'These two,' he thought, 'could have started their own war with all of this.' After gathering up everything he could find, he piled it up next to the broken skidoo, taking both mobile phones and slipping them into his jacket pocket. For the moment he'd stopped shivering from the cold, due mainly to his newly acquired clothing, while the shaking from the shock of having to fight, and having killed, was also beginning to subside. Despite his vast training, it still affected him deeply. Perching on the skidoo's comfortable saddle, about the only thing that hadn't been damaged in the crash, Flash's stomach growled with hunger, having not eaten anything for what seemed like an age. Typically, there had been no food in any of the equipment pouches, and he'd searched both nagas for any sign of anything to eat, but had come up empty handed. Clapping both his gloved hands together, he decided that whatever he was going to do, he'd better get on with it, having already wasted too much time. Probably, if the nagas were as professional as their equipment suggested, they would be expected to check in regularly with their leader back at the station. The longer he waited, the more chance there was that their leader would realise something had gone wrong.
Flash knew what he had to do. He couldn't leave the area like it was; two dead humans would cause a riot, particularly the way that they'd died. On top of that, if the base carried out an autopsy, which they most certainly had the equipment and facilities to do, they would find out that the two humans were nothing of the sort and were, in fact, an entirely different species. Using the explosives to blow everything to hell was really the only logical choice. That could just about cover things up if he did a half decent job. The problem was that he would probably alert the naga leader at the base to what was going on. He or she would never believe in a million years that an accident had occurred. One of the last things he wanted to do was to forewarn the leader of his presence, but it seemed as though he had little or no choice. He really couldn't leave things as they were. As he slipped off the saddle, a devastating wave of pain again crisscrossed his back, forcing him to his knees. Clearly the poison combating mantra was having little effect against whatever had been on the naga's knife, he thought, catching his breath before getting back to his feet. Slipping off both gloves, he pulled out one of the mobile phones and powered it up. Not surprisingly, it asked for a code to be input. Shaking his head, he tried with the other phone. The same thing happened. If he'd still had his watch, it would have defeated the code in mere moments and he would have been able to get out a message for help.
'Two mobile phones and I can't get either working. Perhaps I can run a course for the Crimson Guard new recruits when I get back. It could be entitled, 'How not to be a secret agent by Dendrik Ridge, aged three and a half'.'
Cursing under his breath, and then wondering why as there was nothing, not even any animals, for nearly two miles, he began to put the phones back in his pocket, only to suddenly stop, and have a good look at one. A plan started to form in the back of his mind. Opening one back up, he started to power it on again, only this time he paid much more attention. Before it got to the point where it asked for the code, the option for flight mode appeared. Flash pressed the button to enter flight mode, designed to be used on board a plane or in a hospital where all the functions of the phone could be used, except incoming or outgoing phone calls or messages. Checking out all of the handset's functions, it had just what he was looking for: an alarm, set on a countdown timer. It was then he knew just what to do.
* * *
Thousands of miles away in a small, terraced house, deep in the city of Salisbridge, Peter Bentwhistle had just finished a snack, not wanting anything more because for the first time in ages he was going hockey training that evening. While he wouldn't say that the injuries he'd picked up in the fight with Manson on that fateful bonfire night had healed entirely, he did feel much better, so much so that as well as going to work, he felt he could manage training, and show his face there for the first time since the events of November 5th.
Gazing at his empty plate, with an hour to go before he had to leave, he decided to grab today's copy of the Daily Telepath, as he hadn't seen a dragon paper for a while, and more to the point, the laminium ball league season was less than a week away from kicking off. Barely without thought, his consciousness disappeared off to find today's copy of the popular telepathic paper. Sitting happily at home as his mind flew across rooftops, swooped down alongside the river and headed for the tree on the small island in the waterway that runs through the fantastic park adjacent to the water meadows, he blinked as his consciousness disappeared straight up into the tree branch. This always happened, however hard he tried to resist. Sometimes, he sat and tried with all his might not to blink. Not once had he ever succeeded.
Sifting through all the previous copies of the paper, his mind grabbed hold of the latest one and gave it a tug in the direction of the exit. Wondering how hockey training would turn out, he was abruptly jolted from his thoughts as a giant purple trident zoomed out of nowhere and pierced the copy of the Daily Telepath he was holding onto with his mind. His consciousness and the copy of the paper wobbled horribly in mid air. Back in reality, he fell off his chair, landing with a bump on the tiled floor. Standing up, he felt a little head rush as he scrambled back into his seat. What on earth was going on?
His consciousness remained where it was, somewhere high above the filing cabinets it had retrieved the paper from. Closing his eyes, Peter used all his concentration to catch up with that part of his mind. When he did so, he was surprised to find his mind firmly wrapped around the paper, looking to pull it out of the storage facility, the huge purple trident currently stuck right through the middle of it, giving off occasional wisps of thick purple smoke. Trying to jerk his consciousness back towards the exit, he hoped to pull it away from the trident, even if he broke the paper, after all, he could just return and pick up another copy. It had no effect whatsoever. Frustrated, he pulled some more. Nothing happened. For the first time, he zoomed in on the trident, studying it properly. A long strand of purple smoke hung inconspicuously from the end of it. Written along its length were the words, 'Pull to unravel.' Carefully, he gripped the strand with his mind and then yanked a little. Slowly, the strand began to unwind, soon getting faster and faster. Before he knew it, the whole thing was a whirlwind. His consciousness hovered in mid air, mesmerised by what was happening in front of him. It looked like the kind of knitting project that NASA, the American space agency, might undertake, if indeed it decided to take on a knitting project. It was just... mad! Just as he thought he might try and leave without the paper, the trident and the mess surrounding it burnt themselves out, leaving a giant face formed from purple smoke, staring straight at him. It was a face he recognised instantly, a face that had featured more and more in his dreams of late. It was a face that most of the dragons in the world would perhaps struggle to recall, despite the fact that this being in his dragon form was one of, if not THE most famous dragon on the whole planet. It was the face of the... KING! As Peter noticed other dragon minds stopping all about and staring, the smoky face broke into a smile and started talking.