“Look at this one,” Mr Smith said, turning a magazine towards his wife, “how would you like that up your cunt.”“That is a picture of a young... girl being fucked by a huge black cock,” Jeff explained.Mrs Smith looked at the picture and giggled, then looked up at her husband and kissed him, it was a deep kiss and Mr Smith groped her tits as they were kissing.They moved to another camera.“This is the young area,” Jeff said, “now listen carefully.”Mrs Smith picked up a magazine while her husband. They announced Michael and Lyla should sit, so they did, at her table which was still strewn with half nibbled croissant and untackled grapefruit. They looked like a too young couple at their wedding night breakfast: awkward, and lost. The facts were laid before them: the existence of a video demand for released hostages, that Matt was in the video and alive but apparently speaking ‘as if in a considerable degree of significant discomfort’ – that was when the first tear fell from Lyla’s left. She scouted the area around the ruined plane. Bits and parts had scattered, especially where the wings had come off. She couldn't find her handbag but did spot their small suitcases, battered but basically sound, and rummaged through them. They'd packed for a few days at the shore, not for camping or hiking, so there was little of value. Nothing to start a fire, nothing to eat or to use for shelter. Her phone was missing and Steven's was smashed.Since the clearing was manmade she supposed there. ..Yet again she pushed the thoughts from her mind. Slipping out of the shower she dried off, looking at her body in the mirror for a few seconds. Her eyes flashed from violet to emerald, one of the benefits she had inherited from her father. She hadn't really ever met him, he had disappeared so long ago, but he had left both Rath and her with more then enough money to make a living off of, not to mention a vast well of information pertaining to the force and his own enhancements. Rose had.