A dry cough awoke Walter Hammler from a deep slumber. Though he smacked his lips, he couldn't make enough spit to wet his scratchy throat. He threw the covers off and groggily sat upright, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He made his way to the door, all the while keeping his eyes half open so he could be sure not to step on the remains of his Millennium Falcon, disassembled and strewn across the floor in an attempt to suss out how it made that garbled electronic sound when you pushed the button on the side.
At the end of the hallway, he fumbled for the banister and proceeded down the stairs; his Captain America underoos gave him the courage he needed to make the trek to the kitchen in the darkness on his own. He found his favorite Scooby Doo cup, the one with the special crazy straw, and filled it with water. It was so refreshing that he finished it on the spot.
His thirst quenched, he headed back to his room, when he heard a strange sound coming from his father's old study. After some deliberation, he decided to investigate.
Captain America wouldn't run away.
He slowly opened the door; the hinges squeaked loudly, stiff from disuse. He ventured inside to the tick-tock of the grandfather clock to see that papers were scattered about the desk, and the file cabinet was left open.
Somebody's been here.
He was about to call for his mom, when an odd glow filled the room. His head snapped in the direction of the source: a disembodied blue light that came toward him. Before he could scream something hoisted him off his feet—his heels smashing the glass of the clock in a vain attempt to kick himself free. An invisible hand clasped around his mouth. He couldn't breathe.
"Where's your daddy, boy?"
"D-d-died." He felt the hand move to his throat.
"Don't lie to me!"
"HE'S DEAD!" Walter cried.
The staircase creaked with fast footfalls. It was mom.
"Walter! Is that you downstairs?"
She rushed into the room, baseball bat in hand, to find Walter huddled on the floor in a pool of his urine. The curtains on the open window behind the desk swayed in the wind.
—oOo—
"Techrat, wake up." When his passenger failed to move, Mainframe poked him brusquely. "Walter!"
Techrat bolted upright in his seat.
"We're here. Let's go." Mainframe stepped out of the jeep, slamming the door for good measure.
Wincing from the sound, Techrat rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Do I have to go?"
"Not if you don't want to." Mainframe opened the passenger side door and grinned. "I'll just have to handcuff your arms and legs together."
Techrat sighed. "I'm coming."
Techrat stepped out of the jeep and beheld the grand double doors that served as the entrance to Gabor Manor.
Mainframe bumped his shoulder. "Here, put this on. It'll tap you in to the signal going back to the VAMP. I'll do all the talking, understand?"
Nodding, Techrat took the proffered earpiece, marveling at how small the device was, and he inserted it into his left ear. Beach Head's voice was so clear it sounded like he was standing right next to him:
"We read you loud and clear, Mainframe. The rest of the team will continue to monitor. Proceed at your own discretion."
Techrat followed Mainframe toward the entrance. The door opened as they approached, and they were greeted by one of Gabor's security guards who escorted them inside. Techrat lagged behind, taking in the sheer opulence of the foyer with its sparkling crystal chandelier that seemed to float high above. Its light complemented the polished Italian Carrara flooring on which their footfalls echoed loudly against the surrounding acoustics. He paused to regard the portrait at the end of the hall: a painting of Harvey Gabor with his only daughter posed traditionally in their Sunday best. He continued to stare, unaccustomed to seeing her clothed in anything other than her Rocker Chick getup.
Wow, she's very pretty when you take off all that clown makeup.
"Walter?"
Mainframe's voice broke Techrat out of his reverie, and he caught up to him at the entrance of Harvey Gabor's study. He stepped inside to a room that was far less ostentation in decor, but no less impressive in it's utility. An oak desk was set upon a Persian rug, with a computer rig that most in his profession would kill for. His paused at a piece that he mistook for new age deco art, but upon closer examination, he was amazed to discover that it was a television with a whopping 32 inch screen, but only six inches thick.
"Yes, it's real."
The soldier and the hacker turned to the elder Harvey Gabor who had just entered the room, closing the door behind him.
