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.

4. Family Matters

Chapter Four

Family Matters

I

In what had once been a marshland habitat for water birds and muskrats sat the Kingdom of Divine Love Church, the heart of Dr. Ernest P. Goode's televangelical empire. Trams equipped for the wintry chill of the Great Lake city shuttled people to and from parking lots that rivaled those of Disneyland in size. In the vast complex of the sacred and the profane, chapels and religious schools were intermixed with business offices and television studios. At the heart of the complex was the auditorium-like cathedral. Larger than the Astrodome, it gleamed in gold and white like a giant winged beast poised in flight.

"What do you think of it?" James O'Leary asked Lee as they stood in the huge lobby outside the main sanctuary.

"I've never seen anything like this in my entire life," Lee admitted.

"Nothing, not even the papist Vatican, can compare with the KDL. It's the largest church in the world," James said, beaming with pride. "People come from all over the world to see it. And it's all done for the greater glory of God."

To somebody's greater glory Lee thought cynically. Aloud he said, "This place must've cost a fortune to build."

"I've heard that it cost more than a billion dollars to build, but isn't that better than spending that kind of money for a single aircraft built for war?"

"I can't argue with that," Lee said, "But where did all that money come from?"

"It came from all of us," James said, pointing to the crowd milling about the lobby, many of them standing in lines in front of tables stacked high with cassettes, CD's and videotapes. "Each of us contributes ten percent of what we earn to further God's ministry. Even the youngest child's pennies serve God's work."

Lee nodded, thinking about the sums donated by Red Knight. "I wonder though, if that money wouldn't be better spent helping people who are less well off? Some of these people look like they can't even afford a decent meal," he commented, noticing that although many were well-dressed, even expensively so, there were also many who seemed to ill-afford the expensive videotapes that were carried with reverential care in work-reddened hands or those that were thin and age-spotted. Thin, knobby kneed children in hand-me-down clothes were led along by parents in clothing worn from too many washings. In their parents' hands were videotapes and cassettes from which Dr. Goode's face beamed benignly.

"What is given, is given freely, each according to their abilities," James pointed out. "Just because people are poor in material goods doesn't mean that they aren't rich in spirit."

"Maybe you're right," Lee said, but as he said it, he thought about the chauffeured limousines Goode and his entourage traveled around in, and the costly hand-tailored suits and Italian shoes and the gold and diamond rings that glittered on Goode's fingers. All for God's glory, he wondered, or Goode's?

Following the press of people from the noisily busy lobby, James and Lee entered the sanctuary. Lee suppressed a low whistle of astonishment. From the ribs of the huge dome overhead were strung hundreds of tiny lights which against the darkened ceiling created the illusion of a starlit night sky. Other lights were strung along the pews and aisles that sloped gently to the center. The slope was barely enough for everyone to see the main altar and the gold and white draped pulpit. Hanging high above the center of the sanctuary was a golden cross suspended by thin, nearly invisible wires.

After everyone had filtered out of the lobby and had found their seats, a choir in shimmering white robes filed down the four aisles, their voice raised in song. Lee found himself beginning to enjoy himself, and wondered if he had read James and his fundamentalist beliefs wrong. A mix of old traditional Christmas carols, gospel music and modern Christian songs, he found the music not only enjoyable, but spiritually uplifting as well. In a way he envied James' unquestioning faith.

A hush fell over the audience, and an electric rush of anticipation filled the crowd, including, to his surprise, Lee, as the music suddenly stopped and the cathedral's interior was plunged into darkness except for the tiny lights along the ceiling and the cross which glowed with an internal golden light. Suddenly a brilliant beam of light stabbed out from the suspended cross, illuminating the pulpit which had risen far above the ground. Dr. Goode stood basking in the bright light, his white robes gleamed supernaturally as did his white hair, and the golden scarf draped from his shoulders.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he said, his voice sounding as near as one's neighbor. The simple greeting had the import of a blessing.

Dr. Goode's voice hardened and his benign expression became grim. "Ladies and gentlemen, during this most holy time of our faith, our city fathers have chosen to welcome a cancer into our fair city. Under the guise of seeking peace, they are supporting an unholy meeting with your hard earned taxes. Taxes that should be going to care for the children, the elderly, and all those who are so sorely in need. Those taxes are being used to wine and dine the representatives of the Muslim nations who have invaded our city. These same nations can destroy our nation, our very way of life, and our faith in the one, true god."

"Not only can they but they will," Dr. Goode continued as red lights flashed overhead and the air crackled with electricity and boomed with thunder that accented his every word. "For that is the foresworn mission of their heretical cult. If we are not vigilant, if we do not crush these people before they become too strong, they will destroy us. They will enslave us, forcing our children to worship their god, Muhammad. They will take our daughters and imprison them in the harems of their pleasure palaces, they will destroy all of our industries, throwing families into the streets, forcing them to grub around in the garbage, while they grow fat off the sweat and blood of our people."

Dr. Goode's voice rose as his face reddened with passion. "This conference must be stopped! Before it is too late!," He urged, thumping on the podium. "We must become the soldiers of Christ and eliminate the heathens before they eliminate us!"

The crowd rose to its feet as the 1812 overture blasted in the air and the red flashes were joined by white and blue flashes. Lee rose to his feet, adding his voice to the roaring, screaming crowd.

"God bless America!" Dr. Goode shouted as "Onward Christian Soldiers" blasted over the angry voices.

"Amen!" he shouted.

"Amen!" the crowd responded in one voice.

Again Dr. Goode shouted, "Amen!" And again, the crowd responded, "Amen!" Again and again, Dr. Goode shouted, "Amen" and again and again the crowd responded until the entire cathedral echoed and reechoed until the echoes could no longer be told apart from the voices from which they came.

Suddenly all light went out and there was absolute silence.

Lee blinked rapidly as all of the interior lights came on. James grinned broadly, his voice hoarse from shouting. "What did I tell you? Isn't he the greatest?"

"Yeah, great," Lee answered, feeling limp from the emotion wrung from him.

"I tell you, Lee, Dr. Goode is 100 percent right. That conference must be stopped. The poison those Arabs are spreading throughout the world must be stopped before it destroys us," James said enthusiastically as the two young men joined the exodus out the vast sanctuary. All around them, people were leaving their seat, with Dr. Goode's name and message on their lips.

"How do you plan on doing that and keeping your job at the Sentinel?" Lee asked.

"Sometimes sacrifices must be made," James said with an odd look in his eyes. "But that's why I brought you here. Dr. Goode wanted me to introduce you to him. Since you have the inside track with Mr. Reid, maybe you can convince him that what he is doing is wrong. He must stop the conference before it's too late," James said as he led Lee across the upper aisles and away from the doors leading to the lobby.

"I don't think I have as much influence over Mr. Reid as you think, but I sure will try to do what I can," Lee said, trying to match James' enthusiasm, all the while wondering what the other man was capable of.

"I'm glad to hear that. I knew you were okay from the first time I met you," James said, opening the door and leading the way along a narrow corridor that looked more like the backstage of a theater than a church.

They stopped at a door guarded by two grim-faced men in khaki and olive drab uniforms. On their shoulders were patches bearing the insignia of the Red Knight security company.

"I'm James O'Leary," James said, introducing himself. "I have someone here that Dr. Goode wanted to see."

One of the guards grunted and said, "Let's see your I.D."

James pulled out his wallet and snapped it open to his license before handing it over to the guard. The man examined the license and looked James over. "Just a minute," he said and entered the room he was guarding.

A few minutes later he returned and said, "You can go in now."

Lee and James entered a plushly furnished room with thick sky blue carpeting and ornate white French Provincial furniture. Dr. Goode who had changed from his clerical robes into a suit of a blue slightly lighter than the carpet rose from a chair and walked over to the young men. He grasped James' hand with both hands and thanked him for coming. He then turned to Lee and grasped his hand in the same hearty grip. Lee was surprised by the strength of the evangelist's grip. The cool dryness of his hands, like the coolness in the dark brown eyes behind the silver rimmed glasses belied the warmth of his greeting.

