The Winds of God

by pat weakley

Book Two-The Daily Sentinel has been bombed. Britt's investigation of who did it is complicated by the fact that he must keep his activities as the Green Hornet secret from his two grown children who are home for the holidays.

2. The Red Knight

Chapter Two

The Red Knight

I

Ed Lowrey signaled for another beer as he settled more deeply into the worn red velvet booth. Even if his APP contact didn't make the meeting the night wouldn't be a total loss. Not when it included listening to Big Mamma Biggs sing her own special brand of the blues. Lowrey had chosen the smoky cellar that was The Sweet Magnolia for two reasons. The first was that he knew that a place where blacks outnumbered whites three to one would make the neo-Nazi decidedly uncomfortable, and anything that made the man uneasy would work to the his advantage.

The second reason was purely selfish. The Sweet Magnolia was one of his favorite haunts ever since that day in high school when some of his black school pals had dared him to come with them to the dark lounge. In those days the air was blue with marijuana smoke and Black Panthers plotted in darkened corners, but Lowrey had proved to be a good sport even to the point of plinking out a good boogie woogie rift on the old upright piano. It especially helped that Big Mama Biggs had taken an immediate liking to the scrawny white boy who looked like he hadn't eaten in days. It was a great time in his life. Lowrey saw many of the best blues and jazz musicians play on The Sweet Magnolia's small stage including Al Hirt who played a heart racing version of The Flight of the Bumblebee dedicated to the memory of the city's least favorite son - the Green Hornet.

Gradually this part of downtown was rediscovered by the moneyed and those who considered themselves hip. Part of this discovery was The Sweet Magnolia. Although the clientele changed with the Black Panthers giving way to well-dressed men and women, both black and white, and marijuana joints gave way to clove cigarettes and expensive cigars, the Sweet Magnolia stayed the same with Big Mama Biggs singing the blues. Then some hot shots in the city government decided that The Sweet Magnolia was in serious need of redevelopment - read razing - especially since Big Mama had gotten seriously behind in her taxes and the little piece of property it sat on could bring in a lot of money if a glass high-rise sat on it instead of a dingy brownstone.

Always ready for a challenge, Lowrey had led the fight to save The Sweet Magnolia and had won readily. Of course it helped that by then he was working for the Daily Sentinel and that Britt Reid was always ready for a fight, especially when it involved City Hall. The victory was a reward for Big Mama Biggs' affection for the scrawny kid who grew up into the scrawny man and she in turn always gave him the best seat in the house whenever he wandered in. Lowrey had a lot of friends in The Sweet Magnolia and that suited him just fine. If the neo-Nazi tried anything, he'd be squashed like a bug.

Lowrey spotted his man as soon as he appeared at the foot of the narrow stairs that led into the lounge. In the dim light of the single red bulb at the bottom of the stairs Lowrey checked out the stranger. The man was dressed in a black leather trenchcoat and a black fedora that was tilted low on his forehead. Lowrey grimaced. The guy was probably thinking he was acting inconspicuous, all the while only succeeding in standing out like a sore thumb. All he needed was a red arm band with a swastika on it and a big neon sign over his head flashing 'Nazi, Nazi'. Lowrey shook his head, the guy's seen too many WWII spy movies.

Lowrey waved a hand, caught the man's attention and motioned for him to join him in the half circle booth. Closer up the reporter saw that the man was very young, probably a college freshman or sophomore.

"You want a beer?" Lowrey asked.

The man nodded and Lowrey signaled for the waiter to bring over two beers. Lowrey waited until the beers arrived, and the had waiter left. "So you're Erich Crossman?" he asked.

The man nodded. "And you're Ed Lowrey? From the Daily Sentinel?"

Lowrey nodded. Well, we're just getting along swimmingly, aren't we? he thought.

"Do you have the money?" Crossman asked as he nervously rotated the frosty beer mug between his hands.

"Yeah. You get fifty now and another fifty if your information pans out."

"I want a hundred now," Crossman demanded.

"No can do. I'm not laying that kind of money out for what might be bogus information. Take it or leave it."

"I have to have the money. I have to leave town. Hakenkrueze will kill me when he finds out I've talked."

Lowrey shrugged. "Not my problem, buddy."

Crossman's dark brown eyes met Lowrey's blue, studying the reporter, measuring his mood, then fell in embarrassment. "I need at least seventy-five. That'll get me a bus ticket out of this town. I don't care about the rest."

Lowrey was silent for a few minutes, letting Crossman stew. "How did you get into this, kid?" he asked.

Crossman shrugged. "It was in high school. We thought it was fun to pick on the other kids, especially the geeks. We got a lot of respect and nobody dared to cross us. Then we met Hakenkrueze. He told us about how us whites had to stand up for our rights, before the colored races and mixed bloods destroyed us and everything America stood for. It sounded good and it gave us a reason to beat up on other people. A cause, you know." Crossman grinned for a moment, looking very young. "Hell, the uniforms are the bomb." The grin fell suddenly under the reporter's glare.

"So why are you talking to me?" Lowrey asked.

Crossman hesitated. Lowrey pushed a fifty to him. "Fifty now, and I'll give you twenty-five if I think I can use what you tell me."

The neo-Nazi's hand slid over the fifty and disappeared into the trenchcoat's pocket. "Hakenkrueze's going nuts. At first it was only hassling the spics, niggers and the rest of them. You know spraying graffiti on stores and walls, a rock through somebody's window. A burning cross on some uppity guy's lawn. You know, the usual stuff. Nothin' much."

Lowrey suppressed his shock at the young man's casual attitude toward terrorizing other people. "And then what happened?"

"Hakenkrueze is acting now like he's gonna take over the world or something. He thinks he's some big hot shot now and he's bossing everybody all over the place. He's building himself an army and is buying a lot of guns. There's even talk of buying an old nuke or two from the Ruskies. That's crazy man. If one of those damn things went off, they'd make everything radioactive and we'd all turn into monsters. You know like those Jap movies, like Godzilla and stuff, you know."

"And . . . " Lowrey pressed, wondering if Crossman had any point to this.

Crossman's eyes nervously slid around the room. "Like I said, man, I don't like the idea of those nukes, especially Rusky ones. They're not like American ones. They could go off and kill us all."

"What's Hakenkrueze planning on doing with them?"

"I hear that he's planning on using them on our enemies, especially the ragheads. You know, nuke them all and take their oil. He wants us to join the ROTC at college and get into the Air force and Army and stuff. Then when the time's right we'll show America the right thing to do with all those foreigners."

"Does Hakenkrueze have the nukes?"

"No, not yet. At least that's what I heard. We don't have enough money yet, but we're working on it. There's something else though . . . "

"What's that?"

"Hakenkrueze is talking about using mind control to make everybody do what he wants them to do."

"And that bothers you?"

"It's not so bad if it was just the lesser races, but he's talking about doing it to us too. He says it would make us better soldiers, that we'd become super soldiers and not be afraid of nothing."

"And that scares you?"

"Yeah, man," the young neo-Nazi looked at the reporter like he was crazy. "It's one thing to scare a bunch of dumb shopkeepers, but to have to fight and be so mind controlled you would keep on fighting even after you're hurt real bad. No way, man. I don't like the idea of being in ROTC either. You got to take orders and stuff. That's why I don't much like Hakenkrueze anymore. He wants to turn us into an army. Some of the guys are all Gung ho about it, especially those militia types. But not me, man. All I want to do is have a little fun. Not get shot at."

"I see," Lowrey said. "And what have you heard about the bombing at the Daily Sentinel?"

"Not much. Hakenkrueze says that whoever did it should've at least done a better job and got rid of Reid, instead of just a bunch of reporters."

Lowrey bit back an angry retort. Those "bunch of reporters" had been his friends. "So you don't think Hakenkrueze is behind the bombing."

Crossman shrugged. "I don't think so, but you never know. Some of the guys would do anything for Hakenkrueze. If he just hinted that he wanted somebody taken care of, they'd do it without even thinking twice about it."

"Has Hakenkrueze ever hinted that he wanted Mr. Reid or the Daily Sentinel 'taken care of'?"

"A few times, yeah. Reid's a yellow pinko commie lover. Hakenkrueze is always bitching about his liberal leftist editorials giving people ideas, especially the minorities. He's always saying that one of these days somebody's going to shut Reid up and take his paper away from him. Then we'd see how a newspaper should be run."

"Do you have any ideas who might be willing to take care of Mr. Reid for Hakenkrueze?" Lowrey asked, tantalizingly sliding a fifty toward Crossman.

Crossman's hand reached eagerly toward the bill, but it disappeared under the reporter's hand. "Names first," Lowrey demanded.

"I'm not sure . . . " Crossman said hesitantly.

"I want a list, with addresses, of anybody you might even suspect of bombing the Sentinel," Lowrey said, showing the fifty temptingly between his fingers.

Crossman's eyes slid nervously around the room. "Not here. I've been here too long already. I can't stay any longer."

