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.

6.

Chapter Six

The Man in the Red Hood

I

This was the first time in weeks that Detective Morrisey had visited the Daily Sentinel. He was amazed how much progress had taken place since the first time he had visited when everything was covered with yellow police tape. Now everywhere workmen were busy putting the city room and the publisher's office back together. The cold air of the windowless floor filled with the screaming of saws and electric drills, was occasionally punctuated by the earsplitting banging of hydraulic hammers. Through the doorless entryway of the anteroom to the publisher's office Morrisey could see several men grouped around some blueprints that were scattered on a large folding table. A young woman glanced up and walked toward him. Morrisey remembered her as Linda Travis, the girl who had helped him search through the Sentinel's hate mail the first time he was there.

"May I help you?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'd like to talk to John Reid please," the detective said.

She smiled. "This way, please, Detective Morrisey, " she said as she led him toward the men in the office.

"Mr. Reid . . . ," she started as they approached the group, then she hesitated as two men looked up from the plans.

Morrisey recognized the older man with the steel grey hair and ice blue eyes as Britt Reid, but the younger blond man with the grey eyes he hadn't met before, but it wasn't hard to guess that this was Reid's son, John. The young man was slightly taller and not yet quite as broad across the shoulders, but he had the same broad forehead and square jaw. Both men wore heavy sweaters but the elder Reid had a turtleneck that came up to just below his chin. He came toward the detective, leaning heavily on the cane in his hand.

"Good afternoon Detective Morrisey. How are you doing today?" the elder Reid said as he extended his hand.

"Just fine, Mr. Reid," Morrisey said as he accepted Reid's hand, "Although I got to say you look like you went a few rounds with the heavy weight champion," Morrisey answered, noticing that Reid's face was sporting several bad bruises including a healing split lip.

Reid smiled. "My prize fighting days are long gone. No, I'm just clumsy. I hit a bad patch of ice on my front stairs. Practically broke my damn neck when I fell."

"Maybe next time you shouldn't lead with your chin," Morrisey suggested, not believing Reid, but choosing to keep his suspicions to himself.

Reid nodded. "How can we help you, Detective?" he asked.

"I need to ask Mr. John Reid a few questions. About the Green Hornet. If you don't mind," he added as he turned to the big blonde.

"Oh course," Reid answered. "Miss Travis," he said addressing the secretary, "Would you mind taking these gentlemen to the commissary for some coffee and something to eat?"

After the other men had left Reid waved Morrisey to a set of folding chairs gathered around another folding table. On the table was a phone and several half empty coffee cups. Morrisey noticed thankfully that this table was closer to a floor heater that was vainly fighting against the frigid air that whistled through the plywood sheets that covered the outside windows. He also noticed that while the other men had left the young oriental had stayed. Lee, he remembered, was the one who had discovered the bomb at the conference. Apparently he was part of the Reid inner circle.

"How can I help you, Detective?" the younger Reid asked.

"I got some questions about the Green Hornet I need to ask you," Morrisey began as he pulled out a chromed automatic pencil and a small notepad. At John's nod, he continued, "I read your story in the paper. I understand you rode with the Green Hornet and his man when they chased down Hakenkrueze and his boys."

"Yes, that's right."

"Okay. Now I understand that whole situation was supposed to be centered around a nuclear bomb."

"That's what the Green Hornet said."

"Did you ever see it?"

"I saw a metal suitcase that everyone seemed to be fighting over."

"But you didn't get a look inside it?"

"No. I never had a chance to get close enough to look in it."

"What about the Hornet?"

"I don't think he ever got close to it either. When the police officers were in the middle of arresting the Green Hornet and Hakenkrueze, some of Hakenkrueze's men came by in a Hummer waving a metal suitcase around yelling that they had 'it'."

"And so by 'it' you thought that it might be the nuclear device?"

"Yes, or at least something as important."

"What about after the train hit the Hummer? Did the Green Hornet stop and pick up anything? Say, maybe the metal suitcase?"

"No, after we saw the train hit the Hummer, we left the scene."

"And the Hornet took you home?"

"He took me to our townhouse in the city."

"Where's that?"

After John gave him the address, Morrisey asked, "Why there? Aren't you staying at your parent's house in Valley Grove?"

