AUTHORS: PANDA - panda@hksys.com, DIX - sdixon1@kscable.com
DISCLAIMER: Being the God-fearing, mostly law-abiding citizens that we are (don't even talk to
me about those speeding tickets--I was framed, I tell ya!), we are honor bound to point out that
the following is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual or imagined persons, living or dead,
are wholly intentional on the part of the authors. Rights to the aforementioned imagined persons
remain the property of Warner Brothers and Shoot the Moon Productions.
Rights to actual persons remain the property of said actual persons. Since permission has been
only implicitly granted for such usage, the authors freely grant such actual persons the right to
confiscate the authors' keyboards, in the interest of deterring further infringement (I have a spare
anyway :P). Rights to the story remain the property of the authors and this story may not be
reproduced, in whole or in part, without the express permission of the authors.
A few lines of this story, much distorted, were borrowed from the episodes "There Goes the
Neighborhood" written by Rod Holcomb, and "If Thoughts Could Kill" written by James Frawley.
Any similarity to any other work of fiction except those previously referred to is wholly
unintentional.
WE'RE NOT IN KANSAS, ANYMORE. . .
PART 1/2
Lee Stetson sat quietly at his desk, fingering the manila folder in front of him. The seal gracing
the front of the folder had been a fixture in his life for over twenty-five years now. He mused
over his years of 'service in the shadows,' reflecting on friends and enemies past and present.
As always, his thoughts inevitably gravitated to one who was a large portion of that past,
certainly active in the present, and the whole of his future. He smiled softly and brought himself
back to clearing through the mountain of paperwork that had found its way to his desk. 'Some
witch is out to get you, for sure, Scarecrow,' he thought wryly.
It had been a rather calm day in the shadow war. The morning's staff meeting had been little
more than routine updates. Lee found himself in his office with time to spare. He looked around
Billy's old office, now his own for the last several years. 'At least the decor has improved,' he
thought, 'I could never have worked with those damn fish staring down at me all day. But who
would have thought that Billy would have been ahead of his time with that mounted bass on the
wall? At least his didn't sing . . . '
A voice over the intercom startled Lee from his reverie, "Stetson, I need your help."
Lee glanced around. It had been years since disembodied voices had contacted him. "Who is
this?" he asked, staring in the general direction of his computer monitor.
"Stetson, this is Blue Leader. I have an assignment for you."
"Sorry to disappoint you, but Blue Leader is dead. Did Francine put you up to this?"
"Nevertheless, I am Blue Leader," the voice insisted. "Are you prepared for your assignment?"
"No, I'm prepared to go out and buy my wife's birthday present. You're going to have to prove
that you are who you say you are."
"The code of the day is Train Station. I assume you know the countersign?"
"Red Hat," Lee responded automatically. "Blue Leader was an old man. You, on the other hand,
sound younger than my daughter-in-law."
"Appearances can be deceiving, Scarecrow. Rest assured, I am Blue Leader. I have a mission
for you that comes from the highest levels. I need you and your partner in California by Friday."
"My partner? We haven't been in the field for years."
"We need your expertise on this case, Stetson. This could get ugly. It has the potential to
become an international incident. I will be monitoring the situation, but I need a level head on
site."
Lee grinned to himself. Being complimented by a young woman, even a disembodied one,
wasn't part of his daily routine anymore. He'd forgotten just how good it felt. "Thank you," he
told the voice.
The voice of the new and mysterious Blue Leader sighed. "I was referring to your partner,
Stetson. She's a real angel. But we will need you around in case things get violent."
Lee was taken aback, embarrassed despite his solitude. "All right," he spoke slowly. "What do
you want from us?"
"An e-ticket and hotel reservations are coming over your fax machine now. Proceed to the hotel
and prevent the assassination of the niece of your old friend, Emily Farnsworth. Do whatever is
necessary to protect the woman's life, Scarecrow, but do not allow any civilians to come to harm.
This one is no picnic."
"Who's behind this? What are their methods? When do they plan to strike?" Lee knew he
needed more information than he had yet been given.
"What on Earth are the American people paying you for if you can't figure this out Stetson? This
is what they pay you for, isn't it?"
With that, the voice lapsed into silence and Lee pondered the ramifications of this mission. Ever
since Emily had taken over the old 'Oz' network following Paul Barnes' unexpected retirement to
Elkhart, KS, her life had been fraught with even more danger. Now that danger was spilling over
to her family as well. 'Auntie Em,' as Emily was now known in intelligence circles, would not take
kindly to failure on this mission. Lee was not about to let his old mentor down.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Blue Leader contacted you?" Amanda asked, incredulity creeping into her voice as she turned
from loading the dinner dishes into the dishwasher.
"Yes, Amanda, Blue Leader. She had the correct codes and everything," Lee asserted, giving
her a look as he wiped down the kitchen table.
"She?"
Seeing his wife's left eyebrow rising up into her hairline, Lee sighed and said, "Yes, Amanda,
she. Why are you grilling me like this?"
"Well, Lee, we haven't heard of a Blue Leader in more than ten years. Of course I'm going to
have questions. Why now, and why us, I wonder? We haven't been in the field since Billy died."
Shaking her head in puzzlement, she loaded soap into the dishwasher and set it to run.
"I'm not sure, Amanda. It might have something to do with Emily. Knowing 'Auntie Em', she
specifically requested us. She did call us her favorite field agents, after all." Stretching his
aching back, Lee returned the dishrag to the kitchen sink. Grabbing the remnants of their dinner
wine, he beckoned his wife over to the couch.
Settling into the cushions, Amanda draped her long, slender legs over her husband's lap.
Raising her glass to her lips, she took a sip and continued, "You don't suppose this has anything
to do with the recent alert that came over the wire about the missing PD3, do you?"
Creasing his brow, Lee replied, "I'm not sure. All Blue Leader would tell me is that there's going
to be an assassination attempt on Emily's niece. We'll just have to keep on full alert until we
know the identity of the assassin, and what his modus operandi is."
"Well, I won't object to a trip to Pasadena, even if it is business," she said, a smile playing across
her lips as she patted his stomach. "I'm rather anxious to see you in a bathing suit again, old
man."
"Oh, is that right, Grandma? Well, I'll have you know I look just as good in a suit now, as I did
ten years ago." He gave her a devilish look, dodging her playful slap to his arm. "Why don't we
take this conversation upstairs, Mrs. Stetson? I'll show you my swimsuit, if you show me yours."
Placing their wineglasses in the sink, they turned off the lights and climbed the stairs. Hand-in-
hand, the two newly resurrected field agents entered the haven that was their bedroom. As the
door shut, the only remaining sounds in the house were a, "Wow!" and an, "Oh".
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Friday, October 13th)
"This is it, Amanda. The Double Garland," Lee said as the cab pulled up to the hotel entrance.
"Wow, Lee. These are better accommodations than the Agency usually provides, even for its
section chief and his assistant," Amanda replied as she looked up at the impressive 12-story
building.
"I know," he said as he extricated his long form from the cab. He groaned a little bit as he
straightened up, causing a chuckle to escape from his wife's lips. "What are you laughing at?"
he asked, giving her an indignant look.
"You, old man," she replied. "You're not as young as you used to be."
"Let's not overstate the obvious," he said. "Besides, you're no spring-chicken yourself, Mrs.
Stetson." He gave her a stunning smile, effectively taking the sting out of his words.
"Oh, yeah? Well, I bet I can still run circles around you, Mr. Stetson," she said as they watched
the bellboy load their luggage onto a wheeled cart.
"Now, that's an unfair challenge, and you know it. Ever since my knee surgery. . ." he said,
rubbing his right knee and giving her a mock-pout.
"It's okay, Lee. I'll let you use that excuse for a few more months, anyway," she teased, as she
pulled his arm around her shoulder and pretended to assist him into the hotel lobby.
Entering the lobby, they were both impressed with the old-world feel of the place. They seemed
to have stepped into an early 1900's time warp. That feeling held until they spotted the crowd of
people by the elevators. Trying not to stare, the agents made their way to the front desk.
As Lee checked them in, Amanda continued to observe the strange group. Her jaw dropped as
she studied the strange clothing the group was sporting. The assortment of various shapes and
sizes of red hats had her chuckling to herself. But she had never seen such a wide array of
different colors of plaid! And in Southern California? Even in October, the weather was balmy.
She didn't know how the multi-colored group of women could stand wearing so much flannel. As
she turned to Lee to share the joke, she heard a shout.
"It's them, there they are!" Shouts and screams filtered across the lobby to the two agents, as
the massive horde of badly dressed women surged towards the startled pair.
"Lee, quick! Run!" Amanda shouted as she realized the herd of humanity was heading straight
for them. . .
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Are they gone, yet?" Amanda asked her husband, peering out from behind the stack of crates.
"I don't know, Amanda. Stay put, and I'll take a look," Lee replied, reluctantly extricating himself
from his hiding spot.
"Be careful," she whispered, ducking her head back down.
After an agonizing minute, Lee slithered back into place next to Amanda. "They're still there.
And there seem to be even more of them," he informed her.
"Lee, we're getting too old for this," Amanda said, peering back over the pile of crates.
"Well, if 'Auntie Em' requested us personally, she must think we've still got what it takes," he
replied and, folding his long form and leaning back against the wall behind him, he sat, resigned
to a long wait.
Amanda moved next to Lee, and settling in beside him, got as comfortable as she could on the
hard floor of the receiving entrance. "Ironic, isn't it?" she whispered to her husband. "Here we
are, in California, at the lovely Double Garland hotel, and we're hiding behind fruit crates outside
the kitchen."
"I know, I know," Lee replied, kissing the top of his wife's head as she leaned against him, "We'll
try to get to our room in a few minutes. Surely they can't hang out in the lobby all weekend."
"I wish we knew who they were," she remarked with a sigh. "I think I'd rather face any ten of our
old KGB adversaries than this crowd of unknowns."
"Yeah, at least with the KGB, we knew what we were up against. This is another matter entirely,"
Lee agreed, tightening his arm around his wife.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Well, Nephew, things are going according to plan," the elderly gentleman stated, leaning heavily
on his cane.
"Yes, Colonel, they are. But why are we using the experimental PD3 when PD2 works just fine?"
the younger man asked, using gloved hands as he removed one miniscule vial bearing
biohazard symbols from its padded case.
"Ah, yes, PD2 – nicely lethal, but it spreads too quickly. I prefer the PD3 – just as deadly, but not
contagious. We only have one target, after all, no need to make this messier than necessary,"
the old man replied, settling his aching bones into the leather armchair.
"Yes, Colonel, I'd have to agree. Do you think we need to lace both cookies? Yeah, I suppose
we should," he finished, answering his own question. He removed the nationally known Double
Garland chocolate-chip cookies from the bag and placed them both on the chemical-absorbent
pad he'd laid out on the tabletop. After he carefully removed the protective sheath from the
syringe, he inserted the needle into the PD3 vial and drew out a measured dose of 1cc. He then
gently removed the needle, and placed the vial back onto the chemical pad.
He moved the syringe over to the first cookie and inserted the needle into one chocolate chip,
injecting a fraction of the dosage. He continued in this manner and soon had both cookies
infected. Satisfied with his work, he carefully placed the syringe into the biohazard sharps
container he'd carried in his overnight bag. Smiling to himself, he remembered how easily he'd
convinced airport security that the medical supplies he carried were for his diabetic geriatric
uncle.
Next, he placed the infected cookies back into the Double Garland bag and discarded the spent
vial of PD3 into the sharps container. Rolling up the chem pad, he placed it in a small
biohazard bag and added his latex gloves, then sealed the bag. Satisfied with his work, he put
everything away and went to wash his hands. From the bathroom, he called, "Well, Colonel, now
I just have to get these to room 912, and we can sit back and watch the fireworks."