"I'm so very glad to meet you. James had told me a great many things about you, including that fact that you are a Buddhist. Yet you don't look entirely Chinese."

"My mother was Caucasian," Lee explained. "But she became a Buddhist when she married my father."

"Then this service must have been quite an experience for you."

"It was," Lee admitted. "I've never seen anything like it before. I'm impressed. I haven't been much exposed to a religious Christian program, so I heard a lot of things tonight that I hadn't heard before."

"Indeed?" Dr. Goode said.

"Yeah, my parents didn't celebrate Christmas, so all I ever knew about it was what I learned in school, you know, all those things about Santa Claus, and presents and stuff like that. It kind of makes me think how much I've missed. There's so much commercialization of Christmas that you forget that it's really about the birth of Jesus."

Dr. Goode's smile broadened. "I'm glad to hear that. Perhaps we will see you here again, and perhaps you will consent to receive God's saving grace during one of our later services."

"Maybe I will," Lee said.

"Oh, how is Mrs. Reid doing now?" Dr. Goode asked.

"She's out of the hospital and doing fine."

"That's good. By the way, is it true what I've been hearing in the news, that the police have no suspects yet? I'm just being curious, you know, but since you are so close to the Reids, I was wondering if you had heard something that isn't being released to the public yet."

"I haven't heard a thing."

"That's too bad. Young man," Dr. Goode said, laying a fatherly hand on Lee's shoulder, "I am truly worried about this conference. I feel that it will bring nothing but trouble to your Mr. Reid. If he doesn't take steps to stop it before it's too late . . . "

"It's already started, Dr. Goode. There's no way it can be stopped now. Not even if Mr. Reid wanted to, which he doesn't."

"My son, with God, everything is possible. Talk to Mr. Reid, try to make him see the light, just as you have tonight. Tell him that it's God's will and the will of the American people that this so-called peace conference be stopped."

"I don't think what I say will make a difference," Lee said. "But I can try."

"That is all that I ask," Dr. Goode said. "I will pray to God that Mr. Reid listens to your clear voice of reason."

Dr. Goode's benevolent smile quickly disappeared once the two young men had left. The facade of cheery goodwill was dropped as quickly as the stage curtain on a two-bit vaudeville act. "Louis, Fred," he said to the guards as he left his suite, "I will be in my chapel. See that I am not disturbed."

Dr. Goode walked through a connecting tunnel to his private chapel. It was not a room, but an entire church that he had brought stone by stone from the small New England town where Goode's father had served as pastor many long years ago. It was a reminder of where he had once been and of how far he had come. It was a symbol of his triumph over disgrace.

His father had once been a passionate minister to a complacent congregation. Grown fat off prosperous cotton mills they did not wish to hear his father's threats of eternal damnation and as his calls to repentance had become more strident, and more desperate from both the pulpit and the street corner, the more people rejected him and called him a madman. Revelations of the beatings of his children to the rhythm of biblical passages had been the final straw, and the town, unmoved by his threats of eternal hellfire had thrown him into an insane asylum to die a slow death.

After his family had fled in disgrace, Goode took on a new name, gotten his doctorate in divinity from a small southern school, and hit the road as a traveling evangelist. He had prospered beyond his wildest dreams after discovering the power of television. He smiled at the memory of the day he had come to tear the church away from the ground where it had been built 150 years before. God had taken their wealth and pride by delivering their industry to the masses of Asia and Goode took away their church. From the stone of its walls, the wood of its floors to the oaken pews and their burgundy velvet cushions and the grey slate roof overhead, he had taken it all, including the communion vessels and the altar beneath them.

The service tonight had been very successful, he thought. Ever increasingly he was seeing powerful and influential people among his flock. His one problem was Britt Reid. The man and his newspaper could still be a serious threat to their plans. At least through O'Leary they were making progress in eliminating that problem. If he could not get Reid himself to join, perhaps they would be able to convince one of his children to come to their side. After all, neither Reid nor his wife would live forever, and accidents do happen.

The Ayatollah Abd Allah had eased himself slowly down to his knees onto the intricately decorated prayer rug. He was getting old, he decided, and his legs could not bend as they once did when he was a young man, who filled with Allah's fire, had wandered from village to village, preaching Allah's word to whoever would listen. Always he had tried to warn the faithful against their infidel masters, and in time he saw the ebb of the European curse in the Muslim lands and the return of the shariah, the sacred law of Allah.

Now he was an old man, and it was becoming increasingly harder to continue his work, especially since he had arrived in this accursed land, with its freezing cold and hellish winds that always seemed to be blowing through the concrete canyons of this foreign city.

In this room the infidels had followed his orders perfectly. The walls were a smooth featureless white and the hidden ceiling lights were dim, helping maintain the illusion of quiet stillness. As instructed, against one wall was the mihrab, decorated with tiles of multicolored triangles. He faced toward it, as Allah had commanded, in the direction of the holy city of Mecca. He closed his eyes tiredly, relaxing, clearing his mind, for a moment he could almost forget he was not in his own mosque, that he was not in dar al-harb, the land of the enemy.

His Friday message, al-hamdu li-lah, praise be to Allah, had gone exceedingly well. His exhortations for an Islamic revolution had indeed gone very well indeed. Of course, most of the representatives at the conference were Sunni, as were their countries, but many of them had come just to hear him. Allah had granted him a wide-ranging reputation for skillful oration in exchange for his lost youth. Even Ibn Ubayy and some of his men had attended. They could be useful in the future, he decided. Even one or two of the infidels had been there. Cultural tourists, perhaps, but they may yet, unaware, become the forefront of the revolution of the one, true religion.

He placed his Koran onto the intricately carved book stand before him and opened it, taking care not to crease the delicate parchment pages. The illuminated pages had dimmed greatly over the many years that the Holy book had passed from father to son and so on through many generations and the beautiful calligraphy laying down Allah's words had been smudged in several places by loving fingers as they traced along the lines that detailed Allah's never changing design for the life of the Faithful. No matter, he knew every sura, every word, by heart.

Dr. Goode knelt in the front pew and opened the old bible in his hand. The soft leather cover was worn and soiled from work-hardened hands and the dirt of many foreign lands. It had given succor to his father and his father before him, and so on through the generations in both good times and bad. When crops were poor, and war threatened at the door, it gave hope and strength. In times of prosperity, it was a warning against self-satisfaction and in times of indecision, a clarion call to action. He thumbed through the well-worn pages until he came upon a familiar passage, one that he had read so many times before, a foretelling of what was to come.

Behold a people rise like a lioness, And as a lion lifts itself; It shall not lie down until it devours the prey, And drinks the blood of the slain.

He would do whatever was necessary to prepare the world for the new millennium and the coming of the Messiah.

Soon, the Ayatollah thought, all would be in readiness, and nothing would stand in their way. In less years than could be counted on a single hand, the world would be ready for the coming of the hidden Imam, the righteous Caliph, who would lead a united world into the future. He read the passage that the Koran was opened to.

Then let those fight in God's way who sell this world's life for the Future; and as to him who fights in God's way, then should he be killed, or should he conquer, we shall then give him great reward.

It was an assurance that Inshallah, if Allah wills, that by whatever method was necessary, whether it be by sword, by flame, or subtle persuasion, they would be successful in purifying the world of the infidel and the false believers.

His eyes widened, seeing a chador-clad woman coming into the room. "Woman, what are you doing here?" he angrily demanded. "I had left instructions that I was not to be disturbed."

The woman bowed, her expression invisible behind the black veil except for the fire in her golden eyes. "Holy Man," she said bitterly. "You were not always so holy."

The Ayatollah rose unsteadily to his feet, but moved no further. From withing the folds of woman's garments appeared a small, red pistol. It looked like nothing more than a child's toy. "Once a long time ago, you murdered a man because he spoke of peace between the Arab and the Jew. Then, as now, you sought to silence the voice of the dove. You were successful, then in your triumph, you burned his home along with his family after you had raped his wife and his eldest girl-child."