"I am, but that's way out of the way. I think if I had insisted on Valley Grove he would've dropped me off on the side of the road somewhere."

"So you think the Hornet was heading in for the night?"

"Yes, the man was obviously exhausted."

"Could there be a chance that he returned to the crash scene?"

"I doubt it. Why?"

"Yes, Detective, why are you asking about the nuclear device?" Britt asked. "Didn't you find any trace of it at the crash site?"

"No, that's the problem. We couldn't find anything near matching the description we had," Morrisey answered.

"John told me that the destruction was pretty near total. Wouldn't it be close too impossible to identify what's left?"

"Nope, our lab boys were pretty thorough. They didn't find a trace of it."

"So you think the Hornet might have it," Britt supplied.

"To be frank, I'm hoping he does," Morrisey reluctantly admitted.

"Why?"

"We had Greenwood in protective custody. He confirmed that there was a nuclear device in a metal suitcase."

"And now it's missing," Reid supplied.

"Yeah, and Greenwood's dead."

"What? How?"

"Headquarter's calling it suicide . . . "

"But you don't think so."

"No, I don't. It's not like it wouldn't be impossible. I can't say he had much to live for, but he was willing to turn state's evidence."

"So you think he was silenced."

"Yeah, I do, and I think now that the conference is done everybody's wanting to close the case. They figure that Hakenkrueze was behind everything including the Ayatollah's murder, Goode's murder and of course, the Sentinel bombing."

"But you doubt it," Britt supplied.

"Yeah, I do. It's too pat. There's no motive. There's no reason why Hakenkrueze, or his group, would do those things. Hell, Greenwood was hinting that Goode was in some kind of conspiracy with the APP and maybe even with something even bigger. Something that might be international in scope. So there's no reason that Hakenkrueze would kill Goode. Hell, I wouldn't doubt that one of Ibrahim's people did that job. It'd figure, you know, eye for an eye. One of their religious types gets knocked off, so they knock off one of ours."

Even though he personally knew the detective was right, Britt couldn't tell him. That would lead to questions about how he knew. "Have you gone to Ibn Ubayy and his people about your suspicions?"

"No can do. The state department has put them all under wraps, including the girl Fatima. Sorry, I heard you two were going to be married," he said to John. For a moment an uncomfortable silence came over the small group. Then Morrisey continued, "So you see, I'm left without any kind of lead. All of my suspects have been accounted for, and yet I still have all kinds of loose ends, especially the Sentinel bombing and the one attempted at the conference. The only suspect I'm left with is the Green Hornet. He's the only one with any kind of history with the Sentinel and he's up to his neck in this whole situation. I have no idea what part he has in it. Damn! I sure as hell wished those two cops hadn't let the Hornet go. I would've loved to have at least half an hour with the guy. He probably could've told us everything."

"If those officers had not let the Green Hornet go," John pointed out, "There's a chance that Hakenkrueze might have gotten away. And if the bomb was in that suitcase I saw, the consequences could have been nothing less than world war three."

"Yeah, there's that. But that's another thing. I don't think Hakenkrueze died in that wreck."

"No?" echoed both Reids.

"That's right. I don't think he did die. The lab guys went through all the pieces of the victims and they couldn't find anything they can positively identify as Hakenkrueze."

Morrisey could tell that what he said didn't sit well with the three men before him especially the elder Reid. Although he tried to hide it, Morrisey could see the brief spark of alarm in the man's pale eyes. All his instincts were telling him they were up to something. He made a mental note to watch the Reid family and their friend more closely in the future.

"And yet it sounds to me like the higher ups are calling the case closed," Britt Reid said.

"Yeah, that's right."

"So you're not here just because you wanted to ask some questions."

"Well, yeah, I am here to ask questions, but that's just part of it."

"And the other part?"

"The Daily Sentinel has a long history with the Green Hornet. I've heard that sometimes you can get messages to him. I need to ask him some questions. I'm sure he has the answers I need. It would be all unofficial, just a meeting on neutral ground. I hate leaving loose ends."

"I agree with you, Detective. I hate loose ends as much as you do. Even though the commissioner and the mayor want to call the case closed I don't think it's anywhere near being closed," Britt said.

