Dave Goes to Europe Chapter 5: A Watched Plot Never Foils

Belgium may not have been the best idea. As Dave pulled into the customs office, it was clear Belgium was a far cry from neighboring France. A brown duck in a guard's uniform waved them aside, a Walther submachine-gun slung over the duck's shoulder. Dave pulled over. Dr. Weisehund stirred and awoke as Dave lowered the driver side window.

The duck spoke French. This was not the elegant, romantic French of Paris or Calais, but a more reserved and officious French. Ah, to be caught between France and Germany. Dave had an ear for language, but French eluded him. Luckily, Weisehund was fluent.

"He wants to see your papieren. Your passport."

Dave fished out the required documents, careful as to not make any untoward motions that would prompt the Belgian duck to action. The duck looked over the passport, looked closely at Dave, then the passport again. He spoke more French.

"He wants to know why you are coming to Belgium," interpreted the doc.

Heightened security made sense. In hindsight, Dave should have known all along to avoid this border. France was for tourists. Belgium was industrial. The ports of Brussels and Antwerp shipped German and Belgian tech to the British isles. Shipments of that nature could very well lure a certain kind of criminal. Dave was not exactly subtle in his Bugatti. "Inform him as best you can," said Dave.

Weisehund shot him a questioning glare.

"Tell him whatever. He'll likely search the car. Might as well tell him who you are. You have ID, right?" asked Dave.

The light of recognition flashed in her eyes. She nodded curtly, then spoke with the duck. Dave assisted in handing over her documentation. Suddenly the duck's attitude grew more polite. He waved them in with a fond farewell.

"The Institute has several offices in Belgium. They hire a good deal of personal security as you have seen."

"Best not bite the hand that may sometime in the future feed, eh?" said Dave with a wink.

"You observed my tone. I made no suggestions that we were looking to hire."

Dave nodded. "Nor did I suggest you did. He must really hate his job if he is looking at every suit as a potential employer."

With that, Dave took back to the road. There was some drive ahead of them yet. Weisehund admired the Belgian countryside, mostly farms this far inland. Eventually the lull of the engine put her under a spell. She drifted off into slumber. Dave pressed on, his injured ankle throbbed. His ribs hurt. The pain just reminded him he was alive, so very alive. Dave switched his CAF player to New Wave. Duran Duran's "Chaffeur" came on as if some omen. If only a different woman had claimed the passenger seat. Dave pressed on the gas and shifted to a higher gear.

( Part 2 ) Baretts first Kill: The Hunt

Barett hunkered down in the dirt, this new event changed everything, at the same time it changed nothing. His father had often said about combat, "There is no predictability when it comes to men with guns that want to kill you, that is the only predictability." He was often taught by his father that your ability to change what you were going to do, and how you did it was the sign of a good leader. It was taught to him and his Brothers that to be rigid in your plan could lead to failure or death, you had to be flexible and remember what your real objectives are, the first being not to get yourself or your men killed, Barett was trying to remember that, even though his emotions were trying to convince him to do other more rash things.
The warmth of the afternoon sun was begining to burn off the morning mist, and make his extra layers of clothes uncomfortable. Sweating was bad, sweating made your scent stronger, and if it got your cloths wet enough, you lost heat and wasted energy. A plan began to form in his mind, not the most original thought he'd ever had, but againest these common thugs it might just work. Easing himself back into the forest cover, the warm blanket of green and brown, pressing his body againest the moist dirt as he moved ever so slowly around the barn and towards the upper trail he had spotted earlier, he started to work out the details in his mind. It always amazed him how dense the dessert forests were, even though they only held small plots of land in the vastness of the rolling hills, they gripped savagely to their barren holds, hosting a wide variety of life. Moving ever so slowly and opening your senses to the surrounding view it was amazing how many things were in motion, how much of nature was in constant change, and much less static than it appeared from a distant car or motorcycle.

Barett's first solo kill ( Back in the gang days)

Intro: This is a short story about Barett when he was first in the Motorcycle gang in Tahoe, having just parted with his brothers, although they had lots of training, combat was limited, and distantly impersonal at this point in his life. This event takes place in late october in the Sierra mountains foothills, just southeast of Lake Tahoe. It is about his first real Kill, his first step into the dark world of gangs, a world of violence and deception he had not dealt with before.

He sat in the back of the old pickup truck as it bounced down the rutted dirt road, huddled low againest the rusted out wheel well. The cold morning air stung his bare face and hands, the dust from the fine dirt kicked up by the tires irritated his eyes, and made them tear up. It was still dark, at least another hour before the first rays of light would creep over the eastern sky, the coldest part of the night it seemed. His leather bikers jacket and hooded sweatshirt at least provided some protection and warmth for his core, but his shaved head and thin leather gloves leaked what little heat he could generate, out into the dark night. One other gang member sat in the back with him, a pencil thin gray cat mix, his green eyes staring intently into the warm cab of the truck where the three senior gang members sat drinking coffee and smoking hand rolled cigarettes, as they bounced along the road. They all called the gray cat "Stick", and that is what he went by, Barett never knew his real name. Stick wore a beat up black leather jacket as well, but only a t-shirt underneath, his dirty jeans more holes than denium, canvas high tops held together with duck tape covered his "small for his height" feet. He turned to look at Barett across the bed of the old chevy truck. His shaved head tucked down into into his jacket as far as it would go.

"You want a smoke ?" Stick said his teeth chattering from the cold.

" No, thanks though..I'm just fine." Barett tried to looked out through the windshield of the truck, hoping to see where they were going.

" Shoot yourself man, it will warm you up."
Stick slide out a pack of hand rolled cigarettes and attempted to light one up, ducking down behind the rusted white tool box in the bed of the truck, as it rattled loosely on the siderails. He almost had it lit up when they hit a deep rut in the road, Sticks head slammed into the tool box and knocked the lid open. He raised himself up onto his knees, cussing and ranting, holding the back of his head with both hands. The guys in the cab started laughing and hooting at him, which only caused him to curse louder. When he brought his hands down to shut the toolbox lid they were covered in blood.

" Damn man, now I'm bleeding.....pull over man...I need to clean up" He yelled to the guys in the cab.

" You'll be fine, we are almost there.......we need to be quiet from here on out, so keep it down...and do your part....or we'll make you walk back." Said the Dark haired driver as he leaned over his shoulder and spoke through the back window of the truck. Unlike the rest of them he had his long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a beat up straw cowboy hat on, a large canvas barn jacket covered his wide chest. Every one just called him "Hoss" but his real name was Greggory, the old truck was his, the gangs makeshift tow truck for when bikes broke down, which they often did.

Hoss turned the lights off and slowed the truck down to under 20 mph. Turning off the well worn dirt road he headed up a small hill to the left, the tall dry weeds clicking off the axles of the truck. Barett could tell that the trail had some use, but not a lot. The main dirt road turned to the right and vanished around a corner. They slowly crawled sideways and slightly up across this hill for another 3 miles before stopping just shy of the top.

Hoss opened the door slowly and closed it quietly, the other two in the cab did the same on the opposite side, jacking rounds into their guns as they stomped out their cigarettes in the sandy dirt.

"Ok, here is the plan," whispered Hoss", Stick you stay with the truck, keys are in the ignition....if anything goes wrong come and get us right away. Jimmy and Hog you take the house and kill everyone, I'll take "newbie" and go to the barn...when I give the all clear sign..... Stick you will drive down to the barn and start loading up the cargo. Any questions.........No...then lets go, ....and do it quiet."

Hoss hunched down low and started for the top of the hill, Jimmy and Hog went to the right and started around the bend in the hill quickly disappearing into the dark, before they had gone 30 feet Stick was in the cab of the Truck trying to warm himself up. Hoss just kept moving forward never looking back, working his way through the tall weeds and sagebrush, amazingly quiet for a guy his size.

The farm was really a small time "Mary Jane" operation, run by a rival gang that had stolen some of their stuff a long time ago. The house was no more than a small one room log cabin at the edge of the tree line, the barn a metal prefab garage covered in netting to hid it from planes in the sky, 60 feet away in the aspen trees up the hill from the house. They grew the "Weed" in the trees and hills, harvesting and fertalizing as the plants grew. The intel seemed good, two guys ran the place most of the time, and others came in to help with the harvest blindfolded....the place was supposed to be secret. Hoss had tortured a man to death a few weeks back, he said, and got the location out of him.

Barett grabbed the cold steel barrel of his single shot 12 gauge and stalked through the grass and weeds after Hoss, keeping back a few yards, trying to keep an open eye on the trees and the other on the log cabin.

