Chapter Four

Plans

I





Through the bedroom window Casey watched as the first rays of the sun peeking over the rolling hills that surrounded Valley Grove slowly faded away the moon's pale image. Somewhere off in the distance a rooster crowed its salute to the rising sun and a horse whickered for its morning oats. Below her window the busy twittering of sparrows had replaced the preoccupied chik-chik of the crickets. Usually this was her favorite time of the morning when the slowly awakening world was washed in a watercolor of soft morning mist but she had not slept a wink the last few days. When Britt was away, their bed always seemed to be so big and cold. It was always worse when he was involved in something dangerous. Then every time the phone rang, or there was a knock on the door, she felt a cold fear that this time there would be bad news. That Britt would not be coming back.

Even after so many years she still had not fully come to terms with the fascination that danger held for him. She repeatedly told herself that it was what made him the type of man he was. It was as much a part of his makeup as it was for a race car driver or a mountain climber. He would not be the same man if he did not possess that daring, that lack of fear for his own safety, but she still worried, fearing that someday he would not return to her.

A heavy cloud of dust swirling up into the air caught her eye. Holding her breath she watched, trying to catch sight of the vehicle as it passed between the huge trees lining the dirt road leading to the house. She hurriedly threw on a robe as she called to the stableman's quarters. "Fred, Britt's home. Get your son up so that the two of you can take care of the horses as soon as they pull up to the stables," she ordered hurriedly.

By the time she reached the stables behind the house Britt was already busy supervising the unloading of the horses. Before he turned around she could already see that he was exhausted and hurting. His broad shoulders bowed as he leaned heavily on the truck's fender. When he turned to greet her, she was shocked to see how deeply the weariness was etched in his face. He was not even trying to hide it, frightening her even more. She ran to him through the dew dampened grass, and gave him a passionate welcome back kiss and hug. "How do you feel, dear?" she asked.

"I'll feel a lot better after I get some rest," he admitted tiredly.

"Fred, please help me get Britt into the house," she called to the stableman.

Lee came out of the stables, "I'll give you a hand, Mrs. Reid," he volunteered.

"No, young man, you're in no better shape than he is. When's the last time you two have eaten or gotten some rest?" she demanded.

Lee shrugged. "I don't know. What day is this?"

"Men," she sighed. "You get so caught up in what you're doing, you never think of taking care of yourselves. Lee, you go on ahead and get something to eat and then I want you to get right to bed," she ordered like he was one of her own children.

"But . . . " Lee began, turning to Britt for support.

Britt smiled, shaking his head. "Do as she says. Right now, she's the boss."



After checking upon Lee, Casey passed by the kitchen on the way to her and Britt's bedroom. She heard the clattering of pans and banging of cabinet doors. "I thought you were going to take a shower," she said to Britt who was busy setting up the coffee maker.

"I thought I had better get a cup of coffee first. Otherwise I'll fall asleep in the shower and drown."

She gazed lovingly at him for a moment. Then she impulsively hugged him tightly. "I'm so glad that you're home," she said burying her face against his warm chest. He smelled of sour sweat, dirty leather and horses, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that he was home in one piece. She felt safe and secure surrounded in his strong arms and the terrible emptiness inside her slipped away as she bathed in the warmth of his love. He gently lifted her chin and gazed into her eyes. She suddenly felt as shy as a schoolgirl on her first date. His eyes, neither blue nor green yet both at the same time, seemed to look into her very soul. She flushed at the intensity of his gaze and felt her body respond to his unspoken passion.

The hissing of water splattering on the empty hotplate of the coffee maker broke the magic of their embrace. "Oh dear!" Casey said, slipping from Britt's arms and pulling some paper towels off the roller.

Britt grabbed a towel and began helping her sop up the hot water that flooded the counter. "I couldn't find the coffee and when you came in, I, uh, had other things on my mind," he remarked wryly.

Casey pulled the towel from his hands. "Why don't you sit while I take care of everything?" she ordered, pushing his toward the kitchen table.

After cleaning up the mess and making a fresh pot of coffee, she brought a mug of coffee to Britt as he sat at the table with his left leg propped up on the chair opposite him. "Feels good," he murmured appreciatively over the steaming cup of coffee as she began to rub the kinks out of his neck and shoulders.

"You shouldn't drink too much of that," she advised lovingly. "You'll never get to sleep."

Britt glanced at his watch. "Unfortunately, I'm already running late. I'll barely have enough time for a shave and shower as it is." He ran his fingers through his shaggy mop of grey hair. "I've got so much to do I won't even have time to get a hair cut."

"You'll have plenty of time to do that. I've canceled all your appointments for the next few days and I've set it up with that political scientist from the university, Dr. Rich, to write a few editorials on the presidential race. So you see, you have plenty of time to get some rest. And a haircut," she said.

"I don't need that much of a rest. There's too much I have to do at the Sentinel."

"Well, then, after you wake up, you can call Lowrey and tell him what needs to be done, "she suggested.

"Can't do that. We've uncovered something I want to look into myself. I have to get to the Sentinel as soon as I can."

She sat down beside him and stole a quick sip from his mug, grimacing at the strong, black coffee. "What did you find out?" she asked.

"I'm not absolutely sure yet, but this much I do know. Senator de la Culebra's brother-in-law is in it up to his scrawny neck. The destination of one of those helicopters Lowrey spotted is a hidden marijuana plantation. There's probably more than one up there, considering the number of copters he saw. Miles was there and some kind of South American Military officer as well. I suspect the money they make from selling the marijuana is used to buy guns for this South American, who may in turn, be paying for them with cocaine or the with money made from the selling of it perhaps. I might be making this more complex that it really is. I'm not sure. That's something I'm going to have to find out."

"Do you think the Senator is involved?"

"I don't know, but I do know that Miles is too stupid and incompetent to head an operation as big as this one."

Casey felt a chill run through her, wondering how deeply Britt was planning on involving himself. "I've heard that de la Culebra can be a very vicious opponent; that he's destroyed anyone who's ever stood in his way," she said.

Britt shrugged unconcernedly. "He can be. He's also very popular and has a very strong and wide base of support. He's a shoe-in for the Presidency. He plays the media like a violin, with everybody fawning at his feet for the slightest tidbit of news," he said disgustedly.

"Everybody but the Sentinel."