"But . . . "

"Any contacts I had with the Green Hornet are long gone. I have no way to contact him. However, you could always try a personal ad in the Sentinel, but there's no guarantee he'll see it, or if he'll respond. I can always ask my people to keep theirs eyes and ears open, especially if there's a chance that Hakenkrueze might still be alive."

Morrisey began to reply but the secretary came into the office, "Excuse me, Mr. Reid," she said, "There's a call from Mr. Scanlon on line two. He says it's important."

Morrisey watched thoughtfully as the publisher took the call. He noticed the man visibly blanching under his dark tan and how his knuckles whitened from his grip on the phone. "Are you sure, she hasn't left any messages at your place?" he said into the phone. "I see," he continued, his voice sounding more worried. "And you've spoken to Casey?" he asked. Then finally he replaced the phone in its cradle.

"That was Frank Scanlon," he explained with as little energy in his voice as a dead battery. "He said that Danielle never returned to his place."

"Maybe she went to a friend's house," John said encouragingly.

"Frank thought that too, but he checked around some of her friends and they haven't heard from her. He also called your mother and she hasn't heard from Dani as well. She also checked with some of Dani's other friends and no luck there either."

"That's odd," Lee said, "I spoke to her right after an aerobics class and she said she was going out with someone."

"Did she say who it was?" Britt asked.

"No, but I saw the car . . . " Lee said hopefully.

"Would you recognize it again if you saw it?" Morrisey asked.

"Sure. It was a light blue Honda Civic. A '93, I think."

"What about the license plate?" the detective asked.

"Wait a minute. Now I remember where I've seen it before. I think it might belong to James O'Leary," Lee said quickly.

"Who's he?" Morrisey asked.

"He's a photographer on the Sentinel's staff," Britt supplied, a grim determination appearing in his pale eyes. "He's also a member of Goode's church," he added. He grabbed up the phone and growled, "Get James O'Leary up here, now."

Morrisey watched the three men with interest as they waited for the photographer to show up in the publisher's office. He decided that he was going to play the fly on the wall and just listen. He wanted to see the publisher in action. A nagging thought kept on tugging at the corners of his brain. There was no way Reid could have gotten those bruises from falling down stairs. Those kind of bruises only came from a fight and considering Reid's size and build it had to be one hell of a knock down, drag out fight. The younger Reid also sported quite a few bruises and Morrisey remembered hearing from officers Ching and Robinson that young Reid had been in the middle of the Green Hornet's fight with Hakenkrueze and his men. The elder Reid would be just about the right age, Morrisey thought, and the young oriental . . . A slow thought began to dawn on him. He was going to have to watch these three very closely in the future. There's no way he was going to accuse one of the city's most prominent men until he had airtight proof.

When the photographer finally arrived Morrisey felt a twinge of sympathy for the young man. The red head was pale and pudgy with faded freckles. His small stature seeming even smaller by being confronted by the much taller Reids. Although Britt Reid continued to lean heavily on his cane, he wasn't a man to take lightly. Especially if he was your boss and worried sick about his daughter.

"Where's Danielle?" Reid demanded bluntly.

"I don't know," the young man stammered.

"Lee saw her get into your car. Where is she?" Reid pressed.

"Isn't she at Mr. Scanlon's place?" O'Leary asked.

"No, she isn't," John Reid joined in. "Where did you see her last?"

"At the coffee shop on Fourth and Main, near Mr. Scanlon's place. We were going to see a movie, but she changed her mind. She wanted to be left alone to do some thinking. She said she would walk back when she was ready."

Britt rocked onto the balls of his feet, his free hand clenching and unclenching angrily. "When was that?" he demanded.

"About seven," O'Leary answered.

Reid shot a look at Lee who nodded, "I saw them leaving around five."

"You were together for two hours," Reid continued his interrogation, "What did you talk about? Did she give you any idea that she might not go directly to Mr. Scanlon's home?"

"At first we talked about what movie we might go to, but it turned out she wasn't much in the mood to see anything. She wouldn't tell me what was bothering her. I guess it had something to with you," O'Leary blushed redly under Reid's intense glare. "I'm sorry, sir," he added.

"Why didn't you insist on taking her to Mr. Scanlon's home? It was dark, too dark for a woman to be walking alone," Britt accused.

"I tried, Mr. Reid, honest. But she insisted. I couldn't change her mind. If anything happened to her, Mr. Reid . . . I'm awful sorry, it's all my fault," O'Leary said miserably.