Hidden Kingdom III - The Albino

The burst of automatic fire from overhead was all Tsai Lee needed. The people panicked and raced in mass for the other side of the street and sought for cover behind the buildings. The police did not try to stop them. Tsai Lee expertly disappeared into the throng of people. She easily slipped from the gathering crowd of individuals who all looked on with morbid fascination at the unfolding events from the building she had just spent a few hours on the early morning in.
Separation was not the best plan but she knew Barett was skilled. She thought for a second that she should help him somehow, but then she remembered how he had single handedly taken out an entire team of highly trained black-ops back in the Puget Sound when she had first met him. It was time to focus on the disk in her bag and Dong-Mei, the albino. She needed to find someone with technical skills who could help her. Tsai Lee corned the next building that was the Dorsett Seaview Hotel and headed north on Shanghai street into the heart of Kowloon. The rain began to fall again.

~~~~~~~~~~~

All four men fell unceremoniously down a half flight of the stairwell. The rat-tating of the big AK-47 echoed off the walls as the bullets erupted out of the backs of the two SWAT men who were in the rear. Fists, feet, and blood went everywhere. Barett and the man we was entangled with spun and flipped upside down, Barett landing on his back and under the man The AK-47 was knocked out of his hands in the process and it clattered down the stairs. The SWAT officer’s hold on his own assault riffle was wrong for him to get a shot off but he was quick and brought the stock of his gun down on Barett’s left collar bone. It hurt but no bones broke. Barett answered with his knee. It shot up and connected in the man’s midsection who was rising again to deliver another blow. He was already off balance with the un-level stairwell so the force of the kick over-ended him and he flipped head over heals, crashing down on the switchback metal landing next to the AK-47. The two, now dead, SWAT men under Barett were like sandbags of resistance and hindrance to his movement as his tried to flip back over. All three of them slid down another two stair rungs. In the jumble of legs, arms, blood, armor, and bobbing heads, Barett saw a large knife strapped to one of the bodies. Without thinking he ripped it out of the holster and threw it down at the man he had just kick off of him. He wasn’t a second too late either. The third SWAT officer had brought up his assault rifle ready to shot just as the blade made solid contact on the bridge of his nose. Barett and the other two bodies continued to slide until they slammed onto the landing.

Barett looked around quickly. Shouts were coming up from about two floors below him. He looked at the bodies and began scheming about ways to booby trap the bodies. He saw that each had pockets of flash grenades.
But a door to the stairwell banged open below with a crash and he knew he was out of time. Barett pulled the pin from three of grenades and threw them down the stairwell. He took three more and jumped all the way up to where he had dropped his bag in one coontail leep and shut the door to protect himself from the flash and blast.

Immediately following the explosion he flung back through the door into the stairwell and literally flew up three more flights to the eighth floor. He could hear pursuers coming up after him. He thought about going all the way to the roof but thought better of that, knowing that there would be snipers out there waiting for him. Everything was about speed now if he was going to get out of the building in one piece. He pulled the pins out of the remaining three flash grenades and dropped them down the stairwell.

The one things nice about a city like Hong Kong is that the buildings are so close to each other. If you look out your bathroom window you will be looking into your neighbor's bedroom in another building. This was going to be his exit. He headed to the north end knowing that was the only building close enough for him to jump, hopefully without being seen. He chose a door and ran with his shoulder down. The door gave easily. Inside was a small apartment that belong to a person who had a strange collection of large black and white photos of hands. Out of the little living room was a balcony. Barett carefully stepped up to the window to assess the possibilities. There were no windows he could see in an easy jump but there was a ledge that looked promising. He was guessing there were snipers getting into position. He was hoping they would be looking at the rooftops and the lower windows where the gun fire had come from. He would have to risk it.

Sliding open the balcony windowed door enough him, he slipped his bag onto his back and prepared himself; then jumped.

The landing on the six inch ledge was good. No one had seemed to noticed his evacuation route as not bullets rained down on him. He quickly edge himself to his right, rounded the corner of the building and found a window that was easily big enough for him to fix through once he broke the window. Luckily no one was home. It was a office storage room of some sort with mountains of paper other odds and ends stored about the room.

Exiting the room, he snuck down a hallway and went up two flights of stairs. The escape had worked so well that he thought it would be best to try it one more time. The next building was a giant 55 story building. Within a few minutes he had moved three buildings down the street away from all the police, SWAT teams and snipers. No wonder superheros of the comic book world are inclined to use this mode of travel. He walked out the front door and looked south into the crowd of people who and gathered under protective awnings do keep out of the rain and watch to see what events were unfolding down the street.

What now?

Dave Goes to Europe Chapter 4: Return Trip

Dave Crockett Coontail awoke to the violent buzzing of his cellular phone as it shimmied across the bedside nightstand.  He answered cheerily as he had slept his requisite six to seven hours.  "Lieutenant Dave Coontail speaking," he said.

"It is nice to see you awake.  From what I hear you had a late night," said Dr. Weisehund.

"So, the Society is watching me.  That's reassuring.  I thought I felt some eyes at my back."

"I was not involved.  Members of the board thought it prudent to observe you during your stay in Berlin.  I just happened to hear some office gossip.  You are enjoying the club scene, then?" she teased.

"Very much so.  No Lou Reed songs, though," said Dave, not missing a beat.

"More is the pity.  Anyhow, to business.  I am calling to give you forewarning that the project will be completed some time this afternoon.  You are to keep your phone on your person at all times.  I shall call one half hour in advance of the time we are to depart.  Is that understood?"

"Ich verstehe.  Alle ist klar.  I will keep the phone close to my heart" said Dave.

"I expect nothing less.  Aufwiederhoren."  She disconnected.

Dave set the phone aside, yawned, and stretched.  He stood and scratched an itch at his bottom.  The clock radio displayed the time at 11:03.  Germans.  Even her phone call was on the hour.

Retroactive changes

In the many years that the brothers have been around, is there anything in their backstory or in any particular adventures that you would change?  I wonder because there are a couple of things that bother me.

The first was an early adventure in which someone had attempted to rob the garage at night.  The brothers all went into pursuit mode.  Dave crashed and rolled the race car.  Utah swore never to ride with him again.  I am fine with that part of it.  However, after catching the culprits, Dave took his little chainsaw out of the trunk (he kept it for harvesting armor from other vehicles) and started it up.  He held it up to one of the robbers intending to scare him.  At this point I as a player bowed to peer pressure.  When urged to finish him off, I had Dave do it.  I regretted it immediately after and ever since.  I really don't think Dave would have done that.  In fact, had he killed in such a gruesome fashion, I don't think he would ever recover from it.  If possible, I would go back and rewrite that scenario.  it didn't help that Lumpy witnessed this horrific execution.

Speaking of Lumpy, I would also go back and completely delete Dave's seduction of Lumpy.  For one thing, I had based that scenario on a misinterpretation of past events, thinking there was a past relationship where there was none.  Secondly, she just isn't Dave's type.  Moreover, I don't think Dave would have done it even if it was just to piss off Utah.  The whole thing stands out as being uncharacteristic.  This is aggravated by the fact that I as a player pushed for it in the first place.  Blogging a short story is one thing, but trying to wrangle up some story during game play just doesn't fly and I apologize.

Other than that I can really not think of much else.  Oh, yeah.  There was a previous trip to Europe that the brothers made that I think should be nulled.  It is more interesting by far to think of the present trip to Europe as their first.  Of course, Utah Blaine is exempt as he had gone to Scotland during his Mission.

The brothers' zodiac

In both Dave's adventure in Europe and Barett's adventure in prison there has been mention of zodiac signs.  I remember Brett and Blaine agreeing that the brothers be born under the sign of the Gemini, the twins.  I think the date was on the cusp close to Taurus.  This is interesting as Utah has more Taurus like traits while Barett is more Gemini.  Dave is on the cusp of Sagittarius and Scorpio, the exact opposite of Utah and Barett.  He compliments them while also opposing them.  I see Rick as a Leo.  I don't know if that is his real sign, but here is why I think that.  Fire signs are very adventurous.  Leo, atop of this, is all about expression and getting noticed.  Rick's bigger than life weapons, vehicles, and equipment confirm this.  A second reason is Rick's famous hair.  Leo's are often known by their luxurious manes.

However, it was the signs of the Chinese zodiac that I wished to discuss.  I see Dave as a Tiger.  The tiger is bold and daring.  He tends to reckless behavior, often leaping at opportunities.  Tigers prefer first hand experience to second hand knowledge.  Furthermore, they are attracted to the unusual and surprising.  They tend to be optimistic and intuitive.  In love, they dislike too much restraint.  They are attracted to independent partners who share a love of adventure.  There is a risk that tigers will grow bored of a relationship and will seek new possibilities.  Career wise, tigers prefer simple and direct tasks.  Tigers are energetic and rise to the challenge.  However, failure can take the wind out of their sails.

