The Librarian speaks in the low monotone of a seasoned storyteller.

Genius translates: “This is the story of Ah Mah Lin Say, the Sun Goddess.”

The men with the scroll stop to reveal only the first foot or so.

Amy sees the revealed image, a faded but clearly distinguishable painted face.

Her face.

Genius looks back at Amy, and in an awed, hushed tone, says, “My God, Goddess. You ARE a Goddess.”

The two guards continue to unroll the long scroll and hesitate at each panel, as the Librarian recites the story in hushed tones.

“No need,” Amy says, as Genius resumes translating. She deciphers the tale from the scroll as it unravels. A humongous serpent is devouring the countryside: the jungle, villages and villagers. Then, the Sun sends down a goddess of golden hair. The village presents her with an invisible sword. She slices the winged serpent in half, and the villagers feast on the remains. The Sun calls back the Golden Goddess, amidst the weeping and consternation of the people. “That about cover it?” she asks Genius.

“One correction, Goddess. Not an invisible sword, but one made of glass.”

“Either way, they’re expecting me to go slay their dragon, right?”

“I guess so.”

The dour-faced Chief of Staff circles around to stand between them and the scroll. He speaks with a defiant tone, pointing from them to the scroll and back at Genius.

Amy murmurs, “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Me, neither. He’s pointing out that, while you might bear some resemblance …”

“Some?”

“… to the Golden Goddess, there is nothing in the sacred scroll about the Golden Goddess being accompanied by an ill-mannered troll.”

“You’re not ill-mannered.”

“Thanks.”

The Chief of Staff returns to the King’s side. He gives Genius a smugly defiant sneer. The King crooks a finger to summon the Librarian. They speak in tones too low to hear. At one point, the King waves inquiringly at the other scrolls. The Librarian shrugs. The King signals for the Librarian to step away, then, asks them a question.

Genius translates, “He wants to know what purpose I serve.”

“Besides comic relief?”

“Not funny.”

“Sometimes.” Amy thinks for a moment. “Tell them you are my chosen champion.”

“Good one.” Genius turns and translates.

The King remains uncertain, the Chief of Staff scornful, and the other native watchful. The Chief of Staff asks a question that drips with contempt.

“He wants to know what tests of bravery I passed,” Genius tells Amy. “And, if he refers to me as the male offspring of a female dog, again, I’m going to kick his–- .”

“Tell them you have proven your bravery to me, time and again, and I’ll thank them not to question my judgement.”

“Right,” Genius agrees with a smile, then, turns and delivers her message in a stern, almost threatening tone.

The Chief of Staff, still smug, speaks to the King, but keeps his eyes on Genius, challenging him.

Genius turns to Amy and speaks in a low tone. “If I’m so brave, why did we hide and not attack the dragon at the village?”

“Why didn’t we?”

“I’m open to suggestions.”

“You’re supposed to be the creative one. Come up –- .” Glancing at the scroll triggers inspiration. “Because I didn’t have the sword.”

“Brilliant, Goddess.” Genius turns and asks for the sword in English, then, translates the request into their language.

The King, Chief of Staff, kidnap Leader, and even the Librarian, all look down or away, adopting identical expressions of men faced with a subject they would prefer to ignore.

“That is, for lack of a better word, a strange reaction.”

Genius snaps his fingers in realization: “They’ve lost the sword!” Genius asks a question in their language.

The King reluctantly nods.

The leader from their bridge capture leans towards the King and asks a question.

Genius rolls his eyes. “Oh, Dude, don’t help me.”

“What did he say?”

“He’s wondering if, perhaps, the reason I’m here is to retrieve the sword. That’s why the Golden Goddess brought a champion with her.”

The notion sours the Chief of Staff. Something crosses his mind and he speaks to the King. They converse for several seconds.

“From the frying pan into the fire,” Genius remarks.

“What?”

“Our sour friend there is wondering if I’m not really in the employ of the dragon. Perhaps, I have some kind of spell over you, and what I’ll do if they send me for the sword is actually lead the dragon back here to kill them all.”

Amy notes, “And, the King looks like he’s buying the possibility.”

The King summons the Librarian back, and the four conduct a brief discussion too low for Genius to hear and translate for Amy.

After a minute, the King gestures that the talking is over, and everyone returns to their spots. The King clears his throat and makes an authoritative pronouncement.

Genius whispers an obscenity Amy would have sworn he would never utter in her presence.

“What is it?”

“Well, I’m hoping it’s a metaphor, but loosely translated, I must ‘Walk the Valley of the Snakes’ to prove I’m not one of the dragon’s minions. Immediately.”

—

The King signals for two of the guards to remove Genius. When Amy objects to their being separated, the King relents. The guards lead them to a nearby hut much smaller then the rest. One guard disappears for a moment, then, returns with a loin cloth and pantomimes for Genius to undress and put it on. They bow deferentially to Amy and back out of the hut, and block the doorway.

Genius sniffs the loincloth. “At least, it’s clean.”

“Does ‘Walking the Valley of the Snakes’ mean what I think it means?”

“Probably, Goddess. These strike me as a very literal bunch of people. They’ve probably got an area where they keep them until they’re needed for food or ceremony.” Genius grabs the bottom of his shirt to pull it up.

Amy lays a gentle hand on his arm. “You can’t do this. And, we both know why. In the three times I’ve seen you encounter a snake, you fainted twice and broke your ankle.”

“Sprained it, Goddess. Sprained it.”

“And, you think you’re going to walk through a bunch of them? How?”

“Because, I must.” Genius squeezes the hand she has resting on his arm. “Because, you need me.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Genius smiles a grim smile, but a confident one. “Extraordinary women make ordinary men do extraordinary things.”

Amy tries to smile. “You’re hardly what I’d call ordinary.”

“I appreciate that. But, I am ordinary, and it’s slowly killing me.” Genius turns away with a sigh. After a moment, he turns back. “The modern world has stolen from me, from men like me, the one great Ideal every man craves.”

“Ideal? What Ideal?”

“I don’t know if a woman can understand how excruciatingly unfulfilling it is for a man who’s a romantic idealist to live in the time of the glorification of the sensitive male, of the era of the metrosexual and ‘Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.’

“There is a place, at the heart of the soul of some men, that yearns to cherish, that hungers to protect, that longs to love pure and chaste from afar. And, when he can’t do that, when it is taken from him, when there is nothing that prompts him to nurture that special place, he stops having a purpose, he stops being a man, he stops being human. That such a place ceases to exist in just one man is an unspeakable human tragedy. That it seems to exist in so few of us makes life an absurd farce.

“In ‘Casablanca,’ Rick tells Ilsa that he’s no good at being noble. It’s the ‘macho’ thing to do for a man to let you think he’s only looking out for himself. That makes him look all the more better when he does do the noble thing, the thing his soul cries out for him to do. But, we’re not allowed to do the ‘noble’ thing any more. We’re not allowed to slay the dragon. We’re supposed to negotiate with evil, understand evil. We’re supposed to look inward at ourselves, dwell on our faults, real or perceived, when we should be spitting in the devil’s eye.

“A man can’t live without feeling the confidence of the romantic idealist. Of the chosen dragon slayer. It’s that spark deep within a man’s soul that tells him of all the dragon slayers in the village, HE is the one who can save the damsel in distress because of the goodness of his heart, of his soul. HE is the most worthy.”

“My strength is the strength of ten because my heart is pure,” Amy recites.

“Exactly. But, I’m not going to feed you a line of bull about having never imagined you in anything, but a chaste, virginal white dress, pure and untouchable in some high ivory tower. Still, and though I’m usually loath to presume to speak for others, I feel quite confident in saying this: there are hundreds, if not thousands, of us for whom, to a man, the greatest imaginable rapture can come, when the organ a woman strokes his heart.”

Tears sting Amy’s eyes. “You’re trying to prepare me for the possibility that you won’t make it out of there alive.”

“I’m trying to tell you I’m scared to death. But, I’m not afraid. You allowed yourself to be our Noble Cause. One day, I hope you’ll understand just how precious that is to us. Death doesn’t mean Life ends. Death is when Life becomes meaningless. Death is when the dreaming stops.

“You let us dream, again. You let ME dream, again. You let MY Soul soar, again. I may not slay the dragon. But, you helped me think I could. Nothing I can do for you, even remotely, compares to that. And, that includes laying down my li-–”

Amy quickly covers his mouth. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.”

Genius squeezes her hand and slowly pulls it from his face. He turns her around. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve must change.”

“Don’t want to expose me to any more of your shortcomings?”

“Ha, ha. I’m supposed to be the comic relief.”

—

The “valley” of the snakes turned out to be a long narrow pit, ten feet wide and twice as long. Amy and Genius begin a short journey with a two-man escort, and soon dozens of pensive women and excited children of all ages fall in behind them.

A wooden frame of vines and leaves covers the pit. A pair of natives with chest tattoos of wrestling snakes lifts the frame and sets it aside. As Genius steps forward for a closer look, one of the men signals him to stop. He makes a quick apologetic comment.

Genius steps back to Amy’s side. “He thought I was going in. He says I have to wait for the Chief.”

From out of the nearest hut, another pair of natives with the twisted snakes tattoo maneuver through the crowd with a crude, twenty-foot split-rail ladder balanced on their shoulders. They edge towards the pit, and with the help of the other two men, lower the ladder.

“Probably, best I not see too much,” Genius decides. “Like not looking down when crossing a high bridge.”

“You are going to come up with some brilliant plan that’ll get you out of having to do this, right?”

“I’m open to suggestions.”

A murmur behind them catches their attention. The ever-growing crowd parts, giving way to the Chief and his entourage. They assume positions on the far side of the pit. The Chief raises his hands for quiet and begins to speak.