The woman pulled back the black hood and veil away and golden brown hair tumbled free. "You thought you had destroyed everyone, but the eldest daughter had crawled from the ashes of her home. She soon died by her own hand, but not before she had told the tale of your infamy. That tale was remembered and retold much later to the babe you had not known about that had been laying ill in a Jewish hospital."

She drew herself erect, the small brightly colored gun steady in her gloved hands. "As you can see, she is well now and fully grown." Her fingers tightened on the trigger.

The Ayatollah raised his hands, futilely warding off the death in the woman's eyes.

"You will not succeed this time, Holy Man," she hatefully hissed. The gun coughed twice, sounding no louder than a heavy dictionary being dropped. The Ayatollah folded into himself like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

II

"I know it's late, Mr. Reid," Lee said as Britt stroked the flames into life in the fireplace in his Valley Grove home. All the house was dark except for this one room and the fire was the sole light in it.

Britt shrugged, replacing the brass poker into its stand. "No problem," he said, "I've been having a hard time getting to sleep anyway. What's bothering you?" he asked.

"I don't know if it anything or not..." Lee said hesitantly as he waited for Britt to settle into the chair nearest to the fire.

"It must be something important for you to drive all the way over here," Britt answered.

Noticing Casey slip into the study and curl up on the couch, Lee smiled uncertainly at her, "I'm sorry if I woke you up."

She shook her head. "Don't worry about it. I guess we all have been having a hard time getting to sleep these days," she said, pointedly looking at Britt who uncomfortably avoided her gaze. "Please go on with what you were saying."

"Well, it's about that service at the Kingdom of Divine Love Church," Lee began.

"Dr. Goode's church?" Britt asked.

"Yeah. I've been hanging around with James like you asked. He's a nice guy, but there's something creepy about him. It's like he's just barely holding it all together. One of these days I'm afraid he's going to go completely off the deep end. And if Dr. Goode's services are all like this one, I don't have to wonder why."

"What happened?" Britt said.

Lee wrapped his arms around himself, watching the fire as he spoke, "At first it seemed to be okay. You know, just a bunch of Christmas songs, and plays put on by little kids playing shepherds and angels and stuff like that."

He was quiet for a moment, staring at the flames, collecting his thoughts. "I don't really remember much after that." A troubled look came into his dark eyes. "All I can remember is a bunch of jumbled feelings about Dr. Goode's sermon. It was so full of hate."

He looked up at Britt. "I thought this was supposed to be a season of brotherly love, you know, 'Goodwill to All'. Goode's sermon was full of hate."

"Against who?" Britt asked.

"Against the Muslims." Lee frowned worriedly. "Mr. Reid, he wants that conference stopped and I don't think he much cares about how it's done."

"That's interesting," Britt said steepling his fingers in concentration. Plans were already starting to form in his mind.

"But there's something else that's bothering you," Casey guessed.

Lee nodded. "I don't know. It's just that I found myself going along with what Goode was saying." He shuddered visibly. "If he had told me to jump off a cliff, I would've done it." He fell heavily beside Casey and she grasped his shoulders in motherly comfort.

Britt leaned forward, his pale eyes alight with keen interest. "Do you remember anything out of the usual about the service?" he asked.

"I wouldn't know what's usual or unusual. I've rarely ever been to church."

"But you do have some idea of what you might expect."

"Some..." Lee said doubtfully.

"Did this service jibe with your ideas?"

"Not really."

"How was it different?"

Lee shrugged. "I dunno. Except..."

"Go on," Britt encouraged.

"Well, to tell you the truth, I've seen rock concerts that were duller than this."

"Explain."

"There was a lot of loud music, with a heavy beat, and I remember lots of bright lights, and thunder. I remember thunder. It was like it was drumming in Goode's words."

"It almost sounds like Dr. Goode might be using some subliminal techniques there," Casey said thoughtfully.

"Could be," Britt agreed.

"But that's illegal," Lee said.

"Since when has that stopped someone?" Britt said bitterly.

"You could be right, Mrs. Reid," Lee said. "You know, James was asking me some questions about subliminal suggestions. He had heard that you and my father had been involved in a case about subliminal messages."

"Did you ask him why he was asking those questions?" Britt asked.

Lee nodded. "He said that Goode had asked him about it. James then went on how great it would be to be able to control people's minds. To make a better world."

Britt felt like the room's temperature had fallen to sub freezing.

The phone's ringing interrupted his thoughts and he reached over to the desk beside him to answer. He listened for a few minutes, spoke quietly into it and hung up, feeling even more disturbed than he had before. "That's the night editor," he said. "It looks like somebody has just killed the Ayatollah Abd Allah."

Casey gasped. "Do they have any idea who did it?" she asked.

"No. The only thing they know is that some woman in one of those chador outfits had served the guards some coffee. When they came to, the Ayatollah had already been killed. That's all they have right now. Tomorrow they might get a better idea of what kind of weapon was used after the M.E. gets a look at the body. So far all they can say is that he was shot with a small caliber weapon."

"How could a gun get in there?" Casey asked. "I thought they had installed metal detectors after the first attempt."

"I have no idea. Maybe the murder weapon was already there before the metal detectors were installed," Britt answered.

"Or maybe it was one of those plastic or ceramic jobs," Lee suggested.

Britt nodded his agreement. "Could be. That's something I'm sure the cops and the secret service will be looking into."

"Who were the guards?" Lee asked.

"Secret Service," Britt said, shaking his head. "There's going to be a big stink about this, especially after that first attempt." He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "We're going to be in for an early morning tomorrow. And probably a very late night as well. Why don't you stay here tonight and get some sleep while you can?"

Rising to his feet, Lee said, "I have a bad feeling that Dr. Goode might be behind this."

"How strong?" Britt asked.

"Strong enough that I think the Green Hornet should ask him a few questions."

"Perhaps he will," Britt answered.

After Lee had left, Britt turned to Casey who was still curled up on the couch. Her feet drawn up under her were covered by the thick terrycloth robe she was wearing. "Why don't you go to bed too. I still have a lot to do," he said.

"Like the past few nights since I've gotten home?" she asked very quietly.

"Yes," Britt answered.

"Last night I found you sleeping in the chair," she said. "There was some idiotic late, late show on the TV."

"I was trying to unwind," Britt said, "I couldn't sleep."

"Britt what's wrong?" she asked. "Why have you been avoiding me?"

"I haven't been avoiding you."

"Not during the day, no, but at night. Every night since I've gotten home, you've been staying up waiting until I was asleep before you came to bed. Why?" She bit her lip, as she felt the tears starting to well up in her eyes. "Have I changed that much?" She ran her hand through her hair. "I know I must look a sight, with this cast and my hair's so short since it had to be cut because of the concussion, I didn't think . . . "

"That's not it, honey," Britt said, "It's just that I've had a lot on my mind."

"You're lying," she interrupted through angry tears. "Why don't you say the truth? That I look horrible. That you don't love me any more."

Britt sat beside her, holding her tightly against his chest as she shook with sobs. "Casey," he said, "I was afraid of hurting you. I wanted to wait until you were completely well. It has nothing to do with the way you look. You're still the most beautiful woman I know."

She looked up at him. "I need you, Britt. I need your arms around me, I need your loving. Not having you, hurts me worse than any old broken arm."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

Casey caressed his hand, tracing the thick tendons and veins on the back of his hand. "Do you still blame yourself for the bombing?" she asked thoughtfully.

"Yeah," he admitted after a long pause. "I guess I do. If I hadn't been involved with that damned conference, the Sentinel wouldn't have been attacked. I'm worried about you, and the kids. This won't be the last time something like that will happen and now with this Green Hornet business. I guess that's why I didn't marry you earlier than I did. I didn't want to expose you and any children we might have to the danger. After I was wounded and Kato left, I thought that part of my life was over. But now . . . "

"Were you worried about protecting me, or yourself?" she asked.

"Both, I guess," Britt admitted with a shrug. He rubbed the tears from Casey's cheek. "I don't know if I could bear living if I lost you or the kids."