Lowrey picked up the fifty with a shrug and began folding it, first in half, then fourths and so on until only the 50 on the bill's corner was showing. "Too bad. You think the first fifty will get you far enough?" he asked.

"Look, Lowrey . . . " Crossman began threateningly.

"No, you look, Kid. I was there right after the blast. Those people who were killed or hurt were my buddies. I don't like my friends being hurt. So unless you can give me something more than stuff I already know, you're just going to have to figure how far a fifty-dollar bus ticket is going to take you. Of course if Hakenkrueze's group is as big as you're hinting, it's not going to be anywhere near far enough."

The young neo-Nazi nervously licked his lips. "Add another fifty to that one and I'll tell you where the APP's headquarters is."

"Tell me, and if I buy it, I'll give you two. If not, you get squat."

Crossman swallowed hard. "You ever hear of The Red Knight?"

"Yeah sure, isn't that one of those military type security outfits?"

"Yeah. It's owned by a Colonel Greenwood, but it's just a front for the APP. Greenwood handles all the weapons and military supplies through The Red Knight, but it's all for the APP. Hakenkrueze has Greenwood under his thumb."

"I've heard of Greenwood. He's a Vietnam vet, and a super patriot to boot with a purple heart to his name. Why would he mess with Hakenkrueze and the APP?"

"I dunno, but I know what I've seen, Hakenkrueze is running the show."

"So the APP is tied in with the Red Knight. Where's their headquarters?"

"In the Red Knight building in the Framingham Industrial Park, all underground. There's barracks, gyms, a mess hall, everything an army needs."

"And that's where we'll find Hakenkrueze?" Lowrey asked.

"Yeah," Crossman answered as he hungrily watched Lowrey slip the folded fifty toward him.

"You'll get the third fifty after I get the list of names and confirmation on the tie in with The Red Knight."

"But . . . " Crossman protested.

"No buts. I want the list and confirmation first."

"Okay," Crossman said reluctantly. He rose to his feet. "I gotta get out of here. I'll call you later and set up a place where I can give you the list before I leave town. I'll expect the third fifty then."

"Sure," Lowrey said, half expecting the young man to be out of town on the first bus out.

Lowrey waited several minutes until the young neo-Nazi had left The Sweet Magnolia. He wanted to wait even longer, maybe catch another set before heading home, but it was getting late and he'd have to contact the boss before it got too late. Big Mama Biggs met him as he slid out of the booth. Behind her was her favorite bouncer, Little Timmy. Little Timmy was a light-skinned black with red hair. He was anything but little, towering over even the tall reporter and outweighing him by a good hundred pounds, all of it muscle. Big Mama was the only one who ever called him 'Timmy'. Everyone else called him, 'sir'.

"Eddy," Big Mama said, "I want Timmy here to go out with you to your car."

"Now, Mama, I don't think that's necessary. That runt kid's probably halfway to Texas by now. I don't need anybody walking me out to my car."

"I ain't asking you, Eddy. I'm tellin' you. Timmy's walkin' out with you. One of them Nazi pigs might not be a problem, but they tend to run in packs. 'Sides Timmy could stand a breath of fresh air anyway."

"Okay, Mama," Lowrey said with a crooked grin. It never did any good to argue with Big Mama. She might have a point too, he thought.

Lowrey shrugged more deeply into his coat as a gust of cold air lashed at him as he stepped out of the narrow door. "You sure you want to go out into this?" he asked the bouncer who taken the time to grab a coat before they headed out.

"Big Mama would kill me if I didn't do what she told me," answered the bouncer.

The reporter shook his head. Big Mama was probably the only one that the oversized bouncer was afraid of. "My car's not too far, just around the corner."

Big Mama was right about needing protection, except it wasn't Lowrey who needed it. It was Crossman who had needed it, and he was now way past where it would do him any good. He laid next to the reporter's car, spreadeagled, his arms and legs forming a cross, mirroring the cross sliced into his forehead. Little Timmy bent to check the young man's body. The white collar of the neo-Nazi's shirt was red from the blood of his neatly garroted throat. "We got to call the cops," he said, turning away from the still body.

Lowrey nodded his agreement, then something about his car caught his eye. Something wasn't quite right. He wasn't the type of man who kept his car sparkling even in the best of weather, and during the winter he didn't see the point of washing it just to see it get dirty as soon as he drove out of the car wash. As a result the car was a nearly uniform muddy brown. It would stay that way until the spring rains. Except along the front edge of the hood the car's true color was showing. Since he hadn't gotten under the hood lately, Lowrey knew something was very wrong. Slowly he began stepping away from the car, motioning Little Timmy to follow him, afraid that the slightest misstep or word might set something off.

The vibration from the blast sent both men their knees. They would have been killed but they had managed to creep around the corner before it happened The sturdy brick and stone of the old brownstone took most of the explosion's force. Lowrey picked himself up and glared back at what was left of his car. "Damn!" he said, kicking a stray piece of chrome.

II

Britt checked his watch as he waited for the hospital elevator. It was nearly six o'clock. That was one of the good things about winter. It got dark early, giving him more time to operate as the Green Hornet before the sun rose. He would still have to watch the time, or the nurses would notice that he had been gone a long time. It was probably a bad idea to stay at the hospital in Casey's room after he had been released, but he didn't want to go home to an empty house. He also preferred to spend his nights with Casey. Despite his denial of the need for police protection, he felt better keeping an eye on her himself. After hearing about the attack on Lowrey the night before he was even more worried about her safety.

Dressed in a black chauffeur's uniform, Lee greeted Britt at the door of the townhouse with a large grin. "I've been waiting for you. The Black Beauty is filled up and ready to go."

"Say it a little louder," Britt said in mock seriousness, "I don't think the people across the street heard you."

Lee's face instantly fell. "Sorry," he replied quietly, "I forgot."

Shaking his head, Britt gently pushed his way into the townhouse and headed for the garage. "I see you're still eager for action," he said with an ironic smile.

"Sure," Lee said, quickly brightening when he realized that Britt had been teasing him. "All week long all we've done is chase down leads on these Aryan Pride guys. Now that we finally have a location on them, I'm ready for some real action."

"Sure you don't want to just turn what we have over to the police. They are the right people to take care of this," Britt suggested.

"No way," Lee said emphatically as he followed Britt down a short flight of stairs into the garage. "They're liable to mess things up. Besides," he added, "this is personal. I was one of the first people at the Sentinel after the blast. I helped with the injured and saw what those bastards did. It's payback time now."

"The APP may not be responsible. We're after answers, not to beat in somebody's head because we feel like it."

"You're probably right, but when we do get the guys behind the bombing, I want my pound of flesh," Lee said grimly.

"You'll get yours, young man, but remember, I'm first," Britt said as he opened a secret panel in the garage wall.

He pulled out a white scarf, draped it across his shoulders and crossed its ends across his chest. Next, he pulled out a midnight green topcoat and slipped into it, making sure that a thin strip of the scarf showed past the coat's neckline. Finally a dark green mask with a green hornet on its brow and a green snap brim hat completed the transformation from newspaper publisher to the Green Hornet, a man feared by the underworld and, falsely believed a master criminal, hunted by the police.

He handed Lee a mask of similar design, but black and unmarked. Lee accepted it with a slight bow, and donned it as had his father before him. Lee had not only assumed his father's role as the Green Hornet's aide, but had also assumed his name, Kato. With a spring in his step, Kato turned and walked to a pair of tool-filled pegboards. He selected a socket wrench on the left-hand pegboard and without removing it, twisted the socket twice. A small panel opened between the pegboards, revealing a number of buttons and ready lights. He pressed a button and the bright overhead light dimmed to a pale green glow. Another button was pressed and a low whine came from under them as part of the garage floor began to slowly tip upwards and then turned completely over, revealing the low-slung form of the Black Beauty. Four stout clamps that had secured the heavy car to the turntable snapped back into the floor, leaving no sign of their existence.

The Green Hornet smiled slightly as he saw the barely suppressed eagerness on Kato's face. The sight of the big black car rising out of its hidden berth like some kind of prehistoric leviathan was still a new experience to the much younger man. Yet, he had to admit to himself that he too felt the thrill of excitement whenever he saw the Black Beauty even though he had ridden in her hundreds of times. Bigger and more massive in design than anything out of Detroit, or anywhere else in today's world, the Black Beauty was a survivor, like himself, of another time when to a lot of people things seemed so much simpler. He knew better.

Although the weapons may have gotten bigger and the accents may have changed, things were still much the same. The strong still preyed on the weak and corruption could break the back of a just society. He had fought against it for most of his adult life through the Daily Sentinel and now he had picked up where he had left off so many years ago as the Green Hornet. Today new criminals, and police officers were learning to recognize the long, black form and heavy shield shaped grill of the Green Hornet's car and the trouble it brought. Many years ago, it had been called by those who witnessed its awesome firepower, a rolling arsenal. Now others were learning that epithet, as well as conjuring up new ones.