Genius quietly translates. “Paraphrasing, he’s reminding everyone what a great and benevolent Chief he has been, yada yada.” With an occasional snide, editorial comment thrown in, Genius passes along the gist of the Chief’s speech.

The Ah Mah Lin Say has come to rid them of the dragon and has brought along a champion to retrieve the glass sword that was stolen from the village. But, because those of ‘pale skin’ have betrayed them so often, Ah Mah Lin Say’s champion must prove himself a true and honorable champion by walking through the Valley of the Snakes.

From across the pit, the Chief signals for Genius to go to the side with the ladder.

Genius spreads his hands. “Well, Goddess? Anything?”

“Nothing, I’m afraid.”

“Then into the Valley of the Shadow of Death I go.”

TO BE CONTINUED

Amy glances down river and sees the jeep bobbing in the rapids, about to disappear around the river bend. “I wonder,” she begins, still watching the jeep as she takes a step to follow Genius. Her musing is cut off as she bumps into him. “Stopping for a rest already?”

Genius raises a hand for silence, then points to the far end of the bridge. Amy peers around, following his pointing finger.

Four tall, bronzed Indians, wearing only loin cloths, block the end of the bridge. They adopt identical poses, crouching slightly, one foot in front of the other, blowpipes ready at their lips.

A fifth, larger man stands on the bridge, just in front and to one side of the others, his arm raised, ready to give the signal to fire. The angle of his body exposes a portion of the skull and blood orchid tattoo high on the back of his left shoulder, the signature tattoo of the Brotherhood of the Blood Orchid.

“This is not good,” Amy points out.

“Could be worse,” Genius replies. “They could have shot us already.” Genius raises his hands in the Universal ‘I’m Unarmed’ posture and tells Amy from the corner of his mouth, “Stay behind me. Be ready to run.”

“Where?” Amy asks. “Back the way we came?”

The group’s leader barks an order at them.

“He said – .”

“Shut up,” Amy completes. “That pretty much translates in any language.”

The Leader beckons them to come forward.

“Well?” Amy asks.

“Since they’ll probably dart us anyway if we don’t, lets get on their good side and save them the trouble of that.” Hands upraised, Genius starts forward.

Amy starts to mimic his moves, but Genius tells her, “No, Goddess. Keep your hands down, but where they can see them.”

“Why?”

“A hunch. They don’t see many tall blondes around here. If you act superior, they might treat you superior.”

“Are you –.”

The Leader again barks the ‘shut up’ command.

As they come abreast of the Leader his hand flies up to signal them to stop. He waves for the other four to stand easy. They comply immediately. His expression grows curious as he leans around Genius to look Amy up and down. A hand reaches toward Amy.

In a quick, precise, practiced move, Genius slaps the man’s hand up and to the side with one hand, and delivers a quick, hard punch underneath to the big man’s sternum with the heel of his other hand.

Stumbling back, the big man and two of his compatriots land in a tangled heap. The remaining Indians gawk in surprise, then turn and begin to raise their blowguns.

Genius immediately falls to one knee, bowing his head in a placating manner. “Forgive me, Great one. But you were in danger. It is death to any man who touches the Goddess without her blessing.” Genius looks up speaks rapid fire in a language unknown to Amy.

The two men lower their blowguns and look to their leader, who’s expression mixes surprise and uncertainty. He gestures the two men tangled with him to rise, and all of them to be at ease. His head tilts sideways as he speaks strange words in a curious tone.

Genius responds in English: “The Goddess has come in response to your call.” He then speaks in the strange language of the Leader, apparently translating his English. The Leader signals his four men to follow him. They move off the bridge and several steps down the path stop and huddle.

“You are full of surprises,” Amy tells Genius. “I thought you said you lacked any talent for learning foreign languages.”

“I don’t.” Genius taps a spot behind his right hear. “Universal translator implant. Another bit of electronic wizardry from the Alcomist Club.” He glances where the five men are conferencing. “I can understand their words as they speak them, but I have to say my response aloud in English to get the unit’s translation before I speak them. Cumbersome. We’re working on –.”

The Leader ends his urgent chat with his men and steps forward. Just to the edge of the bridge, Amy notes, telling her that Genius has, for the moment, earned their respect. He speaks, the tone suggesting a question.

Genius freezes for a moment, then nods. “Cha.”

The Leader says a few more things to Genius, then returns to talk with his men.

Genius turns to Amy, a grimace crossing his face. “This goddess thing may not have been such a good idea after all.”

“Why not?”

“You know what the big guy just asked me?”

“No.”

“Well, when I said you were here in answer to their prayers, right? And they accepted that because, apparently the whole village has been praying.” Genius grimaces again and adds sheepishly, “For a Deliverer.”

“A Deliverer? What kind of Deliverer?”

“Well, the big guy wanted to know if you were here to slay the dragon.”

“The dragon?” The strangeness of that had barely registered with Amy when something else occurs to her. “And you told him I was, didn’t you!”

“Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

Genius makes a placating gesture with both hands. “Now calm down. They’re going to take us to their village, which he said is about, translating from their concept of time to our’s, I think about an hour’s walk. I’m sure before we get there I’ll have thought of something.”

“You damn well better. Or I’m going to demonstrate it is indeed death to mess with the Goddess … by strangling you.”

—

The Leader and two of his men assume positions in front of them, with the remaining two dropping in behind. Amy notes how, when she slows, those behind slow, keeping a respectful distance. Any amusement that might have brought her is mitigated by worry of how they were going to take the knowledge at their village that she was neither heaven sent, nor remotely capable of slaying their dragon. Or whatever it really was they were praying for deliverance from so fervently.

Amy’s confidence is further shaken when, in less then twenty minutes and not the hour projected by Genius, the narrow path winding through the jungle opens up to a village of dozens of seemingly random placed grass huts separated by moist dirt paths and the occasional cooking pit. It appears, from the arc of the path, that the village continues out of sight around a bend.

“An hour’s walk, Genius?”

Genius tosses a nasty look at her over his shoulder.

“Careful. I’ll bring fire down from heaven and wipe that disrespectful expression off your face.”

“Don’t get too caught up in the role, Goddess, we may –.”

The Leader turns and signals them to stop. He waves the two trailing men forward, and the five hold a quick, intense conference. The Leader nods to two of the men, and they take off running through the village and out of sight around the bend. He turns and speaks to Genius.

Genius nods, listening without comment. The Leader finishes and he and the remaining Indians walk deeper into the village, also disappearing around the bend.

Genius begins shrugging off the large photographer’s backpack. “We’re to wait here.”

“Where are they going? To get the dragon?”

“Ha, ha. There’s no dragon. Dragons don’t exist. Its just their name for something they don’t quite understand.”

“You hope. Where’d they go?”

Genius carries the backpack over to the nearest hut and sets it on the small stoop. “He sent the first two off to get the High Priest. Apparently he doesn’t have the authority to take us where ever the High Priest is hiding.” Genius looks around. “Where the High Priest and the rest of the villagers are hiding.”

“Rest of the village? Hiding?”

Genius waves to encompass the few huts around them. “Where are the people? This place feels deserted.”

“Carlos said people were being kidnaped.”

“Yeah. Carlos. Although we should take everything he’s told us with a grain of salt, I think we can believe the kidnaping part.”

“Kidnaped by the strange Chinese general living in a castle?”

“General Fu exists. We’ve established that.”

“And what about that lovely tattoo on Fearless Leader’s back? Friend of Carlos?”

Genius shakes his head. “I don’t know. Remember, the Brotherhood of the Blood Orchid were mercenaries. Sellers of themselves to the highest bidder. That they ordered your death, then called it off, suggests there might be some kind of schism in the group.”

“I hope we’ve fallen in with the good guys.”

“Assuming there are good guys.” Genius checks his watch. “You know what worries me right now? That we’re in the village at a time when the rest of the village thought it best not to be here. Let’s take a look around. Carefully.”

“What are we looking for? Carefully.”

“I don’t know.” Genius hefts the photographer’s backpack and drapes it over a shoulder. “Dragon sign?” They start for the bend, and stop quickly when they reach it. “Like this.”

From their spot at the bend Amy and Genius see the village spread out on three large paths. Where should have stood numerous huts lay only wet, flat scorched shells of over a hundred huts. Charred wood, fragments of frames, jutting skyward mingled with clumps of ash and remains of leaves and grass.

Genius notes, “This is a rather unpleasant development.”

“You’re telling me.”

Genius shrugs off the large backpack and hands it to Amy. He motions her to stay as he walks over to the nearest burned out hut. He pushes at a bit of the burned out frame, then kneels to shift through a mound of sodden, partially burned leaves. “Strange.”

“I just hate it when you say that.”

“Sorry, Goddess.” Genius stands and brushes his hands. “In a climate like this, there’s only two ways a village reaches this state. One is the use of a flame accelerant. There’s no sign of that.”

“What’s the other way.”

“Repeated setting of fires.”

“Like from a fire-breathing dragon?”

“Or a reasonable facsimile.”

“Like what?”

Genius suddenly snaps his eyes skyward. “Like that thing coming at us right now.”

Amy has a split second to make out the approach of something large and green before Genius grabs her arm, nearly pulling her off her feet.

“Come on!” he hisses, hustling her around the remains of the nearest hut and into the jungle. When she slows to turn and look up, Genius encircles her waist with an arm and tosses her into the waist high foliage.

A sudden roaring growl erupts above them, a sound that clutches at the base of Amy’s spine and stands the hair on the back of her neck.

From their hiding place at the outer edge of the village they watch the dragon land at the ‘intersection’ they had just fled.

Forty yards from where they lay the ‘dragon’ settles to the ground. The squat body measures about thirty feet, and a thick neck stretches up about fifteen feet, tapering to an oval head with, blackened, fist sized nostrils and a gaping mouth with sharp, triangular teeth. A large tail forms a kind of ‘s’ shape, tapering to a point. The beast seems to have landed on flat on its belly, the front and back legs remained splayed out, as if it still in flight.