"You'd find a way," she said. "Just like we'd have to find a way to go on if something happened to you, just like other people have had to. Every day someone loses a person they love. Maybe not because that person drives around in the middle of the night in a big, black car. It could be because of some illness, or violence, or something as stupid as slipping in the bathtub.

"We can't waste what precious time we have together, worrying about what might happen. We can't stop loving each other, because we're afraid of the pain we might feel in the future."

"Britt," she said emphatically, "Love is all that we have to get us through life."

Britt drew her closer. "That's why I need you so much. I need you to remind me what's important."

"So are you coming to bed with me now?" she asked as she teasingly began to unbutton his shirt.

"Now?"

"It's been a long time and there's more room on the bed than on this couch," she tilted her head, laughter in her eyes. "A cast does tend to get in the way, you know."

Britt swept her up in his arms. "Don't worry, we'll work around it."

II

The next evening John was surprised to find Mike Axford ringing the doorbell. In Axford's arms was a large box and at his feet were two more large boxes, one of which was barely holding it's own against the papers that were bulging out of the folded top flaps.

"Hi Johnny," Axford said, pushing the box into John's arms.

"A little early for Christmas, aren't we?" John said as he tried to peak into the box.

Axford picked up one of the boxes on the ground and headed through the door. "Nope, these aren't Christmas gifts. I'm working on my memoirs and I need your Dad's help," he explained.

"Dad's out right now. I think he had something to do at the conference," John said, wondering whether he would be able to carry the last box and the one left in front of the door at the same time.

"Don't worry about the other box, I'll get it in a minute," Axford said. "Too bad about that Ayatollah guy getting killed. You'd think those ragheads could leave their feuds behind them for a few days."

"The police aren't sure who killed him yet," John said as he followed the stout reporter into the living room.

"I hear the guy was almost dead anyway," Axford said.

"Yeah, the M.E. said that he was dying from arsenic poisoning."

"Do you think it was accidental or on purpose?" Axford asked.

John shrugged. "Hard to tell, but I think it's a good bet that the girl who was killed at the reception had something to do with the poisoning. The Ayatollah had insisted on having all of his food cooked by his own people."

"And the girl was one of them," Axford guessed as he headed back to the front door.

John nodded. "Yeah, she was with him for a few years. It had something to do with her family, or something."

"You know that Ayatollah might've been killed by somebody different from whoever sent the poisoner. After all why bother shooting him if he's dying anyway," Axford suggested. He lifted the last box and deposited it into John's arms. "Of course," Axford continued, "It could be that if the girl was the poisoner, they had to find some other way of knocking him off after she was killed."

For a moment John's legs threatened to buckle under the weight of the box unexpectedly being dumped into his arms. "What do you have in there? An anvil?" he protested.

Axford closed the door behind them. "Nope, pictures, lot's of them, rare stuff too. Where's the rest of the family? They'll love looking at this stuff."

"Mom and Fatima's out shopping. Since Mom's feeling better, they've been doing a lot of that lately," John answered.

"And what about Dani?" Axford asked.

"I was taking a shower, you nosey old coot," Danielle said as she gave the old reporter a loving hug.

Axford took a deep breath, taking in the clean scent of roses and soap, "Nothing smells better than a pretty girl fresh from the shower," he said with a melodramatic sigh. "If only I was young again."

"What do you have there?" Danielle asked.

"Pictures and papers. I'm writing my memoirs and I thought the family would get a kick out of them," Axford explained as he pulled a small wooden chair with a leather webbed seat closer to the largest of the boxes. The chair creaked alarmingly as he sat heavily down on it.

"Uh, Mike," Danielle said, "Why don't we move the boxes closer to the couch. It's more comfortable there and we can put things on the coffee table that way."

Axford shifted his weight on the delicate chair for a moment. "Yeah, I think you're right." He shook his head as he rose out of the chair. "They don't make chairs like they used to," he commented.

"Actually Mom just bought it at an antique auction," Danielle explained. "She hasn't had the chance to tighten the joints yet."

"She better fix it before Britt sits in it. He'd break it for sure," Axford said as he sat on the couch and watched Danielle and John move the heavy boxes.

"Mom would kill him if he did," John whispered under his breath to his sister.

Axford opened the largest box and pulled out an old photo album with an ornate Japanese lacquered cover. "Here's some really old stuff from when I got out of the service," he said, flipping quickly through the pages.

"I didn't know you were in the service," John said.

"Yeah, Army Air Corps, it was," Axford said, stopping at a picture of a heavy set young man in his dress uniform.

"Were you a pilot?" Danielle asked.

"Nah," Axford answered, "I was a cook." He shrugged. "I had bad eyes."

"Being a cook's an important job," Danielle said, "An army can't operate on an empty stomach."

"Humph, to hear those guys talk you'd think they rather starve. Said for an Irishman, I couldn't even boil potatoes." He flipped to another page showing the same young man, only slightly older and in a police cadet's uniform. "After the war I joined the police force. That's how I met your father." He pointed to a black and white photo of a slender young man dressed in blue jeans and a matching jacket standing in a James Dean-like pose against a brick wall.

"That's Dad!" John exclaimed.

"Yeah, that's him. He was in trouble all the time. He was an outsider from the West, afraid of nobody, and too attractive to the girls for his own good," Axford explained. "His school was on my beat and it seemed like he was in the middle of every fight I had to break up there. Either it was over some girl or because some tough mouthed off to him. It was a tough neighborhood, and he was always sticking up for the younger kids. So when there wasn't a pack of girls around him, it was a bunch of little kids.

"That's why Henry, your grandfather, hired me," Axford continued. "I was supposed to act as Britt's bodyguard, but my main job was to keep him out of trouble. It was a hardest dammed job I ever had." He flipped to another page and pointed to a photo showing a young Britt standing with an arm draped around the shoulders of a slender young oriental man.

"That's Lee's father, isn't it?" John asked.

"Yeah," Axford answered. "After Britt and Henry came back from Japan with him, my job keeping an eye on Britt got even harder. Every time I turned my back those two would be in the middle of some kind of mischief. Britt had more than a reporter's curiosity and Kato was always game for some new adventure. At least by then Britt was big enough to take care of himself and, I got to admit, Kato probably did a better job of protecting him than I ever did. Except for when . . . "

Axford went silent for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fist. Finally he rubbed his face, his faded blue eyes bleak. "Sorry, kids, I didn't mean to go soft on you. I guess I still can't forget how Kato couldn't protect your Dad from that cowardly gangland attack." He shook his head slowly. "I still remember him laying on that hospital bed looking as pale as death, especially after losing your grandpa the way we did."

Danielle placed a hand on Axford's knee and squeezed it. "It's okay, Mike," she said.

Mike nodded. "Too bad you two never knew Henry. He would've made a great grandpa."

"You're like a grandfather to us," Danielle said, hugging him.

"Yeah, Mike, we both love you," John chimed in.

"You kids are the best thing that's ever happened to me." Axford said. He solidly slammed the scrapbook closed. "Enough of the long faces," he said as he pulled out another scrapbook, this time one with a plain pasteboard cover and brimming with 8 x 10's and newspaper clippings. "This is why I came over here in the first place. Here is some stuff I wanted to go over with your Dad." He opened the scrapbook and spread out the photos and pieces of paper.

John pulled out a yellowed piece of paper. "This is about the Green Hornet," he said.

"This is all about the Green Hornet," Axford explained. "I got every clipping about the Hornet from the time he first appeared to when he disappeared. And now that he's reappeared I'm back to collecting stuff on him."

"What's this?" John asked, pulling out a photo of a large black low-slung car.

Axford looked at it. "That's the Black Beauty, the Green Hornet's car. That's no ordinary car either. It's equipped with rockets, sleeping gas jets, a flying TV camera and all kinds of other stuff."

"Uh, Mike, would you like a cup of coffee?" John asked, rising to his feet.

"Yeah, sure," Mike said.