Kato flipped one more switch before closing the panel, and the left-hand doors of the big black car opened. He slid behind the steering wheel as the Green Hornet assumed his customary place in the passenger seat behind him. The Green Hornet took a deep breath, and relaxed. It felt good. He opened a compartment set in the back of the front seat and pulled out a slender green pistol that had its trigger set not below the slim barrel but rather where the hammer would be in a normal handgun. He flipped open the pistol's butt, slid a cartridge inside, and checked the pressure gauge set in the pistol's side. Satisfied with the reading, he said, "Hornet gas gun, check."

Next, he pulled out a long black collapsible cylinder bound with gold bands at both ends. He flipped aside the domed end and a low insistent buzzing filled the air as a glow came from the weapon's interior. "Hornet sting, check," he said.

"Check the Scanner," he ordered.

Kato lifted the lid of the armrest to his right, revealing a set of switches and buttons. He flipped a switch and a pair of doors opened in the center of the Black Beauty's rear deck. A miniature satellite equipped with a TV camera lifted up on its launching pad and beeped a ready signal. "Scanner, check," he said.

The Green Hornet nodded his acknowledgment. "Let's roll, Kato."

The Black Beauty's powerful engine roared to life, then settled down to a quiet, deep throated purr. Kato pressed a button on the dashboard and the back wall of the townhouse, including an ivy espalier in a wooden planter, rose in front of them. The Black Beauty silently rolled out and under Kato's guidance moved through a maze of back alleys until it reached a brick wall. The wall split in half, and the Black Beauty exited through a billboard into another alley. Behind the car, the man and woman in a tattered breath candy advertisement were reunited in a minty kiss, How sweet it is.

"Kato," the Green Hornet said, "Remember that we are now a gentleman and his chauffeur out on a late evening drive."

"Looking for Christmas presents? Or a good time?" Kato asked lightly.

"Neither. We're out to give somebody a hard time."

"Sounds like a good time to me," Kato replied.

The Green Hornet smiled. "Just make sure you take it easy and obey all traffic laws. We don't want to call any attention to ourselves, or the cops will be giving us a hard time."

"I hear you. We could go dark and silent," Kato suggested.

"No, not yet. That would make us even more noticeable. There's still a lot of traffic on the streets."

"Last minute shoppers," Kato commented.

"Whatever, just try to be inconspicuous."

"In a old limo that's twice the size of anything else on the road? Right," Kato said skeptically.

"You might have a point there. But that's even more reason to watch our P's and Q's. We'll go dark and silent once we hit the Framingham Industrial Park."

The Green Hornet settled back into his seat, forcing himself to relax. The time for action would come soon enough. The streets were indeed full of people returning from last minute Christmas shopping trips. Lighted candy canes and stars hung on light poles throughout the downtown area. His mind went unbidden to those from the City Room who would not be celebrating Christmas this year, and of their families who would not be having any reason to celebrate this year and for many years to come.

Kato cleared his throat, interrupting the Green Hornet's grim thoughts. "Too bad all this stuff is happening at the same time your son's come home with a fiancee," he commented. "What are you going to do about him?" he asked.

"About the wedding? We'll go ahead with it anyway. By Christmas everything should've settled down."

"Actually, I wasn't thinking about the wedding. I'm worried about the Green Hornet business. John seems to be an awfully sharp guy. With your going out every night like this, he's sure to catch on that you're up to something."

"I'll just have to make sure that I'm very, very careful," the Green Hornet replied.

"Your daughter's coming home too, isn't she?"

"Yeah, she is. She'll be coming home to help out with everything right after finals."

"And of course, she'll be staying at the house."

"Yeah," the Green Hornet answered thoughtfully. "I see your point. It's going to be damn hard to keep this under wraps."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

The Green Hornet sighed. "At the moment I can't think of a thing."

"How would they react if they found out?"

The Green Hornet shook his head, not liking the thoughts running through his head. "I have no idea."

Kato looked back at the Green Hornet in the rearview mirror. "Sorry I brought it up."

"Forget it," the Green Hornet said. He closed his eyes, forcing the disturbing thoughts about John and Danielle from his mind. That problem would have to wait until later. Instead he had to consider what Ed Lowrey had told him earlier on the phone. Lowrey's contact had finally confirmed that the APP was closely related to Red Knight Security, an organization the dealt in alarms, security guards and miliary type gear. While the head of Red Knight was an ex-Vietnam officer by the name of Colonel Greenwood, Anthony Hakenkrueze was the real power in the organization. Other informants had repeated Casey's warning that Hakenkrueze was a genuine, and dangerous, sociopath. Believing that he was not only a member of a master race, but that he was the greatest of that so-called master race, he had gone to great lengths to develop his body through rigorous training, both physical and mental. He would be a hard man to fight. The Green Hornet hoped it wouldn't come to that

Soon they left the bright lights of Downtown and were cruising easily along the freeway. It was a moonless night, cold, clear and crisp. It was dark beyond the city's fringes, broken only by the occasional orange glow of the sodium lights that marked ramps leading toward the small subdivisions that had sprung up as the city grew. Periodically the sky-reaching sign of gas station at the head of a ramp would spill brilliant white light against the soft glow. Beyond, barely visible from the freeway, could be seen the sleepy blue lights and colored Christmas strings of houses that huddled together against the night until the coming of another work day and the commute to the center of town.

Following the people out from Downtown were many small businesses and industries seeking lower land rates and more spacious locations. Cagey developers, noticing this exodus, had designed parks of rolling hills and manicured landscaping for these businesses. One such was the Framingham Industrial Park, the Green Hornet's destination.

"Okay, Kato," the Green Hornet said as they pulled off the right exit, "Go dark and silent."

Kato nodded, pressed a button and the Black Beauty went dark as ordinary single headlamps rotated to reveal green double headlamps. A viewer from outside would have thought that the car was running blind, but from inside, the Green Hornet and Kato could see the road clearly through a special polarizing filter imbedded in the windshield. Kato next threw a switch and the car's powerful engine went silent. The Black Beauty became one with the night, a dark, silent ghost, a solid piece of the night itself.

Crouched like a wary beast of prey at the heart of the industrial park was the headquarters of Red Knight Security. It was an ugly concrete grey, windowless, cheerless, out of place among the manicured lawns. Two stories in height, it was the largest and most impressive building in the park. Sunk iceberg-like several levels into the ground it was even larger than it appeared. The business it thrived on was fear.

"Stop here, out of sight of the building," the Green Hornet ordered. "Send up the Scanner."

The Scanner flew away from the Black Beauty and under the Green Hornet's control circled the squat building. "Do you see anything?" Kato asked as the Green Hornet watched the picture relayed back to him through the Scanner's light sensitive camera.

"Not much," he answered. "I can see only three guards patrolling the outside the building. They're armed, of course, but they don't seem to be very alert. In fact, they look a little bored."

Kato smiled tightly, "We'll just liven up their night a bit, won't we?" he said.

"Don't get too eager yet, young man," the Green Hornet warned. "These people specialize in security. What they don't have in guards I'm sure they more than make up in other things. And they're sure to have the best."

"Call the Scanner back," he said as he clicked off the TV screen. "I've seen enough. It's time we go in and find out about Mr. Hakenkrueze and the APP."

The Green Hornet and Kato slipped toward the Red Knight building, taking care not to make a sound, always staying within the black shadows cast by the building. At the Green Hornet's signal, Kato moved behind the first guard and dropped him to the ground with a chop to the neck. Not even his gun was allowed to clatter to the concrete, but was snatched from the guard's unconscious fingers before he fell. As soon as the Green Hornet had the first man Kato went silently after the second one and dispatched him just as quickly as the first.

"Two down, one to go," Kato whispered after he dropped the second man at the Green Hornet's feet.

"Have you seen the third man yet?" the Green Hornet asked, as he set to binding the second man.

Kato shook his head. "Not yet."

"Have you been around the entire building?"

Kato nodded.

The Green Hornet frowned. "I don't like this. I saw all three men circling the building. He should've been out here."

"Maybe you saw them during a shift change and the third guy is inside," Kato suggested.

"No, that doesn't work. There would've been two guys relieving two, not one for one."

Kato shrugged. "Damned if I can figure out what happened to the third guy."

"We're going to have to find him before he finds us," the Green Hornet said, rising to his feet.

They had only taken a few steps when a rough voice snapped, "Drop your weapons and put your hands up."

The Green Hornet slowly turned to face the third guard.

"Found him," Kato said under his breath.

"Drop the gun," the guard repeated. His eyes widened, noticing the green mask. "The Green Hornet! So you're being still alive wasn't a bunch of crap after all."

The Green Hornet maintained his grip on the gas gun. "That's right. I'm here to talk to your boss about a business deal. If you would be good enough to take us to him . . . "

His eyes narrowing, the guard said, "The Colonel's got no business with your kind." He reached for the walkie-talkie at his hip. "Stay put while I put a call in to the cops."

"I imagine you'll get a sizable reward for our capture," the Green Hornet said smoothly.

