Securing herself to the side of the plane, she slid the door open and stared through the clouds at the plane below her. Aiming carefully, compensating for the wind, and holding on to keep from being sucked out, she pulled the trigger on the hook. At first, nothing happened. Then, with the roar of pressurized gas, the rocket belched forth from the casing, carrying the tensile cable behind it and the barbed grappling hook right underneath it.
There were a tense few seconds when nothing happened. Then, suddenly, the hook imbedded itself into the underside of the plane. The line went taut. Lara yanked on it, pulling on it with her full weight, but it held. It had better, she told herself, or else she would never get back to see Michael or her father again. Taking in a deep breath, she let go of her hold and flew out into the wind.
Fighting the resistance of the air, she reached slowly over and pressed the button to reel herself in. But the wind shifted at the last second, and she accidentally pressed the button to add more slack. She suddenly found herself falling rather than rising. Fighting panic, she summoned every ounce of strength she had, and slammed the other button. Her descent halted. She breathed a heavy sigh and looked below her. There was less than a foot of cable left. Had a fast reaction failed her, she would have been the start of a horribly huge hole in the ground. What a pleasant thought. The winch mechanism then began to reel her in slowly.
It seemed to take forever, but she finally reached the underside. Counting her blessings, she noticed she was right next to the rear cargo hold. She strained for the handle, missing it by scant inches. Come on, Michael, she thought, help me out here. The next grasp seemed to be a little closer. The next one closer still. Then her hand closed around the lever, and with a hiss and a snap, the door slammed open. Lara hauled herself inside and pressed the shut button for the door. She disconnected the gauntlet from her arm and let it dangle from the bottom of the plane, then the doors slammed closed. She looked around slowly. There was no one in here. She pulled off the mask and the oxygen tank from her back and dropped them on the floor, then took the pistol from the holster at her side.
The next door over was the actual cargo hold. She peered into the security monitor overhead. Probably put there to make sure nobody steals something from the hold while the plane is in flight, she mused. In her case, she was in luck. The view showed twelve people tied to various metal outcroppings inside. Excellent. They were safe. And the two guards were not secured to anything. She wandered over to a panel on the wall labeled Do Not Open: Emergency Use Only. She broke the glass and opened the small compartment to reveal a switch. *Warning* Pulling level will open cargo bay doors. Use only in emergency crash procedures as dictated by Section G5 item 2 of this aircraft’s operations and safety guide. Lara grinned. She doubted this usage was written about in Section G5, item 2, but it was most definitely an emergency. She watched the monitor, praying everyone was a secure as they looked, and pulled the lever.

“Why the hell do we need to be back here?” one of the men asked. “I mean, these assholes aren’t going anywhere. What’s the point?”
“Blair, you complain too much,” the other replied. “Look, this is the easiest job in the world. All we do is watch some people and collect our pay.”
There was a slight clanging sound.
“What was that?” Blair asked, a note of fear creeping into his voice.
“Just some turbulence. Why don’t you just calm down?”
“Turbulence?” Blair said as the sound came again, only louder now. “That’s the strongest-“ His words were interrupted as the compartment in the center of the room opened up. Before either of them had the chance to scream, the force of the air sucked them out the small opening, which then closed just as quickly.
Lara opened the door. “Is everyone in here OK?”
“Who is that?” someone asked.
“It’s Lara. Where’s my father?”
“He’s up in the front with the kidnappers,” Clemens replied. “But how did you get in here?”
“Long story,” Lara said, cutting the hostages free. “Alright. Over there on the rack in that corner are parachutes. I want everyone to strap one on. I’m then going to open the door in the wall over there, and you’ll all fall out. Pull the first ripcord. If your chute doesn’t open, pull the second one.”
“What if that doesn’t open the chute?” a woman asked.
“Don’t worry, it will,” Lara reassured her. Now was not the time to go on a tirade about the known defects in British parachutes, she told herself.
She waited until everyone had a chute on, then she walked around and checked them all. “Alright, everyone grab these handles on the walls. Make your way over to the door once I open it, and fall out. Count to three, then pull the cord.”
Everyone grabbed a handhold, and Lara said a silent prayer before opening the hatch. One by one, the people made their way, hand over hand, to the door and dropped out. She watched as the chutes all blossomed open like an airborne garden. Then, confident that everyone’s parachute had opened, she closed the door again.

