Chapter 7: Stretched and Folded

The refueling stop had gone off without incident, the seven passengers back in the air in just a few moments. The airstrip had been unattended, surrounded by heavy trees and a double line of fences. By all appearances, the small airport was abandoned, in disrepair.

Holly had stood guard, machine gun held tight in her grip, scanning all sides as the plane had taken on fuel. Once Harvey was satisfied, they closed up and got back in the air quickly.

Gene sat stewing in the back. He was mad at himself, mad that he had never told Tamara the truth. Angry that he had put their lives in jeopardy with his connection to Whitehead.

Lauren returned to pressing her face against the glass. Logan and Finch sat in the reverse seats, heads nodding as they drifted to sleep. Tamara sat quietly, sometimes eyeing him with questions spilling from her glances. She said little, and left him to ponder what to do.

Lauren's stomach hurt, her cramps making her tense and uncomfortable. The orgasm had helped for a while, relaxing her, pushing the cramping and nausea away. But it all came crashing back after the fuel stop. She'd only been on a plane twice before, and the sensation of taking off left her feeling off-balance and disoriented.

Her bladder sloshed as the plane rose and leveled off, another trip to the bathroom in order. She leaned into Tamara, whispered, "Mom ... do you have any tampons?"

"No ... oh, Sweetie, I'm sorry. Wad up a tissue until we get where we're going."

"Do you know where we're going?"

"No..."

The boys sleeping and Lauren on her way to the lavatory, Tamara finally had the nerve to voice her questions. "Who's Mason Shay?"

Her husband shifted, clearly debating how to carefully phrase his response. "An identity I once claimed."

"While you were with me?"

"Yes. Early."

"Why?"

Gene exhaled, said weakly, "to protect myself. To protect you. What we were up to ... was dangerous."

"'We'?"

"Me and Utah and Poppy, a few others. When it started, it was just a thing, just a thing we did to see if it could be done. When we formed Whitehead, it was for the best of purposes, for curiosity. We never meant things to go as far as they did."

"Tell me."

Gene pursed his lips, thought back, replied, "we dabbled in some of the earliest tracking technologies. The birth of the Internet brought a lot of ways to collect information, to store it, to hide it. There were six of us, only Utah and I ever met in person. He was into some heavy shit, heavy, claimed to have all sorts of information about spooks and political murders, military coverups, that sort of thing. At first, I didn't believe him. But then he showed me.

"He brought in the others and the six of us formed Whitehead as a means of collecting and analyzing data that Utah had access to. Mostly passive stuff. Leaks, poorly secured networks, nothing terribly important. In those days, it wasn't too hard to get into the FBI or CIA nets, but when we found someone trying to snoop back on us, we tightened our asses. Locked up our identities so that they couldn't be traced back to us, left false trails all over the place.

"Utah insisted we find out everything we could about who was snooping us, about the same time we started to see some interesting things play out in the data we collected. Alliances with states that appeared to hate each other, the rising concern over state-less groups. It led us to become both paranoid and aggressive, and only Utah could have pulled off that combination."

Gene sipped his coffee. "We started getting some contacts. Well, Utah brought them in, anyway. Semi-private, semi-legit organizations who wanted help dealing with their privacy issues. We got paid. Big time. That's ... I didn't inherit all that money when Dad died, Tamara. It came from my work with Whitehead."

Tamara struggled to keep up, so much unknown to her. How could this be? I've spent my last nineteen years with Gene ... how did I not know?

"We started getting more interest in our skills, even had a DoD contact that used us to keep an eye on net traffic related to several rising terrorist groups. It got heavy fast. I started thinking about getting out, but Utah convinced me to stay. And I did, until ... until ... I don't remember, actually." Gene's face showed his confusion as he became silent.

"Were you ever going to tell me?"

"No."

"Why, Gene? Why keep this from me?"

"Because I knew it was dangerous, that if you knew, you'd doubt me, that you'd live in fear, that you'd ... that you'd ... I'm sorry, Tamara. I thought it was best ... but ... I should have told you everything. I ... I just didn't want to lose you over it. I thought ... I thought I could put it behind me and forget it all. I thought I had. Until..."

"Yeah. That kinda blew up in your face, huh?"

Gene's chuckle made Tamara relax a moment. She said, "who are these people? Holly. What are they doing with us?"