"Right. And that put us on his shit list already."

"He's even more mad at us now that I've canceled the appointment he made for this morning," Casey mentioned.

Britt snorted with amusement. "I'll bet that made him real happy that a mere newspaper editor canceled an audience with his 'holiness'."

"He was livid."

"Good," Britt said. "But I do want you to set up another one with him, but at a time that's convenient for us, not him. The more we can throw him off balance the better."

"Britt, what if he starts looking into your past. What is he finds out . . . ?"

"He won't," Britt said firmly. "Too many years have gone by. I've covered my tracks completely. There's nothing he can dig up that can connect me with the Green Hornet. But even if he could, it won't stop me. If he's as dirty as I think he is, I intend to do everything in my power to stop him from winning the White House. Even if it means losing everything including the Sentinel."

Britt's grim determination frightened Casey. She wondered how far was he truly willing to go. Trying to change the subject, she patted his hand solicitously. "That can all wait until you've had a good rest."

"I don't need any rest," he said, irritation creeping into his voice. "I've gone a lot longer than this before," he protested angrily.

"That was a long time ago. You were a lot younger than," she gently reminded him, knowing immediately that she had said the wrong thing.

"Yeah. A lot younger and I wasn't lame either. Now all I am is a crippled old man. I'm not any good to anybody. Not even to myself," he said bitterly. "Maybe I should stop trying to play a young man's game."

"What happened?"

"Nothing much, except my leg chose to give out at the wrong time and the wrong place," he growled. "Could've gotten us killed." He slammed a fist into his bad leg. "Damn! I'm getting too old and slow to be in the field, investigating things personally. I should've been smart enough to realize that and sent Lowrey instead. Even if he doesn't like horses."

"Britt," she said tenderly, trying to soothe his sudden anger. "You're tired now. And you have every right to be. Any man half your age, less even would have dropped from sheer exhaustion by now. Why, Lee was asleep before he even hit his bed. He probably won't be getting up until well past noon. And knowing how you are, I'll bet you did the lion's share of the driving home while he slept. As for when you were younger. I remember there were quite a few times when you fell asleep at your desk after chasing around the city all night," she said forcefully.

"I'm not the same man you married . . . " he began wearily.

"Oh yes, you are, Britt Reid. You're still the most mule-headed, prideful man I've ever known. Sometimes you can be so exasperating. Especially when you get tired like this." Her voice softened, "I remember our wedding. I felt so proud when you pulled yourself out of that wheelchair as I came down the aisle. Especially since

most people didn't think you'd ever walk again."

"I wasn't about to sit down at my own wedding." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Tell me the truth. Did you marry me because you pitied me? Because I was a helpless invalid."

"A helpless invalid? You were anything but helpless or pitiable," she said with a quick laugh. "I remember how the nurses first competed with each other for the chance to take care of the very handsome and very available Britt Reid, but by the time you finally left they were drawing straws to see who was going to suffocate you in your bed."

"I wasn't that bad," he said defensively.

"No, you were worse."

"The bedpans were cold," he grumbled, but with a twinkle in his eyes. "Would you have married me if I hadn't been injured, if I had continued as the Green Hornet?" he asked thoughtfully.

"Any time, anyplace. All you had to do was ask. Sometimes I was afraid about what you were doing. Afraid that I might lose you permanently. I loved you then as I love you now. As I always will. A moment of your love would've been better than not having it at all."

"I guess I should've asked a lot earlier." He asked with a crooked grin, "You didn't much approve of the girls I dated, did you?"

"Hated their guts. Each and every one of them," she admitted candidly. She impulsively gave him a big hug. "Ugh, you smell like a goat, you old goat. Why don't you get that shower like you said you were going to?" Giving his whiskers a playful tug, she added, "And while you're at it, get a shave too. That beard tickles when we kiss."

"I don't know. I think it makes me look kind of distinguished," he said teasingly as he pulled her down into his arms.

Casey had crawled into bed while Britt was taking his shower and was contentedly listening to the soft swooshing of the water and the other comforting noises of his nearness, when the tilting of the bed under his weight made her realize that she had fallen into a light doze. She could feel the cool dampness of his body through the thin silk of her nightgown as he pulled her close to him, enveloping her body with his own. She looked up at him and whispered, "I love you."

There was no answer. He had already fallen into a deep sleep. She smiled and snuggled in more closely, happily closing her eyes. The bed was no longer cold or lonely.





The following afternoon, Britt found Lee and Casey happily chatting away in the garage where they had parked the Black Beauty. Britt wrapped an arm around Casey's waist and playfully nuzzled her neck. Giggling, she said, "Good morning Sleepyhead. Or should I say, Good Afternoon?"

"You could've gotten me us sooner, you know," he replied, taking a sip of reheated coffee from the mug in his other hand.

"I didn't have the heart. You looked so peaceful laying there that I figured I'd just let you get up on your own." She patted his stomach. "Did you get anything to eat yet?"

"Yeah. I ate a sandwich before I came down here." With a jaundiced eye he nodded at the mechanical and electrical parts that littered the floor. "Wouldn't it be easier to work on one thing at a time?" he asked Lee.

"Uh, huh," Lee agreed. "It would, but every time I pulled something out, there was something connected to it and something connected to that and now I have more stuff on the floor than is in the car." Lee looked helplessly at the mess at his feet. "I don't see how you and my father got all this stuff in the car in the first place. There must be miles of wiring alone. I had no idea how I'm going to get it all back in." His shoulders drooped and he shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid that even if I do get it all back in, the whole thing is going to blow up in my face."

Britt stole a quick look at Casey and gave her a wink. "Well, let me get you some work clothes and I'll give you a hand. I'll also get you something that'll be a big help."

"What? I have all the tools and spare parts I could find in that cabinet hidden behind the wall."

"You forgot the most important thing . . . the plans."

Lee's face lit up. "You still have them?"

"Of course."



The rest of the day and well into the evening Britt and Lee were completely immersed in the repair of the big car. Occasionally Casey floated in and out of the garage keeping them supplied with food and drink. Sometimes she would just sit and watch approvingly at they worked together. She fondly remembered how often Britt and Kato would work amiably side by side, developing some new gadget for the Black Beauty or just performing some simple maintenance.