If Dave is a tiger, that makes the twins the sign of the Boar.  The boar is honest and forthright in dealings.  He tends to be reserved with strangers, showing affection only to close friends and loved ones.  Boars tend to be a little naive socially, often saying the wrong thing or otherwise coming of as a little awkward.  However, as they are very genuine, this is forgiven or dismissed.  Boars are idealistic .  Moreover, they hold their own reputation in high esteem.  In love, the boar may have trouble with those that wish to exploit his trust.  However, a failed relationship does not bring him down.  Observant and imaginative, boars make a rewarding lover to those that give them the chance.  Career wise, boars balance work with their daily lives, not letting either unbalance the other.  Boars dislike risk and err on the side of caution.  They prefer cooperative duties.  Boars are intelligent, and pick up on things quickly.

Rick would be a Rat.  Rats are opportunistic, taking action before anyone else can even determine what is going on.  Rats are quick to asses a situation.  Ambition can sometimes drive away friends.  Despite this, the rat is generous and loyal.  Rats are witty and mix well in a social setting.  Yet, they fiercely guard their private life.  In love, the rat is sensual and passionate, even fearless.  Rats are deeply emotional and can be hurt easily.  Rats can be quite charming.  Career wise, the rat is meticulous and adaptable, often tackling several projects at once.  Just the same, it is advise the rat not overstep his bounds.  The rat is prone to criticism and impatience with coworkers.

Fisher would be an ox.  The ox is reserved and stable.  Firmly grounded, the ox goes about things in am orderly and well-reasoned fashion.  The ox is highly opinionated.  She is patient and sturdy, disliking risk.  The ox is prone to over-thinking, which may lead to depression.  In love, the ox is tender and caring.  She is not overly romantic and must be encouraged to have fun.  Career-wise, the ox prefers to work behind the scenes.  The ox takes her work very seriously.  She is highly skilled and very organized.

I see Tsai Lee as a snake, making her six years younger than Barett.  However, these are her traits.  The snake is intellectual and decisive.  She has little patience with that that does not stimulate her mind.  She is quick to assess a situation.  She is competitive and confident.  The snake is loyal and caring to those she trusts.  In love, she is flirtatious and seductive.  She enjoys her freedom while prone to jealousy of her lover.  The snake is romantic and loves to tease, being quite playful.  Career-wise, she is very controlled.  The snake spots a problem and deals with it in a restrained and collected manner.  Independent work is best.  Jobs require both courage and patience suit the snake well.  Snakes have a sharp memory.  However, time must be set aside to relax and to contemplate, lest the snakes energy be depleted.

By the way, this information is from Chinese Astrology by Man-Ho Kwok.  Other sources may have different information  Also, the book is far more in depth.  This is more broad strokes.  Anyhow, let me know how much or how little you think this relates to your character.  I found it, for the most part, surprisingly accurate.  My biggest concern is both Barett and Utah as boars, but having distinct traits.  Barett can be awkward in a social setting, however, Utah is the honest and forthright one.  Hmm.

Theme Songs

In writing Dave's adventures in Europe, I have come to realize just how important music is to the character.  This got me thinking about what songs would be featured in the Coontails' movie.  Dave's current theme song in my mind is by the Jungle Brothers as remixed by Fatboy Slim.  Though it is more electronica and hip hop oriented, the theme and the execution fit quite well.  It is tongue in cheek and narcissistic at the same time, much like Dave himself.  It is titled "Because I Got It Like That."  Here's a taste.

Play in the rain and don't get wet

Walk through the desert and don't even sweat

Play in the snow and don't get cold

I'm just a cool, young brother who looks kinda old

Run around the world school on the side

If I commit a crime and get caught I slide

I got ladies uptown and money on the floor

There's not a thing in the world that I'm asking for

Why?

Because I got it like that

With Utah, the Police's "Demolition Man" works very well.  It sums up his destructive nature, and the fact that destruction is often part of his job.

Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall" represents Barett suitably as he is antiestablishment.

With Rick I am thinking "Like to Get to Know You Well" by Howard Jones.  Also "Dozen Girls" by the Damned is good, too.  "He's got charm.  He's got style.  He's got a dozen girls.  Oh, tell me why he's got a dozen girls."

"New Religion" by Duran Duran captures Dave's more serious and dangerous side.

Other possible tracks are:

"Cult of Personality" by Living Color, embracing the political aspects of their world.

"Big Truck" by Coal Chamber, a great theme for the Grunting Doberman

"Hey Man Nice Shot" by Filter, another good political song and personally the only good song by Filter.

"I Kill Spies" by Agent Orange for obvious reasons

If you have any songs that fit with the brothers or their world, please post them as comments.

Dave Goes to Europe Chapter 3: Germany

The next couple of days found Dave working on the new car.  The powers that be assigned him a team.  Of the number enlisted to assist him Dave selected just four.  Anymore would have just been in the way.  Each member, including Private Dean, had an interest in cars.  Each had experience as a mechanic, a weekend racer, or the like.

Private Dean must have had a criminal background as a carjacker and chop shop employee.  She helped Dave to remove the doors and shell that he could apply a layer of kevlar.  They removed the racing seats as well that Dave could wrap them in kevlar.  Afterwards, an assistant added foam cushions and set about sewing microfiber covers.  Dave suggested a charcoal color to keep in line with the rest of the interior.

The armored seats were something new.  Dave had never thought to do that before.  However, should the armor at the rear of the vehicle fail, the double layer of kevlar would protect the driver and the passenger.  Armoring the Bughatti took up the better half of a day.  Since it was a mid-engine car, the firewall was behind the seats.  Armoring the firewall provided even greater protection against pursuing vehicles.  However, armoring the front of the passenger compartment required some ingenuity and a lot of time.  Armoring the floor, though optional, proved less difficult as Dave just laid a layer of kevlar below the carpeting.

Earlier, he had phoned the manufacturers of the bullet resistant glass and gave them the dimensions for the windshield and windows.  He wanted superior protection at the front and rear.  The sides would be less armored as he still wanted to lower and raise the windows.  The car was not to be equipped with guns.  He was already pushing the curb weight of the vehicle.  If one needed to fire at the enemy there were three basic steps.  See window.  Lower window.  Fire out aforementioned window. 

The Hidden Kingdom II

“Damn,” He said under his breath. He was totally awake.

It was now about 5:20 in the morning. The window was open and the cool of the morning filtered in. The sun was starting to rise. The rain seemed to have finally blown out and the morning seems to hint to a bright, if not hot day.

Not doing anything all day yesterday, just waiting, and the fact that Barett had the stamina to keep going for three days straight, was part of the reason why he wasn’t sleepy. But he couldn’t sleep. Part of it was because he was having a hard time keeping his mind focused. It kept wandering to the sleeping figure on the bed.
He was having a hard time to keep his mind off her. Her dance last night had been nothing short of astonishing. The way she moved haunted him. He had never seen anything like it before. It was a given that he found her insanely attractive. But he also respected her and her skill like no other women and he wanted to learn everything he could from her when it came to the blades. The two feelings were for some strange reason, in conflict within him and he couldn’t figure it out.

He had no idea if she found him attractive or not. She said nothing that gave him any ideas as to her thoughts towards him as a man. And then last night she had walked out naked on him which was a bit more than he expected. As a professional trained paramedic, he had ignored her nakedness and done his job fixing her up. She was flirting with him he was almost sure off, but then she had fallen straight asleep, naked on the one and only bed in the place. It was kin to torture. You don’t do something like that if you have a figure like she did and expect the man to ignore you. You shouldn’t to that to any man be he gay, straight, castrated, eunuch, spayed, or even non-humanized. Period!

Barett laid down on the floor and tried to slept but had abruptly awaked with a start to some outside noise. He turned and looked at the bed and sure enough, she was still there, all trim, tan, and with one hell of a sexy backside to look at; and that included her tattoos. It was a site he surely enjoyed.

But those tattoos jumped out at him like a very clear warning that she was fully capable of doing something like cut his head off within a single beat of his heart if she so desired to. It was a little like the coral snakes he and his brothers had known about back home. Beautiful to look at but colors that screamed out a warning to anyone foolish enough to approach it.

Tsai Lee’s distinct dragon-phoenix tattoo was the same as the vipers. The black swirls on her conveyed elegance, sophistication and a touch of mystery while the powerful hot reds conjured up conflicting emotion of passion and love to violence and warfare. The shades of orange in the tattoos gave a transition between opposing factors of the reds and greens. It softened the lines but it still demanded attention. And finally the deep greens denoted a balance and harmony in the dance between the dragon and the phoenix.

Being quiet, he dressed himself and picked up the small lacquered wooded box with inlay symbol of a white dragon surrounded by a circle. He didn’t recognize the pattern. It was straight forward in opening it but what came out was a total mystery to him.

“Where’s Rick when you need him.” He said to the silent room.

What he was now holding looked like a computer disk but not like any he had ever seen before. The thing was solid and made of black shinning plastic with three green swishes running down the front side. It didn’t look like it plugged into anything he was use to.

They were going to need outside expertise on this one.