When he received no reply, he walked back into the sitting room he was sharing with his uncle.
Smiling at the sight of the old man sound asleep in the chair, he picked up the bag of laced
cookies, a minute red 'X' on the bottom, grabbed the stolen key card, and made his way out of
the suite.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Growl, rumble, rumble," her stomach complained. She rubbed at her offending anatomy
impatiently as she used her key card to open the door to room 912. Pulling her cleaning cart
after her, she gasped at the sight that met her eyes.
She'd been a maid for over 20 years, and she'd never seen a room this bad. Even with the
curtains drawn and the room in shadows, she could see that there was clothing littering the floor,
hanging from the ceiling fixture, draped over the TV set, and even caught on the curtain rod
fasteners. And what was with all the plaid? There were plaid shirts, plaid jackets, plaid pajamas,
and even plaid bras. Shaking her head, she gathered up and placed all of the errant clothing
neatly onto one of the armchairs.
She noticed a lone sock peaking out from under the bed. She reached down for it, then jerked
her hand away disgustedly. What was that? Looking at her sticky, slimy fingers, she raised the
offending appendage to her face for closer inspection. Marshmallow and peanut butter? What
on Earth had been going on in here?
Going to her cart, she retrieved a pair of yellow gloves. She definitely needed them for this
room. She noticed something behind the desk and bent down to pick it up. It was a box, an
empty box. As she blushed furiously, she threw the box in her garbage sack, the "Edible Blue
Boxers" label barely showing. She then moved the scattered luggage into a neat pile so she
could vacuum. She noticed Union Jack stickers all over the mismatched suitcases. Ah, maybe
these were British guests – that might explain the odd clothing. You never could tell about these
foreigners.
As she dusted, she noticed an odd sight, a stack of textbooks on the nightstand. This didn't look
like the room of studious types. Reading some of the titles, "Philosophy of the 1980's", "The
Philosophy of Obsession", "Missing Sock Philosophy", and "Philosophy for Science Fiction
Fanatics", she just shook her head in confusion.
A bag of cookies, apparently untouched, sat upon the desk. As she moved the bag to dust, she
contemplated taking them. She was still hungry. But a pang of conscience got the better of her,
and she put the bag back where she'd found it. Finishing her tidying of the bedroom, she then
moved her attentions to the bathroom.
It was just as bad. Towels everywhere, enough cosmetics littered the counter for 12 women,
and. . . What on Earth? Pin-up pictures had been taped all over the bathroom mirror. There
were pictures from an old 80's TV series she vaguely remembered, as well as from some
science fiction, futuristic thing. There were also celebrity photos of the same actor. She had to
admit he was nice looking, but this was a bit much. 'Well, at least I don't have to clean the
mirror,' she thought.
Finally done, she wheeled her cleaning cart back into the hall. She'd have to hurry if she was
going to finish this floor on time. Giving one last look around the room, her stomach returned to
its earlier complaining. Noticing again the bag of cookies on the desk, she decided she deserved
a reward after the effort she'd put into this room. She picked up the bag and glanced furtively
down the hallway. Not noticing the miniscule red 'X' on the bag, she snatched her treasure and
moved to the room across the hall, room 913.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Amanda, I think the coast is clear," Lee reported as he returned from his surveillance mission.
"Are you sure, Lee? I don't want to go back out there if those women are still around." She
hated to admit it, but that group of wildly dressed women had her spooked.
"Yeah. I think they must have gone somewhere else. The lobby is strangely quiet," Lee offered,
reaching down to help his wife up off of the hard floor.
"That's a relief," she replied, as she stumbled, finding herself in her partner's arms. Looking up
at his grinning features, she said, "Save it for our hotel room, Mr. Stetson."
"Whatever you say, Mrs. Stetson. How about we get up to our hotel room before those wild
women in plaid return?" he suggested, taking her hand and pulling her briskly along.
Reaching the bank of elevators, they glanced quickly around before pushing the "up" button. As
the elevator dinged, the two seasoned agents jumped, the events of the day having been unlike
any they'd ever experienced before.
The elevator doors opened, revealing two women in red hats. One of the women was wearing a
name badge that read, "Cobra Death Grip," the other was carrying a sugar bowl. Upon catching
sight of the two agents, the women screamed and rushed forward, the one waving her sugar
bowl wildly.
Frantically looking around, the agents discovered no other elevators available. "Stairs," Amanda
said frantically, indicating the door just around the corner. Holding hands tightly, the two sprinted
for safety.
Opening the stairwell door, Lee and Amanda ran up the steps, listening for sounds of pursuit.
"How far?" Lee asked, gasping from exertion.
"All the way to the ninth floor, Lee," Amanda replied, wheezing slightly.
"Great, just great! Why didn't we get rooms on the second floor, huh?" he asked as he used the
handrail to propel himself along. Damn, but his knee hurt.
"Almost there. I think that was six."
"I don't think they're still behind us," Lee said, straining to hear distant footsteps.
"Oh, my gosh!" Amanda exclaimed, coming to a sudden halt.
"Amanda? What's wrong?" Lee asked as he turned to his wife.
"Heel broke off my shoe," she panted, holding the evidence up for him to see. "How's your
knee?" she asked, watching as he rubbed at it.
"Hurts, but not bad. Let's keep moving, just two more floors to go."
Finally arriving at the ninth floor, they stopped for a minute, listening. Hearing no sounds from
below, they opened the stairwell door and entered the coolness of the richly carpeted hallway.
"Here it is. Number 913." Sliding the key card into the lock, Lee quickly opened the door to their
room. Glancing furtively down the hallway and barely registering the cleaning cart parked
outside their room, the two entered their sanctuary, glad to finally be alone.
"That was close," Amanda remarked, kicking off her shoes. Bending down to pick up the left
shoe, she grimaced at the missing heel. "Why do you suppose those nutty women were chasing
us?"
"Amanda, please," Lee lay back on the bed, massaging his knee. "I learned a long time ago that
it's better to never question why women do anything."
Amanda picked up a portfolio from the desk on the far wall. She sat next to Lee on the king-size
bed as she rifled through its contents. "Stetson," she said as she glanced through several flyers
detailing the weekend's scheduled activities, "that is the kind of comment that will earn you a
night on that couch over there." She pointed to a piece of furniture that barely registered as a
love seat, let alone something long enough to support Lee's frame.
"When did you get to be so mean?" Lee asked as he took the portfolio from her and set it on the
bedside table. He pulled her down to lie across his body, shifting slightly to make his arousal and
his intentions clear. He ran his hands up and down her back in long, gentle strokes. Raising his
head slightly, he caressed her lips in a series of feather-light kisses.
Amanda pressed her lips more firmly to his as she unfastened his shirt buttons with the ease of
long practice. When he groaned as her hand touched his bare skin, she drew one of his hands
from her back to the hollow of her throat. He made quick work of removing her blouse from
there. He rolled her over onto her back, discarding his own shirt in the process.
"Scarecrow," Amanda breathed into his ear, "we are supposed to be working."
"Umm," Lee murmured as he nibbled on her earlobe, "I am working."
"If this is work then I've been confused all these years." Amanda planted small kisses across his
shoulder.
"When," Lee trailed his tongue to the back of her ear, "in the field," he kissed his way down her
neck, "partners must maintain clear," one hand traveled from her hip to her shoulder, barely
making contact with her soft skin, "and open," he continued to caress her side, gradually
increasing the pressure of his touch, "lines of communication." He settled his weight against her,
folding his arms beneath her for a deep kiss.
"Agency training manual, chapter 4, paragraph 6," Amanda whispered as he began to search for
the zipper on her skirt. "I like the way you think, partner."
After an hour of 'clear and open communication,' Amanda retrieved the portfolio from the table.
She searched through the information and pulled out the one she sought.
"Lee, there's a film showing tonight in one of the large conference rooms downstairs. That might
be a good place to observe Emily's niece without her knowledge."
"Well, this flyer says it starts in an hour," Lee sat up amongst the rumpled sheets. "Let's shower
and change and head down there. I'll race ya!" He bolted for the bathroom, limping only slightly,
reaching the door immediately ahead of his wife.
"That's not fair," she pouted playfully, "the bathroom is on your side of the bed."
"Ah," he ran one hand up her neck and across her jaw, "but you're not handicapped."
She chuckled as she followed him into the shower, glancing briefly at the large Jacuzzi in the
other corner of the very spacious bathroom. 'Later,' she thought to herself with a smile.
Lee marveled, not for the first time, at how clearly two people could communicate in a shower
stall. As he shrugged into his dress shirt, he waited for Amanda to complete her finishing
touches in the bathroom.
Amanda stood in front of the large closet in the bathroom contemplating the small collection of
shoes she had brought for the trip. She had learned long ago that where the Agency was
concerned it was best to pack for every possible contingency. The low black heels that had been
broken in the flight up the stairs where sticking out of the trash can. As she was trying to decide
between two pairs of higher heeled shoes for the evening, she noticed one of her trusty Nikes
had been tossed aside, no doubt as a result of Lee's toss-everything-aside-to-find-what-you-need
habit. Picking it up, she was about to put it neatly back in the closet, when something about the
Jacuzzi caught her eye. Still holding her shoe in hand she stepped over to the large fiberglass
tub. There was a scrap of fabric stuck to the rim.
She stepped still closer and saw that the scrap of fabric was attached to a maid's uniform, which
was attached to a maid, who was stretched out in a very dry Jacuzzi. Reaching down with her
right hand to check for a pulse, Amanda still held the running shoe in her left. Not finding a
pulse, she brought both hands to her mouth in alarm, willing her training and years of experience
to take over. This kind of thing was never easy for her.
As she brought her hands in, she released the shoe. It settled into the toilet with a loud splash!
The noise and the splatter of water across her legs calmed her somehow and she regained her
agent's objectivity. She calmly chose one pair of heels, put them on, and joined Lee in the
bedroom.
"Lee," she said as he turned to regard her. "I need you to take care of something for me."
"Anything, Amanda," he grinned, "I'm yours to command." Sex always seemed to make Lee
oddly docile for some time afterward. Amanda found it endearing.
"There's a dead body in the Jacuzzi. Her mouth is covered with what looks like chocolate."
"What!" Lee exclaimed.
"That's right, dear. A dead body. A maid. Would you please do something about it?" Amanda
was eerily calm about the situation, Lee thought. As he headed toward the bathroom door to
examine the body, he snagged his cell phone off the desk and placed a call to the LA Agency
office for a forensics team.
"Umm, Lee? One other thing."
"Yes?" he asked, his cell phone still held to his ear.
"I dropped my shoe in the toilet. Do you think you could fish it out for me?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lee stood as Amanda adjusted his tie for the last time. 'She sure does know her Windsor knots,'
he chuckled softly to himself.
"Be still, Lee, or we'll never make it down there in time. This film showing will be a good
opportunity to observe Emily's niece and keep a look out for any potential troublemakers."
Amanda patted her husband's chest as she finished neatening him and turned to leave.
"What should we do with her?" Lee nodded towards the bathroom.
"I thought Blue Leader was going to arrange for a clean-up crew. Lee, I can't sleep with a dead
body in the next room."
"I know, but the lab boys still need to go over this place and the hotel is filled to capacity with
these odd women."
As Amanda opened the door she found herself facing the sweet bellboy who had helped with
their bags earlier. He blushed at her smile, lowering the fist he'd raised to knock, and held out a
shaky hand with two key cards in his grasp.
"There was a message at the desk to give these to you, Mrs. Simpson. They're for room 821,
one floor down. I'll get your bags moved down there right away. Oh, and here, there was a note
for you, too," the bellman said as he handed her the keys and the note.
"Thank you, Scotty. We really appreciate it." Amanda stood aside, leaving Lee to tip the young
man.