And extending out of the middle of the creature’s back is a short strut leading to rotor blades that make hardly a sound as they furiously rotate.

“A helicopter?” Amy whispers. “Made to look like a dragon. Like a parade float.”

“A ‘float’ attached to one of the Chinese Army’s state of the art stealth choppers,” Genius amends. He sees Amy’s questioning eyebrows. “I, ah, got a look at the blueprints a few years back. Unofficially.”

Another animalistic roar erupts from the ‘beast’ … an obvious recording to their ears, but still a sound that shakes their spines. Jets of flame spew from the nostrils. The dampness of the remains of the hut it strikes results in a bit of smoldering, but no flames.

Genius nudges Amy and points to the head. “Probably flame throwers in the nose.”

“You figured the dragon was a chopper all along, didn’t you?’

“You don’t think I believe in actual flying, fire breathing dragons, do you?”

“You often manage to leave me plenty of reason to question your sanity.”

A sound from the dragon copter, prompts Genius to signal for quiet. A hatch slides open up along the side of the fake beast, and a large man dressed in green jungle fatigues and carrying a large military looking walkie-talkie jumps to the ground. Though he moves bent over against the wash of the rotors, his height makes him instantly recognizable.

Carlos.

He walks directly toward them, his head swivelling left and right, checking out the village. About twenty-five yards from where they lay he stops, turns, and speaks into the walkie-talkie.

Genius strains forward, then settles back with a sign. He taps an ear, shakes his head, then shrugs.

Carlos speaks for less then a minute before deactivating the walkie-talkie and returning to the copter. A moment later the pitch of the engine deepens, and the helicopter rises up and whines skyward. In seconds it is out of sight.

Genius stands and edges cautiously into the razed village. After a moment he signals for Amy to join him.

“I know I’ve probably asked this before, but, what next?”

“Well, if I’ve got my bearings right, the copter headed off in the general direction of General Fu’s castle.”

“Are we going to go dragon hunting then?”

Genius thinks a moment, then sighs heavily. “I’d like to.”

“But?”

“It would be rude to take off on our guests.” Genius nods and points toward the untouched section of the village .

Following his finger Amy sees four men approaching from behind them: the Leader, two of their escort, and a man of about thirty, dressed in the same loin cloths as the others, but with several thick, grass and twine bracelets around his wrists and ankles.

“Looks awful young to be a tribal Chief,” she notes.

“More likely his Chief of Staff, or protege. Apparently our friend’s word wasn’t enough to warrant the chief coming for us himself.” He steps forward. “Let me do the talking.”

“Just don’t promise them I’ll be slaying any dragons.”

As Genius raises his hand in greeting, the ‘Chief of Staff’ brusquely pushes him aside. With a haughty, almost snide expression on his face, he reaches toward Amy.

Recalling the way Genius responded at the bridge, Amy shifts her weight slightly, and duplicates the same blow with the heel of her right hand to the man’s sternum, achieving the same result. The ‘Chief of Staff’ grunts and coughs as air whooshes from his lungs. He stumbles back, not falling, but dropping to one knee.

Genius steps to Amy’s side. “Good work, Goddess. He caught me by surprise. This time.”

“What do you suppose –.”

The ‘Chief of Staff’ looks back at the other men and gasps out an order.

Genius spits an expletive and swings around, putting himself between Amy and the others.

“I’m not going to like what he just said, am I?” Amy asks.

“Your powers serve you well, young Jedi. He just ordered the others to kill us.”

- TO BE CONTINUED -

“Could you reach into that box and hand me the triple-X size tee shirt. Its mine anyway.”

Amy finds the shirt and hands it to him. Carlos settles sideways in the driver’s seat to peel off his wet shirt.

Amy turns to Genius, and freezes. The color has drained from his face and his lips press together, tight and white. Before Amy can ask, he raises a quieting finger to his lips, and points to Carlos’ left shoulder.

Amy turns and looks. Her head feels suddenly light. Clearly visible up on the smooth, hairless shoulder of the big man there shone a detailed tattoo of a skull sitting atop a red orchid – the identifying symbol of a member of the Brotherhood of the Blood Orchid.

Moving cautiously, Genius brings his legs up and around, holding them up at Carlos’ back. As the big man bends forward to wiggle the tee shirt over his head, Genius pushes. Arms trapped and head covered, Carlos flies out into the rain, landing face down and skidding into the waist high foliage flanking the rutted road.

Genius grabs the wheel and hoists himself into the driver’s seat. Carlos has left the engine running. Genius slaps the jeep into gear and stomps on the gas. Amy slams deep into the back seat. She struggles to look over her shoulder. They are several yards away before Carlos stumbles back onto the rutted road. He looks about to start after them, then realizes the futility of pursuit and fires his shirt onto the ground.

“What’s he doing?” Genius asks.

“Probably using language a lady like me shouldn’t hear and won’t repeat.” She sticks her head between the driver and passenger seats. “What’s the plan?”

“I don’t know. I’m making this up as I go along.”

“This is no time to be quoting Indiana Jones.”

“According to my sister its never a bad time to quote Harrison Ford.” After a moment he says, “After we put a few miles between us and our ‘friend’ Carlos, we’ll abandon the jeep and head south.”

“Why abandon the jeep?”

Genius nods toward the On-Star system.

“Can’t you disable it?”

“I can. But if we abandon it somewhere and head in another direction, they’ll waste time recovering it.”

“You said head south. Why?”

“Chile. I’ll be more welcome there than in Bolivia or Argentina.”

“Why is that?”

“No comment.” After a moment he curses, “Every damn time.”

“What?”

“Every time I come down to South America I wind up having to walk out of the jungle.”

Satisfied that Genius seems to know what he is doing, Amy settles back.

After a couple of minutes Genius suggests, “Check those boxes. See if our friend was carrying any food.”

Amy finds mostly clothes and shoes for people of all ages, sizes and sexes. One box is stuffed with Ron Popeil gadgets.

“Bingo!” She lifts a heart-shaped package from another box. “Godiva chocolates. A twelve count carton,” she notes. “Either Carlos has a lot of lady friends, or he is stocking up for Valentine’s Day for the Mrs. until about 2020.”

“Not power bars,” Genius sighs. “But they’ll do.” After a minute he reports, “I think the rain is letting up. When it stops we’ll pull over and do a proper search of the jeep.”

“For what?”

“A prudent man like Carlos would have some kind of emergency kit in case he was stranded. Knife, fishing line, water purification tablets.” He slaps the steering wheel. “Something I should have brought along if I hadn’t been so damn trusting. That’s what happens when you leave the field and become an office wonk.”

Amy completes the inventory. “There are some jars and what looks like homemade sauce. Pack them in the photographers bag?”

“No jars. We’ll be traveling light.” Genius laughs. “With my luck they’d be bootleg marinara sauce.”

“There’s this,” Amy says, grinning while holding up something from the box of gadgets for Genius to check out in the rear view mirror. A small, battery operated egg beater. “Maybe Carlos has his own version of Louisa.”

“You’ve got a cruel streak, Goddess. You really do.”

—

A half hour later the rain abruptly ceases. By then they have left behind the open area and are again surround by menacing jungle. Finding a less claustrophobic spot, Genius halts the jeep and checks the glove compartment. He finds the emergency kit, with it’s large bladed knife . It’s hollow handle holds, among other things, fishing line and water purification tablets.

“We won’t lack for shelter, food, or water,” he announces. “No maps, but I wouldn’t expect Carlos would need one.”

Genius plucks his cell phone from his hip. “No problem, I’ll just – .” His phone fails to beep. He shakes it, taps buttons, checks it’s weight.

“Problem?” Amy asks.

“BIG problem.” He pries open the battery lid. He shows Amy the empty battery section. “That was a neat trick Carlos pulled.”

“When he borrowed it just before we left the hotel,” Amy realizes. “And me without mine.”

“Yeah, its probably back in Mexico in the rubble with what’s left of Ramirez.” Genius resumes rummaging in the glove compartment. After a moment he straightens. “Would have preferred to have not found this.” He holds up a nine millimeter pistol.

“A firearm is not a good thing to have when you’re stranded in the jungle?”

Genius turns to reveal her the grip. “Ah,” Amy notes. “Biometric lock. Can you ‘adjust’ it.”

“Nope. And neither could Carlos, so I wonder why he kept it.”

“Its not his?”

“Standard C.I.A. issue. And I don’t think the agent it belonged to just handed it over to Carlos.” Genius studies the pistol a moment, then with an angry exclamation whirls and pegs it far into the jungle.

After a moment it lands with a distant ‘thwack’.

“Did you hear that?” Amy asks.

“Pegged that one pretty good, didn’t I,” Genius confesses with a rueful smile.

“No. I mean that other sound. I heard something else while I was listening for the gun to hit.”

They listen. After a moment Genius nods. “Yeah. I hear it. Sounds like ….”

“Running water. A river.”

“Right. Stay close, and stay on your toes.”

—

After fifteen minutes of slipping on and pushing around slick ground and tree roots, following the ever growing hiss of rushing water, the jungle opens up, revealing a swollen river of frothy, churning brown.

“A river at our backs would be nice,” Genius muses.

“But …?”

“I can’t swim.”

“What?”

“I can’t swim.” He looks at Amy. “And don’t make a big deal about it, okay?”

“I won’t. Its just that its kind of refreshing to find something you’re not an expert at.”

“The illusion of my perfection shattered. I’m sorry.”

“I never thought you were perfect.”

“With the situation we’re in, Goddess, you ought to be stroking my ego.”

“Just as long as it’s the only thing of your’s I have to stroke.”

Genius chuckles as he peers up and down the river’s edges. “When you finish patting yourself on the back on that first class bit of banter, take a look down there and tell me if that’s a bridge.”