He looked up at Tsai Lee again.

“Damn.”

He let the course hang in the morning air.

“I either need to take a cold shower or get out of here and go for a walk.”

He went with the second choice. They needed some food for breakfast anyway. He exited the 30 story building that must have one been a hotel but had been converted into cheap living units for the poor and overly crowded people of Hong Kong. Across the street was an old Tin Hau Temple. He was standing on the corner of Temple St. and Public Square St.

What does he do? What does he find that interest him?

What does Tsai Lee do when she wakes up and finds the room empty?
The disks are a mister to Tsai Lee too. It looks expensive.

Hidden Kingdom Images and helps

Here are some images and maps to help visualize the setting. You can click on each image to make it larger.


Hong Kong at night in the rain


Map of Tsing Yi and surrounding area


Close up of Barett's and Tsai Lee's location and train station


Satellite map


Tea house map and the building layout


Image of Tsing Yi harbor on the north east side of the Island


Image of the building Barret is hiding in.


Internal image of what the open tea house look like. In the story, chairs and tables would be lined along the outside all to over look the courtyard.

Dave Goes to Europe Chapter 2: Reassignment

Dave went to the same posh hotel where he had last left Aldous.  The Bugatti would be safe there.  Dave had managed to clean himself up some in the men's wash room before checking in.  As per usual, he generously tipped the porter that carried his large duffel.  The porter thanked Dave by name (thus committing it to memory for future services and additional tips).  Dave showered, washing the last couple of hours off his body.  In a bathrobe, Dave retrieved some ice from the hall.  Back in his spacious room, he rigged up an ice pack and set it against his ribs.

Flicking on the television, he flipped through a number of channels.  The hotel had international cable.  Channels from Spain, France, Italy, Greece, Germany, were at his fingertips.  He stopped on a German dubbed version of Kubrick's "The Shining."  Jack Nicholson speaking in German was a whole other nightmare.  Dave loved it.  Sadly, fatigue was setting in.  The near loss to Mr. Harris had somewhat lowered his usual confidence, and with it, his chipper nature and boundless energy.  He was tired.  During a commercial for the new Audi, Dave got up, dumped the ice in the sink, relieved himself, and slipped back into bed.  Having watched the rest of the movie (through fits of nodding off) to the closing scene of Jack's creepily smiling face in the old group photo (we all remember, don't we?), Dave clicked off the set and laid his head to rest.

Postlog-Ricks Vacation behind the scenes

The darkwood paneling reflected the dancing flames from the fireplace, a single desk lamp illuminated the large oak executive desk. Sitting back in a overstuffed leather chair General Wineburg nods his head. The high tech satallite phone, its black metallic frame dull and flat, pressed lightly againest his ear, scrambled by the lastest technology.

" Yes, they did better than I expected.........I too enjoyed the final twist.......yes...they are all just as capable.......stable, perhaps not.....is that really needed? ......I see.....yes 'Operation Dark Six' can be started right away..........The girls, they should work out as well.......no we have not made 'Official contact'......Mannasas Kingdom is very clever about who runs it......no I don't have any real ideas myself, just lots of educated guesses. This may be our backdoor in........we can only wait and see........Yes of course, The best Wolf hunters use the sheppards as Bait. I will update you once the planners have the operations laid out. Very good, over and out."

The small but powerful phone is tucked into an inside pocket and a leather portfolio is opened. Wineburg pulls out a vanilla enveloped stamped 'Top Secret', opening to a sattelite photo of a northern port city. In red marker a small building by the docks is circled. Operation Dark Six is hand written across the top of the photo, other smaller photos of the brothers, Carla and Monica also litter the folder. Multiple papers with small type and titles like, E.o.H base, Special Warfare group, and Colateral damage, poke out at obtuse angles.

There is a knock at the door, and Shelia pokes her head in through the door. Wearing a light jogging suit, the top half mostly unzipped, exposing her cleavage.

" Care for some fruit and wine before locking it down ?' She holds a small tray in her left hand.

" Please , yes, come in, it looks like the mission was a sucess, even better than hoped for. "
He smiles broadly at her.
"You are going back into the field, but this one will be double blind, are you willing to do that?"

She hesitates a moment then nods her head.

" How long this time, do we know ?"

He looks down at the file, then back to her.

"Not long, this is a in and out job.....I'm sending you back to England...Watch your back....they still want you dead. It is a shame we can't alter your features more."

She nods then leaves, as he looks over the file once more.

This time it will be for keeps he thinks, then turns out the lights.

The Hidden Kingdom

He lied for pleasure. And he was good at it. He was also arrogant about it. He couldn’t help it. He was so much smarter than anyone else. Thing were just easy for him but it was more than a game. It was power he had. Those he was leaving were so stupid he easily manipulate them. He had thought the EU would have given him a challenge but they were a disappointment. He had easily manipulated their political structures just as he had done everywhere else. He had wanted a challenge but they were biting at the bit and eating out of his hands like dogs.

Harris was a leopard mix. He was small for a leopard and most expected upon meeting him to be bigger, but being short in stature-wise he made up in smarts.

He pulled at the necktie and loosened it a bit. The stupid uniform he wore was too tight for his liking but it worked to fool the fools. Yes, he liked to lie and no one was wise to his agenda. It had always been this way too. It was too easy because the world was full of stupid f--- up people. Harris closed his eyes and leaned back into the conformable leather seat of the private C-20 jet as it sped it way east across the darkness below him that was the Mediterranean Sea.

He was the only passenger aboard the posh jet but it wasn’t so comforting at that minute. The ride was rough and bucking so he was tightly strapped in. He had hoped the ride would have been mild, but the weather was beyond his control. What he could control, he did. He padded his right hand on his personal suitcase to make sure it was still tucked safely away at his side.

He was disgusted by the morons around him.

"You know what I HATE!?” He thought to himself as he kept his eyes closed. “STUPID PEOPLE! Why are so many people so stupid!? And do you know what else I hate!? Stupid people who mispronounce words! I should kill them all! Every last F---ing, one of them!”

His annoyance grew as he heard the cabin door open and someone move back in an obvious attempt to converse with him again. He fainted like he was asleep until the last second and then opened his eyes looking up, expecting to see some condescending RAF sergeant hovering over him. To his surprise there was no one there, and then more to his surprise he saw that it was a RAF staff Sergeant, but he was a she.

She had perched herself on the armrest of the seat across from him. She was an attractive redhead partial-looks cat with liquid blue sapphire eyes, her hair pulled back into a ponytail that framed her face and flawless makeup. She had a slender muscular build with long legs and a tiger-striped tail of silky smooth fir. Her tail swung playfully on her seat as if she were stroking a crystal ball. She was barefooted too and had replaced the usual RAF uniform jacket with a small dark blue apron. Her perfect breasts swayed with the motion of the jet aircraft, threatening to break free of the little buttons on her shirt. She obviously had been chosen as a hostess for VIP flights because of the sum total of all her assets. The package was completed with her custom tailored uniform and hair most likely done professionally at a pricy salon, all courtesy of the RAF.

“Hello there. You’re not the officer I was expecting to come and try to bully me. I guess they thought beauty would be a more effective approach then, yes.”

She smiled back with her perfect white teeth. There was no sense of concern on her face that he expected to see. This made him very suspicious. He would teach her!

“How are things back here, Colonel?” she asked. The accent was uniquely regional to South America. It added to the package of charm.

“Rough.”

“Well, we will be in New Babylonia within a few hours. The pilot is going to take us up higher and bend a little to the south to pick our way through this storm.” She waggled her foot up and down with the rhythm of her swaying tail.

“No shoes?”

“I’m from the rice fields, sir. Didn’t even have shoes until I joined the Air Force where the government makes me wear them.” She laughed.

Harris raised an eyebrow of disbelief as the jet shook under a new serious of turbulent blast.

“OK, I am lying, Colonel. I like to kick them off when I’m flying. Easier on the feet and I can walk around better when there is turbulence. Can you imagine trying to walk around in heels during a storm like this?”

“Well then, I guess none of your passengers will complain about seeing you out of uniform tonight.” He smirked flirtatiously back at her. “You know what would be just perfect is if you would mix up a cocktail and put on Brahms ‘German Requiem’ or better yet, Mozart’s Symphony No. 40 in G minor and then remove anything else that you might feel restrictive. That is what I am in the mood for.”

She arose and smiled with her white, white teeth. “I am sure we have Mozart. I will put that on and bring you your drink.” The sound of her soft Hispanic enunciation purred through him. Music that Harris had memorized note for note began to flood through the cabin and he felt himself get excited. The redhead returned and kneeled down low beside him with two cocktails and a button undone on her blouse. “I’ll lock the door and turn down the lights while you drink up.”

