The pilot had just notified the agent that the flight would be landing just south of Avebury in around forty five minutes.
“Hey what’s up with that bourbon?”
“Do you think you need to drink anymore?”
“Just shut up and fork over the bottle.”
Moshie stared out the window at the ocean having what alcoholics call ‘a moment of clarity’, even if it was fogged over by a half of a bottle of bourbon.
“What’s eatin you Moshie?”
The professor stood up and staggered to the back of the plane muttering under his breathe, “I have just signed the death warrant of the chosen one and i don’t need a drink.”
“Get in the character Moshie we already have a team of snipers on the ground awaiting our orders.” Yelled back Agent Stratnicoff.

The professor stood in the bathroom gazing in the mirror, when he realized there was a nine millimeter automatic sitting on the bathroom counter. Everything suddenly became clear to the professor, so he got into character.