It is 5 o'clock in the morning. A large, definately expensive yacht bobs up and down on the crystal blue sea. Land can be seen in the background, but it's anyone's guess as to where this is.
Wait, what do you mean it's 1 o'clock in the afternoon? Bloody watch! Only got it down the market a few weeks ago... Skip to about 1:10 in
Anyway, the sound of a motor humming can be heard, and it is slowly getting louder. What appears to be a smaller motor boat is approaching fast from the direction of the annoyingly unrecognisable land...*BANG*
The motor boat hit the side of the large yacht, and although no visible damage was caused, you could tell that someone was about to get very pissed off about the incident. A small, angry man began shouting at the Italian-looking man behind the controls of the smaller boat."Ah, ye muppet! You've hit the boat! I don't care if it's your first time driving it, the boss won't be very please-" He looked up towards the deck of the yacht slowly.
Leaning somewhat precariously over the deck of the yacht was a man of shorter stature, in his early sixties, with graying hair, and a pair of sunglasses that were probably found in a loft after disappearing for 30 years. His attire was questionable: A white shirt with blue, yellow, and red flowers on it was the garment of choice, unbuttoned at the collar and rolled up to his elbows. He leant over the edge of the deck and, in an Irish accent, spoke.
"Do you mind not crashing into me boat, I just paid fer it. I should have you fired because of your incompetence, you bloody fools. I should also keep you on as it served as an impromptu alarm call, fer which i should be grateful. Come aboard."
A door in the side of the boat quietly opened, conveniently at the height of the deck of the smaller boat. The two men on the smaller boat stepped aboard the large yacht, into a narrow passageway. The Irish national anthem played as the door shut behind them. On the walls of this passageway were several photographs of the Jordan F1 team, and a broken front wing of a Jordan 193. The Italian-looking pointed to it and said proudly "My father did that!" before being told to shut up by the smaller man, before the pair walked up a set of spiral stairs at the end of the passageway.
The stairs led to the rear deck area of the yacht, which looked out onto the sea behind, out to the horizon. On this deck was a large white sofa, of the kind that are hard and uncomfortable, a coffee table, and a drinks cabinet. Eddie Jordan poured himself a drink, before moving over to the sofa and sitting down next to a pair of lovelies wearing Jordan Grand Prix skin tight all in ones. He beckoned to the two men to come closer.
"What do you want to tell me?"
"Well, it's about Project Jordan, sir." said the smaller man. With that, Eddie leant forward and pressed a large red button on the table, and whispered into the ears of one of the lovelies, who grabbed her mate and walked down the stairs.
"Tell me more"
"Well, sir, the HRT team have just shut down." the smaller man said, shuffling nervously.
"Interesting. Interesting." A whirring sound could be heard, suspicously like a lift, before a clang and the whoosh of a set of doors opening. Eddie tuned around on the sofa to the sight of David Coulthard emerging from a lift amidst a cloud of smoke. He was wearing a black shirt and extremely tight white trousers.
"David, what's with the dry ice?" Eddie said as David sat down awkwardly, presumably trying not to sit on his love spuds in those awfully tight trousers.
"Ah. Reminds me of that time I was superman" said David.
Eddie spoke again to the two men. "You may leave now gentlemen. Thank you."
The two men shuffled nervously over to the set of stairs and descended them, and the muffled tones of the Irish national anthem could be heard again as the two left the yacht.
"So, Eddie, what's happened?" asked David.
"HRT has just gone bust,David, that's what." He downed his drink before continuing. "This is perfect!".
With that, a partition wall encircled the deck, completing enclosing it, as a roof slid over the top, plunging the deck into darkness. The coffee table overturned to reveal a concealed laptop, on which Eddie typed a password. A world map was suddenly projected onto the new wall, with a few red dots scattered about.
"This is my master plan" Eddie continued. "I will buyHRT, enter Formula One,l and lead Jordan to greatness!"
"How?" David asked
"It's simple." Eddie leant down the side of the sofa and produced a large notepad, which was battered and well-used. "With this - Flavio Briatore's dirty tricks."
"How'd you get that?" David asked.
"I asked Nelson Piquet Jnr to do it. Very good sleeper agent he is. Anyway, in here is all kinds of ways to cheat and get away with it." Almost to prove his point, he flicked through the pad, stopping occasionally to read an entry. "Using traction control illegally...Making a team mate crash out...in here is the things I can use to rule Formula One! With you of course David, it's why I invited you here." He walked over towards the drinks cabinet. "I'm experiencing a slight cash flow problem at the moment David, I need your contribution to help me purchase HRT."
"But there is one thing you didn't account for!" said David, in a slight accent.
"What?" said Eddie. The noise of a helicopter was getting louder and louder in the background.
"This." Suddenly, bullets pierced the artificial wall, and embedded themselves into the floor of the deck. The walls and roof began to extract back into the orifice where they came from.
"What the bathplug is this!?!?!" screamed Eddie, as a second round of gunfire hit the deck.
"5 years I ahve waited" began David, as he stood up slowly. "Oh yes. Now it is time!". He now spoke in a definate Austrian accent.
The walls had retracted to reveal a hovering helicopter just above the deck of the yacht. 10 mercenaries jumped out of the helicopter onto the yacht, and pointed their guns at a startled Eddie.
"Why do you think I told you to come here Eddie? Think."
Eddie was too frightened to speak.
"1049 nautical miles away from Yemen! Does that mean anything to you? Does it? No. Let me explain. After my retirement from Formula One in 2007, and my failed attempt to purchase the A1 Ring, I went under cover. I am not who you think you are Eddie. Oh no." The mercenaries continued to point their guns at Eddie, who spoke nervously.
"Then who are you David?"
David laughed. He reached behind the back of his head, and slowly pulled lifted up. The latex mask peeled off to reveal Tiago Monteiro.
"Tiago Monteiro?" Eddie shouted above the noise of the helicopter in disbelief.
"Shite." said Tiago, and reached behind the back of his head, and slowly pulled. The latex mask peeled off to reveal Alex Wurz.
"Oh Bathplug" said Eddie.
"Yes, it is me, Alexander Wurz. Anyway, as I was saying, I needed to go undercover. People had begun to find me out. Suspected me. So, I had David, err, disposed of. I took his place for 3 years and you didn't suspect a thing! You senile sod!."
The mercenaries moved forward, and proceeded to tie Eddie Jordan up.
"Now, my plan to end the world in 2012 will not be completed in time. But, I have a new plan. I will buy HRT and use them as a cover-up to manufacture BDU chips! No one will know!"
"Do you expect me to help?" said a struggling Eddie, before mercenaries placed duct tape over his mouth
"Ah, no Mr. Jordan, not at all. Not at all." said Wurz, as he climbed onto his helicopter. Mercenaries poured petrol all over the deck of the yacht.
"Now, I hope you have a nice holiday! Goodbye!" The mercanaries leapt onto the helicopter as Eddie wriggled onto the floor, his muffled screams unable to be heard by anyone. Wurz calmly and cooly lit a cigarette, before using that to light Eddie's dress thing that he wore live on television for the 2011 Indian Grand Prix. Wurz dropped the burning garment onto the deck of the yacht, and it fluttered in the air before hitting the deck of the yacht.
To be continued...