Once Scotty was suitably far down the hall, Amanda read the note:
No more suffering civilians, Scarecrow!
Take the new room and keep the lady safe!
Mind your manners, Z BL
"Well," Amanda folded the note and tucked it in her purse, "I guess this is the highest priority. 'Z'
for 'zulu,' I assume?"
"Come on," Lee said as he guided her out the door with a hand at the small of her back, "let's get
downstairs. If we hurry, maybe we can take the elevator this time."
They entered the darkened meeting room to find a film already in progress. They took seats
near the back, quietly scanning the film's viewers for any sign of malicious intent.
"Is that Emily's niece over there?" Amanda pointed to a woman sitting to one side several rows
up who seemed to fit the description they'd been given.
"Yeah, I think I met her once in a pub, when I was in the UK," Lee answered. "But I'm not really
sure; I might have had one too many that night," he continued sheepishly.
"Oh, look, Sweetheart," Amanda pointed to the screen. "It's that actor, Bruce. . . .how do you say
his last name?"
"Box-something-or-other," Lee responded off-handedly.
"He's kinda cute," Amanda continued.
"Cute? Amanda, the man's our age. 'Cute' does not apply."
"Why not? I think you're cute."
"Well. . . ." Lee fumbled for words. "That's different."
"And he has really nice legs," Amanda seemed truly enthralled with this actor, Lee thought.
"What about my legs?" he asked, slightly indignant.
"Your legs are okay, Sweetheart," she said, patting his thigh. "I've told you that before."
"Just okay? Hmmpf," he snorted. "Why do I even bother keeping you around?" He smiled and
placed an arm around her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze.
As a romantic scene began on screen, the women in the audience began to sigh loudly. Lee
glanced around, noticing he was one of only three men present. "Amanda, does anything here
seem odd to you?"
"Oh, Lee, shhh," she said, sighing and leaning into his embrace.
"Snap out of it, Amanda." Lee shook her softly. "Haven't you noticed there are only two other
men here? And the older one looks a little familiar."
"I didn't, I'm sorry. But I did notice that this floor is getting wet." Amanda gingerly raised both
feet off the floor. "Did someone spill something?"
Glancing around at their fellow audience members, Lee shook his head and wrinkled his nose in
disgust. "I don't think so," he spat the words, lifting his feet from the floor as well. "Look at
them." Lee nodded to the women in the audience, all of who were drooling uncontrollably.
The drool was spilling from their lips and down to the floor. All of their eyes were riveted to the
screen, apparently fixed on a particular portion of the actor's anatomy. The drool level was rising
exponentially as the scene on screen became even more intense.
"Oh, no," Lee said. "We are not sitting through this." He took her arm, raising her to her feet.
They made their way toward the doors when, suddenly, Amanda slipped and started to fall,
calling out Lee's name as she clutched at his forearm.
"Not again!" she exclaimed, albeit more softly, as she picked up the broken heel from her left
shoe. She held the broken footwear with two fingers, not wanting any contact with the drool from
the wild women in plaid. She balanced carefully on one foot, prepared to hop the rest of the way
to the door.
At the mention of Lee's name, however, every head in the audience had turned in their direction.
Even as Amanda regarded her second pair of ruined footwear and began mentally totaling her
expense report for this mission, one of the wild women in the audience had stepped over to turn
on the lights.
As the lights came up, the woman, her name-tag reading, "AngeBrd", shouted, "Look! It's them!
Scarecrow and Mrs. King!"
With that, all the wild women surged forward, scrambling over chairs, video equipment, and each
other to cut off the spies' escape. His body reacting before his mind could even comprehend the
true horror of the situation they were in, Lee scooped his wife up off of her feet and carried her
through the doors. He ran, hoping desperately not to slip in the drool. As he rounded a corner,
Amanda directed him toward a small door. It was a maintenance closet, filled with floor wax, but
none of the parade of plaid women had seen them enter.
"You still run those avoidance patterns better than anyone I've ever seen," Lee said as he set his
wife down and kissed her soundly.
"You old sweet-talker, you," Amanda caressed his cheek and pulled him in for another kiss.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Are they gone?" Amanda asked as Lee looked furtively out the door.
"Shh! I'm trying to concentrate," he responded.
"Lee?" Amanda called her husband's attention back to her. "Shouldn't we make contact with
Emily's niece? She has a right to know her life is in danger."
"That's a good idea. We've been getting sidelined by these extraneous issues. I'm certain those
two characters back at the movie are involved up to their popcorn-filled teeth." Lee opened the
maintenance room door and carefully peered back outside.
"Maybe you can use that meeting at the pub from several years ago to establish a point of
reference with her, Lee."
"Amanda? Are you actually suggesting that I initiate a peacock dance with Emily's niece? I'm
married!"
"If that's what it takes. Her safety is vital to preventing an international incident isn't it? It's not
as if you'd go all the way, Lee." Amanda was miffed that he would even consider such an
outrageous thought.
"I don't know, Amanda. The woman I remember would be a little too much for me to handle.
That might not be wise."
"Well, we have to do something, Sweetheart."
"All right, the coast is clear," he took her hand as he spoke and led her quickly toward the
elevators. "According to the night manager, Emily's niece is in room 912, right across the hall
from our old room. Let's head up there and look at this from that end."
Despite several abrupt detours to avoid anyone wearing plaid or red, the intrepid duo made their
way quickly to the ninth floor. As they approached room 912, they noticed two young women
standing outside the door. The women appeared relaxed, but very alert. Both wore a uniform of
some sort, gray and tan covered with a flowing brown cape. One of the two had her hair pinned
up in a twist held by a very large clip made of bone. The clip was so large it obscured any sight
of her hair. She held in her hand a small device that extended to a six-foot staff with a flick of
her wrist.
The Stetsons exchanged a wary glance as they neared the two uniformed women. Taking the
initiative, Amanda queried the nearer of the two. "We'd like to speak with the lady in this room, if
that's all right." She held her hands out at waist level to show she meant no harm.
"The One is tired," Bonehead, as Lee mentally tagged her, replied in a soft British accent.
"The One?" Amanda asked.
"We live for The One. We die for The One," both women intoned. They were regarding Lee
intently. The guard without the hair clip raised her eyebrows at him, seeking what, Lee had no
idea.
"Perhaps you could help us, then," Lee joined the conversation.
"It would please The One if we were to help The One," Bonehead replied cryptically.
"Can you tell us who you are?" Lee asked.
"We are Rangers Katie and Jean. We serve The One. We protect The One." The woman with
the hair clip, 'was she Katie or Jean?' Lee wondered, bowed slightly from the waist.
"Well, then. . . that's good," Amanda said. "Are you aware of the expected attempt on her life?"
The women ignored Amanda, seeing only Lee. They regarded him with a mixture of awe and
confusion.
Lee paled somewhat under their scrutiny, but forged ahead. "We need to know who is behind
this threat. Does . . . The One have any enemies?"
"Metzgers," the two replied in unison. Bonehead casually returned her staff, currently in its
remarkably minuscule state, to her pocket. She removed her hand slowly and the movement
mesmerized Amanda. Amanda inhaled slightly and reached for Lee's hand. Without a word,
relying upon the depth of the bond established over their years as partners and as husband and
wife, she directed his gaze to the woman's pocket. When his eyes widened in alarm she knew
he had seen it as well. Jutting out from Bonehead's pocket was the telltale sight of a plaid scarf.
"Well, then, thank you," Lee nodded as he backed away. "We'll just be moving along now."
Grasping his wife's hand even more tightly, Lee quickened his pace, pulling Amanda along as
she limped slightly on her one bad shoe.
One floor down, they entered room 821 and found, thankfully, that the bellboy had already
brought their luggage down. They heaved a sigh of relief as the door shut firmly behind them.
Lee paced as Amanda rummaged through her dwindling shoe supply and donned a new pair of
heels.
"Amanda, after dinner let's stop off at the desk and see if any Metzgers are registered here." Lee
took her arm as he joined her in the hall. "This case is getting stranger by the minute. Metzger,
Metzger, why is that name so familiar?"
"We'll get to the bottom of it, Lee," she encouraged him. "We always do. Besides, the night
manager is a very charming man. I have a feeling that I can get just about anything we need to
know from him."
"You sound awfully confident, Mrs. Stetson," Lee said, not without a touch of pride in his voice.
"Trust me, Mr. Stetson, Frank 'Buck' Sheridan will be putty in my hands."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Making their way to The Oaks restaurant, a very famished pair of spies asked the Maitre'D to
seat them in as isolated a spot as possible. They'd had enough close encounters of the plaid
kind to last them the rest of their stay.
"I'm so hungry," Amanda remarked as she opened her menu.
"Me, too. Especially since we had none of those delicious cookies to eat," Lee agreed as he
salivated over the entrees.
"Well, Lee, I don't think I'll ever look at a chocolate-chip cookie in quite the same way again. I
can't get the vision of the dead maid with chocolate smeared on her face out of my head," she
said as she sipped her ice water.
"What appetizer should we get? What about clams?" Lee looked up at his wife in question.
"Clams again, dear? Don't you think we could try something else for a change?" She shook her
head at her husband's apparent fixation with shellfish.
"All right, Amanda, you pick the appetizer," Lee acquiesced, grinning at his wife, "and I'll pick the
wine."
"It's a deal, Lee. Two dinner salads and a shared entrée?" she asked, sharing a secret smile with
her spouse. Even after nearly 14 years of marriage, some things would never change.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"My, that was a good meal," Lee stated, patting his full stomach in satisfaction. "Oh, I just
remembered something," Lee remarked. Wiping his mouth and wadding up his dinner napkin,
he took a pen out of his jacket pocket. "Do you have a piece of paper?"
"No, Lee. I left my purse in our room. Why don't you use your napkin?"
"But mine's all used." Spotting an empty table on the other side of a large potted plant, he
reached his hand over and grabbed a napkin. "I just realized the perfect California souvenir to
take back to the grandkids."
"Oh, what?" Amanda asked as Lee jotted a few lines on the napkin.
"Mickey Mouse ears!" Lee stated, beaming at his ingenuity.
"Lee, that is a very nice, sweet idea. But you know what?"
"What?" he asked as he put his pen away.
"I already bought them some. Remember, at the airport, when you were on the phone with the
home office? Well, I ducked into the gift shop. . ." she began, smiling indulgently at her husband.
"Uh, huh," he replied, beginning to get the picture.
"Well, I bought them both the cutest little Mickey Mouse ears, with the name of the city on the
back, so they'll remember where Grammy Amanda and Grampy Lee stayed," she finished, proud
of her own resourcefulness.
"Oh. Well, in that case," he said, rumpling up the napkin, "I guess I don't need this. Amanda. . ."
Lee began, only to be rudely interrupted by a somehow familiar female voice.
"Scarecrow, you need to pull the cookies," the no-nonsense voice admonished.
"Pull the cookies? Wha. . . Amanda, where is that voice coming from?" he asked, looking
quickly around the vicinity of their table. The origination of the sound seemed to come from
within the potted plant to their left.
"This is Blue Leader, Scarecrow. The maid died from ingesting PD3-infected chocolate chip
cookies. We cannot have any more dead civilians. Pull the cookies, pull all of the cookies."
"Okay, Blue Leader, we'll pull the cookies," Lee replied, looking around to see if anyone noticed
him talking to a plant. "But there's some information we need. Do you have anything on a
Metzger? Two Metzgers actually, one elderly, one mid-40's."
"Yes, Scarecrow. Colonel Oscar Metzger is freshly out of prison and he and his nephew Rolf
Metzger are known to be in the country. Do you think they are involved?" the plant inquired.
"Colonel Metzger? From Das Geisterschloss? I didn't know he was still alive. Yes, we think
they are involved. That's what the, um, the, uh, bodyguards for Emily's niece indicated."
