The budget airline flight from London to Milan was a special kind of hell. The cabin was a cacophony of crying babies, overly loud stag party chants, and the incessant, cheerful bing of the seatbelt sign. It was a flying metal tube that smelled of stale coffee and disinfectant, and for Victor Blackwood, it was a profound and personal torture. He sat in stony, thunderous silence, his long legs jammed against the seat in front of him, a dark, gothic eagle forced into a canary cage.

Felix, ever adaptable, had his sleek white device propped on the flimsy tray table, a shimmering holographic display of flight paths and satellite data hovering over a half-eaten packet of cheese and onion crisps.

"Well, the good news is Veronica has confirmed she's in position," Felix murmured, his voice a low hum under the engine's drone. "She's checked into a lovely little pensione in the village near Visconti's estate. Posing as a Canadian art student sketching the local architecture. She's already mapped the perimeter security."

"And the bad news?" Victor rumbled, not taking his eyes off the seatback in front of him.

Felix’s cheerful expression tightened. A red alert was flashing insistently on his display. "The bad news," he said, his voice dropping, "is that our little bird isn't flying to the nest."

He swiped the display, showing Victor the flight path of Rocco's jet. It had made a sharp, unscheduled turn over the Alps. It was no longer heading for the private airstrip on the Adriatic coast. Its new destination: a small, remote airfield in the Epirus region of northwestern Greece.

Victor's head snapped around, his dark eyes locking onto the display. "He's not taking it back to his collection."

"No," Felix said grimly. "He's taking it home." He brought up another map, a topographical view of the Greek coastline. A single, pulsing red dot marked a location just a few miles from the new landing site. "The Nekromanteion of Acheron."

The implication hit them both with the force of a physical blow. Rocco wasn't waiting. He wasn't going to admire his complete set. He was going to perform the ceremony. Immediately.

"He's cutting out the middleman," Victor snarled, a low, dangerous sound. "He's going straight to the power source."

Felix’s fingers flew across his device. "This is bad, Victor. This is very bad. Veronica is completely out of position. She's a sitting duck. If Rocco's staff realize the plane has been diverted, they'll sweep the estate for anything out of the ordinary. A Canadian art student who has been asking a few too many questions about the local history will be the first thing they find."

Victor's jaw was a hard, tight line. Their perfectly crafted plan, their checkmate in three moves, had just been swept from the board. They were in the wrong country, on the wrong timeline, and their extraction agent was now a potential hostage.

"We need to get to Greece," Victor stated, his voice flat and absolute.

"Now."

"The moment we land in Milan, the first connecting flight to Ioannina isn't for another six hours," Felix countered, his mind racing. "It's too slow. Tinbunny will be on the ground in ninety minutes."

Victor looked at him, a silent, demanding question in his eyes.

Felix let out a long, slow breath. A mischievous, almost manic grin spread across his face. "Well," he said, pushing his empty crisp packet into the seat pocket in front of him. "It's a good thing I brought my own transport."

He tapped a sequence on his device. In the cargo hold of the budget airliner, nestled between suitcases full of holiday clothes, a small, innocuous-looking metal suitcase began to hum, a faint, quantum vibration that no one would ever notice. Inside, folded into an impossible, extradimensional space, was Felix’s car.

"As soon as we land," Felix said, his eyes gleaming with a chaotic, brilliant light, "we're going for a drive."

Thank you again @HenchwomanTinbunny for asking for a strory