"Dani, could you help me out? Maybe you can find some cookies or cake that we could have with our coffee." John asked his sister.

"Okay," Danielle said, following her brother out of the living room.

"What's up, John?" she asked her brother as soon as they were out of Mike's hearing.

"That car," John said as he began filling the coffee maker. "I saw Dad getting out of it while he was staying at the hospital in Mom's room. I heard him telling the driver to pick him up the next night."

"But Mike said that it belongs to the Green Hornet. What would Dad be doing with the Green Hornet?" Danielle asked.

"I don't know," John answered. "Every time I try to ask him, I get the brush off. There's always some reason why he can't talk to me."

"What are you planning on doing about it?" Danielle asked.

"I have a feeling that Lee's involved in it somehow. He's staying at Dad's old bachelor pad. I think I remember Dad mentioning something about the townhouse to the driver. I think we should pay Lee a visit tonight right after Mike leaves and find out what the Hell is going on."

III

A heavy blanket of dark clouds hung in the night sky, reflecting back all light, draping the city in a breathless, sound deadening false twilight. A damp cold mist floated in the air forming bright halos around the lights in the nearly empty parking lot that surrounded The Kingdom of Divine Love's huge complex. The huge cathedral floated above the haze like an insubstantial memory that disappears in the morning sun.

The Black Beauty pulled up in front of the cathedral next to the few remaining cars, including a new stretch Mercedes limousine and some nondescript sedans. The Green Hornet and Kato stepped out of the car and walked to the front door. It was locked and everything was dark inside.

"Going to use the Sting?" Kato asked.

The Green Hornet shook his head. "Not yet. Let's take a look around first," he answered.

Their feet crunching through the hard crust of the snow surrounding the building, they walked along the side of the cathedral. The buildings they passed by were all dark except for the lights over their front doors and steps. Secluded in a stand of snow laden evergreens stood an old church of grey granite. A soft glow in its elegant rose window attracted their attention. In front of its double doors stood two armed men dressed in olive drab fatigues and ski masks covered incongruously by red checked head cloths.

After a quick whispered conversation with the Green Hornet, Kato walked boldly up to the front door. "Hi, can you show me the way to Pasadena?" he asked with a broad grin.

"Go away, fool," growled one of the guards, pointing his AK-47 at the smiling chauffeur.

Kato's grin dropped. "C'mon, don't be such a grouch. Where's your Christmas spirit?" he asked.

"I said go away," the guard growled again, jabbing the machine gun's muzzle into Kato's stomach.

"Jeez," Kato mumbled, turning away. Suddenly he spun around, kicking the gun out of the guard's hands. Quickly the man followed his weapon to the ground. The other guard stood frozen, the Hornet gas gun pressed against his nose.

"Goodnight, my friend," the Green Hornet said as the gas whispered out.

The Green Hornet and Kato stepped into the old church's entryway. Inside through the inner doors they saw a chilling tableau. Dr. Goode was on his knees, his face badly bruised, a thin stream of drying blood trailed down from his nose, spotting his pale blue suit. Three men stood over him. Two were armed with machine guns, one held a pistol against the white-haired minister's head. In strange counterpoint "Onward Christian Soliders" played over hidden speakers.

Kato charged into the gunmen, knocking them to the floor as Dr. Goode scrambled out of the way. Kato dispatched one quickly in his usual efficient manner and the Green Hornet sent another to dreamland with a short whiff of Hornet gas. The Green Hornet looked up from his man to see how Kato was doing with the third and was shocked to see Kato holding the man's neck in a deadly grip. A single twist and the man would be dead.

"No!" the Green Hornet shouted.

Kato looked at him angrily, a disturbing feral light gleamed in his dark eyes. "He must die," he shouted back. "They must all die. They are agents of Satan. We must kill them, send them back to their master before they drag us down with them."

The Green Hornet strode quickly across the room and forced the gasping man from Kato's grip, "What the Hell are you talking about?" he demanded.

"They must die!" Kato said wildly as he grabbed the Green Hornet by his coat lapels. "They must all die!"

The Green Hornet belted him in the chops. "Get to the damn car!" he ordered angrily, aghast at the younger man's bizarre actions.

Kato rose defiantly to his feet. "You're in with them," he said. "You must be punished," he said, taking a threatening step toward the Green Hornet.

The Green Hornet reluctantly aimed the gas gun. "Don't," he said very quietly.

"Put the gun down," demanded Dr. Goode coming from the front of the church. He held one of the terrorist's machine guns in an unsteady grip.

Now what? the Green Hornet thought. Things were going from bad to worse. "I suggest you put that thing down before you hurt yourself," he said in a calmer voice than he felt.

"No," the bruised minister said, shaking his head. "I don't think so. Not until you're safely in the hands of the police," he replied as he tightened his grip.

"Is that any way to treat the men who just saved your life?" the Green Hornet asked reasonably as he edged closer to Dr. Goode. Now if Kato just wouldn't screw things up any worse than they already are, he thought, feeling uncomfortably surrounded and on thin ice to boot. "Perhaps we can talk things over. Maybe we can make some kind of deal here," he said.

Dr. Goode raised his weapon threateningly. "No, we will do no such thing," he declared. A crafty look came into his eyes. "It does seem that one of you has already joined my flock," he said indicating Kato who had stood stock still the entire time.

"So it would seem," the Green Hornet said distastefully. "Mind control?" he asked.

"You might call it that, although that is a far too simple term for what I have been trying to accomplish," Dr. Goode said as he more closely studied the Green Hornet's man.

"Some sort of subliminal brainwashing, I'd guess," the Green Hornet said.

"Ah," Dr. Goode said, "So you have heard of it."

"I've had some small experience with it, but that was a long time ago. You must be using some very advanced equipment."

"Very advanced. The best there is," Dr. Goode said with pride. "Would you like to see it?" he said pleasantly, but the gun in his hand emphasized that this was not a request to be refused.

The Green Hornet nodded. "I'd be glad to," he said, having a good idea what the evangelist had in mind.

Dr. Goode glared down at the semiconscious man at Kato's feet. "Kill him," he snapped at Kato.

Wooden faced, Kato knelt and struck the man's neck with a knife edged blow. The sharp crack of breaking bone chilled the Green Hornet as much as the mad light in Goode's eyes. Goode motioned with the AK-47 for the Green Hornet to take the lead. Kato walked beside him, his position as ambiguous as his status with either man. Neither the Green Hornet's guard nor ally, if he made a single wrong move, the spray of bullets would quickly mow him down as easily as it would the Green Hornet.

Following Goode's directions they walked through a maze of concrete-floored corridors. The shoes of the two masked men, crepe-soled for silence made no sound, but Goode's slick leather shoes tapped hollowly in a rhythmic cadence that echoed around them, frequently disappearing down other corridors that intersected the one they followed.

Finally they came to a locked door above which was an unlit red sign. On the door was a red lettered sign warning against entering when the light was lit. Goode pulled out a set of keys and after selecting one, opened the door. Inside was a large room lined with recording and playback equipment as well as a rack of monitors and VCR's.

"I take it this is where you design all of your audio and video tapes," the Green Hornet said.

"Only the special ones," Dr. Goode said. "I have a very select staff that works here," Dr. Goode explained. He opened a drawer and after a few minutes of searching pulled out a cassette tape. "Very few know about this room."

"Your flock would be outraged to know that you have been brainwashing them," the Green Hornet said.

Dr. Goode shrugged. "Actually, I doubt that. I only reinforce what they already believe. What they feel after my services is no different from what they feel already. I just make those emotions stronger."

"You play on everyone's fears and hates and make them stronger," the Green Hornet said.

"Exactly," Dr. Goode said. He placed the cassette into a tape deck, pressed a button and blinking lights flashed on. "Actually I am surprised by your man's reaction. I never expected anyone to act as strongly as that."

The Green Hornet looked narrowly at Kato who avoided his gaze. "Perhaps some people are more suggestible than others," he said.

"Perhaps," Dr. Goode said. He motioned toward a set of grey office chairs. "Sit here, please," he said to the Green Hornet. "You," he said to Kato, "Give me one of those headphones," he ordered.