"Good, Scarecrow, good."
"Blue Leader?" Lee asked. "Aren't we supposed to have local back-up on this case?"
Getting no reply, Lee asked again, "Blue Leader? Damn, I hate it when he, er, she, does that."
He tossed his crumpled napkin on the table and said, "I'm tired, Amanda, what do you say we
stop at the front desk and then head upstairs and rest for a bit?"
"Sounds like a plan," she agreed, standing up as he held her chair out for her.
Unbeknownst to the two agents, a very interested hotel guest, her nametag reading
"Ewokmonster," was watching them from her table. She was seated with three of her new
friends, Boosboo, Jessie_3d and Isy. They had just been seated when Ewok's alert eyes
observed the hand reaching through the plant and removing her dinner napkin.
Furtively watching them, she could barely contain her excitement as she watched the man
writing something on his napkin. She had spent all of her time at the Double Garland so far,
looking for something to have autographed. She'd had no luck. She had to get her hands on
that napkin, she just had to.
Ewok tuned her keen ears to the conversation at the table through the plant, almost squealing in
delight as she heard them call each other Lee and Amanda. But why was he having a
conversation with the plant? She was disappointed when she realized they were leaving, but
noticed that the napkin containing her precious Lee's handwriting had been rumpled up and left
behind.
Excusing herself from her companions, she stood and darted over to the vacated table. But too
late. A lightening-fast busboy beat her to it. He removed all three crumpled napkins from the
table, placing them in his dish tub along with the dirty utensils and dishes. 'Oh, maybe I can get
the fork he used, too,' she thought excitedly. That would be a bonus!
Surreptitiously following the busboy, she ducked into the kitchen behind him. In horror, she
watched as he dumped the spent dinnerware into hot, soapy water. 'So much for the fork,' she
thought in despair. 'But, I have to get that napkin!' As the busboy emptied the remainder of the
dishpan into the trashcan, she watched, waiting for her opportunity.
Finally he left. Lunging at the trashcan, she quickly scooped up all of the wadded-up napkins
from the top of the pile. Hugging her cache possessively to her chest, she swiftly made her
escape. Reaching her room, she dropped the napkins onto her bed, smoothing out each one in
turn. 'Aha!' She found one with writing on it, his writing. With tears of glee glistening in her
eyes, she clutched her treasure – the words "Mickey Mouse ears" inscribed on it – and fell
blissfully back onto her bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Approaching the front desk, they were relieved to see a fortuitous lack of anyone wearing plaid.
As the night clerk saw them approach, he beamed a smile of recognition at Amanda. "Mrs.
Simpson, so good to see you again."
"Hello, Buck, it's good to see you, too," Amanda said, smiling in return. "Buck, we need you to
do something for us. Can you tell us if you have anyone registered here by the name of
Metzger?"
"Oh, gee, Mrs. Simpson, I'm really not supposed to give out that kind of information," he said.
"I know, Buck, but could you make an exception just this once, it's really important?" she asked,
giving him a very trusting look.
"Well, okay, but just this once. Let's see," Buck said as he pulled up the computer screen, "Does
Metzger have a first name?"
"It's O-S-C-A-R."
"Yes, we do have an Oscar Metzger registered here. He's in suite 1011 along with a Rolf
Metzger. Does that help?" he asked, giving Amanda a look of utmost devotion.
"Oh, it sure does, Buck. Thank you. Just one more thing," she started, looking to Lee for
guidance.
"Buck, is it? Well, Buck, we need you to remove all of the Double Garland chocolate-chip
cookies from the hotel immediately," Lee informed him.
"Oh, but, Mr. Simpson, I couldn't do that! The head manager would have my head served to him
for breakfast. Why would you want to do that?" he asked, looking at Amanda.
"Well, Buck. Can we trust you with a secret?" she asked, giving him a serious look.
"Of course, you can, Mrs. Simpson."
"Mrs. Simpson is my cover. My name is actually Amanda Stempson. Lee and I work for the
FDA," she said, flashing him a quick view of her official-looking badge, "and we've found that a
dangerous chemical has been used in the manufacture of a particular brand of chocolate chips.
The same brand, Buck, that is used here. So you can see why we need you to pull those
cookies. It must be done quickly, and in a way that won't arouse panic among the guests. Can
you do that for us, Buck?"
"Oh, of course, Mrs. Simpson, uh, I mean, Stempson, no, I mean…"
"Just call me Amanda, Buck," she said, reaching out to squeeze his hand.
"Oh, okay, Amanda," he replied, blushing furiously. "I will just tell the manager that. . . uh. . . that
the cook found bugs in her flour again, it happened once before, you see, and he won't question
me further. I'm glad to be able to help."
"Thank you so much, Buck. Have a good night, now. We need to get some rest. I will tell our
superiors what a great help you were to us," she said, giving his hand one more squeeze.
"Goodnight, Amanda. Oh, and goodnight to you, too, sir. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay,"
he called after them as they walked away.
"Amanda Stetson! You had that poor young pup drooling all over you. Have you no shame?"
Lee asked, grinning at his wife. "Where did you learn to handle men so well?"
"Hmm, well, I seem to have picked that up somewhere. I guess I haven't lost my touch, despite
being a grandma."
"Oh, you definitely haven't lost your touch. In fact, I look forward to letting you practice using
that touch on me. Wha'd'ya say, Grandma? Wanna go to my room and practice?" he asked,
giving her a wink.
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to practice a little more tonight. But, I think we have something else to
do first."
"I know, I know. Let's go check out the Metzgers' room. Then we can move onto bigger and
better things," he replied, pushing the 'up' elevator button.
They walked hand in hand through the lobby toward the elevators. Near the front entrance they
spotted the now terrifying sight of a person in plaid. She was standing by a window and
gesticulating grandly. Her nametag bore the short appellative 'Ada,' and she was surrounded by
a group of women with their now ubiquitous red hats. They seemed to be setting great store by
her words. Lee and Amanda cautiously approached the fringes of the group.
"So you see, fellow Fansource attendees," Ada said as she gestured out the large windows, "this
is a very typical Pasadena evening. Tomorrow is expected to be another beautiful day. . .there
is no rain or nasty cold spell in the forecast. Even though we will be spending the weekend
almost completely inside the hotel, I knew you would want to know."
The group before her, which consisted of women whose nametags proclaimed them to be
Eccentricity, Spynumber2, and Transplantedcanadian, were transfixed. Amanda led Lee away
from the group before they could be spotted.
"I really do not understand those women, Lee. If they wanted a weather report all they had to do
is walk outside," Amanda shook her head as they made their way toward the elevator.
"I told you before," Lee chuckled, "I gave up trying to understand women a long time ago."
"You're still buckin' for that couch, aren't ya, big fella?"
The spies approached the elevator with care. At Amanda's nod they each stood to one side,
waiting for the door to open. Their circumspection was rewarded when three more plaid people
exited. Myscarecrow, Lydia, and ImABZGirl, as their somewhat damp and rumpled nametags
identified them, spotted Ada giving her weather report and quickly joined the amateur
meteorologist's growing audience.
Amanda took Lee's hand as they stepped into the elevator. "My Scarecrow, indeed," she
harrumphed, "try again, sister."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Here it is, room 1011. Lee, do you think this is wise?" Amanda asked, glancing nervously down
the hall.
"I think we have no choice. We need to know what they'll do when they realize their plan didn't
work, that Emily's niece is still alive. So, we bug their room," he replied as he deftly used his
electronic lock reader to deactivate the code for the door lock. "There, got it!" he said as the
door clicked open.
Pushing open the door, the two quickly entered the darkened room. Checking each room of the
suite, they determined that the occupants weren't home. As Amanda looked for clues, Lee
placed bugs in each room of the suite.
Noticing the same flyers for the weekend's activities as they had in their own room, Amanda
looked through them and called to Lee excitedly, "Lee, over here. I found something."
"What is it?" he asked as he returned from placing the bug inside the light fixture in the
bathroom.
"These flyers for the weekend's events, they have some items circled. See? The film screening,
the costume party – that's tomorrow night. And there are a few more things here, too. My guess
would be these are the functions that they know Emily's niece will be attending. I guess we'd
better plan on attending them, too," she said, happy to have found a lead.
"Yeah, I guess we'd better. But. . . a costume party? I can think of a lot of other things I'd rather
do." Glancing around, he stated, "Well, I'm done placing bugs, did you find anything else?"
"Just a biohazard sharps container and an empty padded case that looks like it was used to carry
a fragile ampoule. It contained the PD3 that was used to infect the cookies, would be my guess.
Let's go before our suspects come back," she said, turning off the lights in the sitting room.
Opening the door, the two crept out of the suite unobserved and made their way to the stairwell.
"Might as well walk down the two flights to our new room," Lee said as he indicated the exit sign.
"That way we can avoid meeting any of those wild women. I think I need some rest before I face
that crowd again."
They arrived at their room unmolested, quickly closing the door behind them. Chuckling,
Amanda held up a note she found attached to a fruit basket on the room's small table. "We are
so sorry that one of our employees had the bad manners to be found deceased in your room.
We want to assure you that such happenings are not commonplace at the Pasadena Double
Garland Hotel. Please accept this fruit basket as a token of our sincerest apologies. Yours most
humbly, Double Garland Management," she read.
Laughing, Lee said, "Well, at least it wasn't a bag of cookies! I'm gonna change into something
more comfortable," he said, winking at his wife, "and adjust our listening equipment. Then we
can move on to more exciting activities."
Shaking her head at her husband's boyish enthusiasm, she said, "I agree with you in the
comfortable clothing department, but are you sure Emily's niece is adequately protected? I
mean. . . I know she has those strange bodyguards, but what about the Metzgers? Shouldn't we
be sure they aren't up to something before we get too relaxed?" she asked as she tried to not let
the sight of her husband disrobing distract her from her concerns.
"Amanda, I think she's quite well-protected in the meantime," he said as he approached his wife,
reaching his arms around her to undo her zipper. "Let's concentrate on the listening equipment
for now, and make sure there's nothing to worry about tonight," his husky voice continued as he
watched her dress fall to the floor, "then we can practice up on our training manual moves.
Chapter 4, paragraph 6, wasn't it?" he asked as he leaned down to nibble on her exposed
shoulder.
"Um, yeah, I think that's right," she replied as his lips lit a trail of fire across her bare skin. "Lee?
Don't you think we'd better turn on the listening equipment. . . before. . . this. . . goes. . . any. . .
further?" she finished in a gasp as his lips closed over her own.
"Mm, hmm," he murmured as he reluctantly broke their kiss. Pulling back, he looked down at his
obviously affected lower anatomy. "Amanda, you sure know how to make it hard to
concentrate," he said wryly. Pulling on a pair of sweatpants over his blue boxers, he began the
task of tuning in their receiver.
"Me? Listen, Scarecrow, you're the one who keeps thinking with his lower region. It must be the
California air; you're acting like a teenager. Not that I mind, mind you," she trailed off as she dug
out a pair of short cotton pajamas. "But it does make it hard to remember why we're here."
Walking across the room to the table where the receiver and two sets of headphones had taken
the place of the fruit basket, she stopped behind Lee and began massaging his shoulders.
Handing Amanda one set of headphones, he said, "Here, listen. It sounds like our suspects are
turning in for the night."
After listening to the sounds of water running and murmured goodnights, she pulled off her
headphones and said, "I guess you're right. They do indeed sound as if they've gone to bed. I
guess we're off-duty for now, huh?"
"Uh, huh. And I know exactly how I want to spend my free time," Lee said as he stood and took
his wife into his arms.
"Is that right, Mr. Stetson? Made up your mind, have you? What about what I want to do?" she
teased as she looked into his eyes.
