For behold! the storm comes, and now all friends should gather together, lest each singly be destroyed. – Gandalf, The Lord of the Rings

Flying above the developing southern supercell, Military Meteorological Specialist Irwin Allen Armstrong observed the towering anvil-shaped clouds with an ancient soothsayer's uncanny acuity. And an increasing alarm. Topping off at about sixty thousand feet over Oklahoma's Great Plains, the massive precipitation-packed clouds were troubling.

Someone's going to die today.

He shifted his weight in the uncomfortable military transport seat as the plane banked sharply. His budget was about to be severely cut by the higher-ups as they funneled money into Project Chimera, whatever the hell that was, and siphoned funds from his meteorological research.

I need to get the storm data I promised the brass before they pull the plug on Project Jupiter.

His cutting edge weather research program, named for the King Planet's raw storm power and beauty, had yet to deliver the promised payload—the genesis of a tornado. Specifically, how to form and harness an artificial F-3 sized tornadic storm.

He pulled out his phone and linked to satellite communications. The tornado chasing company he had in mind to assist him was Weather Warriors. The founder, Lars Winter, was a vicious snake, but the showboating backstabber was positioned in the exact location necessary to intercept the fomenting storm. Even if he and his son, James, didn't understand Project Jupiter's advanced technology, they could still deploy the untested probe and complete the mission. He hesitated, unwilling to dial the number and ask a favor from a sworn enemy.

The competitive bastard blacklisted me from the N.A.S.A program.

I'm not bitter about what happened between us. I'm furious, and have been for decades.

Why can't I swallow my pride and ask him? What was that saying? Something about moving on from the past. He tapped his pen on the side of his loafer.

Who else can do it?

He pulled up the database of premier storm chasers he followed on the internet and paused at Halle Brennan's profile. A fearless new chaser who had intercepted more tornados this year than any of her experienced counterparts.

She's either insane or has mad skills.

He frowned. Shame she didn't have the proper vehicle. The youngster was a bright star who had the right experience and instinct, but driving a Chevy Cobalt could get the most skilled chasers killed in a sub vortex. Besides deadly winds and missile-velocity debris, storm chasers faced a number of life threatening instances where they could find themselves trapped in the path of a raging twister. Downed power lines or trees could cause them to run off rain-slicked roads and get helplessly sucked into in a muddy trench. With cell towers blown down, stranded chasers were often unable to call for help.

For his peace of mind, it would have to be Lars and his son, James. Their vehicle, The Interceptor, was over 14,000 pounds. Fully loaded and powered by a 7.3 litre Ford Powerstroke turbocharged diesel engine, known as the International T444E, the hulking transport was streamlined to withstand tornadic wind shear and give them the best chance to make it out alive.

I should know. I helped design the prototype.

Gritting his teeth, Irwin initiated the call to his hated nemesis. After three rings, a familiar cultured voice answered. "Lars Winter." In the background, he heard what he assumed was a large crowd milling about at the Keene, Texas Tornado Chasing Conference. From the sounds, the event was in full swing.

Lars, it's Irwin."

"Ah, Irwin, what a pleasure. It's been a long time. To what do I owe the honor of your call?"

Irwin grimaced. Lar's charming demeanor masked a hidden ruthlessness and never failed to irritate him. "I need your help."

"Really?" Lars chuckled. "What an interesting turn of events."

"I need you and James to deploy a military probe in the current Oklahoma storm system. It has to be within striking distance of the tornado core."

"Storm system?"

Unbelievable, a self-proclaimed storm chaser who doesn't follow the daily weather PDA's.

"The trough seeping up from the south that's strengthening as we speak. I can offer Weather Warriors a generous rate and hazard pay."

"I'm sorry, but I have a photo shoot with National Geographic and the Weather Channel in a few hours. I can't help you."

Of course you do, bastard.

"This is more important. The south west front over The Great Plains is building into a powerful storm. One that can provide the government with the data it needs to keep Project Jupiter viable."

"Unlike you, I have to make my living hand-to-mouth with Nat Geo and the Weather Channel. I don't have the luxury of military contracts and millions of dollars at my disposal."

Neither will I if I don't get this probe deployed.

Armstrong raised his voice. "The great Lars Winter is afraid."

Lars inhaled. "Yes, I'm reluctant to put my ass on the line. Wasn't someone just killed attempting to deploy a probe two hundred meters from the core? Why would I want to do that? Have my son risk his life..."

He paused. The reckless slut who had latched onto James, Halle Brennan. The mother had been trailer trash. Like mother, like daughter. His lips curled upwards. Maybe she could deploy the probe.

Why not kill two birds with one stone?

Get rid of the home wrecker and take the credit for the data the probe collected.

"Alright, Irwin. Weather Warriors will deploy your probe. For triple hazard pay. Drop your equipment at the tornado conference with the accompanying specs."

Irwin breathed a sigh of relief. "We're landing now. I'll be there within an hour."

_________________________

Lars hung up and quickly cancelled his appearance at tornado conference, then called James. The call went to voicemail so he was forced to leave a message. "James, grab Charlie and meet me in the conference center parking lot. I have a job for you two. We're going to assist Irwin Allen with a probe deployment." Charlie 'Zane' Howard was his son's best friend and a hardcore chaser.

To set Halle up, I'll have to deceive James and his friend for their own good.

His smile was reminiscent of a Great White's as he lined up events in his mind like wooden building blocks under a hastily built scaffold. It was common knowledge you couldn't have emotional investment in the outcome of a situation.

Without efficient lies, chaos would erupt.