Dr. Goode plugged in the headphones and gave them to the Green Hornet. "Put them on," he ordered, the AK-47 still not straying from the masked man.

The Green Hornet looked at the headphones in his hands. "Before I put them on, would you mind telling me you are planning to do to me?" he asked.

Dr. Goode smiled slightly, almost benevolently. "You don't need to worry. What I am planning on doing will harm you in no way. In fact, I think you will come out of this a better man."

"I will be saved," the Green Hornet said.

"Exactly," Dr. Goode answered. "You will be a completely changed man. All of your detestable criminal tendencies will be gone and in their place will be complete faith in the word of God and your proper place in the world we are building for the future."

"I take it that faith will be in your interpretation of God's word and that the world to come is one of your design," the Green Hornet said.

"Of course. Our way is the only true way. Only by our vision will the world be saved from the torments that are tearing us all apart. Only through us can peace and unity be achieved."

"You keep on saying 'our' and 'we'. Are you talking about yourself and God, or are there others involved in your little scheme?" the Green Hornet asked.

Dr. Goode's smile widened. "That is for me to know and for you to find out." He waved the AK-47. "Enough of these delaying tactics. Put those headphones on."

The Green Hornet removed his hat and placed the headphones on his head. As he did so, he caught Kato making a quick wink and a brief flash of a smile before his face went blank again, leaving the Green Hornet doubting what he had seen, but ready for whatever might happen.

Dr. Goode flipped a switch and over the headphones came the strains of 'Amazing Grace'. Suddenly the Green Hornet doubled over and fell out of the chair, clasping his ears as if in great pain. At the same time Kato roughly grabbed the weapon out of the surprised evangelist's hands.

"Traitor!" Dr. Goode screamed at Kato. Looking not at the Green Hornet or Kato, but at the door to their right Dr. Goode's eyes widened. He started to say something but whatever it was, was lost in the deafening chatter of gunfire. Hit square, Dr. Goode was thrown into the bank of equipment sending up a shower of sparks. The sudden surge of electricity plunged the building into darkness as the attacker disappeared into the corridor.

The Green Hornet and Kato quickly recovered. They stopped near the door with held breaths, listening for the attacker. The corridor was pitch black. Sparks flying from the shattered electronic equipment, filled the room with flashing blue white light, dangerously backlighting them. It would be a fatal mistake to rush into that darkness It would be so easy for them to be ambushed. There was silence. No heavy breathing, no clattering footsteps. He could be just beyond the door or completely out of the building. In the darkness beyond there was no way of knowing which.

The electrical fire quickly went out making the room behind them as dark as the corridor ahead. Knowing at least now he would not make a backlit target, the Green Hornet moved out of the doorway, half expecting to be instantly cut down. When nothing happened he released the breath he had been unconsciously holding. The only light in the long corridor was the red glow of an exit sign near the intersection with another corridor. The Green Hornet moved toward the exit sign quietly, always keeping the wall hard against his back. Kato moved beside him, as nervously alert as he was.

He thoughtfully palmed the mini-flash in his pocket. It was tempting to use, to get rid of the stygian blackness that surrounded him even if only to see the black barrel of the terrorist's AK-47 before dying. He kept the flash where it was and pulled out a small flash bomb instead. It wasn't time to use it, not yet.

They neared the intersection, and paused just out the small well of light cast by the exit sign, breathlessly listening for any sound that might show where the terrorist was. The only visible light ahead was another exit sign floating in the darkness. The Green Hornet hated this creeping around the dark, not knowing what waited around the next corner, not knowing if death waited beyond or if the terrorist had been long gone. Time too, could be running out. The other cars in the parking lot showed that there were others in the complex. Others that the sudden blackout could attract, including the police. He retraced in his mind their journey through the long corridors. How much was above ground, how much under, more importantly, which walls might lead outside to freedom? The Hornet sting could easily slice through one of these walls, but if it led to another maze of corridors and rooms the mistake could be fatal. The powerful sonic weapon made a hell of a lot of noise. They were trapped in a labyrinth, the Minotaur a man with an AK-47 and nothing but glowing exit signs to lead the way out.

He nearly jumped when he felt Kato's hand on his arm. Even this close he could not see the younger man's face. He held his breath, straining to hear something ahead of them, perhaps even the heartbeat of the man ahead of them. Did he hear it? The soft scrape of heavy boots on concrete. Silence. Another sound, very slight, metal, a slight bump against a wall. He hefted the flash bomb in his hand and pulled Kato's sleeve, letting him feel the small device in his hand, hoping that Kato would get the message to cover his eyes.

He threw the bomb around the corner and quickly pressed his back against the wall. Even through closed eyes he could see the brilliant flash of light. A quick shout of surprise told him that his guess was right. The Green Hornet led the charge with Kato close at his heels. He lunged at the blinded ski-masked killer. Grabbing the gun still held tightly in the terrorist's hands he rolled onto his own back throwing the man into the air with a powerful thrust of his legs. The man quickly recovering, crawled to his feet. The Green Hornet grabbed at the man, but only succeeded in pulling off the ski mask, revealing in the fitful light the face of Ibn Ubayy's aide, Ibrahim.

Ibrahim charged down the corridor into Kato's path. Kato moved to drop him, but at the last moment the man twisted sideways deflecting the blow off the side of his shoulder. Doggedly the terrorist reversed direction, pulling out a large curved blade that gleamed wickedly in the rapidly dying light from the flare. The Green Hornet dodged the first thrust for his belly, but the man spun on his heels and slashed downward. The Green Hornet moved quickly, but not quickly enough. The flare died as he felt the searing pain of the knife tearing into his upper arm. Reflexively he slammed an elbow toward where the man's stomach should be only to strike air.

The pounding of heavy feet told them that the terrorist was heading away from them, heading for the exit. No longer fearful of an ambush they pulled out their flashlights and ran after him. They saw the terrorist ahead of them throw open an emergency exit door with a loud bang and barreled out after him.

"Look!" Kato shouted, pointing to a desert camouflaged hummvee charging through the snow covered quadrangle, its heavily treaded oversized tires tearing through the thick snow, throwing up dried grass and frozen dirt. It flattened several bushes in its wild careening path and bounced off a large tree, tearing out a huge chunk of bark and wood.

The Green Hornet and Kato raced for the Black Beauty and took after the ugly brown vehicle. As the terrorist's vehicle roared onto the street, the Black Beauty pulled up close to its rear bumper.

"Joe! Look at that!" Ching shouted, spotting the two vehicles racing by their parked police car.

"Now we'll get them!" Robinson said as he eagerly gunned the police car away from the curb, its red, white and blue lights flashing and the sirens setting up a banshee wail. "Call for back up," he told his partner.

"Boss," Kato said, "Cops are on our tail."

"So I've noticed," the Green Hornet growled as he opened the panel behind the front seat and folded down a console above which was a small TV screen.

"Should we back off?" Kato asked. "Where there's one cop..."

"There'll be more," the Green Hornet finished for him. "Just keep her steady. I want to get at least one good shot at those bastards." He pressed two buttons at the same time, sending a pair of slender rockets snaking out from the rocket pods on either side of the Black Beauty's grille. The right hand rocket stuck its target low, barely above the bumper. The other rocket went wide, uselessly burying itself into a snowbank with a spray of snow and flashing sparks.

The Humvee lurched, badly crippled but not stopped. The Black Beauty continued its pursuit as the Green Hornet waited for another chance for a good shot.

"Boss," Kato said, "I think we better break off. The police scanner's going crazy. They're starting to form a net around us."

"I hear you," the Green Hornet said in frustration as he folded the console back into place. "Let's get out of here while we still have the chance."

"They're breaking off," the young cop said to his partner, "What'll we do?"

"I'm staying on the Hornet's tail. That hummer's not going to get far after a hit like that," Robinson said. "The guys won't have any trouble with them."