Amy follows his gaze. “I believe that is a bridge, yes.”

Genius checks the jungle they have just trekked through. “And I believe that little road we were on will take us right to it.” In a passable Captain Kirk impersonation, he announces, “I have … a plan.”

—

The ruts lead them to the bridge, a half century old structure made entirely of wood and in need of paint. The timbers are of various shades of color and wear. Genius figures that means the bridge was routinely maintained; a good sign.

“Is the fact there are no safety rails a bad sign?”

“Don’t let it worry you. We’re not driving across. The jeep goes into the river.”

“The jeep goes into the river? Bulletin, Mr. ‘I can’t swim’. Maybe your lack of familiarity with the water is a factor here, but you can’t drive a jeep under water. Especially not in these deep rapids.”

“Thank you. Mrs. Jacques Cousteau. But we’re going to make the jeep as light as possible, button her up, and while the good Jeep Calypso is floating downstream, with the G.P.S. tracker, we’ll be heading upstream.”

“I see. You know, its really fascinating, how your mind works.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not sure I meant that as a compliment.”

Working quickly, they unload the jeep and transfer what they need in the multi-pocketed photographers carry-all. With Amy directing, Genius edges the jeep off the ruts and toward the bank. Reaching the point he wants, Genius climbs out. He secures the steering wheel with one of the TAZ tee shirts Carlos had purchased.

Amy wonders aloud, “Why do I get the feeling you’ve done this before?”

“No comment,” Genius grunts as he tightens the t-shirt. He loops a section of fishing line around the gear shift, then the rear view mirror. He rolls up the door window, leaving a minuscule opening for the fishing line. He steps away from the jeep, making certain the line is not caught up. “How are your knees, Goddess?”

“Well, they don’t get as many compliments as my legs, but I like them.”

Genius shakes his head and chuckles. “That’s what I get for asking an imprecise question that can be used as a straight line. I mean ….”

“I know what you mean,” Amy laughs. She looks for a place to set the photographers carry-all down, then readies herself at the jeep’s bumper. “Say when.”

“Watch your footing, and watch the mud that’ll kick up.” Genius loops the line around one hand, then holds it elevated as he grabs the jeep’s door handle with his other hand. “Okay … when!”

The jeep edges forward. Suddenly it lurches, the front dipping as it rolls off the edge of the bank.. Amy feels her balance shifting too fast, and just manages to land on her knees with a wet squish as the jeep picks up speed and rolls away. Genius barely has time to release his hold on the door handle. His pull on the fishing line is more from falling down and away then a planned tug. With a whine the jeeps gears grind, then catch.

Mud and exhaust splatter Amy’s face. She hears rather then sees the jeep crashing through brush. Then comes a heavy splash. Pawing at her face, she feels Genius rush past, then hears the quick thud of his boots on wood.

“There she goes!”

Amy, still wiping mud from her eyes and face, has to take his word for it. She hears the thud of boots again, then Genius is at her side, pushing his handkerchief into her hands. “I told you to be careful of the mud.”

As Genius guides her toward the bridge Amy’s eyes clear enough for her to see the camouflaged top of the jeep bounding downstream.

“Thanks,” she says, and hands Genius back his handkerchief.

He shoves it back in the pocket of his khakis and hoists the photographers bag over one shoulder. “You’re welcome Goddess. Now we’ll need to shake a leg. I want to put as much distance between us and that jeep as possible.”

Amy glances down river and sees the jeep bobbing in the rapids, about to disappear around the river bend. “I wonder,” she begins, still watching the jeep as she takes a step to follow Genius. Her musing is cut off as she bumps into him. “Stopping for a rest already?”

Genius raises a hand for silence, then points to the far end of the bridge. Amy peers around and follows his pointing finger.

Four tall, bronzed Indians, wearing only loin cloths, block the end of the bridge. They adopt identical poses, crouching slightly, one foot in front of the other, blowpipes ready at their lips.

A fifth man stands on the bridge, just in front and to one side of the others, his arm raised, ready to give the signal to fire. The angle of his body exposes a portion of the skull and blood orchid tattoo high on the back of his left shoulder.

TO BE CONTINUED

“Could you reach into that box and hand me the triple-X size tee shirt. Its mine anyway.”

Amy finds the shirt and hands it to him. Carlos settles sideways in the driver’s seat to peel off his wet shirt.

Amy turns to Genius, and freezes. The color has drained from his face and his lips press together, tight and white. Before Amy can ask, he raises a quieting finger to his lips, and points to Carlos’ left shoulder.

Amy turns and looks. Her head feels suddenly light. Clearly visible up on the smooth, hairless shoulder of the big man there shone a detailed tattoo of a skull sitting atop a red orchid – the identifying symbol of a member of the Brotherhood of the Blood Orchid.

Moving cautiously, Genius brings his legs up and around, holding them up at Carlos’ back. As the big man bends forward to wiggle the tee shirt over his head, Genius pushes. Arms trapped and head covered, Carlos flies out into the rain, landing face down and skidding into the waist high foliage flanking the rutted road.

Genius grabs the wheel and hoists himself into the driver’s seat. Carlos has left the engine running. Genius slaps the jeep into gear and stomps on the gas. Amy slams deep into the back seat. She struggles to look over her shoulder. They are several yards away before Carlos stumbles back onto the rutted road. He looks about to start after them, then realizes the futility of pursuit and fires his shirt onto the ground.

“What’s he doing?” Genius asks.

“Probably using language a lady like me shouldn’t hear and won’t repeat.” She sticks her head between the driver and passenger seats. “What’s the plan?”

“I don’t know. I’m making this up as I go along.”

“This is no time to be quoting Indiana Jones.”

“According to my sister its never a bad time to quote Harrison Ford.” After a moment he says, “After we put a few miles between us and our ‘friend’ Carlos, we’ll abandon the jeep and head south.”

“Why abandon the jeep?”

Genius nods toward the On-Star system.

“Can’t you disable it?”

“I can. But if we abandon it somewhere and head in another direction, they’ll waste time recovering it.”

“You said head south. Why?”

“Chile. I’ll be more welcome there than in Bolivia or Argentina.”

“Why is that?”

“No comment.” After a moment he curses, “Every damn time.”

“What?”

“Every time I come down to South America I wind up having to walk out of the jungle.”

Satisfied that Genius seems to know what he is doing, Amy settles back.

After a couple of minutes Genius suggests, “Check those boxes. See if our friend was carrying any food.”

Amy finds mostly clothes and shoes for people of all ages, sizes and sexes. One box is stuffed with Ron Popeil gadgets.

“Bingo!” She lifts a heart-shaped package from another box. “Godiva chocolates. A twelve count carton,” she notes. “Either Carlos has a lot of lady friends, or he is stocking up for Valentine’s Day for the Mrs. until about 2020.”

“Not power bars,” Genius sighs. “But they’ll do.” After a minute he reports, “I think the rain is letting up. When it stops we’ll pull over and do a proper search of the jeep.”

“For what?”

“A prudent man like Carlos would have some kind of emergency kit in case he was stranded. Knife, fishing line, water purification tablets.” He slaps the steering wheel. “Something I should have brought along if I hadn’t been so damn trusting. That’s what happens when you leave the field and become an office wonk.”

Amy completes the inventory. “There are some jars and what looks like homemade sauce. Pack them in the photographers bag?”

“No jars. We’ll be traveling light.” Genius laughs. “With my luck they’d be bootleg marinara sauce.”

“There’s this,” Amy says, grinning while holding up something from the box of gadgets for Genius to check out in the rear view mirror. A small, battery operated egg beater. “Maybe Carlos has his own version of Louisa.”

“You’ve got a cruel streak, Goddess. You really do.”

—

A half hour later the rain abruptly ceases. By then they have left behind the open area and are again surround by menacing jungle. Finding a less claustrophobic spot, Genius halts the jeep and checks the glove compartment. He finds the emergency kit, with it’s large bladed knife . It’s hollow handle holds, among other things, fishing line and water purification tablets.

“We won’t lack for shelter, food, or water,” he announces. “No maps, but I wouldn’t expect Carlos would need one.”

Genius plucks his cell phone from his hip. “No problem, I’ll just – .”

His phone fails to beep. He shakes it, taps buttons, checks it’s weight.

“Problem?” Amy asks.

“BIG problem.” He pries open the battery lid. He shows Amy the empty battery section. “That was a neat trick Carlos pulled.”

“When he borrowed it just before we left the hotel,” Amy realizes. “And me without mine.”

“Yeah, its probably back in Mexico in the rubble with what’s left of Ramirez.” Genius resumes rummaging in the glove compartment. After a moment he straightens. “Would have preferred to have not found this.” He holds up a nine millimeter pistol.

“A firearm is not a good thing to have when you’re stranded in the jungle?”

Genius turns to reveal her the grip. “Ah,” Amy notes. “Biometric lock. Can you ‘adjust’ it.”

“Nope. And neither could Carlos, so I wonder why he kept it.”

“Its not his?”

“Standard C.I.A. issue. And I don’t think the agent it belonged to just handed it over to Carlos.” Genius studies the pistol a moment, then with an angry exclamation whirls and pegs it far into the jungle.

After a moment it lands with a distant ‘thwack’.

“Did you hear that?” Amy asks.

“Pegged that one pretty good, didn’t I,” Genius confesses with a rueful smile.

“No. I mean that other sound. I heard something else while I was listening for the gun to hit.”

They listen. After a moment Genius nods. “Yeah. I hear it. Sounds like ….”

“Running water. A river.”

“Right. Stay close, and stay on your toes.”

—

After fifteen minutes of slipping on and pushing around slick ground and tree roots, following the ever growing hiss of rushing water, the jungle opens up, revealing a swollen river of frothy, churning brown.