Perhaps Lee's intrusion into their lives would be a good thing after all. For the first time in years Britt was talking about his past as the Green Hornet. Lee's open admiration was something he had needed for a long time. Even when Mike Axford told his Green Hornet stories to the twins, Britt remained silent, refusing to defend the Hornet, allowing his children to grow up believing that the Green Hornet was a monstrous master criminal. Casey wondered how they would react if they ever found out the truth, that their father was the Green Hornet. Even though he had chosen to remain silent about the Hornet, Casey knew that Britt needed to know that someone appreciated the work he had done, about the sacrifices he had been forced to make.

Lee pulled himself from under the car and rubbed the grease from his face and hands with the towel Casey handed him. "You know she's not in as bad a shape as I thought," he remarked.

"They built her to last," Casey said. "Didn't you, Britt?"

"Sure did," Britt answered, lifting his head from under the long hood. "Had to, considering all the punishment we put it through. Otherwise, it would've fallen apart a long time ago."

"Just like that first car you used," Casey said.

"First car?" Lee said, surprised. "I thought the Black Beauty was the only car you ever used."

"Nope. We used a regular car at first, but after it was shot up by a bunch of thugs we were chasing, we decided that we needed something else. Something that was not only fast, but bulletproof and armed. We also need something big to fit everything we wanted to in it. The new Imperial limousine that my father had ordered just before he was framed, fit the bill perfectly. In a way it was fitting that my father's dream car was used against the very people who destroyed him.

"To make it bulletproof we molded a carbon fiber fabric that a friend of mine who used to work for some chemical company gave me, over the original steel body. That made it a lot lighter than if we had used any other kind of armor. That same friends also gave us the material to make the tires bulletproof. We had to rework the grill to fit in the rocket pods, that's why it's shaped the way it is." Britt wiped a stray bit of grease from the engine. "And to power it all, a 455 cubic inch turbo charged V8 that could be silenced on command or boosted to get a bit of extra power over a short distance."

"It took us a lot of work and trial and error, but I think the Black Beauty turned out pretty good. We turned an ordinary luxury car into a rolling arsenal and during those few short years it certainly fulfilled its purpose."

"She's also what gave the Green Hornet his name," Casey added.

"How did that happen?" Lee asked.

"Well, actually, Mike Axford's responsible for that," Britt said. "But the Black Beauty did inspire him. When I first became the Green Hornet, it was in the middle of winter, so I wore a long overcoat, which just happened to be dark green, a matching hat and a silk muffler. To hide my identity I first wore a green Halloween mask that I had picked up for some masquerade party. I couldn't see out of that thing worth a damn, but when Casey joined our little group, she fixed that by making masks for us that fitted a lot better. But anyway, before we began using the Black Beauty, I was called the Man in Green by the press. On the Black Beauty's first day out everything worked perfectly, except for one thing. We were passing by police headquarters when Mike was walking out with some of his cop buddies and just to attract some attention Kato honked the horn. But instead of honking, it buzzed."

"And that's how you came to be called the Green Hornet!" Lee interjected.

"Thank heavens he didn't come up with something like Green Bee or something terrible like that," Casey laughed. She gazed at the Black Beauty. "You two are doing a great job fixing her up. I can still remember the first time I saw her."

Lee looked up in interest. "Did you help build the Black Beauty too?"

"No. I didn't know about the connection between Britt and the Green Hornet at first. I had a few suspicions though. When your employer keeps on disappearing at odd times of the day, or wakes you up in the middle of the night with all sorts of strange questions, you get the idea pretty quickly that he's up to something. I didn't know though how strange or dangerous until one certain night a long time ago.

"In those days I was still hoping to be a reporter so one day while I was having dinner with Mike, he made some kind of crack about female reporters. I blew up and stormed out of the restaurant. As I was walking home, I noticed a big black car. I thought it looked familiar, so I decided to check it out . . . "

Britt interrupted with a laugh, his eyes sparkling with the memory. "The best way to meet girls. Have a great car."

Casey shot a quick warning glance at Britt and continued, "Anyway. When I got close enough, I recognized it as the Black Beauty. I thought this was my chance. What better way to get an interview from the Green Hornet than from the back seat of his own car? Especially since it was rumored that the Hornet had a soft spot for the ladies. I tried the back door and found that it was unlocked. I climbed in, figuring that the worse that would happen is that I'd get kicked out of the car and have to walk home which was what I was doing anyway.

"However, to my surprise, nobody got into the back seat when the car took off a few minutes later. So here I am stuck in the Green Hornet's car going to God only knows where and there's nothing I could do about it. Looking back at it, I guess I could have told Kato that I was there, but at the time, the idea just didn't occur to me.

"From the floor I could hear some police sirens and the car started going so fast that I had to stop myself from being thrown all over the place. Then it suddenly slowed, and when I had the chance to peek out, I could see that we were in the old warehouse district where a lot of warehouses were being turned into boutiques and townhouses, including Britt's.

"I almost gave myself away when I thought we were going to run into a billboard, but instead it opened up. I knew then that I was on my way to the Green Hornet's secret hiding place." Casey paused and shot Britt a dirty look when he looked like he was going to say something about cats and curiosity. She knew he was having a hard time refraining from interrupting her story with comments of his own.

"Then the car went through another alley, through the backyard of a house and through the house's back wall where it finally stopped in a garage. I knew then that I was on top of the biggest story of the century. I had found the Green Hornet's home base. I remember thinking how Mike's face was going to look when I brought in the scoop of the year . . . the Green Hornet's secret identity!

"After Kato got out of the car, I settled in to wait until I could get out and explore. Suddenly the entire car began tilting on its side. I panicked and started screaming at the top of my lungs. The car finally stopped moving, but now it was hanging in the air sideways. I climbed up to the side that was now up in the air, found the button for the electric window, opened it, and pushed my head and shoulders through it. Boy, was I surprised to find that I was looking down at my boss!"

Britt could no longer contain himself and broke out laughing at the memory of Casey's disheveled appearance and the shock on her face when she poked her head out of the window. Casey tried to act miffed, but gave up and joined him in the laughter. "Okay, Mr. Wise Guy, I was a sight, but so were you, my dear Mr. Britt Reid. Your eyes were practically bugged out of your head, and for once the silver-tongued Britt Reid, who always had something clever to say was at a complete loss for words."