The Black Beauty roared down a narrow back street, the police car in close pursuit. Alternately slipping on black ice and catching traction on dry pavement, Kato kept the big car barely in control. "I can't go any faster," he said through clenched teeth. We're barely making it as it is. How about a rocket or two to get them off our ass."

The Green Hornet looked behind them. The bright lights of the police car were so bright that they hurt his eyes. "We can't, this road's too narrow. If they lose control, they'll pile into a light pole, or worse, into a building. I want to get rid of them, not kill them. Keep going, try to lose them any way we can." A thought occurred to him. "At the next intersection, turn left, go dark and silent, then make a right into an alley and stop. If we're lucky we'll lose them."

Kato did as exactly as the Green Hornet said and was surprised to see the police car pass by their hiding place. "Nice trick," he commented wryly.

"Sometimes the old ones are the best," the Green Hornet answered. He moved the fabric away from the wound in his arm and touched it gingerly, "I think it's time to call it a night."

"Is it bad?" Kato asked, just realizing that the Green Hornet had been injured.

"No, it's not even deep enough to need stitches, but the coat and shirt are ruined," he assured Kato.

Robinson nudged his partner in the ribs. "See, I told you, I figured the bastard would try something like this." He waited patiently as the big black car backed out of the alley. When the Black Beauty was a few blocks down, he eased the police car away from the curb and followed it from a safe distance.

"If we can stick with them without them knowing about it, we might be able to track them down to their hiding place," Robinson said as they followed the car through nearly empty streets. Occasionally a traffic light would separate them, but the lead car's pace was so sedate that they were always reunited at the next light. Even with the big wet snowflakes that were starting to fall heavily from the sky, their prey stayed easily in sight.

They followed for several miles with the black car giving no sign it was being followed. Or that it was anywhere near the end of its night run. The slow motion pursuit continued for several miles until it led to the theater district. The last shows of the evening, put on especially late for the holiday season were all letting out, sending droves of well-dressed theater goers onto the sidewalks. Luxury cars, including Cadillacs, Lincolns, Mercedes and many others including an occasional Rolls Royce filled the street and waited at curbs as long coated doormen escorted people to their cars or tweeted silver whistles for waiting taxis.

The Green Hornet's car so visible on an empty street, quickly became one luxury vehicle among many. Usually so distinctive on its own, especially when seen from the front, it melted into anonymity as it joined the heavy traffic especially in what was fast becoming easily one of the biggest snowfalls of the season.

Finally they were out of the theater district and again nearly alone on a side street. Strangely the black car was heading back toward the suburbs where Robinson and his partner had first picked up the trail. Finally tiring of the slow motion pursuit, Robinson turned on the flashing lights. If the thing rabbited, at least the night would come to an end. To his surprise it pulled off the road and stopped.

"Ching, get out and cover the other side and be damn careful. These guys are dangerous and tricky as Hell," he told his partner as he climbed out and pulled his gun.

He warily approached the driver's side. Something was very odd. "Come on, get out with your hands up," he ordered as he stood out of the way of the opening door, ready for anything, but . . .

A tall, thin, white-haired man in a grey chauffeur's livery unstretched from the car's front seat. "Excuse me sir," the chauffeur said apologetically as he timidly raised brown gloved hands into the air, "I wasn't aware that I was speeding."

The rear window hummed open as a woman with grey-flecked brown hair poked her head out. "What is going on here?" she demanded angrily.

Robinson holstered his gun with a sinking feeling in his gut. "I'm sorry Mayor Walsh. We were following the Green Hornet and I guess, we, uh, we must've lost him and picked you up instead," he lamely tried to explain, wondering if he had any chance of retiring at grade.

IV

"We might as well face it," Danielle told her brother as he again rang the doorbell at the downtown townhouse. "The place is dark and there's no sign of Dad's car. Wherever he is, he's not here."

"Maybe you're right," John answered, finally releasing his hold on the doorbell. He looked up at the night sky at the large flakes lazily floating down around them. "Looks like it's a bust. Do you want to go home?" he asked, noticing that his sister was huddling more deeply into her coat.

She shook her head. "Something's going on and I want to find out what it is."

"What'll we do then?" he asked, leading the way back to the car.

"I don't know," she said dejectedly. "Dad's not at the paper and he's not here. I have no idea where he might be."

"We know he'll come home sooner or later. Let's go home and wait. When he comes in, we'll hit him with our questions then." He opened the door for his sister. "The weather's going to get nasty," he said. The snow was starting to stick to the car's roof and on the road.

For several minutes they drove in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. A tall pink sign caught John's attention. "How about a donut and some coffee," he asked.

"Well . . . " Danielle began.

"They carry muffins and tea too," John added.

Danielle smiled. "You're on, brother," she said. Her eyes suddenly widened. "John! That's it! Turn left!" she said excitedly.

"What?" John said, trying to decide whether to stop, turn or go on.

"The car that just drove through the intersection. That's the one in Mike's pictures. The one you said you saw Dad getting out of," she explained hurriedly.

John turned left and was able to catch sight of the big black car a few blocks away. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Positive," she said, "Don't lose him."

The black car continued on, entering an area of warehouses and small industry, totally unaware of John and Danielle following behind at a discrete distance. It turned a corner. By the time they had rounded it the car had disappeared.

"Where'd it go to?" Danielle said, not believing the empty road ahead of them.

"Maybe we just lost sight of them," John said, driving ahead a few more blocks.

"It's no good," Danielle said finally. "We must've lost them." She bit her lip thoughtfully. "Go back to where we lost them. Maybe we missed something."

John turned the car around and drove past where they had last seen the mystery car. "I don't see anything. This is the only way they could've gone. There are only dead end alleys off this road."

"A car can't just disappear," Danielle said puzzled.

John stopped the car, grabbed a flashlight and stepped out, frowning in thought. He began walking back down the road sweeping the flash ahead of him, pausing only when he heard the car door open and slam shut.

Danielle shuffled through the thickening snow. "What are you looking for?" she asked.

"Look," John said, pointing at the road. "Here are our tire tracks. Ordinary snow tires, see?"

Danielle nodded her understanding and he continued, "Now this is the black car's track. It's heavy, a lot heavier than ours. You can tell by how deep it is."

"Looks like a rattlesnake pattern," Danielle supplied.

"Yeah," John answered. He continued walking, following the distinctive pattern that was quickly disappearing under the rapidly falling snow. Then he stopped. "The tracks seem to stop here," he said, crouching to lightly sweep the snow away. "Wait a minute," he said, noticing something. "Look at this."

Danielle crouched down beside her brother. "Looks like brush marks," she said.

"That's what they did. They used brooms to hide their tracks." He stood up. "They must be heading for their home base. Somewhere there must be some kind of secret entrance around here," he guessed.

"But there's nothing around here," Danielle said. "Just that dead end alley."

John walked down the alley, occasionally stopping to examine the ground. "Dani," he said, "They did go this way."

"You're kidding," she said. "That's impossible. It's a dead end."

John shrugged and paced along the alley's back wall where a tattered billboard advertising a breath mint was hung. "Odd place for a billboard," he commented.

"It's old, maybe traffic patterns were different when it was first put up," Danielle suggested.

Her brother checked the billboard more closely. "You know this isn't as beat up as it looks. Not if it's as old as it looks." He touched the sign and ran his fingers along its surface. He stopped suddenly and stared at the sign. "I'll be dammed!" he exclaimed.

"What?"

"The dammed thing is split in half. See? The man and woman separate," he explained, showing her an indistinct line between the kissing couple.

"Odd place for an animated sign," Danielle said.

"But that's it," John said in a rush, "This isn't an animated sign, see the division goes all the way down to the ground. This is the Green Hornet's secret entrance!"

"But where does it lead?" she asked.

John shoved his cold hands into his pockets, glowering at the kissing couple. "Dammed if I know," he growled.

"I wonder . . . " Danielle began.

"What?"

"Dad was living in the townhouse before he married Mom. Right?"

"Yeah."