“A river at our backs would be nice,” Genius muses.

“But …?”

“I can’t swim.”

“What?”

“I can’t swim.” He looks at Amy. “And don’t make a big deal about it, okay?”

“I won’t. Its just that its kind of refreshing to find something you’re not an expert at.”

“The illusion of my perfection shattered. I’m sorry.”

“I never thought you were perfect.”

“With the situation we’re in, Goddess, you ought to be stroking my ego.”

“Just as long as it’s the only thing of your’s I have to stroke.”

Genius chuckles as he peers up and down the river’s edges. “When you finish patting yourself on the back on that first class bit of banter, take a look down there and tell me if that’s a bridge.”

Amy follows his gaze. “I believe that is a bridge, yes.”

Genius checks the jungle they have just trekked through. “And I believe that little road we were on will take us right to it.” In a passable Captain Kirk impersonation, he announces, “I have … a plan.”

—

The ruts lead them to the bridge, a half century old structure made entirely of wood and in need of paint. The timbers are of various shades of color and wear. Genius figures that means the bridge was routinely maintained; a good sign.

“Is the fact there are no safety rails a bad sign?”

“Don’t let it worry you. We’re not driving across. The jeep goes into the river.”

“The jeep goes into the river? Bulletin, Mr. ‘I can’t swim’. Maybe your lack of familiarity with the water is a factor here, but you can’t drive a jeep under water. Especially not in these deep rapids.”

“Thank you. Mrs. Jacques Cousteau. But we’re going to make the jeep as light as possible, button her up, and while the good Jeep Calypso is floating downstream, with the G.P.S. tracker, we’ll be heading upstream.”

“I see. You know, its really fascinating, how your mind works.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not sure I meant that as a compliment.”

Working quickly, they unload the jeep and transfer what they need in the multi-pocketed photographers carry-all. With Amy directing, Genius edges the jeep off the ruts and toward the bank. Reaching the point he wants, Genius climbs out. He secures the steering wheel with one of the TAZ tee shirts Carlos had purchased.

Amy wonders aloud, “Why do I get the feeling you’ve done this before?”

“No comment,” Genius grunts as he tightens the t-shirt. He loops a section of fishing line around the gear shift, then the rear view mirror. He rolls up the door window, leaving a minuscule opening for the fishing line. He steps away from the jeep, making certain the line is not caught up. “How are your knees, Goddess?”

“Well, they don’t get as many compliments as my legs, but I like them.”

Genius shakes his head and chuckles. “That’s what I get for asking an imprecise question that can be used as a straight line. I mean ….”

“I know what you mean,” Amy laughs. She looks for a place to set the photographers carry-all down, then readies herself at the jeep’s bumper. “Say when.”

“Watch your footing, and watch the mud that’ll kick up.” Genius loops the line around one hand, then holds it elevated as he grabs the jeep’s door handle with his other hand. “Okay … when!”

The jeep edges forward. Suddenly it lurches, the front dipping as it rolls off the edge of the bank.. Amy feels her balance shifting too fast, and just manages to land on her knees with a wet squish as the jeep picks up speed and rolls away. Genius barely has time to release his hold on the door handle. His pull on the fishing line is more from falling down and away then a planned tug. With a whine the jeeps gears grind, then catch.

Mud and exhaust splatter Amy’s face. She hears rather then sees the jeep crashing through brush. Then comes a heavy splash. Pawing at her face, she feels Genius rush past, then hears the quick thud of his boots on wood.

“There she goes!”

Amy, still wiping mud from her eyes and face, has to take his word for it. She hears the thud of boots again, then Genius is at her side, pushing his handkerchief into her hands. “I told you to be careful of the mud.”

As Genius guides her toward the bridge Amy’s eyes clear enough for her to see the camouflaged top of the jeep bounding downstream.

“Thanks,” she says, and hands Genius back his handkerchief.

He shoves it back in the pocket of his khakis and hoists the photographers bag over one shoulder. “You’re welcome Goddess. Now we’ll need to shake a leg. I want to put as much distance between us and that jeep as possible.”

Amy glances down river and sees the jeep bobbing in the rapids, about to disappear around the river bend. “I wonder,” she begins, still watching the jeep as she takes a step to follow Genius. Her musing is cut off as she bumps into him. “Stopping for a rest already?”

Genius raises a hand for silence, then points to the far end of the bridge. Amy peers around and follows his pointing finger.

Four tall, bronzed Indians, wearing only loin cloths, block the end of the bridge. They adopt identical poses, crouching slightly, one foot in front of the other, blowpipes ready at their lips.

A fifth man stands on the bridge, just in front and to one side of the others, his arm raised, ready to give the signal to fire. The angle of his body exposes a portion of the skull and blood orchid tattoo high on the back of his left shoulder.

TO BE CONTINUED

“When what happens?”

“When the bomb detonates.”

“What bomb?”

“The bomb set to blow up the shipment of bird flu that Captain Valdez thought he’d bought in secret on the black market.” He checks the wall shared by the room
where Amy had been held captive. “I’d really like to have at least another wall between us and the bomb when it goes off. It’s in the next room. Two bombs, actually,” he amends. “One set to blow open the crates and expose the remaining vials, then another bomb set to destroy them. Going to make quite a mess.”

“Set to go off when?”

As a beeping erupts from his watch, Genius repeats, “Set to go off when? In less than sixty seconds.

With exasperation Amy asks, “Why didn’t you say so in the beginning?” She steps over Valdez, quickly finds a small niche in the wall that opens the secret spring loaded door leading to the adjoining room. “You want another wall? Will this one do?”

Genius grins. “You are a goddess.” He steps toward the door, then pauses to turn and spit on the unconscious body of Valdez. “No one’s that good an actress, huh? You son of a - ”
Amy shoves him down toward the trick door. “I keep forgetting fan is short for fanatic.”

“He’s going on The List,” Genius insists, referring to the list of critics and others who the Alcomist Club felt showed her insufficient homage. While never quite precise about what evil was to befall those on The List, the ‘bad luck’ suffered by those on it defied statistical probability.

Even before Amy clears the closet Genius is pushing at the room’s single window. “Nailed from the outside,” he announces, joining her beside the bed. He consults his still beeping watch.

“The bed!” Amy realizes. “Get under the bed.”

“Right,” Genius starts bending, then straightens and smiles wide.

“What?”

“Of all the commands I dreamed of you giving me concerning a bed, getting under one was never one of them.”

Eyes rolling, Amy grabs his arm and pushes him toward the floor. “I’m sure its not the first time a married woman has said this to you, but: Quick! Get under the bed!” As he complies, she grabs the mattress and wedges it under the bed. “Will this help protect us?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Genius says, and they struggle to wrap it around themselves.

He chuckles and notes, “Good thing this is a Cheating Wife bed.”

“A Cheating Wife bed?”

“Lots of room for a lover to hide when hubby comes home early.”

“You sound like an expert.”

“No comment.”

Amy shakes her head as much as their cramped position allows. “There is no way Louisa was too weird for you. No way.”

The watch beeps and whines.

A distant ‘THARUMPH’ precedes a slight bit of shaking. As the explosions erupt, Amy stares with disappointed. “That wasn’t so -.”

“Wait for it.”

A protective arm around Amy’s neck draws her face close to Genius’ heaving chest.

The world bellows and crashes in on them.

—

A coughing sound scratches Amy’s ears. After a moment, she realizes these sounds are her coughs. She blinks against a swirl of smoke and dust and fans her
hands to shoo the dust and smoke from her face.

She realizes her hands should be hitting Genius. A rush of dust into her throat chokes off an attempt to call out his name.

She barely registers the sensation of movement. Through the dust, a hand has appeared to pull away the mattress. She recognizes the OBG watch on the wrist of Genius. Amy snakes after the mattress. Once clear of the bed, hands lift her and beat her back purple. Amy catches her breath and pushes away the well-meaning hands.

Amy squints through the settling dust and dissipating smoke. Two of the room’s walls stand intact, the north and south. But the east and west walls display massive holes. The blast has come through the office next door, and above through their hiding place. In the direction of the office, she sees straight through to four or five rooms, almost the entire length of building. The furthest wall remains intact, to a cafeteria it appears, as bodies and tables lay in jumbled heaps.

Captain Ramirez and Valdez are no where to be seen, but, as she turns, Amy sees the large oak office desk, having punched a massive hole in the wall, laying upside down in a large, open courtyard.

Genius catches her attention by gently grasping her chin and turning it to face him. “Are you okay?”

“What?”

“What?”

Genius holds up a hand to quiet her. In quick pantomime, he conveys that the blast has affected their hearing. Covering her ears Amy mouths: ‘For how long?’ Genius shrugs. With further pantomime he indicates she should walk with her hands behind her back, and he would act like a guard escorting her.

Stepping through the hole they see a large hacienda to the left. Their adobe building is part of a ‘U’ shaped complex that looks surrounded by desert.

With wrists held behind her and a guiding hand from Genius on her arm, they stroll out of the compound. A fifteen minute walk ends where Genius has stashed his copter.

—

Two hours later finds them in a hotel in Acapulco, fed, cleaned, and with Amy planting herself in front of Genius and demanding to know what was REALLY going on.

“Okay, Goddess,” he agrees. “Fair is fair. Give me a moment.” Closing the laptop he had been busily typing on at the coffee table since their arrival, Genius stands from the couch and walks over to the balcony to stare out the balcony’s glass door at the lights of Acapulco.

After a minute he returns and waves for Amy to take his place on the couch. He remains standing.

“The Hollywood Operational Team branch of the Bureau for Anti-Terrorism Bounty Enforcement is almost strictly a ‘courier’ operation. Very few are asked to become field agents, and even fewer become one.”

“I was beginning to suspect that.”