Harvey Gabor, dressed immaculately in a three piece business suit, casually made his way to his desk saying, "It's a proof of concept prototype flat screen television that my R&D department put together. The MSRP on it is ridiculous, with projections putting the cost of manufacture unsuitable for market for at least another ten years."
Mainframe, less impressed than Techrat, decided to come straight to the point. "Thank you for meeting us on such short notice, Mr. Gabor."
"As you can imagine, an early morning house call from G.I. Joe would pique anyone's interest," Gabor replied. He took his seat at the desk "So, what can I do for you?"
"It's about your daughter, Phyllis Gabor—"
"What has Pizzazz done this time?" Gabor said with a heavy sigh, cutting Mainframe off. He reached into his desk and retrieved a checkbook. "And how much is this going to cost me?"
Techrat snorted. Father of the year.
"Your daughter was kidnapped last night, sir."
Gabor rested his chin atop his clasped hands. "Why would anyone kidnap my Pizzazz?"
"NORAD detected a series of rogue transmissions within its top secret satellite networks two days ago," Mainframe began. "The nature of the transmissions closely resembles that of the networking associated with Project Watchdog—a defense system that was sold to the Pentagon by a terrorist organization under the guise of a former employee of yours. We fear anyone tracking the source of those transmissions would use your daughter as leverage in order to gain classified information about Watchdog."
Gabor did not appear impressed. "I know all about project Watchdog. If this is some lame attempt to throw Gabor Enterprises under the bus again, my lawyers will have a field day tearing you guys a new one. If you'll recall I've already been exonerated over any wrongdoing regarding my 'former employee' Dr. Hammler's involvement the first time you guys came at me."
Techrat straightened when he heard his family surname. "Who did you say was involved?"
For the first time the businessman acknowledged the young hacker. "Who is this eight ball?"
"Dr. Hammler was my father," Techrat said defiantly. "What does he have to do with all this?" There was no answer. "Tell me!"
Finally, Gabor lowered his eyes and replied with, "I'm sorry, son. It's all classified. I suggest you take it up with your army friend."
Mainframe held up a preemptive hand in Techrat's direction. "Not now, Walter." He then folded his arms, at the end of his patience with Gabor, saying, "If you don't mind my saying so, sir, you don't seem at all concerned about your daughter's well being."
In answer, Gabor grabbed the remote on his desk, and he pointed it at the television. "I would be, if I hadn't seen her on Good Morning LA all morning promoting her tour." He turned on the television, showing a live broadcast of Pizzazz, Stormer and Jetta being interviewed by the hostess.
Mainframe clenched his fists at his sides, but he allowed Gabor to continue unchallenged.
"What you saw was most likely a very elaborate publicity stunt. Pizzazz is well known for these extreme hijinks of hers: she's sabotaged my fashion book, caused my movie to flop, not to mention her money-pit of an investment in Piebald Records that I went half in on... They're just cries for attention." Gabor turned off the TV and glared in the soldier's direction. "Now, I will tell you what does concern me: what business does SOCOM have putting a tail on my daughter, Pizzazz, in the first place?"
It was then that Beach Head's voice boomed in their earpieces. "Mainframe, disengage and return to our fallback location immediately. I say again: do not interact with Gabor any longer."
"That's what I thought," Gabor said, interpreting Mainframe's silence for defeat."If you have any more questions regarding Watchdog, you can contact me through my lawyer." He pushed the red button on his intercom. "Good day, gentlemen." And two security guards entered the room.
It was a quiet walk back to the jeep. Techrat and Mainframe soon sped off; Gabor's mansion grew smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror.
"I want to talk about my father," Techrat said.
Mainframe curled his lip, keeping his eyes on the road. "I know. But, that decision is above my pay grade."
"Is that why you brought me in, because of my father's involvement in this 'Watchdog' thing?"
"I didn't want you to find out this way," said Mainframe. "We were hoping that some of his genius rubbed off on you... That, or—"
"Or, you were hoping he imparted his knowledge regarding Watchdog onto me?"
Mainframe regarded Techrat. "Well, did he?"
Techrat leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, his middle finger was the only response he deigned to give.