With her back turned he deftly switched the glasses and drank from the one that she had placed furthest away from him. He was sure his glass was tainted with something; moreover he couldn’t be too careful. The cocktail tasted good. The redhead beauty, this plane, the music, the bribes, all of it was just the RAF’s last feeble attempt to get him to talk. Their problem was he could care less about their captive general. He was a hostage now and would be beheaded in two weeks. There was nothing they could do about it and Harris wasn’t going to help them one bit. It was all about showing who had power. And he had won it. Those @#%* EU officials didn’t have the balls to move into Asia without more info and beside that, the country was in one hell of a mess right now with the red-shirts, yellow-shirts, and Imperials fighting daily. No, the general was a dead man and there was no way of getting him back without Harris’ help. He smirked to himself. They had done all they could to keep him London, but he was too smart and too important for them to trick or trap. And so the irony now was that those who wanted to have his head were the ones paying for this very expensive first class ride back to his homeland. So they wanted to try one more time by sending in a bombshell. Well, he was going to have his way with this tasty looking cat. That would teach them what it meant to try to screw him. He planned to enjoy himself. And humble her too! The @#*-ing bitch; who did she think she was play with!

He unbuckled his seatbelt, then slipped off his pants and took the belt and rolled it around his fist, leaving the sharp brass buckle dangling free.

The redhead RAF staff Sergeant returned with her blouse now hanging open, her breast dancing behind the white bra. Harris stood to meet her and swung his fist. He was sure he struck like lightening. The buckle flashed by her head. He saw himself make contact and imagined seeing red blood flying from her skull. But strangely, that was the last thing he remembered.

He awoke in his seat with a wicked hangover just as the jet plane landed. He still had his senses about him and he looked to where his briefcase rested. He could see that the internal alarm hadn’t tripped. He stood after the forces of landing subsided and looked around as the jet taxied down the tarmac in the hot Persian sun. He noticed he had an empty bottle of Vodka in his hand. His body had a ting of soreness in all the right places and there were some crazy exotic images still floating around in his head. As he looked around he saw what looked like blood spatters on the walls in the opulent cabin and the once confident redhead was cowering in the back looking rather battered and bruised. He looked at the Vodka bottle in his hands again. He must have drunken himself under after he had finished with her. Sad really, it must have been quiet enjoyable, beating and raping her. But all he could remember was the spray of red.

The C-20 came to a stop and Harris quickly rearranged his uniform, smoothing it into place and grabbed his briefcase and moved to the door of the cabin. It was still locked. Opening it, he moved out into the little vestibule of the jet were there was a little kitchenette and the plane’s exit. The jet was coming to a stop and he heard the engines dying down. Not wanting to wait which may have caused some unneeded questions, he opened the exit. He felt nothing whatsoever for the sergeant he had raped. It was her fault anyway. But he didn’t currently want to deal with the pilot or the co-pilot. He was “scot free” back here in the Salam Parsa Empire and the EU could touch him. The vestibule flashed with light from the bright hot Persian sun. He was temporarily blinded but his eyes adjusted quick enough to see the landing ramp moving up to the plane. It wasn’t totally in place but it was close enough for him so he jumped and scurried down into the new morning, the past forgotten as he began to hum the first movement of Mozart’s Symphony No. 40.

Inside, Utah and Rick watched the Colonel walk swiftly across the cement tarmac from their pilots’ seat until he came to the building and entered into the opulent New Babylonia airport. Maria squeezed in behind wiping off the makeup she had used to look as if she were bruised. She did up her white blouse and sat on Rick’s armrest. What Harris had thought was blood had only been her hair. He had missed her totally and had fallen, pitching face first to the floor of the cabin under the influence of the drugs she had put in both glasses. You couldn’t be too careful.

“You think he fell for it?” Maria asked as she looked out the window.

“It looks like it.” Utah said as he looked back at her. “Remind me Maria to never fall in love with you.”

She smiled back and kicked him softly with her still bare foot. “It is just a part of the job. You guys get the message to Barett and Tsai Lee before we landed?”

“We go it sent, but there is no way to confirm that they got it.” Rick said, “They are on their own now.”

Dave Goes to Europe

I had some loose ideas about what Dave had been doing in England while Barett and Rick were in France and Utah was in some undisclosed location.  Upon Brett's request, I decided to write a serial story of Dave's accounts.  I hope you enjoy and feel free to leave any comments.

CHAPTER ONE: Arrival

From the M1 Dave spotted the expansive city of sheffield.  It was hard to miss.  With a population around 500,000, Sheffield stood among London as not only one of the largest cities in Britain, but of the whole of Europe.  Sheffield spread out around the convergence of five rivers.  Among these were the river Sheaf, from which Sheffield got its name, and the river Loxley, the family name of the legendary Robin Hood.  All this fresh water had a unique affect on the geography.  Despite being regarded as an industrial city, there were many trees.  The setting sun painted the green hills with hints of orange, red, and yellow.  The smoke belching from the center of town caught the rays of the sun as well, coloring them in varying hues of purple and orange.  The inner city sat within a shallow basin.  Upon a ring of hills were a number of homes either facing the city lights or overlooking the vast expanse of trees.

Having been let go from the Royal Army's training program, Dave had free reign to choose someplace to settle as long as it was in England and he could still be contacted.  The Yorkshire area afforded the best access and was an obvious choice.  Dave had considered the city of Leeds, but chose Sheffield instead mostly upon the few things he knew of the place even before coming to the island country of England.  Dave knew it was a steel and mining town, but that was common knowledge.  just recently he discovered that the city's reputation for steel went as far back as the middle ages.  Even back then the locals were known for crafting quality cutlery.  Later on, a method for bonding silver to copper had been developed and had since been regarded as Sheffield plate.  A statue composed of this metal stood within the downtown area.

However, steel was not the reason Dave selected this location.  It was Sheffield's culture that drew him there.  Despite the mines, foundries, factories, and warehouses Sheffield was known for art and music.  Sheffield had twice the artists and musicians per capita than pretty much any other English city.  Among those musicians were some of Dave's favorites.  It was the birthplace of synthpop, and although London was the point of genesis for so-called industrial rock, Sheffield had its own wave of angry, electronic music.  The list included not only the Human League and the Thompson Twins, but Clock DVA, Nitzer Ebb, Cabaret Voltaire, the list went on.  Primarily the local music had an electronic touch, highly danceable.  However, good ol' fashioned garage rock and indie was popular as well.

Dave led his Fiat off the motor way and into the city proper.  He had grown accustomed to driving on the opposite side for the most part.  Left and right turns were still foreign to him.  If it wasn't for the fact e was on the other side of the road he would likely have ran right into someone while taking a right hand turn.  Fortunately there were not many one way streets.  Out of habit or instinct Dave found his way into the shoddier part of town.  It seemed the city was in a state on rejuvenation.  Old structures were either being demolished or renovated.  He drove past the shiny and new buildings, past the buildings under construction, and into the heart of the city, the old factory district.  The amount of traffic had thinned progressively until Dave was alone on the road.  The streets and curb side were littered with trash and abandoned vehicles, many no more than the skeletal remains of their former selves.  The brick buildings were blackened from years of smog.

Just then a figure darted out into the road.  Dave engaged the brake, but still manage to hit the pedestrian.  It was a rat in the attire of the poor.  His street clothes were ragged and dirty.  He looked like someone allergic to water.  The rat braced himself against the hood, or bonnet, of the fiat.  Without looking at Dave for even a moment, he stumbled and limped off in a hurry.  He was soon followed by another figure, a red squirrel from the looks of him.  He crossed the road at a casual jog.  He soon caught up to the rat and commenced beating the poor fellow.  Dave pulled over.  He got out.  He crossed the road in pursuit of the rat and squirrel.

Spanky and Shelia (Waiting for Rick )

The Cold Ocean water lapped at the side of the rented fishing boat. A narrow wooden long boat with a 50 hp. out board motor, 24 feet long and a mere 6 feet wide it looked like a old canoe on steroids. The white paint was peeling fast, and the smell of dead fish was strong, Spanky hunkered down in the back, attempting to keep his body out of the wind. Shelia sat in the bow hunched over her cell phone/PDA, typing rythmatically on the tiny keyboard. He gritted his teeth, not from the cold, but to hold in the animosity that he held for the woman in the bow. If there came a time to ditch her and move on his own, he would do it in a heart beat. Right now they had a strained agreement, he was only to talk to her about the mission, and not ask questions. She in turn would leave him alone and never mention the incident at the hotel. The Morning seemed to get colder as the dawn approached, the wind changed directions and the boat strained againest its ropes, wanting to break free from the dock, almost as much as Spanky wanted free from her.
He looked again at the message Barett had sent him. It was basic but told him to have a boat ready on the English side of the channel. Rick was to contact him before the drop but to be ready, the location seemed a little too south of any good drop zones, and he had this sneaking suspicion that they were being cut out of the loop on purpose. At this point he could understand, it seemed like they had been dogged and shadowed this whole trip, and they didn't even have the package with them. It must have been quite the ride for Rick and Barett, being strangers to this land and all.