She continued her story. "At first I was afraid that he was going to do something to silence me. However after we had gotten over our mutual shock and they helped me out of the car, we discussed things over a cup of coffee and Britt told me the truth about himself and the Green Hornet."

Casey smiled softly, gently placing her hand on Britt's. "That was the beginning of my relationship with the man I'm proud to call my husband, my lover and especially my friend." No matter what happened, she thought to herself, even if he did finally decide to ride the Black Beauty as the Green Hornet again, I will stay at his side.





II

A few days later Ed Lowrey entered Britt Reid's office to find him leaning over Casey's shoulder as she typed into the computer on her desk. He cleared his throat. "Mr. Reid?"

Britt acknowledged the reporter with a curt nod, then turned back to his wife. "Casey, see if you can find anything at all on those other names I gave you."

Lowrey glanced at the computer screen. "Say isn't that the police computer files?" He saw a quick look flash between Britt and Casey. "The Chief would nail your hide to the wall if he found out that you still had access to those," he remarked.

"But, he won't. Will he, Lowrey?" Britt replied pointedly as he led Lowrey into his office.

"Not even if he pulls my fingernails out. 'Sides the man's a prick anyway. But, uh, Mr. Reid if I ever need to look up something . . . "

"That'll depend on what it is."

"Right, Boss," Ed said as he sat down before Britt's desk. "How did it go this weekend?"

"Just fine. In fact that's what I want to talk to you about," Britt said. "We discovered a marijuana plantation, but I think it's only the tip of the iceberg. Something very big and very sophisticated is going on. I want you to go back to Wolverton and nose around some more. Those helicopters are probably also being used to ship men and materials in and out of those mountains. I want you to find out where they're going. They have a range of about 300 miles, so I don't think they're flying them into the city. But even if the distance was shorter, I doubt they would anyway. That much activity would be too noticeable. They must have a pick-up point somewhere out in the sticks where they wouldn't be noticed or where a lot of activity like that would be considered normal. I want you to see if you can get a line on it."

"That's a lot of ground to cover, Mr. Reid. It's going to be hard," Lowrey said doubtfully.

"I know, but try anyway. You might get lucky."

"Do you have any idea who's behind this?"

"I do, but I want to keep my suspicions to myself for now until I can do some more investigating on my own." Reid's eyes narrowed as he added grimly, "You will not discuss this with anyone. Understand?"

Ed grimly nodded his understanding. "I got a bad feeling that you're up to your neck in something dangerous here. If I was really smart, I'd bail out now. While I still can." A large grin suddenly flashed on his long face, "But that's why I like working here. Never a boring moment. I'm not about to back out just because things might get a little uncomfortable."

Britt smiled his approval. "I'm glad to hear that," he said. "Pick up whatever cash you need at the cashier. If you have any problems there, have them call Casey, or me."

Casey's screaming from the anteroom interrupted their discussion. Both men looked up to see Casey and Mike Axford engaged in a bizarre sidestepping waltz as she tried to stop Axford from barging into Britt's office. Britt sighed and shook his head. "Lowrey . . . " he began.

"Right, Boss. I'm gone."

Britt watched Lowrey sidle past Axford and Casey as she vainly tried to stop the retired reporter. It was an old game that they always played.

"Mike! Don't you dare bother him. He has a lot of work to do!" she screamed.

"Decided to come out of retirement, Mike?" Britt asked Axford.

"Nah, but somebody else has!" Axford roared.

"Who?" Britt asked innocently.

"The Green Hornet, that's who! I told you he wasn't dead!" he shouted triumphantly. "That bastard was too tough to die."

"At least not until you get your hands on him, that is. Why do you believe he's still alive?"

"The entire underworld is abuzz with it. Some Hornet seals were found at a marijuana plantation and a guy got hit by one of those darts the Hornet's man always used. I tell you, Britt, the Hornet's alive and kicking!" Axford exclaimed excitedly.

"Maybe somebody's just trying to take advantage of his reputation. It has gotten blown out of proportion over the years. Somebody might've gotten the bright idea of taking advantage of it," Britt suggested. "From what I remember, I think it's very definite that the Hornet died. If not at that gravel pit, then a short time afterwards. Considering the amount of blood that was found on his discarded clothing, I don't think anyone could have lost that much and lived," he reasoned.

"But no body was ever found, Britt. I tell you, I feel it in my bones. The Hornet's as alive as you are. Something big is going on and the Hornet's behind it."

"I think you're barking up the wrong tree, Mike. I am glad that you're here, though. There's something I want to talk to you about."

"Yeah? What?" Mike said, immediately interested. Even though he had retired a few years ago, intending to write his memoirs, the possibility of a story made his ears prick up like an old fire horse's.

"I've been working on a story on some hard timers I've known and I've been trying to get a line on them. Unfortunately when I try to find something out by computer search, I keep drawing a blank. It's like somebody's wiped the slate clean on every single one of them."

"Computers. Bah. I never had any faith in those damn things. They'll never replace the old Underwood if you want my opinion," Mike remarked. "I've never trusted those things."

Britt wrote several names on a piece of paper. "That's why I want you to see if you can find anything on these men at police headquarters. You're the only reporter that's allowed anywhere near there. The Chief's so damned paranoid that he won't allow anybody with a press pass in without his express permission, in triplicate."

Mike carefully read the names Britt handed him. "Boy these are some really bad characters. They all have records as long as my arm. Most of them should still be in prison."

"But are they, Mike? According to what we've been able to pull up, they're all as pure as driven snow. I want you to find out what's going on."

"Glad to, Britt, but one thing . . . "

Britt rolled his eyes in exasperation, he could see it coming. "What, Mike?"

"I'm sure the Hornet's alive and I want you to keep some space open for the story I'm going to write on his return. And his long overdue capture."

"Get me some positive proof, Mike and I'll run it. Not before," Britt warned the reporter as he lumbered out of the office.



After Mike left Britt picked up a pen and tried to concentrate on the paperwork on his desk. Now that he had given everyone their assignments, there was nothing left for him to do except wait until he had more information to go on. He should have been able to settle down and get his own work done, but the words on the papers before him made no sense and he found himself having to read the same paragraph over several times. On its own his mind kept on returning to the problem of the mountain plantation and the men behind it.