“It isn’t from a lack of talent or skill. We’re just not willing to risk the emotional damage to the country if some of their favorite entertainers start getting killed off.” He spreads his hands. “On the other hand, there is a war on terror going on, not just radicalized Muslims in the Middle East, but others all over the world. And, we can’t ignore the assets that actors with certain skills can bring to that fight.”

“Like me?” Amy asks, hoping to sound confident, not merely hopeful.

Genius sighs. “That’s what we’ve been trying to determine. So far -.”

“Okay, wait. Who’s ‘we’?”

“B.A.B.E. and the Alcomist Club.”

“So, the Alcomist Club is really not a fan club after all?”

“Oh, no. We definitely are a fan club. You are Our Blonde Goddess. In fact, you were that long before we hooked up with B.A.B.E. When we began to talk among ourselves at the forum, we discovered common interests, occupations, backgrounds.”

“Like backgrounds in intelligence work? You and Captain Ramirez seemed to have encountered one another before.”

“A couple of times, actually.” Genius recalls with a smile. “But I can neither confirm nor deny that.”

“One of those many alphabet agencies in our government?”

“I repeat my previous answer.”

Amy relents. “Okay, I won’t push it.”

“Like I said, few have been chosen. For security reasons, I can’t tell you which ones actually made the cut.”

“Understood.”

“But I can tell you there is a ‘process’. It includes assignments both real and staged. It involves evaluations and reports and recommendations. You’re not supposed to know this. Not as its happening, and not that it ever took place if you eventually fail.”

“But you’re telling me now. Why?”

“Because we’ve come across an extraordinary bit of information that’s more than a bit puzzling. And, frankly, scares the hell out of me.”

“That a South American assassination cult called the Brotherhood of the Blood Orchid has been hired to kill me?”

“Your insights serve you well, young Jedi,” Genius confirms with a grim smile. “Where did you hear about the B.B.O.?”

“Captain Ramirez.”

Genius curses and rubs his forehead as if battling a sudden headache. “What did he tell you about them?”

“Nothing. Except, they didn’t want me dead any more.”

“How would he know that?”

“Someone named General Fu.”

With his head suddenly lulling back like his neck was made of rubber, Genius whispers just loud enough for her to hear: “Sweet, Jesus, what have we gotten you into?”

Genius retreats to stare out the balcony’s sliding glass door. His reflection shows him gnawing at a thumb nail, a position her holds for several minutes. Just as Amy is about to ask him to explain who General Fu is, Genius spins and strides resolutely to stand before her.

“The Department of Homeland Security gets all kinds of terrorism tips. They handle the most plausible ones, and hand off the rest to groups like the Alcomist Club - organizations with shared interests like celebrity fan clubs, T.V. and movie fans.”

“Like Trekkies?”

Genius smiles. “We’ll, they’re a little out there for our needs, but there are SF writer’s fan clubs that are invaluable. We have a nice little information network, kind of like the Baker Street Irregulars Sherlock Holmes had. So, when something O.B.P. passes across a desk at the DHS, a call goes out to us.”

“O.B.P.?”

“Odd But Plausible,” he translates. “That’s the designation the DHS gave an anonymous warning about a renegade Chinese general living in South America planning to infect Illegals crossing the US border with the Bird Flu as a way to start an epidemic in America.”

Again things click in Amy’s mind. The mention at the compound of vaccines. And coyotes. Not the animal. Rather, the men hired to guide Illegals across the border. She realizes, “Captain Ramirez sent off a bus load of coyotes!”

Genius raises a cautioning hand and nods toward his laptop. “I’ve been checking that out. The bus was stopped before it reached the border. They’re all in Quarantine. The last bit of information I needed, that confirmed that, came at almost the same instant of your kidnaping.”

“That’s how you were able to get to where I was so fast.”

“It was quite a shock, tracking the homer in your trick bra and finding you were taken to where we had an imminent mission planned.”

Amy unconsciously toys with the top button of her blouse. “Then there wasn’t some ‘additional information’ waiting for me to pick up at the airport and deliver to Area 51?”

“Nothing important. We just needed to make sure your were wearing one of those special bras so we could track you. Just in case.”

“I don’t think I like the idea of you being able to track me wherever I go.”

“Its just for missions, I swear. Anyway, because it was my contact who confirmed the plausibility of the General Fu scenario, and because I’d had dealings with ‘Ramirez’ before, I was able to exercise ‘executive privilege’ and take for myself an assignment first meant to be just a demolition mission, that suddenly became a rescue mission, too.”

“I’m just an office wonk. I don’t do field work,” Amy recalls.

Genius grins. “I make an occasional exception. When the situation warrants it.” His smile fades. “Ramirez has been taken out, his supply of flu - the ‘vaccine’ he was giving the coyotes and their clients under the guise of keeping them healthy for their trip across the border - has been destroyed, and his men are in Quarantine. Unfortunately, one ’situation’ remains.”

“And that is?” Amy asks, though already uneasy at the answer she senses will be coming.

“How all of this, and some renegade Chi-Com general, ties in with an order, later rescinded, for the Brotherhood of the Blood Orchid to assassinate you?”

“I really, really don’t know why.”

“Neither do I. That’s why I’m heading down to South America to meet personally with the contact who developed the information on General Fu. And, I’m making another ‘executive’ decision. You are not leaving my side until we find out what the hell is going on here.”

“Meaning …?”

“Congratulations, Goddess, you are now an official H.O.T.B.A.B.E. Field Agent.”

Amy smiles, but quickly dimming the triumph triggering that famous smile’s usual luster is and remembers that damned old axiom: Be careful what you wish, you just might get it.

TO BE CONTINUED

The splat of flesh on flesh follows a hissing ‘phtt’ sound, as Vernon slaps his neck. His body falls across the front seat toward the passenger seat.

Amy thumbs the release latch on her seatbelt and lunges for Vernon. A second hissing ‘phtt’ barely registers in her mind before a stinging sensation spreads just below and behind her left ear. Olive-skinned arms yank open Vernon’s door, drag him from the car.

Falling, Amy hears her door squeak open. Darkness settles over her.

—

Awareness flows over Amy Lindsay in waves. First, distant, persistent clicking hums. Ceiling fan, something deep in her brain informs her. She feels the weight of clothes on her body, and the stiff scratch of a wool blanket through them against her back, and a thick, lumpy mattress beneath. She conducts a mental checklist of her physical condition. Nothing broken or bruised, an irritating itch below and behind her left ear, a slight headache. Slight, imperceptible shifts of her body signal: No bindings.

Eyes inching open, she confirms: a rickety ceiling fan. Dust covered blades wobble above an exposed light bulb: either burned out or turned off. Sunlight slashes across her legs through a single unwashed window. The angle and intensity of the light suggest the approach of sunset.

What day is this? A slight emptiness in her stomach suggests only a few hours without food. The thought of food awakens her sense of smell. From somewhere drifts in something of a definite Hispanic scent and flavor. Tinny, distant Tejano music, with horns providing the vocals, tickle her ears.

Mexico?

Moving eyes only, Amy checks the layout of the room. To her immediate left the bed abuts a wall covered with rugs and Mexican artifacts. To the right the small room opens up just enough to hold a small, ancient bureau with a cracked mirror, a wooden chair with its back rest missing and a door. Craning, Amy spies a second door sharing the same wall with the huge bed’s massive, wooden headboard.

With slow, deliberate movements she eases her legs off the side of the bed with a minimum of mattress squeaks. Her feet barely reach the bare wooden floor. Light shows under one door, but not the other. Amy checks the latter door first, confirming it leads to a tiny closet: empty, lacking even hangers on the rod. Listening at the other door she hears only the muted Tejano music. She tests the handle. Locked.

Noise draws her back to the closet. From the next room comes the closing of a nearby door, then the scrape of a chair on a floor. Then the squeak of someone settling in a wheeled desk chair. Amy eases into the closet and drops to a knee to listen.

Two male voices, both speaking Spanish, distinguish themselves apart. Between her rusty Spanish and the poor acoustics of the closet, most of the conversation eludes Amy, though she separates the tones of a Leader and an Underling. Leader complains about these last minute meetings; they always cause delays. The Underling offers obsequious and placating responses.

The fanfare ‘ta-da’ of a Windows OS starting up sings out. After a moment Amy hears the electronic beeps and buzzes of a dial-up modem handshake.

The Leader hopes there will be no more delays, and adds something about restless coyotes. The Underling mentions a vaccine, but the distracted tone his words makes them hard to follow.

A third voice speaks with the muted quality of coming from a computer speaker. A teleconference, Amy realizes. Amy strains to hear, but again is left to decipher tones. After a moment it becomes clearer to her: The voice from the computer is speaking Chinese. The Underling translates it into Spanish for the Leader, then the Leader’s Spanish into Chinese for the third member of the conference.

Amy catches one thing from the low snatches of Spanish. The Chinese companion is called ‘General Fu’ by the Underling. The deferential tones used by the Leader and the Underling tell her General Fu is leader to both.

The leader grows jubilant as the meeting ends. In Spanish he exclaims, “Finally! The ‘go’ signal. Order the coyotes onto the bus!”

The wheels of a desk chair squeal in tune with the legs of a regular chair scratching along the floor. The voices approach the section of the wall the other room shares directly beside Amy’s hiding place.

“Si, Captain! What about the girl?”

“Check on her. If she needs to be quieted, do so. But keep her safe.”

“Why did General Fu change the orders now to not kill her?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps he has discovered an American actress is more valuable to us alive than dead.”

“Ransom, perhaps?”

“Perhaps. Just be sure -.”

The jingling of a telephone cuts the Leader off. “Get that.”

The Underling’s low tone grows too animated to follow. The received slams down. “We have captured a spy.”

“What?”

“The guards are bringing him to us. It is an American. You won’t believe who!”

“Who!”