"They're saving our lives, it seems. They think I know something. Something that No Limits wants the world to forget. But she's wrong. If anyone found out about Whitehead, they already had access to most everything. And while it was all very closely-guarded ... I can't imagine anything that we did that No Limits would want silenced so badly they'd kill us to ensure those ends. My days with Whitehead are long past. I can't think of anything that would matter now...

"I mean ... there were lots of state secrets, organizational knowledge of shadowy groups. But that was fifteen-years ago, when I left. The world has changed so much, I can't think of anything that would draw them to me after all this time. I'm ... I'm frightened, Tamara ... I'm so sorry this involves you and the kids..."

"Ok. You're sorry. You're sorry. I ... can't help feeling betrayed, Gene. I can't help that I feel like you've lied to me, put our family at risk. You should have told me. You should have given me the respect I deserve in this. We trusted each other, were so open about everything else. You should have trusted me and I feel betrayed."

Gene's head sank, he said nothing.

Lauren listened as her parents talked. She couldn't believe what she heard, didn't know how to consume the information, how to rationalize it. It sounded like a bad action script, something watched late at night on a cheap cable movie channel.

The tissue in her vagina was uncomfortable, making her itch. She scratched absently, stared out the window, and tried her best to not feel utterly miserable and alone.

The curtains parted near the cockpit and Holly walked back slowly, sank down on her knees, put her hands on Gene's leg and Tamara's knee. Gene watched her a moment, his guilt and fears draining him of fight.

"Listen, Gene. Tamara. I'm sorry about this, I really am. I wish it wasn't this way, but there was no choice. You'd have both been dead by now, your kids, too, if we hadn't acted. I hope you understand how much we risked to get you, how much we still risk right now."

Gene nodded, said weakly, sarcastically, " Tamara, meet Holly. She's a badass, apparently."

Tamara drew a tight smile, said, "so I see." She stiffened. "Care to tell us where we're going?"

Holly replied, "Belgium. We have another stop in Iceland before we get there. We've got a safe house. Lay low for a while, see if we can keep you off the radar."

"Lay low."

"Off the radar."

Tamara's voice was flat. "Fantastic."

Finch had barely noticed Holly and Harvey. The terror and adrenaline sped him past those details. He awoke to see the blonde Holly squatting down, facing away from him, talking softly to his parents. The fifteen-year old's eyes were instantly drawn to the gentle curves of her ass. The blue jeans she wore were stretched, folded around her hips, drew tight in her crotch.

Finch glanced quickly at his brother, saw him sleeping. He turned back to Holly and looked closer at her ass. Finch threw a blanket over his lap, moved his knees up, unzipped his pants, and pulled out his penis. He was already hard.

Holly rocked slowly from foot to foot in her crouch, looking at Finch's mom and dad equally. He stroked his cock, trying to keep his face straight, breathing in control. It was intense, masturbating with his entire family in the cabin. He knew his mom or dad might see him, but he covered as best he could. They seemed drawn into the conversation, so he slipped his fingers up and down his shaft and tried not to moan.

Tamara asked, "what about our lives? Is this forever?"

Holly shrugged, "can't say for sure. War is hell, Tamara. You never know what will happen. And this war ... it's not like any war before. There won't be a million toy soldiers being consumed on the front lines, it will be poisoned water supplies, power outages, digital bank robberies, dead presidents, and not the kind on bills. Sure, there will be explosions and guns and generals sitting, moving lines on a map. But everything that matters, everything that will make the future ... that's us."

"Us?"

"Marker 1. You. A few of our most carefully-oriented allies. And it's not an 'us and them' situation, it's more like us and them and those guys and some other guys and the guys over there ... you get the point. This war isn't yet Axis and Allies. We've got a flat playing field, the borders of nations and survival of cultures in the balance. Lot of interests, lot of people trying to 'win.'"

"'Win' meaning 'not dying?'

"Basically."

"Lovely."

Movement caught her eye. Finch twitched. She thought at first he was just getting comfortable, but the shifting was rhythmic. His eyes looked down toward the floor. He's looking at Holly's ass and playing with himself! What the... Tamara looked away, tried to form another question for Holly, but her eyes were immediately drawn back to her son, a look of soft focus on his face, his lips slightly parted, his gaze locked onto Holly's backside.

Finch stroked quickly, the beautiful blonde's firm butt so juicy and perfect a few feet away. He couldn't look elsewhere. He felt his balls drawing up as his fist moved freely. Pump, pump, pump, he imagined Holly removing her pants, wished he could see her wearing panties. Or nothing. His hips involuntarily rose, groan mostly stifled, and sperm gushed from his penis onto his stomach.