"What the hell?" Britt said to himself as a large crowd armed with videocams and microphones bearing the emblems of the major networks invaded the Daily sentinel's City Room. At the eye of the tempest was a small, dark man, who led the people about him like a modern day Moses. Or Napoleon.

He beamed benevolently at the outraged publisher storming into the City Room. "Ah, ladies and gentlemen," he said in a surprisingly deep, resonant voice. "Just the man I have come to see, like Mohammad to the mountain. May I introduce to my running mate, the next vice-president of the United States, owner-publisher and editor of this fine newspaper, Mr. Britt Reid?"

Instantly the mob rushed Britt, pressing him back against the wall. He quickly overcame his shock at the unexpected announcement and shoved back at the reporters with the cane in his hand. "No comment," he shouted at the top of his voice, "If and when I chose to make one, it'll be at a time and place of my own choosing. Not here in my City Room. Those of you who don't work for me leave here now, or I'll have you thrown out bodily," he warned. No one made a move until he lifted his cane, threatening to brain anybody if they came too close. "I don't give a damn if I make enemies or not. I won't tolerate any further disruption of my newspaper." Too slowly for his taste the crowd melted away as the Sentinel's security men began escorting them out of the room.

Left alone except for his private bodyguards, Senator Marcus de la Culebra smiled innocently. "I'm sorry to create such an uproar, Britt."

"Senator, we will discuss this in my office," Britt growled, his temper barely under control. "In private," he added as the presidential candidate's men trailed them into Casey's anteroom.



De la Culebra watched admiringly as Casey pressed the buttons on Britt's desk that closed the drapes, making the office private from the City Room and the other public areas that the office looked into. "I've heard a great deal about you, Britt. I'm glad to see that they are all true, perhaps even to the point of understatement," he said smoothly. "You are well known for your take-charge personality and," he ran a hand along the expensive wood of the elliptical desk, "for your ability to control your entire business from a desk. I must ask you for the name of your cabinetmaker. This could come in handy in the oval office."

Not humored, Britt frowned down at the much shorter man. "I don't care for the way you made your 'little' announcement. I don't like my newspaper disrupted in that manner."

The Senator nodded to himself, ignoring Britt's anger, as he nonchalantly examined Britt's office. He stopped before a large painting above a television set against a wall between the outer door and the anteroom's door. "Is that your father?" he asked. "There's a strong family resemblance. He must have been about the age you are now."

"Yes, that painting is of my father. And yes, he was about the same age I am now. About this announcement you made, Senator . . . " Britt began testily.

"He died in prison, didn't he?"

"He was murdered while serving a sentence for a crime he didn't commit. I don't like being put on the spot like that. Senator, I have no intention of being your vice-president." Britt struggled to maintain self control. He knew that the Senator was playing with him, but he still had to fight down the impulse to wring the little man's neck.

"My dear Britt, as a newspaperman, you know as well as I, that the show's the thing. In politics one must be bold, dramatic. Besides I knew that this way you would have no choice but to agree to be my running mate. Imagine, Britt, the first Hispanic president and the first newspaperman to be vice-president. What an historic ticket that will be. For the first time in far too many years peace will be made between the press and the White House. It will be the perfect match."

"There will be no match. If you think I can't refuse your offer because of the public way you made it, you're badly mistaken. I don't want to be vice-president."

"What do you want, Reid? The Presidency itself, perhaps?"

"I don't want any political office."

"Something else perhaps? Everyone wants something. Money, power, position. What about you?"

"I don't need any of those things. I am happy with what I have."

"You're a fool or a liar. No one is happy with what they have. Everyone wants more," the Senator said, a hardness growing in his dark eyes.

"Perhaps you are right. There is something I do need, but it's very rare these days," Britt hedged warily.

The Senator smiled smugly. Now he had the arrogant editor where he wanted him. "Name it and perhaps we can work out a deal. You have the reputation of never supporting any political candidates. I want your support. I have everyone else's, from the New York Times to the L.A. Times. Everyone except for the Daily Sentinel, that is. I want to correct that oversight. What is it that you want in return for correcting it?"

"It's not an oversight. I made the policy of not supporting political candidates because it could jeopardize the objectivity that the people have come to respect the Sentinel for. I have no intention of changing that policy. As for what I want. What I want is the truth. I have heard whispers that some of your supporters are involved in drugs. Is there any truth in it?"

"Of course not," the Senator said indignantly. "Who told you that kind of trash? Are you intending to print it?"

"No. I won't print it. However, I do have to obligation to print whatever I do discover, no matter what it might be."

The Senator glared at Britt. "Be careful of where you step. You might not like what you find yourself in the middle of. Lies can be turned back at those who spread them." His eyes narrowed as he regarded the tall editor, "Perhaps it is good that you don't want to be my running mate. I don't think I could tolerate sharing the spotlight with a man like you." Then he smiled engagingly. "I fear that you would attract too much attention from my female supporters." He studied the lines of Britt's face. "Tell me, have you heard anything about the Green Hornet still being alive?"

"As far as I know the Green Hornet's been dead for a long time. Why do you ask?"

"No special reason. I was just curious. It's just that a master criminal like him intrigues me. I have heard that the Sentinel, actually yourself, had frequent dealing with him."

"The only dealings I've ever had with him were unpleasant ones, including getting shot in the middle of the City Room. He's dead and I'm glad about it."

"Indeed? I would imagine though that he provided your paper a lot of interesting copy before he died."

"Perhaps, but his dying didn't hurt the Sentinel any. It's done fine since then."

"Indeed it has. Perhaps if you're careful, it will continue to do so," the Senator subtly warned, "After all you do have a family to think about."

"Don't threaten my family, Senator. If anything happens to them, I'll jump on you with both feet," Britt growled. "You'll forgive me if I don't show you out," he said, turning his back on the Senator to look out the window at the city below.

De la Culebra's swarthy features momentarily flushed with anger at being so abruptly dismissed. This time he decided, he would not challenge the publisher, especially in his own office. He grimly left without a word, promising himself that the next time, it would be Reid who would be the loser.

After De la Culebra left, Casey came into the office. "Are you going to accept his offer?"

"No, of course not," Britt answered. "What do you think of him?" he asked.