"I think after all these years, I know exactly what you want," he said as he swooped her up in his
arms and carried her, laughing, to the bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
END PART 1
DISCLAIMER: Being the God-fearing, mostly law-abiding citizens that we are (don't even talk to
me about those speeding tickets--I was framed, I tell ya!), we are honor bound to point out that
the following is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual or imagined persons, living or dead,
are wholly intentional on the part of the authors. Rights to the aforementioned imagined persons
remain the property of Warner Brothers and Shoot the Moon Productions.
Rights to actual persons remain the property of said actual persons. Since permission has been
only implicitly granted for such usage, the authors freely grant such actual persons the right to
confiscate the authors' keyboards, in the interest of deterring further infringement (I have a spare
anyway :P). Rights to the story remain the property of the authors and this story may not be
reproduced, in whole or in part, without the express permission of the authors.
A few lines of this story, much distorted, were borrowed from the episodes "There Goes the
Neighborhood" written by Rod Holcomb, and "If Thoughts Could Kill" written by James Frawley.
Any similarity to any other work of fiction except those previously referred to is wholly
unintentional.
WE'RE NOT IN KANSAS, ANYMORE. . .
PART 1/2
Lee Stetson sat quietly at his desk, fingering the manila folder in front of him. The seal gracing
the front of the folder had been a fixture in his life for over twenty-five years now. He mused
over his years of 'service in the shadows,' reflecting on friends and enemies past and present.
As always, his thoughts inevitably gravitated to one who was a large portion of that past,
certainly active in the present, and the whole of his future. He smiled softly and brought himself
back to clearing through the mountain of paperwork that had found its way to his desk. 'Some
witch is out to get you, for sure, Scarecrow,' he thought wryly.
It had been a rather calm day in the shadow war. The morning's staff meeting had been little
more than routine updates. Lee found himself in his office with time to spare. He looked around
Billy's old office, now his own for the last several years. 'At least the decor has improved,' he
thought, 'I could never have worked with those damn fish staring down at me all day. But who
would have thought that Billy would have been ahead of his time with that mounted bass on the
wall? At least his didn't sing . . . '
A voice over the intercom startled Lee from his reverie, "Stetson, I need your help."
Lee glanced around. It had been years since disembodied voices had contacted him. "Who is
this?" he asked, staring in the general direction of his computer monitor.
"Stetson, this is Blue Leader. I have an assignment for you."
"Sorry to disappoint you, but Blue Leader is dead. Did Francine put you up to this?"
"Nevertheless, I am Blue Leader," the voice insisted. "Are you prepared for your assignment?"
"No, I'm prepared to go out and buy my wife's birthday present. You're going to have to prove
that you are who you say you are."
"The code of the day is Train Station. I assume you know the countersign?"
"Red Hat," Lee responded automatically. "Blue Leader was an old man. You, on the other hand,
sound younger than my daughter-in-law."
"Appearances can be deceiving, Scarecrow. Rest assured, I am Blue Leader. I have a mission
for you that comes from the highest levels. I need you and your partner in California by Friday."
"My partner? We haven't been in the field for years."
"We need your expertise on this case, Stetson. This could get ugly. It has the potential to
become an international incident. I will be monitoring the situation, but I need a level head on
site."
Lee grinned to himself. Being complimented by a young woman, even a disembodied one,
wasn't part of his daily routine anymore. He'd forgotten just how good it felt. "Thank you," he
told the voice.
The voice of the new and mysterious Blue Leader sighed. "I was referring to your partner,
Stetson. She's a real angel. But we will need you around in case things get violent."
Lee was taken aback, embarrassed despite his solitude. "All right," he spoke slowly. "What do
you want from us?"
"An e-ticket and hotel reservations are coming over your fax machine now. Proceed to the hotel
and prevent the assassination of the niece of your old friend, Emily Farnsworth. Do whatever is
necessary to protect the woman's life, Scarecrow, but do not allow any civilians to come to harm.
This one is no picnic."
"Who's behind this? What are their methods? When do they plan to strike?" Lee knew he
needed more information than he had yet been given.
"What on Earth are the American people paying you for if you can't figure this out Stetson? This
is what they pay you for, isn't it?"
With that, the voice lapsed into silence and Lee pondered the ramifications of this mission. Ever
since Emily had taken over the old 'Oz' network following Paul Barnes' unexpected retirement to
Elkhart, KS, her life had been fraught with even more danger. Now that danger was spilling over
to her family as well. 'Auntie Em,' as Emily was now known in intelligence circles, would not take
kindly to failure on this mission. Lee was not about to let his old mentor down.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Blue Leader contacted you?" Amanda asked, incredulity creeping into her voice as she turned
from loading the dinner dishes into the dishwasher.
"Yes, Amanda, Blue Leader. She had the correct codes and everything," Lee asserted, giving
her a look as he wiped down the kitchen table.
"She?"
Seeing his wife's left eyebrow rising up into her hairline, Lee sighed and said, "Yes, Amanda,
she. Why are you grilling me like this?"
"Well, Lee, we haven't heard of a Blue Leader in more than ten years. Of course I'm going to
have questions. Why now, and why us, I wonder? We haven't been in the field since Billy died."
Shaking her head in puzzlement, she loaded soap into the dishwasher and set it to run.
"I'm not sure, Amanda. It might have something to do with Emily. Knowing 'Auntie Em', she
specifically requested us. She did call us her favorite field agents, after all." Stretching his
aching back, Lee returned the dishrag to the kitchen sink. Grabbing the remnants of their dinner
wine, he beckoned his wife over to the couch.
Settling into the cushions, Amanda draped her long, slender legs over her husband's lap.
Raising her glass to her lips, she took a sip and continued, "You don't suppose this has anything
to do with the recent alert that came over the wire about the missing PD3, do you?"
Creasing his brow, Lee replied, "I'm not sure. All Blue Leader would tell me is that there's going
to be an assassination attempt on Emily's niece. We'll just have to keep on full alert until we
know the identity of the assassin, and what his modus operandi is."
"Well, I won't object to a trip to Pasadena, even if it is business," she said, a smile playing across
her lips as she patted his stomach. "I'm rather anxious to see you in a bathing suit again, old
man."
"Oh, is that right, Grandma? Well, I'll have you know I look just as good in a suit now, as I did
ten years ago." He gave her a devilish look, dodging her playful slap to his arm. "Why don't we
take this conversation upstairs, Mrs. Stetson? I'll show you my swimsuit, if you show me yours."
Placing their wineglasses in the sink, they turned off the lights and climbed the stairs. Hand-in-
hand, the two newly resurrected field agents entered the haven that was their bedroom. As the
door shut, the only remaining sounds in the house were a, "Wow!" and an, "Oh".
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Friday, October 13th)
"This is it, Amanda. The Double Garland," Lee said as the cab pulled up to the hotel entrance.
"Wow, Lee. These are better accommodations than the Agency usually provides, even for its
section chief and his assistant," Amanda replied as she looked up at the impressive 12-story
building.
"I know," he said as he extricated his long form from the cab. He groaned a little bit as he
straightened up, causing a chuckle to escape from his wife's lips. "What are you laughing at?"
he asked, giving her an indignant look.
"You, old man," she replied. "You're not as young as you used to be."
"Let's not overstate the obvious," he said. "Besides, you're no spring-chicken yourself, Mrs.
Stetson." He gave her a stunning smile, effectively taking the sting out of his words.
"Oh, yeah? Well, I bet I can still run circles around you, Mr. Stetson," she said as they watched
the bellboy load their luggage onto a wheeled cart.
"Now, that's an unfair challenge, and you know it. Ever since my knee surgery. . ." he said,
rubbing his right knee and giving her a mock-pout.
"It's okay, Lee. I'll let you use that excuse for a few more months, anyway," she teased, as she
pulled his arm around her shoulder and pretended to assist him into the hotel lobby.
Entering the lobby, they were both impressed with the old-world feel of the place. They seemed
to have stepped into an early 1900's time warp. That feeling held until they spotted the crowd of
people by the elevators. Trying not to stare, the agents made their way to the front desk.
As Lee checked them in, Amanda continued to observe the strange group. Her jaw dropped as
she studied the strange clothing the group was sporting. The assortment of various shapes and
sizes of red hats had her chuckling to herself. But she had never seen such a wide array of
different colors of plaid! And in Southern California? Even in October, the weather was balmy.
She didn't know how the multi-colored group of women could stand wearing so much flannel. As
she turned to Lee to share the joke, she heard a shout.
"It's them, there they are!" Shouts and screams filtered across the lobby to the two agents, as
the massive horde of badly dressed women surged towards the startled pair.
"Lee, quick! Run!" Amanda shouted as she realized the herd of humanity was heading straight
for them. . .
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Are they gone, yet?" Amanda asked her husband, peering out from behind the stack of crates.
"I don't know, Amanda. Stay put, and I'll take a look," Lee replied, reluctantly extricating himself
from his hiding spot.
"Be careful," she whispered, ducking her head back down.
After an agonizing minute, Lee slithered back into place next to Amanda. "They're still there.
And there seem to be even more of them," he informed her.
"Lee, we're getting too old for this," Amanda said, peering back over the pile of crates.
"Well, if 'Auntie Em' requested us personally, she must think we've still got what it takes," he
replied and, folding his long form and leaning back against the wall behind him, he sat, resigned
to a long wait.
Amanda moved next to Lee, and settling in beside him, got as comfortable as she could on the
hard floor of the receiving entrance. "Ironic, isn't it?" she whispered to her husband. "Here we
are, in California, at the lovely Double Garland hotel, and we're hiding behind fruit crates outside
the kitchen."
"I know, I know," Lee replied, kissing the top of his wife's head as she leaned against him, "We'll
try to get to our room in a few minutes. Surely they can't hang out in the lobby all weekend."
"I wish we knew who they were," she remarked with a sigh. "I think I'd rather face any ten of our
old KGB adversaries than this crowd of unknowns."
"Yeah, at least with the KGB, we knew what we were up against. This is another matter entirely,"
Lee agreed, tightening his arm around his wife.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Well, Nephew, things are going according to plan," the elderly gentleman stated, leaning heavily
on his cane.
"Yes, Colonel, they are. But why are we using the experimental PD3 when PD2 works just fine?"
the younger man asked, using gloved hands as he removed one miniscule vial bearing
biohazard symbols from its padded case.
"Ah, yes, PD2 – nicely lethal, but it spreads too quickly. I prefer the PD3 – just as deadly, but not
contagious. We only have one target, after all, no need to make this messier than necessary,"
the old man replied, settling his aching bones into the leather armchair.
"Yes, Colonel, I'd have to agree. Do you think we need to lace both cookies? Yeah, I suppose
we should," he finished, answering his own question. He removed the nationally known Double
Garland chocolate-chip cookies from the bag and placed them both on the chemical-absorbent
pad he'd laid out on the tabletop. After he carefully removed the protective sheath from the
syringe, he inserted the needle into the PD3 vial and drew out a measured dose of 1cc. He then
gently removed the needle, and placed the vial back onto the chemical pad.
He moved the syringe over to the first cookie and inserted the needle into one chocolate chip,
injecting a fraction of the dosage. He continued in this manner and soon had both cookies
infected. Satisfied with his work, he carefully placed the syringe into the biohazard sharps
container he'd carried in his overnight bag. Smiling to himself, he remembered how easily he'd
convinced airport security that the medical supplies he carried were for his diabetic geriatric
uncle.
Next, he placed the infected cookies back into the Double Garland bag and discarded the spent
vial of PD3 into the sharps container. Rolling up the chem pad, he placed it in a small
biohazard bag and added his latex gloves, then sealed the bag. Satisfied with his work, he put
everything away and went to wash his hands. From the bathroom, he called, "Well, Colonel, now
I just have to get these to room 912, and we can sit back and watch the fireworks."