The Hotel incident was a lack of judgement call on his part mostly. They had gotten a small room and ordered in some food and wine saturday night, spanky had gotten some good German beer as well. After a whole bottle of wine and most of the 12 pack of beer he thought she was making some eyes at him, guess he had his beer googles on at that point. When she went to the bathroom claiming to " clean up for bed " he thought that was a code for a role in the hay. Stripping down to the buff he cleared the top of the bed off and lay there in all his glory when she came out. There was a moment of shock and curiosity, but then she just started laughing, but it was more than the laughing that really nutted him up. She kept spurting out between bouts of snorting laughs that he " thought they were going to have sex ". It was more than his ego could handle, she acted like he was beneath her, why would a goddess like her dirty the sheets with a commoner like him, her eyes seemed to say. Grabbing his cloths and half undressed, he stumbled out into the hall and down the stairs to the street. Stopping at the first bar he came to and drinking till his money was gone seemed like the right thing to do. The lock up was not in his plans, the small french police station smelled of stale coffee and puke. The drunk tank was full of fishermen sleeping off the spoils of a good catch. The french police were not intending to press charges and were just letting him sleep it off . His military ID at lest held some respect with these guys.
Spanky thinks that she was working off a little hangover herself when she started arguing with the duty officer. Spanky was out of the holding cell at this point, chatting with the officers in the breakroom about military stuff, and drinking coffee when she came in. He managed to calm her down just as they were about to cuff her and throw her in the cell. Thanking the officers and hauling her out the front door, he was surprised at her emotion, it was unlike anything he had seen from her before. After that she seldomed even looked directly at him, and spoke in unflatering language about him and the brothers when she did. I guess he couldn't blame her, but he didn't haft to like her. That was three hours ago, deciding to cross the channel then, they picked up the small boat at the dock and waited. Spanky suspected that the call from Rick would never come, and could see that would only add more tension to the fragile truce they had. What would he do then, only time would tell, but ditching her was starting to look better and better.

Leaving Paris ( Ricks harem grows )

Barett picks up and speaks back in Korean.

"It is good to hear your voice Younger brother. I too have drunken from the bitter water and chewed the salted meat, but not eat the dessert. However the princess is safe with me, and desires to meet her husband to be. (Time to deliver the package)

“Remember that the snake in the grass is sometimes the pregnant water-buffalo at your door. (He suspects everyone, even Maria) Sometimes it's best to eat an egg Mc Muffin at L'efes, but keep the big bird with small wings to yourself. I prefer the Calais in the North, A3 to A1 sauce at least a kungfu movie away. (He has a plane in Calais, meet at L'efes at breakfast 3-4 hrs away from Paris) You will see me soon, dressed as the bridegroom on his horse."

The line goes dead and Rick can tell Barett is not having the time of his life either, but these things always sound better when retold a few months later at least that is his belief. The pain-meds for PMS Maria gave him were starting to work (they were the only thing she had), and he was starting to breathe without as much pain now. Interestingly though, he was feeling an urge for chocolate and cupcakes.
Rick walked back into the living room and saw a large suitcase and several other bags by the front door. By the looks of them, both Maria and Monica had raided Carla’s closet as it was apparent that the only thing they could find were too small. Maria was in the middle of changing into gray sweat-pants that came up to her knees and a matching pullover jersey which must have been extra baggy on little Carla. Monica was wearing black spandex pants, jogging shoes and a gray and red jersey with a colorful college logo on the front.

Carla came into the room, dressed in a fancy black leather outfit that looked like it was a Paris’s socialites attempt to model motorcycle crash armor. It was obviously more runway fashion than anything that could be considered practical on the racetrack.

Carla handed Rick an armful of bags filled with food, then grabbed her suitcase and led the small group down to her car to stuff everything in. They left in a hurry but Maria convinced Rick and Carla that they need to swing by her hotel to pick up her other stuff and check out how things are shaking down at the club from a distance. Conveniently the hotel was the same place Rick had used to hide his gun and the rest of his equipment. The club area was such a mess with activity that it was easy for Maria to get in and out of the hotel. Rick was amazed that at her ability to slip out unnoticed with a load of shopping bags, his assault rifle tucked safely and hidden away from prying eyes.

It was now 1:50 in the morning and before long the four of them were out of Paris and heading North, Rick in the front passenger’s seat, Carla driving fast as usual behind the wheel, with Monica behind Rick, sleeping peacefully using the bags piled on her lap as a pillow. Maria was mostly quiet, smiling at Rick when he turned to see how she was doing. After thirty minutes or so, she too fell asleep.

The motor hummed its forgotten song and lolled Rick into some much needed sleep. Less than two hours later, with the back seat occupants snoring lightly Carla touched Rick’s cheek gently, waking him with a start.

"Senior Rick, perhaps we should talk about what we are going to do? Yes?" She said in a soft voice not wanting to wake the others.

Carla

The taste of her lip gloss mixed perfectly with the tartness of the lemon and sweet Absinthe all of which was enhanced by the earsplitting techno-music that totally filled every inch of the room. Everything together was giving her that sensual buzz she loved. Carla licked her lips and she waited to see how Rick would like this drink that was so much like really load music. Like music, what is the point of drinking unless it is shared and savored by someone else? Carla looked up at Rick and realized she long to plant another deep, lingering kiss on him. That thought, mixed with the Absinthe flavor, tingled inside all the way down to her toes.

"YOUR TURN RICK” she yelled out in her perfect Spanish attempting to be heard over the dim of the room. “YOU’RE GOING TO LOVE IT!"

But he wasn’t paying attention to her or, to her slight annoyance, the drink. He was looking away, straining to see over the heads of the dancers and patrons of the club, fixated on something or someone. She was hoping it wasn’t his “friend”. She hadn’t seen her yet and that was just fine in Carla’s book.

Carla jumped up twice to see if she could see what had Rick’s attention. But it was no use, she was just too short. That was one thing that sucked about being her height; you couldn’t see anything in a crowd. Just when she was about to do something dramatic to try to get Rick attention back on her, he called back, asking her a bizarre question.

“YOU DON’T HAVE AN OVERLY PROTECTIVE FATHER OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT, DO YOU CARLA?” That is what she thought he said but it was hard for her to make it out.

“WHAT? NO. WHY?” Shouted was a difficult way of communicating.

Rick didn’t answer, possible because it was just too hard to hear anything with the noise of the music. He stopped looking off at whatever was out there and looked back down to her. He was calm but obviously something was bothering him. It looked as if his mind was racing and he wasn’t having any fun. Well, men were sometimes like that she thought to herself, all work and no play. But instead of taking the glass in his hands of blue green liquid and drinking it down as she expected him to do, and much more to her annoyance, he absentmindedly placed the drink down on the counter. Carla was about ready to grab the drink and climb up on his shoulders and pour it down his mouth. She didn’t like to be ignored even if she couldn’t be heard. But what was bothering her more was she found she was falling for Rick but he wasn’t showing the same level of interest back. She was gamboling she knew because men as good looking as Rick always girls around them and the competition could be daunting.

Rick leaned in close and whispered in her ear. “Security just tripled.”

“WHAT?! WHY?” It scared her a bit as she remembered the violence at the cemetery. She tried to move in close to him like a child would into the arms of a protecting father.

“I DON’T KNOW YET.” He yelled back as he straightened up and turned back to the crowed room, his move causing her intended snuggle to miss the spot. “THEY SEEM TO BE FOCUSED ON . . . Oh, I SEE. GROUP OF MEN AND TWO LADIES REALLY PUTTING ON THE MOVES and . . . Oh!”

But what the “oh” was, Carla couldn’t hear nor did it look like Rick was going to say. She shoved him around and the look up into his eyes. The look was priceless. He looked defeated almost, almost like a child. It was adorable and made her want to squeeze him like a doll.

“WHAT IS ‘OH’? WHAT DID YOU SEE?”

But his mind was elsewhere. So Carla being Carla reacted as any short and spunky proactive girl would. She jumped up onto bar and stretched her neck to see what was so interesting. She used Rick’s shoulder as support and just for added extra measures she pressed her chest up against Rick as a feminine reminder that she was a woman and shouldn’t be ignored.

Looking out, she couldn’t tell if there anything different or not. It looked like it did on any other night she had been here.

“YOU SAID THERE IS TIGHTER SECUIRTY? HOW CAN YOU TELL?” She looked down at him. He didn’t seem to be minding the position she was in.

“LOOK FOR THE PEOPLE NOT DANCING; THOSE WHO DON’T HAVE RHYTHM, BY THE FIRE EXIT.”

Carla looked again and sure enough she began to spot figures that moved as if they didn’t have a musical bone in their bodies. She was impressed. Who had Rick recognize the difference in movement? But now that he had said what the tell-tale sign was, it was becoming obvious and easy to pick out men who weren’t enjoying the night revelry. They were converging on the area Rick said. But before she could figure out what was happening, Rick reached up and pulled her down from the stool as the music from the band came to an end as the last note reverberated out in a dying echo. In the loll that followed there were able to have a normal, if not hurried conversation.

“That is enough looking for now.” The non-shouting was much better. “We don’t want to draw any attention to ourselves if we can help it.”

Carla started firing of questions.