"He's the most repulsive man I've ever met. He reminds me of some slimy reptile. Those beady eyes of his give me the willies. They're like a snake's," she said with a shiver. "I'm probably the only one who feels that way, but I do think he's an incredible speaker. He's almost hypnotic. Some of my friends have even fallen in love with him, just because of his speeches. They say that he's the most sexually exciting man they have ever seen."

"There's no denying that he does have an incredible amount of charisma." Britt snorted derisively. "All of the world's greatest leaders are said to have possessed it."

"Including Hitler," she commented with an involuntary shudder. "Do you think he was serious about offering you the vice-presidency?"

"I doubt it."

"Then why announce it so publically?"

"He wanted to put me on the spot. He doesn't like it that I won't support him. He hoped that I would make a fool of myself. And I did just that by losing my temper. I not entirely sorry about it though. It's about time somebody showed the world that not everyone is willing to lick his feet for the merest scrap. Unfortunately, I'm sure he will manag to use it to his advantage."

"You sound like it's personal between you," she commented.

"It is," he said as he began pacing. "There's something about him that bothers me."

"Maybe it has something to do with that business up in Wolverton.

"No, it's something else. This is the first time we've ever met face to face. I'm sure of that, but still there's something familiar about him. All the alarm bells keep on going off in my head, but I can't put my finger on why. Every time I think I have it, it slips away, staying just out of my reach." He shrugged off his uneasiness and changed the subject. "Did you find anything at all on those names I gave you?"

"Not a thing. I searched every law enforcement agency I could access; local, state, federal, even Interpol. I couldn't find a thing, except that they all work for the forestry department in some function or the other and that their employment records are clean. There's not even a single parking ticket among them."

"That should be impossible, but I can't say that I didn't expect it. Considering the scope of that operation we saw, clearing those records is only a small sample of the power of whoever is running it has. Casey, I want you to run a check on our esteemed senator."

"I already did," she said proudly.

"You did?" he said, surprised. "When?"

"While you were talking to him. I figured you would want a full run down on him."

"Good girl. What did you find out?"

"Nothing new, I'm afraid. There's nothing that hasn't been examined in minute detail on every TV news program and in every newspaper in the country. You've heard it all before."

Britt sat at his desk and made himself comfortable. "Why don't you refresh my memory?"

She looked quickly through her notes as she sat down in front of his desk. "Let's see. He was born and raised in a tiny village in northern New Mexico. There's nothing remarkable about his upbringing or schooling there. He wasn't the best of students, but he wasn't the worst either. In his teens, he became bored with his life there, dropped out of high school and moved here because of the high paying jobs in the auto industry.

"Instead of finding a job when he got here, he joined a youth gang and quickly rose in the ranks until he became its leader. His official records were closed when he turned twenty-one, but he's made no secret of the fact that he had been arrested for petty larceny and fighting. No convictions though, and no involvement with drugs.

"Then, according to his official bio, an elderly Catholic priest caught him with his hands in the poor box and instead of turning him over to the police put him onto the right track by giving him a job caring for the church's grounds. De la Culebra got religion and resolved to 'fight for the poor and oppressed against the rich and powerful'.

"He earned his GED, went to college on a scholarship sponsored by the priest's parish and after graduating from law school, with honors, opened up a store front legal aid office in that same community. Later, he worked successfully to rehabilitate ex cons and gang members by employing them at a non-profit nursery that he founded in the priest's memory.

"He built up quite a following among the poor with a lot of rousing rhetoric about hard work and bootstraps. He also received a lot of funding from several liberals with uneasy consciences. The liberal backlash against the hyper conservatives and the dissatisfaction of the have-nots against social policies of the last few administrations helped him win the seat in the Senate a few years ago and has kept him there ever since.

"He has a broad base of support now and no one doubts that he will win the presidency easily." She looked up from her notes, taking a deep breath. "Britt, he has connections everywhere. He has friends in every department of the federal government and is on many of the most influential committees in Congress. If he is truly as crooked as you think he is, he is going to be a difficult man to fight. What are you planning to do?"

"There's not much I can do right now. Not until we hear from Mike and Lowrey. I can tell you one thing though, after seeing what was done to the records of those men Lee and I saw, I wouldn't lay much store in what we've read or heard."



Linda Travis, secretary to the editor of the Clarion, ran down the hallway as the phone rang with jarring insistence. It always seemed to ring whenever she had to get something done at the copier. As she entered the office the heel of her shoe caught in a familiar snag in the worn carpet. She dropped the papers she had been carrying as she tried to stop herself from falling.

"Damn cheapskate," she complained. One of these days I'm going to break my neck on that," she thought. She was always warning Crawford about it, but he was too cheap to do anything about it. She pulled her foot free from her shoe. She would have to retrieve it and the papers on the floor after she finished the phone call. "Clarion, Mr. Crawford's office," she answered, hoping that the caller was still on the line. "I'm sorry, Mr. Crawford's not in right now. May I take a message? Mr. Lowrey. Mr. Ed Lowrey? Yes, I've heard of him. He's one of our reporters. No, he prefers to use a pseudonym for the articles he writes for us."

Joshua Crawford angrily tore the phone out of her hand. Covering the receiver with his hand, he hissed to her, "I'll deal with you after I take care of this." He spoke into the phone, "Who's calling. Oh, I see. Well, I'm sorry, but my secretary was mistaken. Lowrey isn't on the Clarion's staff. If you're having problems with him, I suggest you call his real employer, Britt Reid, the editor of the Daily Sentinel. I don't care what Lowrey said. Reid's always telling his people to say that they work for us when they get into trouble. You better keep a close eye on him. All of Reid's people are troublemakers," he warned the caller. "Yeah, glad to be a help."

Banging down the phone, he turned on his secretary. "What's the big idea? Does Reid have any other spies around here?" he demanded angrily.

"I wasn't doing it for Britt Reid. Ed Lowrey asked me to cover for him as a personal favor. He said he was working on something and he didn't want anybody to know about it," she protested, "including Mr. Reid."

"What's Lowrey working on?"

"I don't know. He didn't tell me."

"I believe that like I got a hole in my head. Reid's always throwing his weight around, just because he has the biggest circulation in the city. He doesn't have to put up with a board of directors made up of lawyers and bankers to check every decision he makes. No, he can make any decision he wants and pocket all the profits himself without having to give it to a bunch of money hungry stockholders. The Clarion would be doing as good as the Sentinel if I had that kind of power."