Reid nodded, tight-lipped. "I understand, young man." He sighed tiredly. "That's all for now. Thanks for your help."

O'Leary quickly backed out of the office, the relief obvious on his boyish face.

"That's Dani, for you," John commented. "Unfortunately."

Britt looked up from his frustrated glare at the floor. "Yeah," he agreed glumly.

"I shouldn't have been here," Morrisey said as he pulled himself erect in his chair. "A lawyer could fry my ass, if it was found out O'Leary was questioned without being read his rights."

"I don't remember you asking any questions," Reid pointed out.

"No, I didn't," the detective admitted, "You and your son did a good job on your own. I'd sure hate to be interviewed by either one of you."

A slight glitter of amusement appeared in Reid's pale eyes, "I assure you that my interview techniques are usually not so intense."

Morrisey caught Lee in the corner of his eye quickly looking down at his feet, seemingly trying to hide a quick smile. Apparently Reid was known by his employees for his interrogation techniques. Or was it something else? the detective wondered. He didn't see Reid as a martinet, but how else would the young oriental have seen his employer conduct such intense questioning? Curiouser and curiouser.

Reid, either unnoticing Lee's reaction, or pretending not to, continued, "However, I do think you're in the clear. The last time I heard the Miranda act does not apply to civilians. Or newspapermen. Yet."

Morrisey nodded his agreement. He pulled out his notebook and automatic pencil again. "You mentioned something earlier that Mr. Scanlon had already contacted some of your daughter's friends and that your wife also checked with some others. I'd like to get a list of their names and addresses so we can check this out."

"Of course," Britt replied. "Those should be in her address book. I think it's still with her luggage at our house. I can call my wife so she can have it ready for you to pick up at our place in Valley Grove. You still have our address. Right?"

"Yeah, and I want that O'Leary guy's address and phone number too. We'll have to pull him in for more formal questioning."

"Anything you need, Detective Morrisey. Ask Miss Travis for any information you need on O'Leary," Britt replied.

He turned to Lee, "You were one of the last people to see Miss Reid, do you

remember what she was wearing?"

"Sure," Lee replied. "She was wearing a white and purple down jacket that came to about her knees. She was also wearing a turquoise exercise bra, a pink and turquoise thong leotard, turquoise tights, and white aerobic shoes . . . No, wait, she changed those for a pair of black snow boots. And she was wearing her hair in a pony tail with a pink scrunchy."

"Mr. Reid, do you have a good picture of your daughter, we could distribute?"

Reid pulled a picture out his wallet and gave it to the detective. Morrisey gave a low whistle despite himself. The girl didn't look a thing like her blonde brother, but was rather a raven haired beauty. "I'll need all the stats too, you know, height, weight, age and so on."

After Britt had given him all the needed information, Morrisey turned to leave, then turned back toward Reid, "Don't worry, Mr. Reid. We'll do everything in our power to find your daughter."

After the detective had left, Britt turned to his son and Lee. "I'm still wondering about O'Leary's part in Dani's disappearance. I want you to check his place out while he's still at work."

"That's breaking and entering," Lee pointed out.

Britt's eyebrows rose. "Since when has that bothered you?"

Lee shrugged. "I guess you got a point there."

"Does that mean we can take the car out when we do it?" John asked hopefully.

"No!" Britt answered sharply.

II

Danielle froze at the sound of footsteps coming down the creaking wooden cellar stairs. He had come too soon, she thought, a few minutes more. That's all I needed. She miserably squeezed her eyes shut against her fear. The concrete floor under her was cold through her thin exercise clothes.

The man stared down at her as she huddled against the far wall. He was dressed in dark red robes with a tall peaked hood that covered his entire face. All that was visible were eyes that shone with an unnatural manic light. Her heart stopped as he knelt beside her, pulling her bound hands into view. One hand was cut and blood stained the ropes around her wrists. A piece of broken glass was laying on the ground behind her.

"So, I came just in time," the man's voice hissed. "Get to your feet!" he demanded, roughly pulling her up. "Your father's gotten word that you've disappeared," he continued. He drew out a knife. Its blade gleamed wickedly in the light of the bare bulb overhead.