Greed shone in the man's eyes. "I might at that."

"It is a considerable sum if I remember correctly. Of course, after all these years, the offer may no longer be honored. One never knows. By the way, make sure that you do show the cops that briefcase of money I was bringing to the Colonel. I wouldn't like the cops to find it and then forget to report it."

"Briefcase," the guard said, his eyes searching for it, the gun in his hand remaining steadily pointed at the Green Hornet's heart.

"You can't see it from where you are. It's behind you to the right," the Green Hornet said helpfully.

The guard's gun hand wavered, then steadied. He grinned. "That's one of the oldest tricks in the book." He snorted derisively. "Old even in your day. I'm turning you guys in. So no funny stuff." His voice hardened as his finger tightened on the trigger. "I told you to drop that gun."

The Green Hornet nodded, smiling slightly as he presented the gas gun in his open palm. "You're too smart for me," he admitted, "You have us fair and square."

Suddenly the Green Hornet threw the gas gun at the guard and dove for the ground. Kato charged past him and kicked the gun out of the guard's hand. The gun fired sending a bullet mere centimeters past Kato's face. The Green Hornet launched himself at the surprised guard and sent him flying into a snowbank with a powerful haymaker.

"You okay?" he asked Kato as he retrieved his gas gun.

Kato shook his head a few times. "Yeah, I think so. I just got some flash spots in my eyes, that's all."

The Green Hornet advanced on the disarmed guard who was trying to get to his feet. "Listen to me very closely, my friend," he said tightly, "Your life depends on how useful you are to me."

"What do you want?" the guard asked.

"How do we get in without setting off the alarms?" the Green Hornet demanded.

"I won't tell you," the guard muttered, trying to preserve his last shreds of self respect.

Cold, green eyes narrowed behind the mask. "I think you will," the Green Hornet said in an ominously low voice.

The guard forced himself to return the masked man's steady gaze. "I won't tell you." He swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Not even if you kill me."

The Green Hornet nodded grimly. "Sometimes, death can be a relief," he said, moving aside to allow Kato to approach the stricken man.

"No," the guard gasped, trying to scrabble away from the black-clad chauffeur. "No, don't," he said shakily, the cold snow at his back warm compared to the icy chill of fear in his heart.

"Talk!" the Green Horned barked.

The guard licked dry lips. "You need a door key, and a code," he said quickly.

The Green Hornet pulled the man to his feet by the collar of his uniform. "Show me," he demanded, pressing his face close to the guard's.

The guard led the two masked men down the sloping ramp to the building's loading dock and service entrance. His back itched uncomfortably under the leveled aim of the odd green gun in the Green Hornet's gloved hand. He was even more conscious of the chauffeur's menacing presence as he walked beside him with panther-like grace.

He pulled out his key card. "Here it is. You put it in this slot, punch in the code, and Bingo, the door opens," he explained. When he started to demonstrate, the Green Hornet caught his arm in an iron grip.

"No funny stuff," he warned. "If the alarms go off, you're a dead man. Understand?"

"I won't try anything. I swear," the guard shot back nervously.

He placed the magnetic card into the slot next to the door and punched in his personal code. When the door opened Kato roughly pushed him inside while the Green Hornet waited outside.

"Looks like it's all clear inside, Boss," Kato said after his eyes had adjusted to the dim nighttime lighting inside a crate-filled room.

"Clear out here. So far," the Green Hornet said, still suspicious. "Let's move." He returned the muzzle of his gun toward the guard. "Where's the offices?"

"They're on A level," the guard replied.

"A level?" the Green Hornet echoed sharply.

"The floor under this one."

"Lead the way."

The guard led the Green Hornet and Kato out of the storeroom and on into the salesroom. "The elevators are there, on the north wall. They're shut down for the night," he told them.

"Where's the stairs?" the Green Hornet asked.

"The door's to the right of the elevators."

"Very good," the Green Hornet said, raising his gun. "We have no more need for you."

The guard's eyes widened in fear. He tried backing away from the bizarre weapon, but the chauffeur standing behind him blocked his retreat. "No, no. I've done everything you've asked. For God's sake!" he screamed in terror as a green mist whispered out of the gun's muzzle. "Gas!" he choked out as the mist enveloped his face. He gasped, coughed and fell bonelessly to his knees.

"Sleep tight," the Green Hornet said, watching the guard collapse to the floor.

"He's going to be surprised to find out he's not dead when he wakes up in a few hours," Kato commented drily as he stepped over the prone man.

"Let's get moving," the Green Hornet said. "We have a lot to do. I don't want to be here when he does wake up."

"Gotcha," Kato said, falling into step behind the Green Hornet. "You know this place looks just like any other sporting goods store," he observed. "Except, I don't know, there's something weird about this place. It makes me feel jumpy."

"Look at the kind of stuff they have here," the Green Hornet said. "Do you see any fishing or camping gear?"

"No, not really. There are some tents, but they're all done up in camouflage. Not something you'd see at a KOA. There's a lot of hunting stuff though, rifles, bows. Big knives."

"Right," the Green Hornet said. "There is a lot of hunting gear, but I doubt it's only for the four-legged kind of prey." He nodded toward a circular wire rack displaying a large number of bumper stickers.

Kato read one, "Nuke your neighbor, before he nukes you. Heavy," he commented. "Some sport. They're all geared up for the end of the world."

The Green Hornet nodded. "I think these are the kind of people who are actually eager for the end of civilization. Instead of dreading it."

"So they can rebuild it in their own image," Kato said.

"Most likely," the Green Hornet agreed. "If this place is a front for the APP, I'd hate to think about what kind of world they have in mind."

Kato shuddered at the grim thoughts running through his mind. "If they're behind the bombing and are targeting the conference. The end of the world could come around a lot sooner than anyone else might think."

"That's why we're here. To prevent that from happening."

The two men slipped quietly down the steep stairway, their crepe-soled shoes not making a sound on the metal steps. The slender beams of their flashlights provided the only light in the narrow passageway. Ahead of them was a heavy steel door with A level stenciled in white. The stairs bent past the door down into a deep well of darkness. Kato peered down into the depths, his flashlight barely lighting the first few steps.

He cast a questioning look at the Green Hornet, who shook his head and said silently, "Not yet."

The Green Hornet gently pressed the panic bar on the door, but it was solidly locked. Gesturing for Kato to stand back, he backed up as far as he could on the narrow landing. He pulled the Hornet sting from an inner pocket of his coat. The sharp clicking of the sting being stretched to full length was alarmingly loud in the silent stairwell. He aimed the slender weapon at the door and pressed the trigger. The low hum that filled the air grew steadily louder until it became an earsplitting whine. The heavy steel door shook and glowed hotly under ultrasonic hammer blows until with a puff of smoke it slammed open.

Kato entered first, shining his flashlight into a hallway. He went a few paces ahead, then finding nothing, returned to the blasted doorway and gave an all clear signal to the Green Hornet who took up the lead.

The floor under their feet was heavily carpeted and the offices opening onto the hallway were luxuriously furnished. The Green Hornet entered the largest office which contained a large mahogany conference table and plush leather chairs. Near the rear of the room, facing the conference table, was a massive desk of the same heavy wood. An American flag and the state flag were stationed on either side of the desk. A marble name plate on the desk bore the legend stamped in gold leaf, "Colonel Carson Greenwood, ret."

"I thought some guy named Hakenkrueze was the head of this place," Kato whispered.

"Hakenkrueze is the head of the APP. Greenwood's the head of Red Knight, but he's just the front man. People who wouldn't touch Hakenkrueze or his organization are more than willing to deal with Greenwood. He's turned an impeccable Vietnam War record into a very profitable security business."

"If he's such a big war hero, why is he mixed in with Hakenkrueze?"

The Green Hornet shrugged. "I have no idea," he admitted. "Maybe he got turned off by the way the country's been run lately. Maybe he thinks the APP and their ilk have a better way of doing things. Who knows?"

He began opening some of the desk's drawers, not really expecting to find anything.

Kato continued to wander around the office, examining the many pictures and awards on its walls. "Do you know Greenwood?" he asked. "Personally, I mean."

The Green Hornet shook his head. "Nope. He doesn't much care for the press. Like a lot of the military, he blames them for the failure of the Vietnam War." He grimaced distastefully. "Of course, it's a different matter when some positive publicity is wanted."

"Looks like he's in tight with everybody else." Kato pointed to a photograph. "Isn't that Dr. Goode, the TV preacher?"

The Green Hornet moved to Kato's side. "Yeah, that's him."

"Looks like they're great pals." Kato indicated a framed document beside the photograph that was written in an intricate flowing calligraphy. "That's quite a testimonial."

The Green Hornet nodded agreement, his eyes scanning the faces of the men behind the colonel and Dr. Goode. "There, behind the Colonel, you can barely see him," he said, pointing to a severely clean cut young man wearing the same kind of earnest seriousness seen in GQ clothing ads, "That's Hakenkrueze."