As Amy leans forward to catch the spy’s name the wall suddenly gives way, swing open like a door. She tumbles tumbled into the next room, tumbling head first toward two men dressed in military style uniforms.

The taller of the two, a beefy but solidly built man, grabs the door as it starts to spring shut. Amy sprawls at his feet. His surprise is brief, giving way to a broad smile. He allows the trick door to swing shut.

“Ah, our lovely American guest,” he says in English with barely a hint of an accent. He waves back the Underling, who has drawn a .45. “Please, Javier. She is our honored guest. Save the hostility for the uninvited spy.” He extends a hand to help Amy stand. Javier hesitantly holsters his revolver and steps back.

The room resembles a typical office, large oak desk with plush desk chair, computer work station, two guest chairs fronting the desk. No windows, only one door.

Both men wear uniforms, cleaned and sharpened with military precision. The name above the lackey’s pocket reads: Valdez. The leader’s says: Ramirez. Fairly common Hispanic names, Amy notes, and wonders if they are fake.

“This is indeed a great honor, Miss Lindsay,” a broadly smiling Ramirez says. “I am a big fan. A pity my DVD collection is at home. I would have you sign them.”

“Well, let’s head out there. I’ve got no pressing engagements.”

The big man’s laugh fills the room. He nods for Amy to take a seat as he circles around to sit behind the desk. “I’m afraid my orders are to keep you here. For the time being.”

Amy settles into a chair. “I don’t have any pictures with me to autograph.” She notes how Valdez takes up a position directly behind her and gauges distances, runs escape scenarios through her mind. “Being kidnapped, you know.”

“Perhaps only a temporary inconvenience.”

“Until General Fu decides otherwise?” Amy wonders aloud in a tone questioning Ramirez’s authority.

His smile vanishes as if she has slapped him. Too far? Amy wonders.

“It is best, Miss Lindsay, if you do know something, you play ignorant. General Fu doesn’t have the control here he might think, and not irritating me may decide if you ’slip through our fingers’ and escape, or if you are shot attempting to escape.” He bends forward. “So be very nice to us. Your well being depends on that.”

Valdez says, “We’ve seen the nice things you can do for men.” Amy figures there is no need to turn, she can visualize the leer on the man’s face.

Oddly, this irritates Ramirez. “Javier, how many times have I told you? The sex is simulated. It is all acting.” He looks to Amy. “Tell him, its acting.”

Over her should Amy tells Javier: “Its acting.” She looks back at Ramirez. “I don’t think he believes me.”

Ramirez waves it off as of no consequence. “So tell me, pretty one, what have you done that has the Brotherhood of the Blood Orchid after you?”

“I really have no idea.”

“Come now, you can’t -.”

Marching boots filling the hallway cut him off. The marching ends. Three loud raps explode from the door. “Entrar!” Ramirez shouts.

A man stumbles into the room, just catching himself on the empty chair beside Amy. As he straightens, despite all her acting and H.O.T.B.A.B.E. training, Amy’s draw still drops.

“Hey, Goddess,” Genius says with a genial smile. “Fancy meeting you here.”

—

“How -?” Amy begins, but a quick shake of the head from Genius silences her.

Without waiting for an invitation, Genius jumps into the other chair and smooths out the ill-fitting uniform he wears, a duplicate of the others, bearing a name patch that read: Gomez.. He scans the desk, then settles back, puzzled. “No cigars, Captain …” he squints at Ramirez’s name patch, “… Ramirez, is it now? You gave up smoking when you adopted a new name?” He pretends to suddenly recall something. “Oh, I forgot. That little smuggling deal you had going with Castro kind of … blew up … a while back , didn’t it?”

Captain Ramirez chuckles and waggles a finger. “I always thought that had the feel of one of your little operations, Guillermo. Were you there?”

“Oh, no. I just planned it. I’m an office wonk now. I don’t do field work.”

“But you’re here now?”

“I make an occasional exception.” Genius glances at Amy, then back at Ramirez. “When the situation warrants it.”

“Ah, yes. Don Quixote, come to rescue the damsel. Where’s your white steed?”

Genius shrugs. “In that you’re going to let us just walk right out of here, I didn’t bring one.”

Captain Ramirez strokes his chin. “And why will I let you just walk right out of here?”

“Because, you little fish in a little pond, harm one hair on Miss Lindsay’s head, and you’ll have crashing down on you an organization who’s depth and power your feeble mind cannot possibly comprehend.”

The Captain’s face clouds up. “Be careful, My Old Friend. My benevolence can extend to Miss Lindsay, but not to you. You have been captured wearing the uniform of your enemy. You may meet the usual fate of a spy.”

From behind Valdez sneers, “We are not afraid of B.A.B.E. Everyone knows of the budget cuts. It has no fangs.”

“And, H.O.T.? That little collection of actors playing at spy. A joke. No offense, Miss Lindsay,” Captain Ramirez adds. “No, you’ll have to do better than that.”

“How about this? For our freedom, Miss Lindsay is prepared to perform a sex act on you.”

The Captain almost falls from his chair. “She is?”

Amy almost falls out of her chair. “I am?!?”

The Captain chuckles and eases back. “I’d almost forgotten that odd sense of humor you have.”

“I’m serious,” Genius continues. “Not only is she willing to perform with, or on, you the sex act of your choice, she is willing to have it filmed.”

“She is?”

“I’m what?!?”

Valdez laughs. “I knew it was real! No one’s that good an actress.”

“Your security here isn’t all that good,” Genius continues. “I wandered about for almost an hour before I let myself be caught. I saw those video cameras you’ve been using to film your coyotes during training.” He nods toward Valdez. “Get your little lackey here to get one and have him come back and film the whole thing. A little souvenir to show all your friends.” He lifts his brows at Amy. “You wouldn’t mind doing them both, would you?”

“Maybe you should do them both?” She raises her hand to slap Genius, then catches a slight twitch in his eyebrow that let’s her know he has a plan.

Even though she’s about to drop her hand, Genius grabs it. “Hey, sweetheart. You wanted to get into the espionage business. You knew you’d face a situation like this. You said you’d be able to handle it.”

“Don’t call me ’sweetheart’,” Amy replies through grit teeth. She yanks free her wrist and looks at Captain Ramirez. “You’ll let us go if I do this?”

“I told you. I have the power. You could ’slip through our fingers’.”

Genius jumps to his feet. “It’s settled then.”

Lost in trying to figure out just where this was all leading, Amy misses exactly what move Genius uses to send the lackey, Valdez, crumpling to the floor. Surprised for an instant, Captain Ramirez struggles to stand, the delay giving Amy time to jump up, grab her chair, and peg it across the desk. It catches Ramirez square on the forehead. He bounces back into his chair, then slides to the floor, still.

Genius sets down his own chair. “Well done, Goddess.” He checks his watch and curses. “We don’t have much time.”

As he reaches for her arm Amy pulls away. “What in the world is going on here? And where is here? And how did you get here?”

Genius chaffs at the delay. “Okay. Long story short. There’s a homer in your bra. Vernon had one in his blackberry. When your signals split apart before you reached the airport, we knew something was wrong. We found the car parked near the crossroads where they grabbed you, and Vernon nearby in the bushes. We already had a chopper on stand-by for a mission here, and here is
where I am.”

“Vernon!” Amy remembers. She touches the welt on her neck. “How is he?”

“Going to make it. Tough guy. More on that later. Didn’t have time to organize a more proper rescue, so they sent me.” He steps over Valdez on his way to the door. He cracks it, looks out, then closes it quickly. He checks his watch and curses again.

“You already had a mission planned here? Why?”

“Later,” comes his distracted reply as he looks around the office, and again checks his watch.

“Why do you keep checking your watch? And don’t say ‘Later.’.”

Instead of not saying ‘Later.’, Genius ignores the question. He steps back over Valdez and makes a slow three-sixty pirouette looking for … what?

Amy grabs his shoulders and gives a hard shake to capture his attention. “What is it?”

“We really should get out of this room. But there are guards at the door who will likely slow us up, and I don’t want to get caught out in the hallway when it happens.”

“When what happens?”

“When the bomb goes off.”

“What bomb?”

“The one I set to blow up the shipment of bird flu Captain Valdez thought he’d bought in secret on the black market.” He checks the wall shared by the room where Amy had been held captive. “I’d really like to have at least another wall between us and the bomb when it goes off. It’s in the next room. Two bombs, actually,” he amends. “One set to blow open the crates and expose the
remaining vials, then another bomb set to destroy them. Going to make quite a mess.”

“Set to go off when?”

As a beeping erupts from his watch, Genius repeats, “Set to go off when? In less than sixty seconds.”

TO BE CONTINUED

Amy raises a quieting hand. “You don’t have to say a word. I know what this is going to cost me. I’ve come prepared.”

Tongue flicking across his lips, Genius leans forward in eager anticipation, as Amy gives in to the inevitable and reaches for the top button of her blouse.

After loosening the top button, Amy reaches inside and draws out the tiny sliver of microfilm secreted in that special courier compartment along the seam of her bra.

Genius hurries around the small conference table and accepts the sliver with reverent care, draws his cell phone from its hip holster, and slides the film into a small slot. After a moment’s fiddling and small pictures flashing on the screen, his face breaks into a wide grin.

“Timegate vidcaps. The dance hall girl outfit. One of my favorites.”

“I knew you’d like them,” Amy smiles. She quickly settles back into her grim demeanor. “Not to be pushy, and as much as H.O.T.B.A.B.E. appreciates your work on this project, Authority would like to know when we can do some field testing with your magic cell phone, there. With everyone and her mother able to track cell to cell messages, he’d like to get back to the old-fashioned method of couriered microdot messages.”

“Soon,” Genius distantly mumbles, drooling over the vid caps. “They seem undamaged by the journey.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate it,” she goes on, “But, why the insistence on using my movies for these tests? Authority wants to know how this will work on spying missions, when the video will be made in less than perfect conditions. You’ve seen every movie three dozen times.”