Body looked up, blinking. “What the hell is that? Bombs?”
“No, sir!” one of the Air Traffic Controllers shouted with joy. “Those are parachutes! The diplomats are escaping!” He turned to several ground crew members. “Get out there and help those people get untangled when they land. And take an ambulance; we might have some injuries.”
The men scampered out the door.
Body turned to Mike. “I’ll be damned…she’s doing it!”

“Sean…Um, you better look at this.”
Sean looked up from where he had been meditating. “What is it Brody?”
“Well, Sean…the hostages are gone. And I don’t see Blair or Henry back there either…”
“What?!?” Sean burst, walking over to the monitor. Brody was right. “We have a traitor on board,” Sean said quietly. “Take the rest of the men back there and find who it is.”
Brody nodded. “Grady, the rest of you, come with me. We’re gonna have a little fun.” The other four men rose. Sean sat quietly back down on the sofa. Someone was playing games with him, but it wouldn’t be too long now…

Lara’s pistol spoke, hitting the first man though the door, throwing a dark red stain onto his black clothing. Bullets spat back into the room, and she dove behind a large baggage rack for cover. She fired off a warning shot to let them know she was still armed. The cargo compartment was huge. Since no one knew where she was at, they would have to split up to find her.
Sure enough, they split up. The first one caught a kick to the stomach and a chop to the neck, knocking him out. She picked up his sub-machine gun and strafed it across the room, clipping two other men, and sending them to the deck. Which left only one. Who was behind her.
“Drop the gun, sweetie. And get up slowly.”
Lara complied, and rose to her feet.
It was Grady. He grinned at her figure. “Well, aren’t ya quite the kitten?” he asked. “Tell ya what, give me a little something to remember, and I’ll not shoot ya where ya stand.”
Lara’s elbow connected with his temple at lightning speed, sending him reeling, and the gun scattering across the floor. “There. I doubt you’ll forget that.”
Grady pulled himself to his feet. “That wasn’t a very nice memory, girl,” he snarled. He stood in place for a moment, then moved into a martial arts position.
Lara’s brain began to watch his moves to see how she could counter his technique. Every style had a weakness…judo, jujitsu, kendo, tae kwon do. They all could be defeated by a certain trick. Stay away from a judo fighter, out of throwing range. Out of punch range for jujitsu. Away from the legs of a tae-kwon-do master. Her heart sank. Grady’s stance was the one she had hoped she would not see. Okinawan Karate. The only martial arts style taught in the world to which there was no simple defense. One of the most complete defense styles in the world. A master of it could take down the highest degree dan of any other martial art.
Lara gathered up her wits and prepared for the attack to come. Grady came towards he slowly, feinted right, then came in on the left. Lara blocked, but she had been incorrect. The left attack was a feint as well, and Grady smashed her in the cheek with a powerful blow that knocked her to the floor. She rose and assumed her stance as well. Cleared her mind of everything but the energy flowing through her, mingling with her and her opponent. In order to defeat a master of Okinawan Karate, you had to read where his energy was flowing from. And she concentrated. The energy flowed from the right. She parried his blow and knocked him to the ground with a foot sweep. He lept up again and feinted low, then came up high. But Lara saw the move seconds before it happened, and she lanced out with a booted foot, catching Grady on the midsection.
Grady whoofed and slipped back, then regained his footing. With a roar that was loud even in the large cargo hold, he ran at her and aimed a jump-kick at her face. She ducked and turned as he hit the ground but he was too fast, and caught her in the leg with his foot.
She rolled with the blow to deflect most of the power, and tumbled across the deck, flipping to her feet. Grady charged again, and she read a kicking feint in his action. Sure enough, he faked a kick and went for the punch, but Lara was not there. She was in his face, delivering punch after punch into his stomach, knocking him back. He doubled over near a rack, and Lara finished it with a brutal uppercut, lifting him off his feet and sending him back against the luggage rack.
There was a sickening cracking as the sharp points on the rack ran themselves through him, punching out his ribs and sticking out his front. For one long moment, Grady looked down in shock. Then he looked down forever. The trail of blood leading across the deck got gradually thicker and thicker as his eyes closed and his arms went limp at his side. Lara turned away from the sight and headed towards the door.