Kato snorted derisively, looking at the man in the picture, "He doesn't look so tough."

The Green Hornet smiled at the younger man's brash statement. "Let's hope you never have to find out the hard way about overestimating someone."

"I'm not being overconfident. I know what I can do," Kato said proudly.

The Green Hornet shook his head. "There's nothing more we can get out of here. Let's see if we can find where they keep their financial records," he said, heading for the door.

The door marked RECORDS was locked, but the Hornet sting did a quick job of opening it. Large file cabinets lined the room's walls and several desks, each supplied with a computer terminal, filled most of the limited floor space. The Green Hornet tested the door of one of the file cabinets. Finding it locked, he prepared to work the sting's sonic beam on it.

"Wait a minute," Kato said, "Let me see if I can pull something up on one of these terminals. It'd be a lot faster than going through all those files."

"Do it," the Green Hornet responded, flicking the sting closed.

Kato sat at one of the desks, for a moment searched for the power toggle on the monitor, and then with a quick "Ah" of satisfaction turned the terminal on.

"Good," the Green Hornet commented, looking over Kato's shoulder, "They leave the system up during the night. Are you familiar with this type of operating system?"

"Sure. A lot of businesses use it. The problem is going to be trying to get in. Do you think we have the time to search for the log in and password?"

"No. I don't want to take any more time than if absolutely necessary. Let's go through these desks. Maybe somebody's been careless and left themselves a reminder."

They searched quickly through each of the desks until at one that was strikingly bare of mementos, Kato found a small piece of paper under the keyboard with two words neatly printed on it. "Bingo," he said, showing the paper to the Green Hornet, "Must be somebody new."

"Try it," the Green Hornet ordered.

Kato sat down at the desk, flicked on the terminal and tapped out the first word at the log in prompt. It was accepted. He tapped in the second word at the password prompt which only showed as a series of asterisks. It was not accepted and the log in prompt reappeared.

"Problem?" the Green Hornet asked.

Kato rechecked the password's spelling on the paper. "I don't think so. I might've misspelled the word. That's a problem when you can't see it on the screen. I'll try it again."

He tapped in the log in again and then repeated the password. "We're in," he said triumphantly as a menu appeared on the screen. He cracked his knuckles and poised his hands dramatically over the keyboard. "What do you want?"

Bending over Kato's shoulder, the Green Hornet read the screen. "Let's see. Word processing, nope. Accounts receivable, maybe. Stock, another maybe. Payroll, that's another possibility. Here, let's see who're their biggest customers."

Kato typed in the proper selections as he flipped through different screens until he pulled up the information the Green Hornet wanted.

"U.S. military seems to be number one," the Kato said, reading the data. "Mostly stuff like uniforms and camping gear. Here are some foreign countries. Looks like they're buying the same kind of stuff. The rest of their customers are small companies and people buying things like security systems and guards." He smiled slightly. "Considering what we've run across, they aren't getting their money's worth." He quickly scrolled through the list of names. "I don't see anything on the APP."

"You won't, at least not through this system. That kind of information will be something that's a hell of a lot more secure than this one."

"Then why are we wasting our time on this then?"

"You never know. We might luck out and find something that's useful even if they don't think it might be. Get out of this file and see where most of their money is going to."

Kato pulled up the appropriate screen. "A lot of manufacturers of military type stuff. Here's something that's a little odd. There's a lot of money going to Dr. Goode's church."

"Trace that back for the past year," the Green Hornet said.

A scrolling list of numbers appeared on the screen, listed month by month, differing only by a few hundred dollars each month.

"Blackmail?" Kato ventured.

"No," the Green Hornet answered, "It looks like it's a tithe to Goode's church."

"A true member of the faithful flock," Kato remarked wryly, "Guns and God, odd combination."

"Unfortunately, it happens all the time," the Green Hornet remarked. "I think that's going to be all that we're going to get here." He quickly glanced at his watch. "We have a few more hours before we have to get back. Let's check the next floor. We still haven't found a connection to the APP yet. If we can get further down into this place, we might find something."

Deep within the heart of the Red Knight building, in a room illuminated only by a bank of video monitors, Hakenkrueze watched the Green Hornet and Kato leave the records office. "Excellent," he breathed. "They are doing exactly as I expected."

Colonel Greenwood frowned. "You never should've let them enter. Never mind letting them see that information."

Hakenkrueze leaned backwards, stretching the kinks out of his back. He loosened up his shoulders, catlike enjoying the stretch. "That information was unimportant. Anyone could've gotten it with a little footwork and a lot of questions. They just happened to take the more direct route." His eyes narrowed dangerously. "And the more dangerous."

"To whom?" the colonel asked, "Us or them?"

"Them, of course," Hakenkrueze said confidently.

"I don't like this," Greenwood said, frowning deeply. "The Green Hornet is a dangerous man. His interest in us could cause a lot of trouble."

Hakenkrueze snorted derisively. He pressed his sneering face close to the colonel's, forcing him to take a step back. "The Green Hornet's an old man, way past his prime. Just like you are. You are both relics of another time, of another war. It's time to give way to someone younger, someone better. There is no place for you old men in today's world. Victory belongs to the young and the strong. To me," he hissed.

Sucking in his gut, Greenwood pulled himself erect, glaring back at the younger man. "Be careful Hakenkrueze. Just because a man's grown a bit older, it doesn't mean he's washed up. I'm old because I was a lot smarter than those fools who thought that a bunch of big talk and strutting around was all there was to war. Those fools died young. I'm still around. The Green Hornet's a survivor like I am. He's a smart man who's managed to outlive most of his contemporaries. Watch out how you deal with him or he'll wipe the floor with you."

Hakenkrueze shrugged off Greenwood's words. "You've grown too cautious in you old age." He turned back to the closed circuit monitor. "At least he hasn't. It will be most amusing dealing with him."

Hakenkrueze studied the two figures on the monitor's screen as they moved down the stairs to the second level. It was too bad, he thought, that the video cameras were not equipped for sound; he would have loved to listen in on the conversation between the two men, especially when they had been looking at the picture of the colonel in some award ceremony with Dr. Goode. He wondered if they had noticed him in the picture, and if so what they had thought of him.

He carefully studied the movements of the black-clad chauffeur. The man was about a half head shorter than the Green Hornet and moved lightly on the balls of his feet, always on the alert for any attack that might come from the rear. Hakenkrueze had him pegged as the Green Hornet's muscle, his enforcer, the one who ensured that the Hornet was obeyed. More important to Hakenkrueze, it suggested that the Hornet felt the need for protection. The chauffeur could be a difficult opponent, Hakenkrueze decided. A definite challenge to his own fighting skills, but not an unwanted one.

But not yet, Hakenkrueze decided. Dealing with the chauffeur could come later, after he had dealt with his master, his primary target. The Green Hornet was a lot harder to read. Hakenkrueze folded his arms across his chest, absently chewing on a knuckle as he studied the masked man. The man was a complete mystery to him. He had grown up hearing stories about the legendary criminal, but how much was fact and how much was fiction, he had no idea.

The Green Hornet was around six feet tall and broad shouldered in the dark green overcoat. However how much was tailoring or muscle Hakenkrueze couldn't tell. The squared shoulders of the long green coat effectively hid any sign of the bloating that he had come to associate with getting old. The dark green snap brim hat and molded plastic mask of the same color hid most of the man's features. All he could see in the dim light of the hallway was a wide thin mouth above a firm, square chin. There was no sign of softness, or weakness in that hard face, only grim determination.

The Green Hornet as he led the way down the stairs was obviously as alert as the chauffeur, but in a far different way. The chauffeur was as taut as a tightly wound spring, ready to explode into action at any moment. The Green Hornet instead moved easily, relaxed, confident, without fear, just as a leader should be. This man was a professional, like any other jungle-hardened soldier. Except this man's jungle was made of concrete and steel.

Hakenkrueze's eyes widened in admiration as he watched the Green Hornet again pull out the short black rod and telescope it to three times its original length. He smiled as the weapon hammered at the door until it gave way. "Such power," he said under his breath. "What I could do with a weapon like that."

Greenwood grunted. "How would you propose to get it from him?"

"Perhaps I will convince him to give it to me." Hakenkrueze signaled to a stone-faced man in a khaki uniform standing near the command center's door. "Karl, alert the other men. Tell them to go to the Hall of Heroes. We are going to have a little demonstration of the power of Aryan superiority tonight."

"Do you wish the men to be armed, sir?" Karl asked.

"No, that won't be necessary," Hakenkrueze said, and returned the snapped salute with equal precision.

He turned again to the monitor. "Come my friends, come to the spider's web," he whispered.

Hakenkrueze was pleased. The stage had been perfectly set. Behind him the rear wall was hidden by a huge blood red flag bearing the double-headed eagle, symbol of the APP. The double-headed eagle was repeated on the burnished silver sconces on each of the eight pillars that formed a double colonnade down the room. Each sconce held a large torch whose flickering flames caused shadows to dance along the dark edges of the huge hall, leaving doubts as to what might be watching unseen. The heavy, steadily shifting shadows also served to oppress the spirit, hushing it into awestruck silence, and, more importantly, obedience. Hakenkrueze smiled to himself. The light, the hall's magnificence would be more than enough to attract the curious. He knew the Green Hornet to be a curious man.