"What are you planning on doing?" she asked shakily as she tried to pull away from his iron grip on her upper arm. "You won't get away with this. My father won't rest until he catches you," she warned.

He roughly pulled her close to him, the knife's blade pricking her chin. "Hush woman. One more word and I'll slice your throat open."

Frightened, biting her lip, Danielle nodded meekly.

The knife moved away from her throat. She felt a pulling as it sliced through the rope around her wrists. The man pushed her away from him with enough force to send her tumbling to the concrete floor. "Strip!" he demanded.

"No!" she screamed, her heart thumping rapidly in her chest. "I'll die before I let you rape me!" She launched herself at the man, her hands clawing for the man's eyes.

Far too easily he threw her off. "Stupid woman, whore of the Devil. Don't pride yourself. I'd rather consort with the beasts than sully myself with the cursed touch of your filthy flesh!" he screamed back at her. He threw a brown bundle at her. "Put this on," he said.

She slowly got to her feet. Pulling the bundle apart, she saw that it was a robe of coarse wool.

"No more will you tempt me. Remove everything and put that on," he commanded.

She drew the robe over her head and over her clothes. The man growled, "I said take off all your clothes."

"I am, I am," she said nervously. At her feet, first the leotard appeared, then the tights and lastly the exercise bra. Then man motioned and she moved away from the discarded clothing.

"Kneel down," he commanded again, "And put your hands behind your back."

She knelt and again felt ropes tighten around her wrists. A frightened yelp escaped from her lips as the man pulled her head roughly back by her ponytail. "Don't," she cried as the man sliced through her hair, cutting it free but still contained by its terry cloth binding.

The man slapped her, leaving a read welt on her right cheek. "I said silence."

She nodded as she forced down the sobs that were tightening her throat. Her eyes burned and her head throbbed painfully as she helplessly fought the tears that flowed down her cheeks. "Oh, my God," she thought, I'm in the hands of a madman.

III

Britt didn't know how long he had stared at the blueprints in front of him. He had hoped that the work on renovating the city room and his office would help distract him from his worries. It didn't work. All of those blue lines had faded into a meaningless jumble of lines and shapes. The only thing that he could do is wait, the very thing he absolutely hated to do.

Linda Travis appeared in front of him as if by magic. "Mr. Reid," she said hesitantly. "A package has just arrived for you."

Britt frowned. "By courier?" he asked. This whole nightmare had started this way. Would it end the same way? he wondered. "Has it been through the X-ray machine downstairs?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. It came through clean, but . . . " she hesitated again.

"But . . . " Britt said.

"There seems to be some clothes in it," she said, her eyes behind the wire framed glasses wide with fear and concern.

"I see," Britt said slowly. It was almost inevitable, but he felt his gut twist into an unbearable knot of fear, something he refused to show in front of the girl standing before him. "What about the courier?" he asked.

"He was from Ajax. We held him downstairs until we could check him out."

"And he did."

The girl nodded.

Britt forced himself a small smile, "I imagine he didn't much like having to hang around."

"He didn't but I gave him a big tip," she replied, returning her employer's smile, feeling that he would take care of everything, that everything would be okay.

"I'll reimburse you," he offered as he reached into his pocket.

"Don't worry about it. It's on me. Uh, Mr. Reid . . . " she began.

"Yes."

"We're behind you all the way, Mr. Reid. Everybody at the paper. Whatever you need us to do, we'll do it," she blushed slightly. "Word travels real quick here."

"Tell me about it," Britt said wryly.

"Mr. Reid," she said looking down at the box, "I have a bad feeling about this," she continued as she wrapped her arms around herself. It was cold in the ruined office, but that wasn't what was sending a chill down her back. Or his.

Britt pulled out a knife from his pocket and cut through the box. Inside was another box decorated in white and gold with angels. His hands shook as he reached to pull the inner box out. Biting his lip, he pulled them away clenched in white knuckled fists until the shaking stopped. He gingerly lifted the box's lid. Even though the X-ray machine downstairs had cleared it, he still worried about the possibility of a bomb.

He wished a bomb had been inside. The pain would be have been less. Instead were a brightly colored leotard, tights and exercise bra, the same Lee had said that Danielle was wearing. Even if he had doubts, the long hank of raven hair bound by a terry cloth band confirmed his worse fears. The world spun around him as his legs turned to jelly. His knees began to buckle as his vision began to blacken.