Sean went up to the pilot’s cabin. “Adjust our course. We’re heading straight for the boat.”
“Sean, are you sure? We don’t have the goods yet.”
“That’s alright. I have something to get rid of before we collect.”

Lara opened the door. “Daddy!!” She ran up to him and threw a parachute over his head, strapping it to his back. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”
“Lara, how did you get up here?”
“Tell you later.”
“Hurry. We’ve got to get out of here before he gets back from the pilot’s cabin.”
“I’m not leaving yet, Daddy. Who did this to you?”
“A man named Sean,” Croft replied. “But Lara, you can’t…”
“Watch me. Remember, pull the first cord after you count to ten.” She grabbed the wall support and opened the door. “I’ll be home tonight with Michael, Daddy.”
“Lara…” Lord Croft started to protest.
Lara shoved him out the door, watching to make sure his chute opened, then shut the door again. She opened the next door into the hallway and headed for the captain’s cabin. Then she paused and entered the bathroom. Let’s wait and see what he’s up to, she thought to herself.

Sean watched as the water loomed up ahead. “Excellent.”
“Ready to drop the hydroplanes,” the pilot said. “Dropping to water level.” The plane dipped sharply, then leveled out after a moment. Then there was a sudden splash, and the plane was in the water. The boat crept towards them in the window as they slowly cut through the water. Then they were next to it.

Lara stepped out of the bathroom and watched the boat growing larger in the window. What’s he doing? she asked herself.

The ladder on the boat shuddered as Sean dropped to it from the plane. She suddenly realized that Sean was making his escape. Not so easily, my Irish friend… Hurriedly, Lara burst the emergency exit and dove into the water after him. She surfaced on the other side of the ship, and climbed up the anchor chain to the deck. The plane’s engine sputtered and took off again, rising into the sky. Lara watched Sean from the railing as he went down into the bowels and emerged with a long gray tube. What on earth? Then she saw Sean aim it towards the sky and realization hit her. A rocket launcher.
Sean got the plane in his sights and snickered to himself. “This time, Lara, you’ve bit off more than you can chew. You and your father can be reunited…in the afterlife.” He squeezed the trigger, and the rocket flew from the launcher directly on course. It slammed into the side of the plane and detonated in an astonishingly large flash, which was followed by an ear-shattering boom only seconds later.

The control room erupted in pandemonium. “Sir,” the Air Traffic Controller turned to Body.
“Yes?” Body asked. “Good news?”
“I don’t think so, sir. The British Coast Guard just reported a huge explosion and fireball over the Atlantic. They said, judging from the size of it, that it was a jet liner of some kind. Rocket brought her down.”
Michael’s legs gave out. Lara was on that plane. No, he told himself. She wasn’t. She had gotten off before it exploded. Hadn’t she?
“A rocket? Get them out there to investigate,” Body ordered. “They have to find who fired that thing.”