“What is going on? Who are they after? Did you see that girl in the red dress? I wish I had a figure like that! And how about her hair, it was magnificent. But then I saw the man behind her with the blue shirt and he wasn’t acting right. Do you think he was one of them? I have never really noticed the security passed the front door before. Where did they all come from? Did you see bald headed man? He looked big. You’re not thinking about starting a fight are you? I don’t think it is any of our concern if you ask me. You don’t think they aren’t after you, do you? There is no way this would have anything that happened at the cemetery?”

“I don’t think so,” Was all he could do to answer her machine gun rate of questioning. He pointed to the back bar with its stainless steel bars. “Is there a way to get out from the back there?”

“Sure, if we can get Petra to open the door, there are some service elevators in the back and a stairwell that exits out onto the back ally. But it is against the club’s policy to let anyone back there. If you don’t think there is trouble with us, why would we worry about it? Clearly they are going after someone else. Let’s just enjoy the evening.” She said as she tugged on his arm and attempted to pull him out onto the dance floor.

But Rick didn’t move and Carla knew then whatever was going on at the far end of the club involved his girl. She knew tonight was over for her and he was going to leave her.

“It’s your friend isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes it is.”

Well, that was it. It was over. He had clearly rejected her drink and now he was rejecting her. It was time to leave. But she didn’t want to and it bothered her. Why couldn’t she walk away? She usually got what she wanted but Rick had slipped through her fingers. With other men she hadn’t cared. But with Rick it was different and she couldn’t figure out why. Inside she was having strange feelings. She tried to rationalize that he wasn’t what she wanted and she was just being a silly love-sick little girl. Besides, how long had it been since she saw him at the station? It was just a few hours ago, no more. Then why was she having these feeling? It was frustrating. “Hades, I needed a smoke!” she thought.

The music started up again with the hi-hat cymbal beginning to shimmer and snap a new beat. Carla knew the beat. She knew it because it was her song; she had written it. And that was the irony of it too. She had written it to be about triumph and victory. She consigned herself to losing Rick and turning to leave but Rick grabbed her hand and spun her around with the beat of the music. She found herself looking up, locked in his blue eyes.

“Carla.”

She hadn’t expected the intensity of his eyes as he looked back at her.

“What Rick? Your friend is other there. Go to her.” She pointed with her eyes. The music was picking up and it would shortly be too loud to talk without yelling.

“Carla, you don’t understand. Understand that I like you. You are a beautiful lady and have incredible spunk. But above you and me, I need your help. You are the only person I know in Paris that I trust.”

And with those words she melted inside. The music sped up and became more appropriate for her feelings and her hopeful heart beat. There was still hope and she felt a blush coming from his compliment so she turned to look at the band to hide her face. The Cock playing the drums looked like he was about to have a nervous conniption fit. He was so goofy looking that it brought a bright smile to her face. This whole situation was just like the drummer; completely stupid and out of control like her emotions. The music intensified as the synthesized boom of the techno-beat started up. The crowd knew the song and loved it and the excited roar of the patrons filled the dance hall. They would have to shout again to talk to each other.

“ALRIGHT, WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU?”

“GET PETRA TO OPEN THE BACK AND THEN GET READY TO DRIVE!” He shouted back with a smile and then kissed her, and then he disappeared into the crowded dance floor.

She was too short to try to see what he was doing so she hurried back through the dancing mass to the bar and waved to get Petra’s attention.

“WHAT HAPPENED TO MISTER GOOD-LOOKING? YOU SEND HIM ON HIS WAY?”

“NO, BUT I NEED A FAVORE. THERE IS GOING TO BE . . .”

But before Carla could yell out that there was going to be trouble, it started with a crash that was loud enough to be heard over the music. The three women vocalist on the stand all stopped singing followed haltingly by one, then two, and then all of the band members. With the music stopped, the crowd in shocked silences turned as if a single body. The neon lights and dance strobes still flashed out their psychedelic patterns among the motionless crowd of on lookers. The eerie seconds of silence was suddenly replaced by high pitched screams of panic as hands flew to red painted mouths. Carla saw what was causing the panic. Of course, she couldn’t have missed it. A bottle of what looked like vodka with a burning rag stuck in it sailed up above the heads of the crowded room and smashed into the golden chandelier and exploded into a sphere showering flames.

What followed was complete pandemonium. The fire alarm blared out its piercing klaxon warning while the water sprinklers began to disgorge water over everyone. Hours and hours spent fussing over hair and makeup was ruined in seconds. People screamed and surged and raced in a mad terror to get away from the spraying water and falling flames.

Petra had somehow moved in a flash out from behind the bar and was next to Carla. With no clear exit sign in the back, all of the patrons of the club were holding their hands over head for protection and pushed their way into the bottled up mass of bodies by the stairs that lead down to the exits.

Carla saw a blur of action and she recognized it as Rick. He had just kicked a large brown colored beaver security guard to the ground and was now spinning and kicking at a huge black rhino she had seen at the front doors when she had entered the club. He did a wicked kick up into the rhino’s chin, knocking the brute back a number of steps, losing him in the mass of people. The Rick grabbed hands with a tall red headed woman in a black dress and turned as if to run towards Carla. But the girl pulled him back and pointed at another lady caught in the foray that was being hauled off by an evil looking man in black suit. Rick gave the red head a shove in Carla’s direction and pulled out a gun from his pants.

Petra swore! “NO! Don’t mess with the Russians!”

But Rick couldn’t hear her. He moved with lightening speed. The man in the black suit never saw what hit him. He just collapsed in a spray of red. Grabbing the second girl that stood in shock, Rick spun and started running to the back. It looked like the fight was over. But that was until the rhino came charging back from the crowd. This time Rick didn’t see him.

Carla screamed out a warning but it was too late.

The rhino smashed into Rick’s back, ripping his hand free from the second girl he was helping and he and the rhino went flying head first into a cement pillar. Rick’s body was literally the shock absorber for the rhino. Carla could see the column shake with the impact. The gun that was in Rick’s hand went soaring into mass of people who were gaping at the fight.

Carla rushed forward with Petra on her heals. The red head had picked up the gun and fired it five times into the massive rhino, knocking it back as it had stood up and turned to smash the unmoving form of Rick again. It fell with a thud and a pool of blood mixed with the water that was already pooling on the floor.

Petra was faster than her. She came sliding up next to what appeared as the lifeless body of Rick. Carla came to a stop next to the red head. There wasn’t even time to think about what to do

“He’s still alive! Carla, get her.” Petra shouted as she pointed to the girl that had been held by the man in the black suit. “You,” she looked at the red head, “help me caring him out! And hurry!”

Carla grabbed the girl with the green eyes by the hand and raced out the back through the backstage exit and down the back stairwell. She was followed closely by Petra and the red head who both struggled to carried Rick. Carla assumed the red head could only be Rick’s ‘Maria’.

Sirens could be heard approaching the club. People were running and shouting all over the place. Fortunately, Carla had a place in the back where she had parked her car. There were fewer people back here. Pulling her keys out, she hit the unlock button on the remote pulled open the back door. Maria and Petra literally throw Rick’s body in like a sack of potatoes and then Maria climb in after him into the back seat.

The girl with the green eyes was climbing into the front seat. It would have been comical to see such group of attractive girls in wet sticking clothes, flat dripping hair, and running makeup if the situation hadn’t been so intense.

“Carla. Be careful but get out of here as fast as you can!” Petra called out as she slapped the top of the BMW and look in through the driver’s side window and Carla started the engine. “Your boyfriend messed with the Russians and you just don’t do that! They can bring a world of hurt and trouble. You need to get that girl out of the country if she is going to live.” She said as she motioned with her head to green eyed girl sitting in the front across from Carla.

Carla gave Petra a “thumbs-up” and the tires of her BMW squealed to life. What a crazy insane night this had turned into.

Barett leaving Paris ( who can you trust)

The Crate had no bombs or traps, which he found to be suspicous, but the containers were secured and the contents intact. Putting the canisters into a small hiking backpack, and replacing the crate lid, he climbed back up the cold inside brick wall to the roof access latch. Rolling out of the curbstop onto the roof and scanning the rooflines for security personal and cameras, he found none, so he made his way to the edge. He started jumping from roof top to roof top till he was at a building at the waterfront warehouse districts edge, then climbing down a waterspout on the century old brick buildings exterior. This seemed way to easy to him, but things were going different than Ricks original plan had entailed, so he was playing this by ear. As he reached the ground, he swung the bag over his shoulder and took off the mask and leather gloves, stuffing them around the cannisters. The black walther ppk .380 in the small of his back, felt cold to the touch. He thought about ditching the weapon now, but held on to it, a untracable gun may come in handy. Having pick it up on the black market in Paris, it was a nice little side arm to pack around. He could see why James Bond carried it, small and concealable it was a reliable little weapon. The small Fiat Uno car he had rented was parked just three blocks over, on a street by a dockworkers bar. He could really go for a beer right now, if his french was better he might have gone there first.