She walked quickly back to the car, John close behind her, wondering what his sister was up to. She reached into the glove compartment, pulled out a city map and stretched it on the car's hood. "Can I have the flashlight for a moment?" she asked.

"Sure."

"We're here," she said, shining the light on the map. "And this is where the townhouse is," she continued, tracing a finger along the road they had followed.

John's eyes widened. "And if we suppose that this alley connects with some others, here and here." He pointed on the map. "Then there would be a direct route between here and the townhouse."

"And all of it away from prying eyes," Danielle ended the thought for her brother. "I'll bet the townhouse won't be empty now," she said.

"Let's go and see," John said, folding the map and getting into the car.

"The place is still dark," John said when they pulled up to the townhouse for the second time that night. "Do you think we might be wrong?" he asked.

Danielle shrugged. "I don't think so." She frowned in thought. "Do you still have the key to the townhouse?" she asked.

John checked his key ring. "Yeah, I do," he said, "But do you think it's right for us to let ourselves in?"

"It's the only way we're going to find out what's going on," she answered.

Together they entered the townhouse. A single light had been left on in the entryway, but otherwise everything was dark. The flagstone entryway widened away from them leading down a few steps to a sunken living room dominated by a huge brick and stone fireplace where a banked fire glowed dimly. On either side of the fireplace were woven wood sliding panels, one of which led to an office and the other leading to a suite of rooms that once belonged to Lee's father, Kato. To their right running along the edge of the entryway and ending at the base on the steps that led into the living room was a large brick lined planter. Stairs to the second floor rose from the entryway and over the planter. Between the front door and stairs another door led to the garage. Britt's voice echoing from the garage told John and Danielle that perhaps soon the truth of their father's night time disappearances would finally be discovered.

"If you ever pull a hair-brained stunt like that again...," he was saying as he opened the door.

"I had to, Goode already had the drop on us. I had to do something to catch him off guard," Lee protested. He was wearing a black chauffeur's uniform, a chauffeur's cap and a plastic black mask as he stepped into the entryway. "Damn," he said softly, the first to notice John and Danielle standing there.

Wearing a long dark green overcoat, a matching hat and carrying a dark green mask in his hand Britt followed Lee up the short flight of stairs from the garage. Seeing John and Danielle standing expectantly in the entryway, he echoed Lee's 'damn'.

"Uh, I'll go get the first aid kit upstairs," Lee volunteered, quickly retreating up the stairs before Britt could say a word.

"How did you get in here?" Britt asked.

"Spare keys," John said, hold up the key on his key ring. "You gave me a copy a few years ago so that I could keep an eye on the place whenever you and Mom were out of town," he explained. "By the way, I love the trick billboard. Do you have any other stuff like that around here. Say a secret passage or two?" he asked. "I always thought that kind of stuff went out with medieval castles, but I could see where something like that could come in handy."

"Dad," Danielle said, pushing past her brother. "Why in the world do you need a first aid kit? Have you been hurt?" she asked.

Britt nodded reluctantly. "It's nothing really," he said, trying to unbutton his coat with one hand. "The skin's hardly broken."

Danielle's eyes widened in shock, noticing for the first time that the white bandage wrapped around his upper left arm had a large ugly red stain. "Oh, my God. You've been hurt! What have you been up to?" she demanded as she followed him to the long couch in front of the fireplace.

"John, could you get the fire going?" Britt asked his son who had followed them into the livingroom.

"Sure Dad," John said, grabbing the poker and stirring the fire back to life. He tossed a log onto the fire and wiped his hands free of the flakes of bark. "How did it happen?" he asked.

"Yes, how did it happen?" Danielle echoed. "What in the world are you trying to prove in that get up?" she demanded, as she helped him remove the blood soaked bandage from his arm. She bit her lip, trying to keep her hands from shaking when she noticed how deep the wound really was.

"I wasn't trying to prove anything," Britt snapped. "I was trying to find out who bombed the Daily Sentinel."

John rested a hip on the couch's arm and accepted the first aid kit from Lee who was trying to avoid Danielle's accusing glare. "Did you find out anything?" he asked his father as he passed the kit to his sister.

"Not much," Britt answered as Danielle helped him remove his coat and shirt. "Because of the letter the cops found at the Sentinel, we checked out the Aryan Pride and Purity group. I don't think that they're the ones who did it. The bomb was too amateurish for them."

"Was that where you were tonight?" John asked.

Britt shook his head, then winced as Danielle cleaned his wound with antiseptic. "No, we were at Dr. Goode's church. After the Ayatollah Abd Allah was murdered, we figured that it would be a good idea to ask him a few questions since he seemed to be very interested in stopping the conference," he explained.

"But why this Green Hornet business?" Danielle asked, wrapping a clean bandage around Britt's arm. "Why couldn't you have asked him questions without this charade?" she asked, unsuccessfully trying to hide her growing agitation. All of her life she had accepted her father's scarred body as much as part of him as the color of his eyes or the sound of his laughter. Now she was starting to realize what those scars meant.

"People usually answer the Green Hornet's questions more readily than Britt Reid's. They know he won't settle for 'no comment', Britt explained.

"You talk like you and the Green Hornet are two separate people," Danielle commented.

"We are," Britt answered. Danielle looked at him sharply. "In a way," he added. "I have to keep them separate in order to make sure people don't guess they're the same man."

"You certainly were successful in keeping your family in the dark," she said angrily. "Or did you ever let Mom in on your dirty 'little' secret."

"She's known about it for a long time," Britt said, "Long before we were married."

"Then it was a conspiracy between the two of you to keep us from knowing the truth," she said accusingly.

"Dani, please," John said. "I'm sure Dad had his reasons. I'd like to know what went on tonight. Dad..."

Britt looked at his daughter who had begun to pace in front of the fireplace. "We arrived at Dr. Goode's church just in time to stop some terrorists from executing him. I think they were out to avenge the Ayatollah's death." He paused, looking up at Lee who had withdrawn even further from them, looking badly out of place and obviously wishing he was somewhere else. "In his 'gratitude' Goode got the drop on us and tried to convert the Green Hornet with the same brainwashing technique he was using on his congregation," he continued. "We were able to turn the tables on him, though."

"Brainwashing?" John said. "He's been brainwashing people?"

Britt nodded. "He's been using subliminal techniques to spread his messages of racial and religious hate. I have a feeling that he's not in this by himself. Unfortunately before I could find out for sure, one of the terrorists came to, tracked us down to Goode's dubbing room and killed him."

"Is that how you got hurt?" John asked.

"Yeah," Britt answered. "I zigged when I should have zagged and he got me with one of those Arab pigstickers," he said wryly.

Danielle suddenly stopped pacing. "I can't believe you, John." she said angrily. "All of our lives we've been lied to. We were led to believe that our father was one of the good guys, that he sincerely believed everything he wrote about truth and justice, that he was on the side of the angels. Now it turns out to be all a pack of lies. Our entire lives are nothing but a hypocrisy, smoke and mirrors. Don't you understand? Our father is the Green Hornet, the worst criminal this city, Hell, this country has ever seen. And you act like it doesn't mean a thing to you."

"Dani," Britt said, rising to his feet. "You don't understand..." he began.

"No," she said, avoiding his touch like it was poison. "You're wrong. Before, I didn't understand. I always believed that my father was a white knight, a crusader for 'truth, justice and the American way'," she said bitterly. "One day after one of our pool parties when I was a teenager, one of my friends asked me about the rumors about how you got your limp and those scars. I was proud to tell them that some gangsters had tried to stop you from writing the truth about their crimes. Now I know it was all a lie. That the truth was that it was nothing more than an underworld battle over turf."

Britt grabbed her, pulling her close to him, trying to cut through her anger and shame. "Dani, give me a chance to explain," he begged.

"No!" she screamed, angrily beating at his chest with balled fists. "I'm not listening to you anymore! I hate you!" she sobbed, tearing away from his arms, her hair flying from the neat french braid that had held it in place. "I hate you! I hate you!" she screamed as she fled out of the house, leaving three men behind, uncomfortably aware of her pain and helpless in its face.