"Gentlemen, so kind of you to come," he said to the two men who had entered the door that had been so invitingly open.

"Anthony Hakenkrueze, I presume," the Green Hornet answered, covering Hakenkrueze with the gas gun.

"And you are the legendary Green Hornet," Hakenkrueze replied. "I had heard that the reports of your death were not true, but I am surprised that you have chosen to break into this building."

"I go wherever there is a chance for profit," the Green Hornet said.

"Illegal profit, you mean," Hakenkrueze corrected.

The Green Hornet shrugged carelessly. "Profit is profit. I don't care how it's made. It's just that some ventures, especially those on the wrong side of the law, are more profitable than others."

"I'm afraid you have come to the wrong place, Hornet. There is nothing here that would interest your kind."

"All this," the Green Hornet said, indicating the vast complex around them. "For an overrated sporting goods store? I find that hard to believe."

"Oh, we deal in much more than sporting goods," Hakenkrueze explained, "Much more. We also specialize in security systems that are impossible to beat. For example, we knew about your illegal entry from the time the loading dock door was opened. All of our guards are given a special key code that sets off alarms in the security office. All the information you found in our computer system is useless."

"And yet for a man who fancies himself to be so smart you did something very stupid," the Green Hornet said.

"That we didn't summon the police? Hardly foolish." Hakenkrueze smiled wolfishly. "We prefer to handle all of our problems internally."

"We shall see whether that was stupid or not, soon enough," the Green Hornet answered, unimpressed by Hakenkrueze's implied threat. "No, what was stupid was sending that letter to the Daily Sentinel saying that the newspaper deserved to be bombed. It was bad enough to send it on APP stationary, but to mail it before the blast happened. That was tantamount to claiming responsibility. Very, very stupid."

"I know of no such letter," Hakenkrueze said angrily. "Besides what business is it of yours?"

"I've made it my business, because your actions are interfering with mine," the Green Hornet said sharply. "The Feds and the local cops were nervous enough with that big conference coming to town. Now with that bombing and your campaign of hate it's becoming impossible for me to conduct my business."

"We had nothing to do with that letter. Someone is trying to pin the blame on our organization."

The Green Hornet shrugged unconcernedly. "That's not my problem. If the cops arrest you and there are no further attacks, they will be satisfied that they have the right man. Then I can go back to business as usual."

"Business? Is that what you call the stranglehold you have on this city? You have everyone, the cops and the underworld, afraid of you. Afraid of your legend. I'll tell you right now, we aren't. The APP and our brother organizations are out to take this city, this country back for the people. To purify it of animals like you. The pimps, the drug dealers, the gangs, all of your kind are bleeding this country dry. We will make it safe for people to leave their doors unlocked at night. We will bring order and discipline to this country."

"Save the speeches for the gullible," the Green Hornet sneered. "You and I know what the APP is really about. You spread hate and fear everywhere there are people who are unhappy and dissatisfied. You give them someone to blame for their own failures." The Green Hornet smiled tightly. "And it has been very profitable, hasn't it? All that security equipment, that survivalist stuff. It's not cheap. All that phony flag waving covers up the fact that you're in it for the same reason that I am. Money."

"I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand our cause," Hakenkrueze said laconically. "But I can see that money is something you do understand. Tell me, how much is the reward for your capture these days?" Hakenkrueze made a slight motion with his hand and out from the shadowed margins of the hall stepped several men in black uniforms. On their right arms were white bands with the double-headed eagle on them.

"I'm getting tired of this useless sparring with words. I suggest you surrender peaceably. Otherwise, my men will be forced to teach you a lesson about breaking and entering. Of course, they might forget themselves and then I would have to accept a lesser amount for your dead bodies."

The Green Hornet and Kato moved back to back, unwilling to give up with a fight.

"It's hopeless, Hornet. Even though my men are unarmed, their sheer numbers will be more than enough to drag you down to your defeat," warned Hakenkrueze.

"I've heard that you took a lot of pride in being a master of the martial arts, but you're nothing more than a two-big thug," the Green Hornet said disdainfully. "You don't have the guts for hand to hand combat. Like every other coward I've met, you hide behind the numbers of your hired help."

"Hold!" Hakenkrueze shouted, stopping his men in their tracks. "I'm no coward, Hornet," he hatefully bit out.

Kato moved to face Hakenkrueze, eager to fight the Neo-Nazi. The APP leader growled at the Green Hornet, "Now who is hiding behind his hired help? You challenge me to combat, but you send out a racial inferior as your champion. This is between you and me, old man. Between the old order and the new."

Hakenkrueze was pleased to see the disappointment, and dare he say, concern, in the oriental's eyes as the Green Hornet gestured for him to move aside.

"You're right," the Green Hornet said. "This is just between you and me. But tell me. When you lose, will it remain that way, or will your boys finish the job you failed?"

"My men will allow, nay, they will insist upon a fair fight. In the highly unlikelihood that you do win, you and your man will be free to leave. It is, after all, a matter of honor."

The Green Hornet nodded his agreement and placed the gas gun back into the inner pocket of his coat. He walked to the center of the hall and made an elaborate bow toward Hakenkrueze. "Let's see who is truly the better man."

Hakenkrueze removed his shirt with a flourish and then carelessly tossed it into the air, confident that one of his aides would rush to catch it before it touched the floor. He flexed his muscles, carefully, slowly, going through each muscle group like a professional body builder. He was as good as the Austrian Oak or the Hulk, but he had better things to do with his time, bigger ambitions than to become a mere actor. This would only be the beginning. It will be so easy, he thought. His victory over the Green Hornet was inevitable, but it would be more than the defeat of a mere man. He would be defeating a powerful legend. His name would go down history as the conqueror of the criminal mastermind that everyone had failed to touch. It would herald the beginning of a new Reich.

"Are you done yet?" the Green Hornet said, bored. "Or are you planning on masturbating your ego for another hour."

Hakenkrueze frowned, feeling the quick, hot flash of anger. He immediately forced it back down. He would not allow the Green Hornet to blind him with anger. With a slight smile he said, "Come now, Hornet. I was just getting in a little stretch. It isn't healthy, you know, to indulge in vigorous exercise without a little warming up beforehand. Please feel free to remove that restricting coat of yours and do likewise. It might improve your chances, or at least delay your defeat a little longer."

"No thanks," the Green Hornet said. "I've managed against better than you just as I am." Behind the green mask the pale eyes narrowed. "So far all I've seen is a little tin soldier who thinks by showing off his muscles and blowing a lot of hot air, he'll change the world." He widened his stance, lifting his arms away from his sides, presenting an open target. "Why don't you show me, and your boys, what you can really do."

Hitting his right fist into the open palm of his left hand, Hakenkrueze moved closer to the Green Hornet, intending to crowd him, to force him to take a step back. The Green Hornet remained stock still, rigid in his stance. Hakenkrueze flashed out in a rapid one, two combination toward the Green Hornet's unprotected belly. He felt the barest brush of fabric against his knuckles, and found the Green Hornet still standing, a few bare inches from where he had been.

Hakenkrueze's eyes widened momentarily in surprise. He spun in a roundhouse kick, which the Green Hornet dodged, and recovered his surprise quickly enough to sweep down into a low kick that should have caught the Green Hornet across the ankles only to catch nothing. He growled under his breath. With monumental effort he swallowed the anger he felt rising in his throat. The Hornet was an old man, slow, he thought. That's how he must fight the Green Hornet, he thought. With speed. He flashed out in a rapid series of kicks and knife-edged karate chops. To his surprise, the Green Hornet expertly blocked and parried every blow until as though tiring of the game, the masked man cuffed him across the side of his head. Shaking his head from the force of the blow, Hakenkrueze stepped back, tasting the blood from his split lip. Impossible, he thought. He slammed a right cross only to find his fist encased in the masked man's hand. Face to face the two men stood, the Green Hornet's pale green eyes boring into Hakenkrueze's blue.

"Is this the best you can do?" the Green Hornet hissed. "Are you really the best of the best?" he continued derisively. "If that's so, then you Aryan superman are just a bunch of yellow-bellied fakers parading around in opera costumes with no more backbone than a jellyfish."

"No!" Hakenkrueze roared, trying to pull his hand free. Suddenly the Green Hornet released his hold as Hakenkrueze pulled backwards. Hakenkrueze stumbled, caught himself but not quickly enough. A rock hard fist sent him sliding across the slick floor.