When he received no reply, he walked back into the sitting room he was sharing with his uncle.
Smiling at the sight of the old man sound asleep in the chair, he picked up the bag of laced
cookies, a minute red 'X' on the bottom, grabbed the stolen key card, and made his way out of
the suite.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Growl, rumble, rumble," her stomach complained. She rubbed at her offending anatomy
impatiently as she used her key card to open the door to room 912. Pulling her cleaning cart
after her, she gasped at the sight that met her eyes.
She'd been a maid for over 20 years, and she'd never seen a room this bad. Even with the
curtains drawn and the room in shadows, she could see that there was clothing littering the floor,
hanging from the ceiling fixture, draped over the TV set, and even caught on the curtain rod
fasteners. And what was with all the plaid? There were plaid shirts, plaid jackets, plaid pajamas,
and even plaid bras. Shaking her head, she gathered up and placed all of the errant clothing
neatly onto one of the armchairs.
She noticed a lone sock peaking out from under the bed. She reached down for it, then jerked
her hand away disgustedly. What was that? Looking at her sticky, slimy fingers, she raised the
offending appendage to her face for closer inspection. Marshmallow and peanut butter? What
on Earth had been going on in here?
Going to her cart, she retrieved a pair of yellow gloves. She definitely needed them for this
room. She noticed something behind the desk and bent down to pick it up. It was a box, an
empty box. As she blushed furiously, she threw the box in her garbage sack, the "Edible Blue
Boxers" label barely showing. She then moved the scattered luggage into a neat pile so she
could vacuum. She noticed Union Jack stickers all over the mismatched suitcases. Ah, maybe
these were British guests – that might explain the odd clothing. You never could tell about these
foreigners.
As she dusted, she noticed an odd sight, a stack of textbooks on the nightstand. This didn't look
like the room of studious types. Reading some of the titles, "Philosophy of the 1980's", "The
Philosophy of Obsession", "Missing Sock Philosophy", and "Philosophy for Science Fiction
Fanatics", she just shook her head in confusion.
A bag of cookies, apparently untouched, sat upon the desk. As she moved the bag to dust, she
contemplated taking them. She was still hungry. But a pang of conscience got the better of her,
and she put the bag back where she'd found it. Finishing her tidying of the bedroom, she then
moved her attentions to the bathroom.
It was just as bad. Towels everywhere, enough cosmetics littered the counter for 12 women,
and. . . What on Earth? Pin-up pictures had been taped all over the bathroom mirror. There
were pictures from an old 80's TV series she vaguely remembered, as well as from some
science fiction, futuristic thing. There were also celebrity photos of the same actor. She had to
admit he was nice looking, but this was a bit much. 'Well, at least I don't have to clean the
mirror,' she thought.
Finally done, she wheeled her cleaning cart back into the hall. She'd have to hurry if she was
going to finish this floor on time. Giving one last look around the room, her stomach returned to
its earlier complaining. Noticing again the bag of cookies on the desk, she decided she deserved
a reward after the effort she'd put into this room. She picked up the bag and glanced furtively
down the hallway. Not noticing the miniscule red 'X' on the bag, she snatched her treasure and
moved to the room across the hall, room 913.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Amanda, I think the coast is clear," Lee reported as he returned from his surveillance mission.
"Are you sure, Lee? I don't want to go back out there if those women are still around." She
hated to admit it, but that group of wildly dressed women had her spooked.
"Yeah. I think they must have gone somewhere else. The lobby is strangely quiet," Lee offered,
reaching down to help his wife up off of the hard floor.
"That's a relief," she replied, as she stumbled, finding herself in her partner's arms. Looking up
at his grinning features, she said, "Save it for our hotel room, Mr. Stetson."
"Whatever you say, Mrs. Stetson. How about we get up to our hotel room before those wild
women in plaid return?" he suggested, taking her hand and pulling her briskly along.
Reaching the bank of elevators, they glanced quickly around before pushing the "up" button. As
the elevator dinged, the two seasoned agents jumped, the events of the day having been unlike
any they'd ever experienced before.
The elevator doors opened, revealing two women in red hats. One of the women was wearing a
name badge that read, "Cobra Death Grip," the other was carrying a sugar bowl. Upon catching
sight of the two agents, the women screamed and rushed forward, the one waving her sugar
bowl wildly.
Frantically looking around, the agents discovered no other elevators available. "Stairs," Amanda
said frantically, indicating the door just around the corner. Holding hands tightly, the two sprinted
for safety.
Opening the stairwell door, Lee and Amanda ran up the steps, listening for sounds of pursuit.
"How far?" Lee asked, gasping from exertion.
"All the way to the ninth floor, Lee," Amanda replied, wheezing slightly.
"Great, just great! Why didn't we get rooms on the second floor, huh?" he asked as he used the
handrail to propel himself along. Damn, but his knee hurt.
"Almost there. I think that was six."
"I don't think they're still behind us," Lee said, straining to hear distant footsteps.
"Oh, my gosh!" Amanda exclaimed, coming to a sudden halt.
"Amanda? What's wrong?" Lee asked as he turned to his wife.
"Heel broke off my shoe," she panted, holding the evidence up for him to see. "How's your
knee?" she asked, watching as he rubbed at it.
"Hurts, but not bad. Let's keep moving, just two more floors to go."
Finally arriving at the ninth floor, they stopped for a minute, listening. Hearing no sounds from
below, they opened the stairwell door and entered the coolness of the richly carpeted hallway.
"Here it is. Number 913." Sliding the key card into the lock, Lee quickly opened the door to their
room. Glancing furtively down the hallway and barely registering the cleaning cart parked
outside their room, the two entered their sanctuary, glad to finally be alone.
"That was close," Amanda remarked, kicking off her shoes. Bending down to pick up the left
shoe, she grimaced at the missing heel. "Why do you suppose those nutty women were chasing
us?"
"Amanda, please," Lee lay back on the bed, massaging his knee. "I learned a long time ago that
it's better to never question why women do anything."
Amanda picked up a portfolio from the desk on the far wall. She sat next to Lee on the king-size
bed as she rifled through its contents. "Stetson," she said as she glanced through several flyers
detailing the weekend's scheduled activities, "that is the kind of comment that will earn you a
night on that couch over there." She pointed to a piece of furniture that barely registered as a
love seat, let alone something long enough to support Lee's frame.
"When did you get to be so mean?" Lee asked as he took the portfolio from her and set it on the
bedside table. He pulled her down to lie across his body, shifting slightly to make his arousal and
his intentions clear. He ran his hands up and down her back in long, gentle strokes. Raising his
head slightly, he caressed her lips in a series of feather-light kisses.
Amanda pressed her lips more firmly to his as she unfastened his shirt buttons with the ease of
long practice. When he groaned as her hand touched his bare skin, she drew one of his hands
from her back to the hollow of her throat. He made quick work of removing her blouse from
there. He rolled her over onto her back, discarding his own shirt in the process.
"Scarecrow," Amanda breathed into his ear, "we are supposed to be working."
"Umm," Lee murmured as he nibbled on her earlobe, "I am working."
"If this is work then I've been confused all these years." Amanda planted small kisses across his
shoulder.
"When," Lee trailed his tongue to the back of her ear, "in the field," he kissed his way down her
neck, "partners must maintain clear," one hand traveled from her hip to her shoulder, barely
making contact with her soft skin, "and open," he continued to caress her side, gradually
increasing the pressure of his touch, "lines of communication." He settled his weight against her,
folding his arms beneath her for a deep kiss.
"Agency training manual, chapter 4, paragraph 6," Amanda whispered as he began to search for
the zipper on her skirt. "I like the way you think, partner."
After an hour of 'clear and open communication,' Amanda retrieved the portfolio from the table.
She searched through the information and pulled out the one she sought.
"Lee, there's a film showing tonight in one of the large conference rooms downstairs. That might
be a good place to observe Emily's niece without her knowledge."
"Well, this flyer says it starts in an hour," Lee sat up amongst the rumpled sheets. "Let's shower
and change and head down there. I'll race ya!" He bolted for the bathroom, limping only slightly,
reaching the door immediately ahead of his wife.
"That's not fair," she pouted playfully, "the bathroom is on your side of the bed."
"Ah," he ran one hand up her neck and across her jaw, "but you're not handicapped."
She chuckled as she followed him into the shower, glancing briefly at the large Jacuzzi in the
other corner of the very spacious bathroom. 'Later,' she thought to herself with a smile.
Lee marveled, not for the first time, at how clearly two people could communicate in a shower
stall. As he shrugged into his dress shirt, he waited for Amanda to complete her finishing
touches in the bathroom.
Amanda stood in front of the large closet in the bathroom contemplating the small collection of
shoes she had brought for the trip. She had learned long ago that where the Agency was
concerned it was best to pack for every possible contingency. The low black heels that had been
broken in the flight up the stairs where sticking out of the trash can. As she was trying to decide
between two pairs of higher heeled shoes for the evening, she noticed one of her trusty Nikes
had been tossed aside, no doubt as a result of Lee's toss-everything-aside-to-find-what-you-need
habit. Picking it up, she was about to put it neatly back in the closet, when something about the
Jacuzzi caught her eye. Still holding her shoe in hand she stepped over to the large fiberglass
tub. There was a scrap of fabric stuck to the rim.
She stepped still closer and saw that the scrap of fabric was attached to a maid's uniform, which
was attached to a maid, who was stretched out in a very dry Jacuzzi. Reaching down with her
right hand to check for a pulse, Amanda still held the running shoe in her left. Not finding a
pulse, she brought both hands to her mouth in alarm, willing her training and years of experience
to take over. This kind of thing was never easy for her.
As she brought her hands in, she released the shoe. It settled into the toilet with a loud splash!
The noise and the splatter of water across her legs calmed her somehow and she regained her
agent's objectivity. She calmly chose one pair of heels, put them on, and joined Lee in the
bedroom.
"Lee," she said as he turned to regard her. "I need you to take care of something for me."
"Anything, Amanda," he grinned, "I'm yours to command." Sex always seemed to make Lee
oddly docile for some time afterward. Amanda found it endearing.
"There's a dead body in the Jacuzzi. Her mouth is covered with what looks like chocolate."
"What!" Lee exclaimed.
"That's right, dear. A dead body. A maid. Would you please do something about it?" Amanda
was eerily calm about the situation, Lee thought. As he headed toward the bathroom door to
examine the body, he snagged his cell phone off the desk and placed a call to the LA Agency
office for a forensics team.
"Umm, Lee? One other thing."
"Yes?" he asked, his cell phone still held to his ear.
"I dropped my shoe in the toilet. Do you think you could fish it out for me?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lee stood as Amanda adjusted his tie for the last time. 'She sure does know her Windsor knots,'
he chuckled softly to himself.
"Be still, Lee, or we'll never make it down there in time. This film showing will be a good
opportunity to observe Emily's niece and keep a look out for any potential troublemakers."
Amanda patted her husband's chest as she finished neatening him and turned to leave.
"What should we do with her?" Lee nodded towards the bathroom.
"I thought Blue Leader was going to arrange for a clean-up crew. Lee, I can't sleep with a dead
body in the next room."
"I know, but the lab boys still need to go over this place and the hotel is filled to capacity with
these odd women."
As Amanda opened the door she found herself facing the sweet bellboy who had helped with
their bags earlier. He blushed at her smile, lowering the fist he'd raised to knock, and held out a
shaky hand with two key cards in his grasp.
"There was a message at the desk to give these to you, Mrs. Simpson. They're for room 821,
one floor down. I'll get your bags moved down there right away. Oh, and here, there was a note
for you, too," the bellman said as he handed her the keys and the note.
"Thank you, Scotty. We really appreciate it." Amanda stood aside, leaving Lee to tip the young
man.
Once Scotty was suitably far down the hall, Amanda read the note:
No more suffering civilians, Scarecrow!