Genius deactivates his cell and returns it to the case on his hip. “Because a thing of beauty is a joy, forever.”

“Why do I get this chill up and down my spine, every time you quote Keats?”

“Could it be love?”

“Try stark raving terror. You only quote The Poets when its bad news.” She nods towards the folders stacked neatly at the end of the conference table. “What you got for me?”

“You mean beside a massive, raging – ”

“Don’t say it!”

“I was going to say ‘headache.’”

“Sure you were.”

Genius waves for her to sit. “Seriously,” he chirps, massaging his neck. “I’ve been up, all night, web surfing, picking the brains of some fellow insomniacs on your behalf.” He stops to take a sip of something dark and hot from his OBG mug. “And I’m not happy with what I found.”

“The dead guy in the little sports car? A former member of a Chinese gang, the Red Dragon Tail. His name was Tony Wen.”

“That’s a pretty quick ID, considering the condition he was in last time I saw him.”

“That’s because his particulars, including dental records, were in both the Gang Database, and the Terrorism Watch List.”

“You said ‘former’ gang member.”

“That was up until about six months ago. Since then he’s been linked with smugglers.”

“Drugs?”

“People and weapons. Across the Mexican border. That’s how he came to the attention of the Department of Homeland Security and the INS. Not to mention the DEA.”

Amy nods. That connection was brought up by Authority, back at HQ. “And why might he want Bobby Chung dead? And how did he kill him?”

“Why? Working on it. How? A very rare form of poison,” Genius replies. “I’m not going to embarrass myself – ”

“Why start now?” Amy asks with a grin.

” – by trying to pronounce its scientific name,” Genius plowed onward. “But its an extract from a flower found only in the jungles of South America, commonly, and incorrectly, referred to as the Blood Orchid.”

“So, we got an ex-member of a Chinese street gang killing an INS agent working jointly with Homeland Security investigating a Chinese connection to arms and people smuggling across the Mexican border, using a poison extracted from a rare South American plant?”

“More than rare, a plant thought extinct for over a hundred years.”

“It was pretty potent last night.”

“Which has got my friends at Area 51 a bit … interested.”

Amy wrinkles her nose. “I smell a road trip to Nevada that doesn’t include a side trip to Las Vegas.”

“What with the attempt on you this morning, we think a few days hiding away at Groom Lake might be advisable. We’ve got an odd chemical signature from Bobby Chang’s blood they need to look at. That poison was never known to be strong enough to kill humans, just stun small animals. There might be some kind of genetic modification involved here.”

“And you need a courier?”

“Its what you do best.”

“Shows what you know,” she replied with a sly grin. She gave an exaggerated sigh. “That’s all I am to you, isn’t it? A courier? Just a trick bra.”

“Other than to say what’s in the bra is a treat, not a trick, I’m not touching that.”

“Damn right, you’re not.” She flashes her trademarked heart-stopping smile, then sighs reluctantly while giving in to the inevitable. “Okay. I’m off to Nevada. Is there anything I can bring back for you?”

“Just a five-foot-eight, blonde, blue-eyed Goddess in excellent health.”

“You say the sweetest things some times.”

“And an eighteen year-old showgirl with a nymphomaniacal attraction to short, older, bearded, near-sighted men.”

“And then, you go and ruin it with a joke.”

“Who’s joking? I’m a lonely man.”

“What about that girl from my condo I set you up with last month?”

“Louisa? Nice. Pretty. Smart. Great sense of humor. One little flaw.”

“All that good stuff and you couldn’t overlook one little flaw?”

“I can’t when that flaw involves her breaking out an electric egg beater and a jar of Paul Newman marinara sauce three hours after dinner.”

“Was that the scream I heard a couple nights ago?”

“It was.”

“You’ve got a pretty good set of pipes.”

“Especially when a certain other ‘pipe’ is threatened.”

—

Amy returns to her condo to pack for the trip and brief stay at Groom Lake and recalls the excitement of her first visit, and the crushing disappointment at finding, not a base with exotic ET aircraft and alien corpses, but a rather run of the mill aviation and chemical warfare research base. Still, with the warm days, she could work on her tan, and during the chilly nights catch up on the endless pile of scripts being sent her way.

While others did the REAL work, she thinks with more than a bit of irritation. Sweet as Genius might put it, she really is nothing more than a pretty face and a trick bra (among other bits of lingerie) in the eyes of H.O.T.B.A.B.E. When are they going to let her prove herself with a serious assignment? They put her through extensive training in all those mysterious ‘vacations’ and ‘photo shoots’ that keep her, much to the annoyance of her fans, away from her fan forum,
so often. When are they going to let her do some real field work?

A voice in the back of Amy’s mind warns her: Be careful what you wish for….

She tells the voice where to go.

As she packs, her sense her sour mood, and weave in and out of her ankles, trilling and meowing their concern and commiseration.

She finishes packing when her cell sings out “She Blinded Me With Science”; the ring tone for Genius.

“Just a head’s up, Goddess,” the phone blares into Amy’s delicate ear. “They’ll be a package waiting for you when you arrive at the airport.”

“The usual locker at Hanger 13?” She tries to hide her disappointment. For a moment, she had hoped for a change of plans. Same old same old: Messenger girl.

“The usual,” he confirms. “So wear one of your trick bras.”

“Already done.”

“No need to prove it; I’ll take your word for that.”

“Dame right you will.”

“Oh. And in about five minutes a very large man named Vernon will be knocking at your door. He’ll be driving you to the airport. Compliments of the Alcomist Club.”

“That’s sweet of you guys, but it isn’t necessary.”

“Yes. It is,” Genius replies, his tone brooking no argument. “He’ll use the Chambermaid recognition code.”

Amy senses the tightness in Genius’ tone. “Is something wrong?”

“Could be,” Genius replies and leaves it there.

“Well?”

“Some new information on those goons that tried to grab you this morning.”

“What about them?”

“We got something off one of the corpses; the one who strangled himself rather then be taken alive. A tattoo, high in the middle of the left shoulder blade.”

“What kind of tattoo?”

“A skull above a blood red orchid. We’re still working on what it means, exactly,” Genius continues. “I’ll have to get back to you on that. But when there’s a skull and something red, its usually bad news. Bye”

And when there’s bad news, the pretty little actress gets tucked away where its nice and safe, Amy adds in bitter thought as she deactivates her cell.

A sharp knock on her door snapps Amy back to the moment, and she edges gingerly toward the door and stops several safe feet away.

“Who is it?”

“My name is Vernon. I’m here to pick up J.J.”

“J.J. is at her Aunt Felicity’s mansion.”

“I thought her Aunt Felicity was dead.”

“No, just away on her honeymoon.”

“Same thing,” the voice responds.

The contact ritual completes and, in order, Amy opens the door. Vernon turns out to be a hulking, expansive man who looks fit enough to play linebacker for the Longhorns. On the brisk walk down to his car, he carries only her largest bag, while keeping his other hand tucked into the pocket of his suit jacket. After a first quick glance at her, he does not look at Amy, instead his eyes swivel constantly at their surroundings, in the condo halls and outside in the parking lot, as they load the trunk of the Alcomist’s nondescript sedan.

Once the car is on its way, Vernon relaxes. A touch. “Don’t worry, Miss Lindsay. When I drive, my passengers get where they need to be.”

“I’m not worried,” she lies. “Did they tell you why I should be worried?”

“No, Ma’am. What they did tell me was that if I didn’t get you safely to the airport. Then, I’d better be able to walk on water because I’d have to start walking to Japan if I didn’t want them to find me.”

That makes Amy smile, which makes Vernon smile as he glances at her in the rear view mirror. “Are you a fan, Vernon?”

“I wasn’t,” he confesses. “But, now that I’ve seen that smile, I’ve got no choice, do I?”

The car eases to a stop at a traffic light. A grin flows across Vernon’s face. “Hey, if you don’t mind, I’d like to – .”

The shriek of shattering glass interrupts. Vernon throws up an arm to protect himself from splinters of glass spewing in from the driver’s side window. “What the…?!?”

A hissing ‘phtt’ sound immediately follows the slap of flesh on flesh, as Vernon’s hand flies to the side of his neck. His body twists and falls towards the steering wheel.

Amy thumbs the release on her seatbelt and reaches forward to grab Vernon. She hears a second hissing ‘phtt’, and feels a stinging sensation just below and behind her left ear.

Vernon’s door opens and a pair of olive-skinned arms yanks him out of the car.

From a thousand miles away, Amy’s door can be heard opening. Hands push her into the seat.

Darkness smothers Amy Lindsay and carries her off to oblivion.

TO BE CONTINUED!

Amy shifts in her Porsche, chaffing at the limited mobility of the handcuffs securing her to the steering wheel. Just a little more … Yes! She squeezes the door’s release latch, disengaging it, but not opening it. She sets her foot flat against the door, ready to kick it into the men, as they come into range. A long shot, and she has to move fast, but with a bit of luck she can incapacitate all three men, and perhaps grab – .

A gunshot rings out, startling her.

Even more startled is one of the approaching men; the middle of the trio. A puzzled expression wipes the leer from his face. He spits a trickle of blood, then, coughs up a red flood and topples like a felled tree, hitting the road and sending up spirals of dust. Beyond him, the first kidnapper shots in the middle of the argument, totters on his knees, a red stain growing on his chest and a smoking .38 clutched in his wavering hand.

The other two kidnappers straighten from their instinctive duck and spin to face the shooter. The man that did the original shooting claws at the pistol now shoved in his belt, struggling a moment before clearing it. That instant of delay gives the wounded kidnapper time to steady his aim and fire. Two shots explodes as one. Both men hit the dirt, still.

The rem