Hakenkrueze pulled himself up. He was breathing heavily, so was the Hornet, but the man should have been on his knees long before now. He should have been a breeze to beat. He gritted his teeth. It didn't make sense. The Hornet wasn't known for his martial arts skills. His man was, but not the Hornet. Then it struck him. Of course. The partner had to spar with someone, had to practice with somebody. That somebody was the Hornet. The Hornet had worked with a martial arts expert, was the martial arts expert's sparring partner. Of course he would know every defensive tactic, know every move and have the knowledge and strength to be able to protect himself and still provide more challenge than a mere dummy of wood or sawdust.

This was going to be a lot harder than he had thought, Hakenkrueze decided. The Green Hornet could read every move he made, he almost knew what move Hakenkrueze would make even before he did himself. There was only one way. He knelt down, pretending to knead a calf muscle. His hand wrapped around the slender knife in the sheath hidden under his pants leg. He slung the knife at the Hornet, purposely missing the masked man, giving him the momentary breaking of concentration that he needed.

He charged the Green Hornet, smashing him against a pillar. Slamming his fist repeatedly into the Green Hornet's stomach, he relished the man's grunts of pain. The Green Hornet slid bonelessly to the floor. Hakenkrueze swept his leg in to deliver a kick into the man's mid section, but an iron grip captured his leg and he landed with a jarring thud to the ground.

Hakenkrueze quickly gathered himself and threw himself at the prone man. The Green Hornet's powerful legs caught him in the stomach, sending him to his knees, wheezing for breath. A right cross sent him all the way to the floor. Hakenkrueze rolled out of the Green Hornet's reach and felt his knife under his outstretched fingers. The Green Hornet stood over him, breathing hard, wiping blood away from the corner of his mouth. "Use it or lose it," he challenged.

Blind with anger, Hakenkrueze rocketed to his feet intending to bury the knife all the way to his opponent's spine. At the last moment the Green Hornet stepped aside, catching the APP leader's outstretched arm, snapping his wrist numb, forcing the knife from his unfeeling fingers. The Green Hornet rammed him up against a pillar, making the torch above sway dangerously. His arm was pulled tightly behind as his back was bent almost double over the Green Hornet's knee.

"So much for the master race," the Green Hornet gritted in his ear. "Do you yield?"

Hakenkrueze, stunned and gasping painfully, nodded. The terrible pressure was eased. He turned around to face the masked man feeling a new respect for him. "I'm impressed," he said, offering his hand in friendship. "I could use a man like you. What do you say? Partners?"

The Green Hornet ignored the offered hand disdainfully. "No."

Without another word, he spun on his heel and headed for the door, the chauffeur close by his side.

"Damn you!" Hakenkrueze screamed. He retrieved his knife from the floor and fired it at the Green Hornet's back.

Kato leaped for the blade, hitting it aside, at the same time sending a dart into Hakenkrueze's shoulder. Instantly Hakenkrueze's men broke ranks and attacked the Green Hornet and Kato.

Hakenkrueze crept for the back door. Against all odds, the masked men were making short work of his best men. He had to escape. He had to get more men. And guns. They had to have some guns.

He turned around to find himself staring into the Green Hornet's emerald eyes. "Going so soon?"

Hakenkrueze's eyes traveled down to see the long black rod pressed against his stomach. He had seen what it could do to steel doors and tried to swallow down the hard lump of fear in his throat.

"Tell your men to back off," the Green Hornet demanded. Hakenkrueze hesitated. "Tell them!" the Green Hornet barked.

"It's over!" Hakenkrueze shouted. "Let them leave."

His men paused, unwilling to admit defeat. Hakenkrueze felt the pressure increase against his stomach. "Do as I say!" he ordered angrily. Finally his men stopped their attack and stood rigidly at attention.

"We're leaving and you're coming with us," the Green Hornet said, pushing Hakenkrueze ahead of him, the rod never straying away from its target.

The air was bitterly cold outside, but the shame of his defeat made Hakenkrueze burn with anger. "You have won this battle, but the war is far from over," he growled at the Green Hornet. "Next time it won't be so easy," he promised.

Hearing the thin wail of a police siren coming steadily closer, he smiled, his hurts suddenly forgotten. "It looks like one of my men disobeyed orders and called the police. It's going to be over for you sooner than I thought."

There was no one to hear him. The two men had slipped away into the darkness.

"You think Mr. Hakenkrueze is on the up and up?" Officer Larry Ching asked his partner. "Do you think it really was the Green Hornet?"

"He saw the man face to face," Sargent Robinson said as he opened his thermos. "Damn, it's cold tonight." Closing his eyes, the older officer savored the smell of the hot coffee as it steamed into the cold air. "You want some coffee?"

Ching shook his head. "I still don't see how it could be. Sure word's out that the Hornet wasn't really dead, but what's he up to? What was he after at Red Knight?"

"I have no idea. Maybe the guy was after some new 'toys'. Make another pass around the building and then we'll head back to the station." He took a long swallow from the battered metal thermos lid. "It's been a long night," he said wearily. Suddenly he snapped alert. "Hey Larry, run the number from that car ahead of us into the computer will you?" he said trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.

"Sure. Why?" Ching said, punching the numbers in. "Looks like V194. Doesn't it?" he asked.

Staring at the black car ahead of them, Robinson nodded absently.

Ching frowned. "Looks like an old plate. Or do you think it might be an out of state plate, maybe a vanity?" he asked.

"It's an old plate," Robinson replied very softly.

"Huh?" Ching asked, wondering what had gotten into his partner.

"I think that car's the Green Hornet's," Robinson said in shock.

"Can't be . . . " Reading the printout, Ching's eyes widened in disbelief. "It is! My god, it is!" he said in surprise.

"You better call for back up. And have them set up a road block just outside the park. If that guy hits the freeway, we'll never catch him," Robinson said, hastily screwing the cap back on his thermos.

"Maybe we should make sure that's him first," Ching answered. "I don't want to get everybody excited over nothing."

"Don't even think of it," Robinson said, "Better to be safe than sorry. Especially where the Green Hornet's concerned."

Ching shrugged. "Okay," he said and began to make the call.

The black car suddenly surged forward. Ching gunned the police unit after it. "Damn, he must have a police monitor."

"Stay on his tail. Don't lose him," Robinson urged. "Our only chance is to keep him contained in the park. That rig's a lot bigger than ours. It can't possibly take the corners at the speeds we can."

"Right," Ching answered tightly as his feet flew alternately from the gas pedal to the brake pedal, trying to keep the police car under control. He frowned when a disturbing thought hit him. "Uh, didn't I hear something about that car having rockets?"

Robinson nodded, then madly clutched for his armrest as the force of a tight turn that despite the seat belt that was threatening to throttle and tear him in half at the same time nearly sent him into his partner's lap,. He gasped and flinched as the big black car swerved into a narrow passage between some buildings, barely missing the dark bulk of a dumpster.

Ching swung the police unit in after the black car. He gritted his teeth, concentrating on the car ahead of him. It was barely visible in the dark except for the thin band of the tail lights on either side of its huge trunk. The car was so wide that he was surprised that sparks didn't mark its passage through the narrow space where a car was never meant to go. Never mind something that big.

There was ice on the road, a lot of it, and he felt the tires under him more sliding than rolling. There was no room to maneuver, and no traction to speak of. If the car ahead of them suddenly stopped there would be no time, no room to avoid it.

"What about those rockets?" Ching pressed his partner.

"Just hope he doesn't think about them."

Both men instinctively ducked as the black car struck a steel trash can, sending it flying into the air and landing with a loud crash on their trunk before clattering back to the ground.

"Keep him moving, and turning around the corners so he can't get a good aim," Robinson suggested.

"Thanks a heap," Ching gritted wryly. "How the Hell am I supposed to herd him? He's the one leading."

The black car roared out into the open and the police car roared out behind it, nearly crashing into it as it slipped and slid out of control on a sheet of snow-covered ice. Ching wildly fought the barely in-control police car, desperately fighting down the impulse to stomp both feet onto the brakes. Barely inches away from T-boning the big car, he finally felt his tires grab dry pavement. At the same time, the black car's driver took advantage of his own car's wild gyrations, forcing it into an 180-degree turn, but not without nearly flipping it over.

Swearing, Ching gunned his engine, trying to make a U-turn in the middle of the street. He succeeded only in plowing into a snowbank all the way up to the windshield.

Robinson laid a hand on his young partner's shoulder. Pointing to a string of flashing red, white and blue lights that were fast disappearing around a corner, he said, "Maybe they'll have better luck."

Ching grimaced. "I doubt it." A crooked smile appeared. "Since we're stuck here, how about a cup of your Java?"

II

As she dried her hair after her shower, Fatima stared out the large plate glass window into the night shrouded city. Several blocks away she could see the brightly lit dome of the Grand Hotel where the conference would be taking place. They were lucky to get a room as most hotels were filled with the conference attendees and the people who would be covering the conference and it's goings on. That was the advantage of being connected to the Reid family. The hotel's owner had insisted that they take the best room free of charge, saying that it was the least he could do in light of the tragedy at the Daily Sentinel. Who knows who he kicked out into the cold of the night.