Take the new room and keep the lady safe!
Mind your manners, Z BL
"Well," Amanda folded the note and tucked it in her purse, "I guess this is the highest priority. 'Z'
for 'zulu,' I assume?"
"Come on," Lee said as he guided her out the door with a hand at the small of her back, "let's get
downstairs. If we hurry, maybe we can take the elevator this time."
They entered the darkened meeting room to find a film already in progress. They took seats
near the back, quietly scanning the film's viewers for any sign of malicious intent.
"Is that Emily's niece over there?" Amanda pointed to a woman sitting to one side several rows
up who seemed to fit the description they'd been given.
"Yeah, I think I met her once in a pub, when I was in the UK," Lee answered. "But I'm not really
sure; I might have had one too many that night," he continued sheepishly.
"Oh, look, Sweetheart," Amanda pointed to the screen. "It's that actor, Bruce. . . .how do you say
his last name?"
"Box-something-or-other," Lee responded off-handedly.
"He's kinda cute," Amanda continued.
"Cute? Amanda, the man's our age. 'Cute' does not apply."
"Why not? I think you're cute."
"Well. . . ." Lee fumbled for words. "That's different."
"And he has really nice legs," Amanda seemed truly enthralled with this actor, Lee thought.
"What about my legs?" he asked, slightly indignant.
"Your legs are okay, Sweetheart," she said, patting his thigh. "I've told you that before."
"Just okay? Hmmpf," he snorted. "Why do I even bother keeping you around?" He smiled and
placed an arm around her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze.
As a romantic scene began on screen, the women in the audience began to sigh loudly. Lee
glanced around, noticing he was one of only three men present. "Amanda, does anything here
seem odd to you?"
"Oh, Lee, shhh," she said, sighing and leaning into his embrace.
"Snap out of it, Amanda." Lee shook her softly. "Haven't you noticed there are only two other
men here? And the older one looks a little familiar."
"I didn't, I'm sorry. But I did notice that this floor is getting wet." Amanda gingerly raised both
feet off the floor. "Did someone spill something?"
Glancing around at their fellow audience members, Lee shook his head and wrinkled his nose in
disgust. "I don't think so," he spat the words, lifting his feet from the floor as well. "Look at
them." Lee nodded to the women in the audience, all of who were drooling uncontrollably.
The drool was spilling from their lips and down to the floor. All of their eyes were riveted to the
screen, apparently fixed on a particular portion of the actor's anatomy. The drool level was rising
exponentially as the scene on screen became even more intense.
"Oh, no," Lee said. "We are not sitting through this." He took her arm, raising her to her feet.
They made their way toward the doors when, suddenly, Amanda slipped and started to fall,
calling out Lee's name as she clutched at his forearm.
"Not again!" she exclaimed, albeit more softly, as she picked up the broken heel from her left
shoe. She held the broken footwear with two fingers, not wanting any contact with the drool from
the wild women in plaid. She balanced carefully on one foot, prepared to hop the rest of the way
to the door.
At the mention of Lee's name, however, every head in the audience had turned in their direction.
Even as Amanda regarded her second pair of ruined footwear and began mentally totaling her
expense report for this mission, one of the wild women in the audience had stepped over to turn
on the lights.
As the lights came up, the woman, her name-tag reading, "AngeBrd", shouted, "Look! It's them!
Scarecrow and Mrs. King!"
With that, all the wild women surged forward, scrambling over chairs, video equipment, and each
other to cut off the spies' escape. His body reacting before his mind could even comprehend the
true horror of the situation they were in, Lee scooped his wife up off of her feet and carried her
through the doors. He ran, hoping desperately not to slip in the drool. As he rounded a corner,
Amanda directed him toward a small door. It was a maintenance closet, filled with floor wax, but
none of the parade of plaid women had seen them enter.
"You still run those avoidance patterns better than anyone I've ever seen," Lee said as he set his
wife down and kissed her soundly.
"You old sweet-talker, you," Amanda caressed his cheek and pulled him in for another kiss.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Are they gone?" Amanda asked as Lee looked furtively out the door.
"Shh! I'm trying to concentrate," he responded.
"Lee?" Amanda called her husband's attention back to her. "Shouldn't we make contact with
Emily's niece? She has a right to know her life is in danger."
"That's a good idea. We've been getting sidelined by these extraneous issues. I'm certain those
two characters back at the movie are involved up to their popcorn-filled teeth." Lee opened the
maintenance room door and carefully peered back outside.
"Maybe you can use that meeting at the pub from several years ago to establish a point of
reference with her, Lee."
"Amanda? Are you actually suggesting that I initiate a peacock dance with Emily's niece? I'm
married!"
"If that's what it takes. Her safety is vital to preventing an international incident isn't it? It's not
as if you'd go all the way, Lee." Amanda was miffed that he would even consider such an
outrageous thought.
"I don't know, Amanda. The woman I remember would be a little too much for me to handle.
That might not be wise."
"Well, we have to do something, Sweetheart."
"All right, the coast is clear," he took her hand as he spoke and led her quickly toward the
elevators. "According to the night manager, Emily's niece is in room 912, right across the hall
from our old room. Let's head up there and look at this from that end."
Despite several abrupt detours to avoid anyone wearing plaid or red, the intrepid duo made their
way quickly to the ninth floor. As they approached room 912, they noticed two young women
standing outside the door. The women appeared relaxed, but very alert. Both wore a uniform of
some sort, gray and tan covered with a flowing brown cape. One of the two had her hair pinned
up in a twist held by a very large clip made of bone. The clip was so large it obscured any sight
of her hair. She held in her hand a small device that extended to a six-foot staff with a flick of
her wrist.
The Stetsons exchanged a wary glance as they neared the two uniformed women. Taking the
initiative, Amanda queried the nearer of the two. "We'd like to speak with the lady in this room, if
that's all right." She held her hands out at waist level to show she meant no harm.
"The One is tired," Bonehead, as Lee mentally tagged her, replied in a soft British accent.
"The One?" Amanda asked.
"We live for The One. We die for The One," both women intoned. They were regarding Lee
intently. The guard without the hair clip raised her eyebrows at him, seeking what, Lee had no
idea.
"Perhaps you could help us, then," Lee joined the conversation.
"It would please The One if we were to help The One," Bonehead replied cryptically.
"Can you tell us who you are?" Lee asked.
"We are Rangers Katie and Jean. We serve The One. We protect The One." The woman with
the hair clip, 'was she Katie or Jean?' Lee wondered, bowed slightly from the waist.
"Well, then. . . that's good," Amanda said. "Are you aware of the expected attempt on her life?"
The women ignored Amanda, seeing only Lee. They regarded him with a mixture of awe and
confusion.
Lee paled somewhat under their scrutiny, but forged ahead. "We need to know who is behind
this threat. Does . . . The One have any enemies?"
"Metzgers," the two replied in unison. Bonehead casually returned her staff, currently in its
remarkably minuscule state, to her pocket. She removed her hand slowly and the movement
mesmerized Amanda. Amanda inhaled slightly and reached for Lee's hand. Without a word,
relying upon the depth of the bond established over their years as partners and as husband and
wife, she directed his gaze to the woman's pocket. When his eyes widened in alarm she knew
he had seen it as well. Jutting out from Bonehead's pocket was the telltale sight of a plaid scarf.
"Well, then, thank you," Lee nodded as he backed away. "We'll just be moving along now."
Grasping his wife's hand even more tightly, Lee quickened his pace, pulling Amanda along as
she limped slightly on her one bad shoe.
One floor down, they entered room 821 and found, thankfully, that the bellboy had already
brought their luggage down. They heaved a sigh of relief as the door shut firmly behind them.
Lee paced as Amanda rummaged through her dwindling shoe supply and donned a new pair of
heels.
"Amanda, after dinner let's stop off at the desk and see if any Metzgers are registered here." Lee
took her arm as he joined her in the hall. "This case is getting stranger by the minute. Metzger,
Metzger, why is that name so familiar?"
"We'll get to the bottom of it, Lee," she encouraged him. "We always do. Besides, the night
manager is a very charming man. I have a feeling that I can get just about anything we need to
know from him."
"You sound awfully confident, Mrs. Stetson," Lee said, not without a touch of pride in his voice.
"Trust me, Mr. Stetson, Frank 'Buck' Sheridan will be putty in my hands."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Making their way to The Oaks restaurant, a very famished pair of spies asked the Maitre'D to
seat them in as isolated a spot as possible. They'd had enough close encounters of the plaid
kind to last them the rest of their stay.
"I'm so hungry," Amanda remarked as she opened her menu.
"Me, too. Especially since we had none of those delicious cookies to eat," Lee agreed as he
salivated over the entrees.
"Well, Lee, I don't think I'll ever look at a chocolate-chip cookie in quite the same way again. I
can't get the vision of the dead maid with chocolate smeared on her face out of my head," she
said as she sipped her ice water.
"What appetizer should we get? What about clams?" Lee looked up at his wife in question.
"Clams again, dear? Don't you think we could try something else for a change?" She shook her
head at her husband's apparent fixation with shellfish.
"All right, Amanda, you pick the appetizer," Lee acquiesced, grinning at his wife, "and I'll pick the
wine."
"It's a deal, Lee. Two dinner salads and a shared entrée?" she asked, sharing a secret smile with
her spouse. Even after nearly 14 years of marriage, some things would never change.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"My, that was a good meal," Lee stated, patting his full stomach in satisfaction. "Oh, I just
remembered something," Lee remarked. Wiping his mouth and wadding up his dinner napkin,
he took a pen out of his jacket pocket. "Do you have a piece of paper?"
"No, Lee. I left my purse in our room. Why don't you use your napkin?"
"But mine's all used." Spotting an empty table on the other side of a large potted plant, he
reached his hand over and grabbed a napkin. "I just realized the perfect California souvenir to
take back to the grandkids."
"Oh, what?" Amanda asked as Lee jotted a few lines on the napkin.
"Mickey Mouse ears!" Lee stated, beaming at his ingenuity.
"Lee, that is a very nice, sweet idea. But you know what?"
"What?" he asked as he put his pen away.
"I already bought them some. Remember, at the airport, when you were on the phone with the
home office? Well, I ducked into the gift shop. . ." she began, smiling indulgently at her husband.
"Uh, huh," he replied, beginning to get the picture.
"Well, I bought them both the cutest little Mickey Mouse ears, with the name of the city on the
back, so they'll remember where Grammy Amanda and Grampy Lee stayed," she finished, proud
of her own resourcefulness.
"Oh. Well, in that case," he said, rumpling up the napkin, "I guess I don't need this. Amanda. . ."
Lee began, only to be rudely interrupted by a somehow familiar female voice.
"Scarecrow, you need to pull the cookies," the no-nonsense voice admonished.
"Pull the cookies? Wha. . . Amanda, where is that voice coming from?" he asked, looking
quickly around the vicinity of their table. The origination of the sound seemed to come from
within the potted plant to their left.
"This is Blue Leader, Scarecrow. The maid died from ingesting PD3-infected chocolate chip
cookies. We cannot have any more dead civilians. Pull the cookies, pull all of the cookies."
"Okay, Blue Leader, we'll pull the cookies," Lee replied, looking around to see if anyone noticed
him talking to a plant. "But there's some information we need. Do you have anything on a
Metzger? Two Metzgers actually, one elderly, one mid-40's."
"Yes, Scarecrow. Colonel Oscar Metzger is freshly out of prison and he and his nephew Rolf
Metzger are known to be in the country. Do you think they are involved?" the plant inquired.
"Colonel Metzger? From Das Geisterschloss? I didn't know he was still alive. Yes, we think
they are involved. That's what the, um, the, uh, bodyguards for Emily's niece indicated."
"Good, Scarecrow, good."