"I said Mr. Reid doesn't know anything. Ed didn't want him to know what he was working on."

"Bull!" Crawford bellowed. "Reid always knows what his people are doing. They're loyal to him. Not like with me. All I got working for me is a bunch of losers and ingrates. Including you. You're fired. Clear out your desk before I leave for lunch. If you're so damn eager to work for Reid, you can look to him for a job." He glared at the papers strewn over the frayed carpet. "And pick up that stuff."

"You can pick that up yourself, you miserable SOB," she yelled back at him as she tearfully began cleaning out her desk. "Even if I can't get a job at the Sentinel, no job is better than working for a miserable good-for-nothing like you!"

Crawford angrily slammed the door behind him. He hated losing the girl, especially if she did go over to the Sentinel. Although she was plain, she was the best secretary he's had in a long time. He picked up an old football trophy and threw it at the door. "Damn," he cursed. Everywhere he turned, there was Reid blocking him. Whenever he had anyone with the slightest promise on his staff, Reid would steal that person away. Crawford was forced to run the Clarion with alcoholics and illiterates. Yet, despite Reid's best efforts to bury the Clarion, Crawford still managed to keep it afloat by turning it into a fairly successful weekly tabloid. So what if most of what was printed was superstitious nonsense and pseudoscience. Circulation was at an all time high and that's all that mattered in the end.

He hunted in his pockets for a phone number, found it and began dialing. Senator de la Culebra's campaign manager had approached him with the idea of digging up some dirt on the ever-sanctimonious editor of the Daily Sentinel. Reid had invaded Crawford's turf once too often. He was going to find enough dirt to bury Reid six feet under.





III





Tiredly lowering his binoculars, Lowrey began rubbing his eyes. There had been too many all-nighters this week. All he had drawn so far were blanks and he was ready to call it quits and return to Reid with a negative report. He hated the idea of admitting defeat to the Old Man. He fumbled in the paper bag beside him for a sandwich and began munching on it as he resumed his watch. Of all the places he had pinpointed on the map and had checked out so far, the old military weapons depot he was watching was the most promising. He had learned from the local farmers that the place had been deactivated shortly after the Vietnam War and had sat vacant until it was turned over to a federal research group a few years ago. The locals said that the people there were pleasant enough, but vague about exactly what they were doing. Research, Lowrey thought, that was what was supposed to be going on in those mountains around Wolverton. He made a mental note to see if the same person, or persons, might be behind both 'research' projects.

The old depot had been quiet for most of the day with little visible activity outside of some foot traffic and an occasional truck that pulled into one of the larger buildings. Lowrey had seen them arrive, but as of yet, none of them had left. He wearily glanced at his watch and looked up at the sun that was now a big orange ball sitting on the western horizon. He'd know by tomorrow morning whether this was the right place or not.

Lowrey finished his sandwich and opened the Tupperware container that held a large piece of blueberry pie. He was glad he had decided to use Mrs. Apple's place as a base of operations. It's good to have a comfortable place to crash between excursions, and the food isn't bad either, he thought as he licked the sticky filling from his fingers.

The sky was just starting to blush with the first glow of the rising sun, when the first dark blot appeared over the horizon. Lowrey blinked his eyes and yawned broadly, trying to stretch the kinks out of his back. For a few moments he watched as the distant dots became larger until they were recognizable as several large helicopters in dull army green. Bingo, he thought triumphantly. The heavy beat of their blades against the cool, early morning air became louder as they neared the depot. One by one they delicately landed on a large concrete pad near the large building where the trucks had pulled into the afternoon before.

Lowrey remained only long enough to make sure that what was unloaded was indeed the large bales of marijuana that Reid had described. He would have liked to have stayed to see where the trucks that were being loaded from the copters would go, but it looked like a long operation. He was in a hurry to get his report in to the Boss. There were only a few roads into the area and only one that led out from the depot. He knew where there was a phone along the most likely route toward town. He could watch them while he called in his report.

Several hours later at a roadside cafe, Lowrey nursed a bitter cup of coffee and poked at a stale sweet roll. Through the dirt-streaked window he saw the first of the trucks pass by. Positive now of the trucks' direction, he crawled out of the poorly patched booth and casually sauntered to the antiquated payphone. It still worked and still even accepted dimes for calls. First he tried Reid's direct line at the paper. "This is Ed Lowrey. Is Mr. Reid in?" he asked, surprised that he had gotten the switchboard instead. "No? When will he be in? No idea at all? Are you sure?" Damn, Lowrey cursed as he banged the receiver down on its handle.

Of course nobody knows where Reid is. Nobody ever knows where that man goes and he never bothers to tell anybody either. He dug through his pockets for the piece of paper where he had written Reid's home number. Swearing, he pulled out crumpled papers, change, paper clips and pencils sharpened down to the metal bands that once held erasers. Finally he found it inside an inner pocket of his jacket. He dialed number and listened impatiently as it rang.

A deep authoritative voice interrupted Lowrey's ring count, "You own that sports car out there?" demanded the gigantic state cop standing at the door.

"I don't own it. It's a rental," Lowrey replied, placing the receiver back into its cradle. "What's the matter, Officer?"

"We got an APB on a vehicle matching your car's description. We'd like to take a look at it."

"Yeah, sure, anything Officer," Lowrey meekly complied. The last thing he wanted was trouble with the cops.

Outside beside Lowrey's red convertible was another state cop, as big as the first, but while the first had been a nordic giant, the one was as dark as bitter chocolate. "Let's look into the trunk first," the man said in a rumbling bass.

Lowrey shrugged indifferently as he pulled out the keys, hunted for the right one, trying to remember whether it was the big one or the little one that opened the trunk. "You want me to open it, or do you want to?" he asked when he had found the right key.

"You do it."

"Okay, anything you say, Officer." Lowrey opened the trunk. It was bare except for the spare and jack.

"Nothing here," the black cop said after rapping along the sides of the trunk and examining under the spare. "What about inside the car?" he asked his partner who was rummaging through the trash that Lowrey had scattered into the back seat.

"Nothing yet. Hey, wait a minute. What do we have here?" the white cop said, pulling out a brown package from under the seat and began unwrapping it.