Sean dropped the now-used launcher to the deck and began to laugh. “See, Miss Croft, what happens when you fuck with the IRA?”
“Yes,” Lara replied, causing him to whirl around. “I see that you take the lives of your own men. Typical terrorist.”
“How on earth…?” Sean growled. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I took your father with it. They didn’t die in vain.”
“Not true,” Lara admonished. “He parachuted off as well. The ground patrol has already sent someone to pick him up. And with no hostages, nobody will submit to your outrageous demands.”
“This is all horseshit,” Sean growled. “You can’t stop me.”
“I didn’t have to,” Lara told him. “You already stopped yourself. Give it up, Sean. It’s over.”
“Never!!” Sean rushed at her, throwing a punch. She dodged, and it went wide. “You don’t know what it’s like living under imperialistic rule, you stuck up bitch. Always cozy in your little posh house, never knowing or suspecting or even caring what happens in my country.” He ran at her again, and missed as she side-stepped.
“Guns aren’t the answer, Sean,” she told him. “And you are living proof that people can’t use weapons correctly.”
“If I can help end British tyranny, then it’ll be worth all the deaths,” Sean challenged. “The USA got out from under your thumb. I don’t see why Ireland can’t be the same way.”
“There is no thumb!” Lara shouted. “You’ve been brainwashed by your own propaganda.”
“Shut up!” Sean screamed, connecting with a punch that put her on the deck and would give her one hell of a black eye in the morning.
She got up slowly as he rushed her. He was too wild; too erratic. She couldn’t read his moves, and his leg slammed into her middle, driving the breath from her lungs. She rolled away from him as he continued to walk towards her. She stood up on unsteady knees.
She countered his next attack with a blow to the windpipe. Sean moved back, dazed, trying to breathe. The two circled slowly like boxers, waiting for the other to make a move.
“You’re one tough little girl,” Sean observed. “Probably some sort of damn masochist. Like all the rest of you British sluts.”
Lara ignored the insult, trying to keep tabs on him. He often would act like he was going to move, but then decide against it at the last second.
“Come on, Lara Croft. Show me what you’re made of.” He jumped at her, bringing her down to the deck with a flying tackle. He got his hands around her throat and locked them there.
In response, Lara wrapped her legs around his neck and began to squeeze. She could put a lot more pressure on with her legs than he could with his hands, and Sean rapidly released his hold on her neck to swat her legs away. He rose and aimed a stomp at her ribs, but she rolled and knocked his legs out from under him with a swipe of her foot, watching him crash to the deck. His head slammed into the wooden flooring painfully. Then she got up again. Sean didn’t move.
A spotlight began growing larger as it neared the boat. The coast guard! They quickly found the boat and boarded it, investigating Lara and searching below decks. Of particular interest was the rocket launcher, and before long, it was discovered that there was a substantial cache of weapons on the boat, including several automatic weapons imported from the Middle East, and quite a few more rockets for the launcher.
“Miss Croft, there are a lot of people in this country who owe you a great debt,” the captain of the Coast Guard cutter told her.
She waved her hand dismissingly. “I’m not concerned with that right now. Did they find my father?”
He nodded. “Ground crews picked him up about five minutes ago. Said it was the most perfect landing from a parachute they had ever seen.”
Lara giggled. “Daddy had a big thing about skydiving several years ago. I remember mommy getting quite upset about it.”
“Miss Croft! Look out!” one of the guardsmen yelled.
Lara looked up to see Sean charging her. The man who had been bending over him just a moment ago was flat on his back, a knife protruding from his chest, dazed eyes staring up at the sky. Sean screamed as he ran towards her, the fires of hell seeming to flicker behind his eyes.
There were shots fired by the guardsmen, and suddenly, one of the crew lunged at Sean. “Lara, take cover!” His momentum as he smashed into the Irishman carried them both overboard. There were bubbles, some dark splotches that could have been blood, then nothing.
The crewman surfaced a moment later, sputtering and gasping for air.
“Where’s Sean?” Lara asked.
The crewman grinned as he grabbed the rope tossed to him. “Doesn’t take long for someone with holes in each lung to drown, Miss Croft.”
A helicopter settled over the scene, dropping a ladder. Michael scrambled down it, followed by Lord Croft and Sergeant Body.
“Lara!” Mike called, racing over to her and embracing her. She looked at him, then brought her mouth to his and they kissed for a long moment.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Lord Croft said with a smile.
Lara looked up at him. “What, Daddy?”
“You said you would come home with me,” Lord Croft said. “And the Sergeant over there has something to say about your reckless driving.”
Body looked at her. “Lara…”
Mike felt her gulp. “Yes, Sergeant?”
Body looked stern. “I want to know two things from you. First, where in the bloody hell did you get your car fitted with a supercharger. And second…” He broke into a grin. “Would you be willing to teach my men to drive like that at high speeds?”
Everyone on the boat laughed at the request. Lara winked at Body. “Well, sir, I think I’m going to go back home and take a nice nap with Michael first. Can I get back to you on that?”
Mike’s eyes lit up. Maybe this was going to turn out to be a fun night after all…