The night had started out clear but now was clouding up. She watched fascinated as large snowflakes danced lazily in the stray breezes that swept around and between the tall buildings surrounding their hotel. It would take some getting used to, she thought. She had been to major cities all around the world, but it seemed like it was always snowing in this city and when it wasn't snowing it was bitterly cold. It struck her as strange that it seemed to be warmer when the sky was cloudy then when it was clear. Ever since she arrived it's been cold. She wondered it she would ever get used to it. She wondered how she would be able to live the rest of her life in this cold, damp place where even when the sun shone it was not warm.

She remembered when she had first met John at the Kaharan embassy. Her employers had thought it a good idea for her to cultivate a friendship with the young American. "Watch him," they had said, "He is the only son of an important American. Protect him," they said, "See that he does not come to harm."

That proved more easily said than done since John had no fear when it came to covering events in the volatile Mideast. Whether it was covering a fire fight or asking questions that should not be asked he was always there, and so was she. It was good that he knew little Arabic so that she, the invisible, deferential woman, could reframe his incautious questions so that the people he interviewed did not slit his throat. Of course it helped that she had certain connections as did her employers so that the young Reid heir was kept safe despite his best efforts to get himself killed.

In a way she admired his bold recklessness, but it was not until they were touring the ancient city of Petra that she fell in love with him. There among tombs cut from living rock of rose and ochre they had wandered away from the old bedouin who had assigned himself the job of make sure the two young people behaved themselves. It was cool in the shadows of the deep wadi that cut through the mercilessly hot desert above, in a few places water formed small pools surrounded by some small trees and grass. There John had talked of his homeland where trees were so thick that a city could be hidden beneath them. He spoke of vast lakes and sweet trickling streams. He told her about how life would reawaken after a winter's sleep with a profusion of flowers and how golden the autumns were when trees were ablaze with fiery leaves and even the air seemed to have a clear golden cast. It was not so much what he described that made her love him, but rather how much it mattered to him.

He loved his homeland for its beauty and she loved him for that since most of the men she knew could only express their love of their homeland through blood and fire. Her employers were happy when she told them that John had proposed to her. She did not think they would approve, but they did saying, "You have earned this. Be a good wife to him and give him many sons and daughters."

She sighed, she did love him, but could she ever love this land as much as he? Could she truly live in this foreign land for the rest of her life? Was this the feeling people called homesickness? Is this what he was feeling when they had visited that ancient city? Behind her she heard the soft click of the door being opened. Her first impulse was to seek protection, that there was danger. She controlled it. Here she was safe. Here her mission was peaceful. She watched John's reflection in the window. He did not think she had heard him, and had stopped to watch her. For a few moments he seemed to be unsure, wondering about her. Then his face softened into a loving smile.

"I thought you would be in bed," he said.

"I could not sleep. I wanted to wait up for you," she replied as she turned to face him.

John wrapped his around her, nuzzling her neck, "You smell good," he murmured into her ear.

She slid his coat off his shoulders and began working on loosening his tie, "Rough day?" she asked.

"Yeah," he answered tiredly, "It's chaos at the Sentinel. I've been working with Dad all day at the Sentinel trying to get things straightened out. Hell, I've never seen so much damn paperwork in my whole life. Jeez, insurance forms, claims forms, police reports, you name it, we had to go through it."

She loosened his collar and rubbed the muscles of his neck. "Forget about it tonight. Just rest," she said.

He ran his hands under her terry cloth robe, caressing her naked body under it. Her lips met his hungrily as she unbuttoned his shirt.

"You know you have the heat on awful high in here," he commented when he pulled away for a breath.

"I like it warm. You don't have to wear so much clothes that way," she answered, dropping her robe to the floor.

John smiled and drew the drapes across the window. "I see what you mean," he said, his eyes lighting in admiration.

He came to her, making her his, running his hands over her body as she slipped his shirt from his broad shoulders and helped him remove the rest of his clothes until he stood as naked as she was. His body was warm against hers, hard where she was soft, and golden against her own olive complexion. She threaded her fingers through his blonde hair as his lips and tongue found the secret places that made her moan with pleasure. He was beautiful, she thought, broad shouldered and narrow hipped with hair the color of antique gold. Golden hair covered his strong arms and legs, wide chest and below so that nothing was hidden. So this was joy, she thought.

Much later they rested together on the big king size bed, happily satiated. At least for the moment.

"What's wrong?" Fatima asked, running her hands through the hair on John's sweat dampened chest.

"Huh?"

She rolled closer, nibbled on his earlobe, then repeated, "I said, 'What's wrong. You seemed to be miles away." She smiled, grabbing a handful of golden chest hair. "There better not be another woman," she warned, laughter in her voice.

John rolled to face her, absently caressing her hand. "No, there's not another woman," he assured her. He kissed her lightly, tenderly. "There could never be another woman."

"Then what's bothering you?" She frowned a moment in thought. "Is it your parents?"

He sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I'm worried about Dad. After that explosion at the Sentinel and with Mom in the hospital and that conference coming up, he's been running everywhere, trying to take care of everything. It's enough to wear out somebody my age, never mind someone his age. I've tried to help out where I could, but I still think he's overextending himself."

"Have you tried to get him to slow down?" she asked.

"I've tried, but he won't listen to me." John rolled back onto his back, staring at the ceiling unhappily. "Unfortunately, that's not anything new. He rarely listens to me." He snorted wryly. "Did I ever tell you that he's a control freak? He always wants to do things his way. I wish he would just listen to me this one time. I don't like the way he's been looking lately. I've tried talking him into getting a room at a hotel downtown, but he insists on staying in Mom's hospital room and sleeping in that damn chair bed. He can't be getting enough sleep on that thing."

"He's really worried about her," Fatima said thoughtfully. "He must love her a lot."

"He does, but if he doesn't take care of himself he's going to wind up back in the hospital. He's no spring chicken."

"Why don't you go to the hospital and see if he'll stay in our suite? There's plenty of room in the living room and the couch opens up into a double bed," Fatima suggested.

"That's a great idea," John said, getting out of bed.

"One thing . . . " Fatima began.

"What's that?"

"It's very cold outside, why don't you take an extra moment to warm up a bit?"

John looked curiously at her for a moment, then his face broke into a broad grin as he got her message.

John paced up and down the hospital hallway. He took a quick look into his mother's room. She was sleeping peacefully, but the open chairbed bedside her was still empty. He could have woken her up to find out where his father was, but he didn't want to disturb her, or worse, worry her unnecessarily. With a sigh of frustration, he eased the door closed, trying to decide what to do next.

Again he went to the nurse's station. "When did my father say he was coming back?"

The nurse looked up from the papers she was working on. "I'm sorry, he didn't say when he was coming back. As a matter of fact, I don't even remember him leaving" Frowning slightly, she thought for a moment. "I think he has been doing this for quite a few nights. I always thought it had something to do with his newspaper."

"Yeah, maybe that's all it is," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Well, maybe I'll catch him tomorrow."

John shrugged more deeply into his down jacket as a cold blast of air and fluttering snowflakes caught him outside the hospital entrance. Hearing the soft crunch of tires on snow he looked up to see a big black car pull up across the street. The car stopped just short of the streetlight. Its headlights were dark, but he could see enough of its big shield-shaped grill and long low shape to know that it was not an ordinary car. A tall man dressed in a dark overcoat climbed out of the car and leaned over to speak to the driver.

By some trick of the wind, John clearly heard the man's voice, his father's voice, John realized with a shock of recognition; instruct the driver to meet him at the townhouse the day after tomorrow.

John went back into the hospital's foyer and waited, watching through the window as Britt crossed the street. Pretending to be just leaving, John reached for the door as Britt reached for it himself. "Oh, hi Dad. I was wondering where you were."

Britt frowned. "You were? Why?" he asked as he slipped out of the overcoat.

"Fatima and I were wondering if you would like to spend the night in our suite. There's plenty of room. You can't be getting enough rest in that chair in Mom's room," John said following Britt into the elevator.

"That's really considerate of you, but I'm doing fine," Britt answered. "You shouldn't have waited for me."

He seemed to John to be overly intent on studying the numbers above the door as the elevator went up to the right floor. "The nurse on duty thought you were coming back soon, so I figured I'd wait until you got back," he explained.

"Sorry about that," Britt answered. "Something came up and I had to see someone," he said, not volunteering anything.

"I see," John commented, wondering if he should ask about the black car. "Does it have anything to do with the bombing?"

Britt leaned against the back wall of the elevator. "John, I'm beat. How about we talk about this tomorrow?" he suggested.

John hesitated. With anyone else he would have pressed harder, pushing for a definite answer, but this was his father. He couldn't grill his own father. He'd already been through a lot and was clearly exhausted. Whatever he was doing, whatever he was involved in, he had his reasons for keeping it to himself. John would have to trust him. "Yeah Dad, tomorrow will be okay," he reluctantly answered.

Britt nodded his agreement, but there was a worried look on his face that he could not completely hide from his son. That much was obvious, but to John everything else was as clear as mud.