Bridget was waiting back at the hotel for his return and being late would only aggrevate the situation with her. She was hot, no doubt about it, but was begining to grate on his nerves. It really was not her fault, it was his, she was not really the kind of girl he normally dated and the difference in culture and upbringing really showed through in the stress of the situation. She was really a proper girl, raised in a subburban neighborhood with brothers and sisters, mom and dad all right there. The youngest of five she still went home for sunday dinner. This was about as opposite of Barett as it came, his gritty past and selfish attitude, clashing with her naivity and belief in human goodness. But dang if she wasn't really good looking, he could tell they were going to breakup once they got back into London, and only regretted losing a girl as attractive as she was. Part of him thought that this was not really a healthy way to handle or precieve the relationship, but it was being drowned out by the practical, stoic side of him, thanks goodness. Jogging down the block and through a back alley, he stuck his head around the corner in the dark alley to check out the car before walking out into the lighted street. The street looked clear, minus the usual traffic, he was going to step out of the alley when movement in the car parked two down from his caught his attention. Holding back just a moment, he scanned and watched. The darkened windows of the older Audi sedan hid most of the insides, but the familiar glow of a cigar bobbed inside the car. Someone smoking in a car in France was nothing to be suspicious of, but the weight on the suspension showed that there was a load in the car. Barett could guess that at least five guys were in the car, two in front, three in the back, and from the way the back end was sagging they were big guys. He waited in the alley for several minutes, watching the other cars and buildings, nothing he could see beyond when he left the car except the Audi. What to do now, he retreated to the far end of the alley by a dumpster and cracke open the small cell phone. Pulling up Ricks number he dialed it in, the small screen showed that it was just pass midnight...he hesitated then cleared the number, erasing the call. What was he going to do ?

Spanky and Shelia ( Boy meets girl, Girl hates boy )

Spanky thought that things were going very well the first day, he was in the Mediterranean warm sun with this attractive women. She seemed very friendly when the others were around, a little cold and detached when they were alone, but he thought that his good looks and charm would work on her. The first night she insisted that there was no " Hanky Panky" and she even slept on the couch in the room. He found her behavior odd, but then again they were on a mission. Spanky knew that it was his roll to bring the tall coontail brother down here for this test. The orders had come down from near the top, so secret that some of the details were so hidden from him, that he didn't even know who really issued the order. He didn't have time for searching that out before he left, and the next thing he knows is that his contact is an attractive girl. After explaining the situation to her, she gets clearance to join the exercise and observe the operatives. He thinks that maybe she is interested in him until they are alone, on the second day. She bluntly explains that he is not her type and to stop hitting on her, she finds it " intolerable and juvenile". That's "craptacular" thinks Spanky,' great everyone is getting some but me, I could be getting drunk and stupid this weekend' back home. But here he was, trekking across the continent, pretending to be a couple with a women that hated him. I wonder if this is why people get divorced, he mentions to her. Explaining the whole irony of the situation, trying to make it sound funny and warped. It didn't work, she just shook her head and gave him this bored look. He is looking forward to meeting up with Barett again, at least then they could go out drinking and maybe shoot something. Right now this girl was all work, and the mission did not really demand that, well at least her level of detail. He had ascertained a few things about her in the last 48 hours, she wanted back into the field badly and was working every angle on this job to make herself look good, to whoever she was really reporting to. She also had some of the most advanced communications equipment that he had seen, small and powerful, they were also very undetectable to the casual observer. At some point Spanky believed that she video recorded everything that was going on, like it was some documentary film she was making. The only upside was that she was "smoking hot", and the close quarters made for at least a good side show for him. The one point he didn't like was the constant questions about the 'Brothers', they weren't your basic what are they like type. She had a lot more detail, more direct. Things like " were did they get their training at ? Are there more of their type out there ? How many languages do they speak ? Can you tell if they have a moral code and can be trusted with state secrets ?". These were disturbing questions to a man like Spanky, these were the questions of people looking to put together a shadow army. And the part that disturbed him the most is that they didn't seem interested in him, of all the insults slung by this girl, that is the one that hurt the most, the one she never said " your not good enough for us". Whoever the US ended up being, he knew that this whole trip was just a cover, a talent show for some very powerful people to watch.
The only joy that he took out of all this was that they seemed to know little of his double life, if they did they never would have let him get this close to their show, and now he knew for sure that the general and Shelia ( if that was her name ) were part of the shadow organization he heard about, this would come in useful to him in the near future.

Barett in France ( Duex oeufs sur la plat )

" Where was Rick, where was Spanky ? "

Thought Barett as he sat in the shadows of the dark warehouse, staring at the woodcrate. Two days ago he was sitting on the warm beach with Briget. Her warm and firm body pressed againest his, stiring feelings he had long surpressed. She was talking of other vacations and other things they could do. Now pressed againest this cold brick wall, listening to the rats scurry to and fro, waiting for a text from Rick, he pondered what was more fun, her or the thrill of adventure. He was going to give him another half hour then break into the crate and take the package, hoping that he would find any traps Rick may have set. Afterwards he was going to take a small plane he had rented and fly to London, having Bridget parachute out over the coast with the package, while he took the plane in.
Bridget wasn't having as much fun as he was, she didn't like the interrorgation back in Sete. "One of the worst things I have had to do, ever!" She had said to him repeatedly. He found it to be juvenile, the interrigation that is, the they were no good at it, besides they had nothing, well besides the gun he managed to ditch before they left the island. She found out that he had an mean streak, well a dark sense of humor at least. When he lead the guys following them into some gay bars and paided the dancers for some favors on the officers. Or pulled the brake lines on car, hey anyone can end up into a canal. She just wanted some quiet and romance, he just wanted some dirty fun and dirty love, anything for the adrenaline rush. Barett realized now that some activities were better left out of the dating arena, this three day date was to much for the relationship. He could see she wasn't liking the deadly side of being a adrenaline junky, it was all fine in controled situations like skydiving or motorcycle racing. But the gun in your face, jumping from moving trains was to much for this nice girl.
It was nineteen hours since he last heard from spanky, Shelia was to get a boat and make it to the coast to pick up Bridget, drop her off and meet up with Barett so they could pick up Rick and Maria at the train station. This all depended on things going a little better, a lot better.
Less than twelve hours ago he had been aproached by the French counter espionage service, they had offered him two million euros to tell them what was going on. They even offered to make him a double agent, with some tempting fringe benefits. Even though he owed the English no favors, and the fact that he knew someday that he was going to commit high treason, this was not the place. Telling them he was interested but unable to help them on this matter, he realized that something deeper than moving contraband across the continent was going on. Something that was dark and connected to the events in Bolivia, but how he did not know. The paranoid conspiracy theorist in him started to look at the people they were in with. Spanky was always there at the right moment, he had a lot of hidden skills, he could be a double agent or worse. Bridget she was the one who talked to him first, and was always asking questions about his past and job, she could be slipping info out very easy. Shelia, well He had always treated her with suspicion, even more so now that things were going strange. Maria, she was a probablity and had Rick wrapped around her finger as far as Barett was concerned. Admittedly she was very good at what she did, and looked very good doing it, he could see Ricks attraction, but she still had a hidden past and was not above suspicion. Rick, he was to be the only one that could be trusted, as long as Maria was not involved, there was only one way to be sure. Barett considered having Spanky and Shelia meet up with some accident, maybe even Bridget to, just to check his suspicions. Perhaps there was a better way to do that then killing people, he didn't think so, but would need to consider the other options.

The car ride yesterday through the country was relaxing and helped relieve Bridgets tension, the ancient churches and castles along the way were something that Barett had always wanted to see as well. The back route helped to weed out the tail and give him some time to think over Ricks plan. Bridget had proved more than frisky and the distraction of sex was a welcome break from the heat of the day. But that was hours behind him now, even though he could still smell the perfume of hers that had been rubbed into his shirt. Barett had liked the idea of a steady girlfriend, someone to relax with, but now considered her more of a liability. This was the conflict of his life style, the conflict of his personal life. Perhaps one day this would change.

At last he could wait no longer and made for the crate, hoping that he knew Rick well enough to find any traps.