"Hey!" Lowrey exclaimed in sudden panic. It was staring to feel like a set up. "I never saw that before. Somebody must've left it there. I don't know anything about that," he protested as the white officer dipped a moistened finger into the white powder in the package.

"Sure pal, the Little People left it there as a personal gift to you. Right?" the black cop said sarcastically.

"I tell you, I never saw that before," Lowrey said, feeling helplessly caught in an undertow.

"That's what they all say, buddy," the white cop replied. "Assume the position. Charlie, read him his rights, will you?"

The state officers brought their prisoner into the nearest police station. It was very familiar to Lowrey. "Hi Sheriff. Long time, no see," Lowrey said in a weak attempt a humor. "Out of the frying pan . . . " he thought to himself.

"So, Mr. Troublemaker, you're back again. What's the beef, Officers?"

"Transporting coke, Sheriff. You mind if we keep him here on ice for a while?" the white cop said as he wrinkled his nose at the Sheriff's smelly cigar.

"No problem. Glad to be a help," the Sheriff said. "Lowrey, you stay here while we take care of the paperwork out front."

"You think you should leave him alone?" the black cop questioned.

"He ain't goin' nowhere," the Sheriff confidently assured them.

Left alone in the Sheriff's office, Lowrey panic-stricken, quickly went to work, trying to figure a way out of the room. He feared what might happen to him once he was helpless in the Sheriff's none too gentle hands.

"There's no way out, buster, so you might as well relax," the Sheriff said, closing the door behind him.

"I want my lawyer," Lowrey demanded.

"After you answer some questions," the Sheriff growled.

"Not until I see my lawyer," Lowrey insisted.

"Now!" the Sheriff growled, pushing the reporter against the dingy wall. "I've been makin' a few calls and I find you been tellin' me some lies. Who do you work for?"

"I work for the Clarion," Lowrey hopelessly lied.

"I called there. They never heard of you. Try again."

"I work for the Daily Sentinel," Lowrey finally admitted, knowing that is was useless to hide the Sentinel's, or Reid's, involvement any longer.

"Is your boss' name Britt Reid? Is he the one who sent you here?" the Sheriff asked.

"Yeah."

"Did he know a guy named Kato?"

"Yeah. His son came to Mr. Reid because he thought his father had been murdered." Lowrey said.

"I'm glad the boy found someone to help him. I just wish you'd let me know Reid sent you in the first place. It could've saved you and me a whole lot of trouble."

"How's that?" Lowrey asked.

"I was workin' with Kato. I couldn't let anybody know, not even his boy, 'cause it could've put him in danger."

"What do you mean?"

"Kato and I were collecting everything we could about what was happening around here. He told me that if anything happened to him to give it to an old friend of his named Britt Reid. He said Reid ran a paper called Daily Sentinel down south. I've been waitin' for him or somebody from his paper to show up so's I could give it to him."

"Why didn't you just got in contact with the Sentinel yourself?"

"Couldn't. I was worried somebody would find out before I could get it to him. There's nobody around here I can trust anymore."

The Sheriff walked to the water cooler set in the corner and pressed a button hidden in its base. The rusty radiator beneath the room's sole window slipped silently to reveal a small inset panel. Lowrey joined the Sheriff and looked closely at the clever way the rollers on the radiator had been attached. No one knowing about them would have guessed that it was even possible to move the heavy object more than an inch.

"I like it. Do it yourself?"

"Nope," the Sheriff grunted as he lifted out the panel and pulled out a heavy briefcase. "I'll go south with you and meet with Reid. I'll answer any questions that Reid has, but after he sees this he won't have many to ask. We better get outa' here. I got a feelin' that you aren't supposed to be here very long."

"That's quite right, Sheriff," said a deputy standing in the doorway. "Matter of fact, Mr. Lowrey you're gonna escape. Unfortunately, you'll be shot while making your escape after killing the Sheriff," he said aiming his gun at the Sheriff's ample midsection.

With amazing speed for a man of his bulk the Sheriff threw the briefcase at the deputy and dove for his own gun on the desk in front of him. In a single clap of thunder the Sheriff and deputy fired at each other. Lowrey dove for the deputy trying to stop him from firing again, only to find the man was already dead. "You got him, Sheriff," he said turning back to the Sheriff.

The Sheriff leaning against the wall spread his hand over a gaping hole in his belly. " 'Fraid he got me too," he got me too," he gasped painfully.

"I better get some help," Lowrey said as he vainly tried to stop the spurting blood from the Sheriff's wound.

"No use. I'm a goner. Get outta here while you can. Get that stuff to Reid. He'll know what to do with it. I don't matter, but those papers do. Now git!" he growled, drawing on his last reserves of strength.

Lowrey opened his mouth to argue, but found that the man in his arms was already beyond his help. Not willing to run a gauntlet of crooked deputies, he grabbed up the Sheriff's chair and heaved it through the window. He was half out the window before he remembered the briefcase. Precious moments were wasted as he hurriedly searched until he found it under the dead deputy. He squeezed frantically out the window and praised his luck that his car was almost under the window. He fumbled for the keys, couldn't find them and began to panic.

"Gotta be some way...," he said to himself as he climbed into the car. Although he had no idea how to hot-wire the car, he began fumbling beneath the steering column, batting away the keys that hung there.

"Keys!" Lowrey cursed himself for his blindness, scrambled behind the wheel and gunned out from behind the building just as a deputy poked his head out of the window and began shouting to his comrades.

Lowrey tore out of town. He ignored its single stop light, and almost slid into a dump truck that was slowly creeping across the intersection. The only police car to pull out fast enough after the fleeing reporter was not so lucky. It slipped under the truck's rear, spilling most of its foul load over itself and the intersection in all directions, blocking off all other pursuit.

Lowrey drove at top speed for several miles. As yet, he had not spotted any pursuers. All too soon he knew that the police would be on the hunt for a red sports car. He would not be able to stay free unless he could disappear. He would have to ditch the car quickly, even though it would be impossible to make his way home on foot. It would not even be safe for him to hitchhike. There was no telling who would pick him up. Lowrey squinted at the clock in the car's dashboard. It was well past midnight. His only resort was to call the boss and ask for a ride into the city. He prayed that Reid would be home as anyone decent should be, but with the publisher there was no telling what he might be involved in at this hour.