"Blue Leader?" Lee asked. "Aren't we supposed to have local back-up on this case?"
Getting no reply, Lee asked again, "Blue Leader? Damn, I hate it when he, er, she, does that."
He tossed his crumpled napkin on the table and said, "I'm tired, Amanda, what do you say we
stop at the front desk and then head upstairs and rest for a bit?"
"Sounds like a plan," she agreed, standing up as he held her chair out for her.
Unbeknownst to the two agents, a very interested hotel guest, her nametag reading
"Ewokmonster," was watching them from her table. She was seated with three of her new
friends, Boosboo, Jessie_3d and Isy. They had just been seated when Ewok's alert eyes
observed the hand reaching through the plant and removing her dinner napkin.
Furtively watching them, she could barely contain her excitement as she watched the man
writing something on his napkin. She had spent all of her time at the Double Garland so far,
looking for something to have autographed. She'd had no luck. She had to get her hands on
that napkin, she just had to.
Ewok tuned her keen ears to the conversation at the table through the plant, almost squealing in
delight as she heard them call each other Lee and Amanda. But why was he having a
conversation with the plant? She was disappointed when she realized they were leaving, but
noticed that the napkin containing her precious Lee's handwriting had been rumpled up and left
behind.
Excusing herself from her companions, she stood and darted over to the vacated table. But too
late. A lightening-fast busboy beat her to it. He removed all three crumpled napkins from the
table, placing them in his dish tub along with the dirty utensils and dishes. 'Oh, maybe I can get
the fork he used, too,' she thought excitedly. That would be a bonus!
Surreptitiously following the busboy, she ducked into the kitchen behind him. In horror, she
watched as he dumped the spent dinnerware into hot, soapy water. 'So much for the fork,' she
thought in despair. 'But, I have to get that napkin!' As the busboy emptied the remainder of the
dishpan into the trashcan, she watched, waiting for her opportunity.
Finally he left. Lunging at the trashcan, she quickly scooped up all of the wadded-up napkins
from the top of the pile. Hugging her cache possessively to her chest, she swiftly made her
escape. Reaching her room, she dropped the napkins onto her bed, smoothing out each one in
turn. 'Aha!' She found one with writing on it, his writing. With tears of glee glistening in her
eyes, she clutched her treasure – the words "Mickey Mouse ears" inscribed on it – and fell
blissfully back onto her bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Approaching the front desk, they were relieved to see a fortuitous lack of anyone wearing plaid.
As the night clerk saw them approach, he beamed a smile of recognition at Amanda. "Mrs.
Simpson, so good to see you again."
"Hello, Buck, it's good to see you, too," Amanda said, smiling in return. "Buck, we need you to
do something for us. Can you tell us if you have anyone registered here by the name of
Metzger?"
"Oh, gee, Mrs. Simpson, I'm really not supposed to give out that kind of information," he said.
"I know, Buck, but could you make an exception just this once, it's really important?" she asked,
giving him a very trusting look.
"Well, okay, but just this once. Let's see," Buck said as he pulled up the computer screen, "Does
Metzger have a first name?"
"It's O-S-C-A-R."
"Yes, we do have an Oscar Metzger registered here. He's in suite 1011 along with a Rolf
Metzger. Does that help?" he asked, giving Amanda a look of utmost devotion.
"Oh, it sure does, Buck. Thank you. Just one more thing," she started, looking to Lee for
guidance.
"Buck, is it? Well, Buck, we need you to remove all of the Double Garland chocolate-chip
cookies from the hotel immediately," Lee informed him.
"Oh, but, Mr. Simpson, I couldn't do that! The head manager would have my head served to him
for breakfast. Why would you want to do that?" he asked, looking at Amanda.
"Well, Buck. Can we trust you with a secret?" she asked, giving him a serious look.
"Of course, you can, Mrs. Simpson."
"Mrs. Simpson is my cover. My name is actually Amanda Stempson. Lee and I work for the
FDA," she said, flashing him a quick view of her official-looking badge, "and we've found that a
dangerous chemical has been used in the manufacture of a particular brand of chocolate chips.
The same brand, Buck, that is used here. So you can see why we need you to pull those
cookies. It must be done quickly, and in a way that won't arouse panic among the guests. Can
you do that for us, Buck?"
"Oh, of course, Mrs. Simpson, uh, I mean, Stempson, no, I mean…"
"Just call me Amanda, Buck," she said, reaching out to squeeze his hand.
"Oh, okay, Amanda," he replied, blushing furiously. "I will just tell the manager that. . . uh. . . that
the cook found bugs in her flour again, it happened once before, you see, and he won't question
me further. I'm glad to be able to help."
"Thank you so much, Buck. Have a good night, now. We need to get some rest. I will tell our
superiors what a great help you were to us," she said, giving his hand one more squeeze.
"Goodnight, Amanda. Oh, and goodnight to you, too, sir. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay,"
he called after them as they walked away.
"Amanda Stetson! You had that poor young pup drooling all over you. Have you no shame?"
Lee asked, grinning at his wife. "Where did you learn to handle men so well?"
"Hmm, well, I seem to have picked that up somewhere. I guess I haven't lost my touch, despite
being a grandma."
"Oh, you definitely haven't lost your touch. In fact, I look forward to letting you practice using
that touch on me. Wha'd'ya say, Grandma? Wanna go to my room and practice?" he asked,
giving her a wink.
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to practice a little more tonight. But, I think we have something else to
do first."
"I know, I know. Let's go check out the Metzgers' room. Then we can move onto bigger and
better things," he replied, pushing the 'up' elevator button.
They walked hand in hand through the lobby toward the elevators. Near the front entrance they
spotted the now terrifying sight of a person in plaid. She was standing by a window and
gesticulating grandly. Her nametag bore the short appellative 'Ada,' and she was surrounded by
a group of women with their now ubiquitous red hats. They seemed to be setting great store by
her words. Lee and Amanda cautiously approached the fringes of the group.
"So you see, fellow Fansource attendees," Ada said as she gestured out the large windows, "this
is a very typical Pasadena evening. Tomorrow is expected to be another beautiful day. . .there
is no rain or nasty cold spell in the forecast. Even though we will be spending the weekend
almost completely inside the hotel, I knew you would want to know."
The group before her, which consisted of women whose nametags proclaimed them to be
Eccentricity, Spynumber2, and Transplantedcanadian, were transfixed. Amanda led Lee away
from the group before they could be spotted.
"I really do not understand those women, Lee. If they wanted a weather report all they had to do
is walk outside," Amanda shook her head as they made their way toward the elevator.
"I told you before," Lee chuckled, "I gave up trying to understand women a long time ago."
"You're still buckin' for that couch, aren't ya, big fella?"
The spies approached the elevator with care. At Amanda's nod they each stood to one side,
waiting for the door to open. Their circumspection was rewarded when three more plaid people
exited. Myscarecrow, Lydia, and ImABZGirl, as their somewhat damp and rumpled nametags
identified them, spotted Ada giving her weather report and quickly joined the amateur
meteorologist's growing audience.
Amanda took Lee's hand as they stepped into the elevator. "My Scarecrow, indeed," she
harrumphed, "try again, sister."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Here it is, room 1011. Lee, do you think this is wise?" Amanda asked, glancing nervously down
the hall.
"I think we have no choice. We need to know what they'll do when they realize their plan didn't
work, that Emily's niece is still alive. So, we bug their room," he replied as he deftly used his
electronic lock reader to deactivate the code for the door lock. "There, got it!" he said as the
door clicked open.
Pushing open the door, the two quickly entered the darkened room. Checking each room of the
suite, they determined that the occupants weren't home. As Amanda looked for clues, Lee
placed bugs in each room of the suite.
Noticing the same flyers for the weekend's activities as they had in their own room, Amanda
looked through them and called to Lee excitedly, "Lee, over here. I found something."
"What is it?" he asked as he returned from placing the bug inside the light fixture in the
bathroom.
"These flyers for the weekend's events, they have some items circled. See? The film screening,
the costume party – that's tomorrow night. And there are a few more things here, too. My guess
would be these are the functions that they know Emily's niece will be attending. I guess we'd
better plan on attending them, too," she said, happy to have found a lead.
"Yeah, I guess we'd better. But. . . a costume party? I can think of a lot of other things I'd rather
do." Glancing around, he stated, "Well, I'm done placing bugs, did you find anything else?"
"Just a biohazard sharps container and an empty padded case that looks like it was used to carry
a fragile ampoule. It contained the PD3 that was used to infect the cookies, would be my guess.
Let's go before our suspects come back," she said, turning off the lights in the sitting room.
Opening the door, the two crept out of the suite unobserved and made their way to the stairwell.
"Might as well walk down the two flights to our new room," Lee said as he indicated the exit sign.
"That way we can avoid meeting any of those wild women. I think I need some rest before I face
that crowd again."
They arrived at their room unmolested, quickly closing the door behind them. Chuckling,
Amanda held up a note she found attached to a fruit basket on the room's small table. "We are
so sorry that one of our employees had the bad manners to be found deceased in your room.
We want to assure you that such happenings are not commonplace at the Pasadena Double
Garland Hotel. Please accept this fruit basket as a token of our sincerest apologies. Yours most
humbly, Double Garland Management," she read.
Laughing, Lee said, "Well, at least it wasn't a bag of cookies! I'm gonna change into something
more comfortable," he said, winking at his wife, "and adjust our listening equipment. Then we
can move on to more exciting activities."
Shaking her head at her husband's boyish enthusiasm, she said, "I agree with you in the
comfortable clothing department, but are you sure Emily's niece is adequately protected? I
mean. . . I know she has those strange bodyguards, but what about the Metzgers? Shouldn't we
be sure they aren't up to something before we get too relaxed?" she asked as she tried to not let
the sight of her husband disrobing distract her from her concerns.
"Amanda, I think she's quite well-protected in the meantime," he said as he approached his wife,
reaching his arms around her to undo her zipper. "Let's concentrate on the listening equipment
for now, and make sure there's nothing to worry about tonight," his husky voice continued as he
watched her dress fall to the floor, "then we can practice up on our training manual moves.
Chapter 4, paragraph 6, wasn't it?" he asked as he leaned down to nibble on her exposed
shoulder.
"Um, yeah, I think that's right," she replied as his lips lit a trail of fire across her bare skin. "Lee?
Don't you think we'd better turn on the listening equipment. . . before. . . this. . . goes. . . any. . .
further?" she finished in a gasp as his lips closed over her own.
"Mm, hmm," he murmured as he reluctantly broke their kiss. Pulling back, he looked down at his
obviously affected lower anatomy. "Amanda, you sure know how to make it hard to
concentrate," he said wryly. Pulling on a pair of sweatpants over his blue boxers, he began the
task of tuning in their receiver.
"Me? Listen, Scarecrow, you're the one who keeps thinking with his lower region. It must be the
California air; you're acting like a teenager. Not that I mind, mind you," she trailed off as she dug
out a pair of short cotton pajamas. "But it does make it hard to remember why we're here."
Walking across the room to the table where the receiver and two sets of headphones had taken
the place of the fruit basket, she stopped behind Lee and began massaging his shoulders.
Handing Amanda one set of headphones, he said, "Here, listen. It sounds like our suspects are
turning in for the night."
After listening to the sounds of water running and murmured goodnights, she pulled off her
headphones and said, "I guess you're right. They do indeed sound as if they've gone to bed. I
guess we're off-duty for now, huh?"
"Uh, huh. And I know exactly how I want to spend my free time," Lee said as he stood and took
his wife into his arms.
"Is that right, Mr. Stetson? Made up your mind, have you? What about what I want to do?" she
teased as she looked into his eyes.
"I think after all these years, I know exactly what you want," he said as he swooped her up in his
arms and carried her, laughing, to the bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
END PART 1