"Mr. Reid, are you okay?" Linda Travis' panicked voice echoed into his crumbling universe. She was deathly afraid that she would see her boss die of a heart attack right in front of her.

Britt nodded, not trusting his voice. He had to remain strong, for his staff, and especially for his family. But how many more tragedies must he withstand?

"Are those your daughter's clothes?" Miss Travis asked.

Britt nodded again. "Yeah, he croaked out, "Everything she was wearing."

"I'll call Detective Morrisey," she said, heading for the telephone on the other table.

"No," Britt said, reaching out for her arm. "Not yet. The kidnapper will know that his package has arrived. He'll be calling any minute."

The phone rang just as he spoke. Linda walked over to the phone but waited for Britt's signal to pick it up. He allowed it to ring two more times, then nodded. "Mr. Reid's office," she said shakily into the mouthpiece as Britt moved to stand beside her. She listened for a moment. "That's the receptionist downstairs. She said my father's here to pick me up," she said. "He's been taking me back and forth from work since the explosion," she explained, blushing in embarrassment. "I think he worries too much."

"All fathers worry about their daughters," Britt replied, trying to hide the ache in his heart. "Go home," he added.

"I could stay here," she offered. "I can ask him to come back later."

"No, go home with your father so he won't have to worry about you. I'll be fine."

"But Mr. Reid . . . " she protested.

"I'll be fine, Miss Travis. I'll call the police as soon as the kidnapper calls," he said trying to force a reassuring smile he didn't feel.

Britt watched the girl go, glad that at least one father wouldn't be worrying about his daughter's safety tonight. He wished he was so lucky. Lifting the clothes out of the box, he forced himself to critically examine them. The outfit was new, probably this was the first time it had been worn. Yet it was extremely dirty, covered in a grey dust that smelled of concrete and oil. Possibly furnace oil. The scent of the dust brought to his mind old newspapers, old wood and mildew.

Morrisey had said that the bomb that had been used on the Sentinel was the type that could be made in somebody's basement. Basement, Britt thought, a good place to build a bomb or hide a frightened girl. The problem was there were millions of basements in this city. Almost every house and apartment had a basement, as did every building. As the city had built upward, so had it built downward until hitting either bedrock or water. No help at all.

The box wasn't any better. It could have been bought at any store this time of the year when people were busy sending Christmas packages all over the world. The wrapping paper wasn't much hope either. He remembered hearing that the police had traced the same paper found from the Grand Hotel bomb to one of the more popular designs sold through all the Target stores in the city. Cheap paper and very common.

He frowned angrily. It was a complete bust. He'd have to wait until he had word from Lee and John. Not that he had any hopes from that corner either. O'Leary was as unlikely a suspect as he could think of. He didn't know the young man very well, and had written him off as just one more of Dr. Goode's faithful flock. Totally harmless, and surely having no grudges, personal or otherwise against the Sentinel or himself. Of course, he reminded himself, considering Goode's experiments with mind control, anything might be possible. He shook his head, no way, he thought. Lee's performance at Dr. Goode's place had been just that, a performance. There was no way a Milquetoast like O'Leary could be moved to out and out murder.

Britt stuffed the clothes back into the box. There wasn't a thing he could do except to wait for the kidnapper's call. And worry whether the monster had given her anything to wear, or worse whether he had raped her. If the bastard had, Britt promised himself, he'd rip the man's balls off with his bare hands.

In his black mood, Britt didn't realize how long the phone had been ringing, until it finally penetrated the gloom in which he was drowning. "Reid," he barked into the phone.

"Daddy," Danielle sobbed on the other end.

"Danielle. Are you okay?"

"He won't let me talk long," she said in a rush. "I'm okay, for now," her voice broke into a choked sob. "He says that you are to get into your car and I'll give you more instructions then." There was a moment of silence, too long for Britt even if it had lasted only a few seconds. "He says no police, or I'm dead."

After the too loud click, Britt stood frozen, his heart beating hard enough to burst his chest. He couldn't call the police, that much was clear. It sounded like the kidnapper was planning on sending him on a wild goose chase all around town until he was sure that Reid wasn't being trailed. He quickly searched around the cluttered office until he found his briefcase under a stack of rolled up blueprints. From an inner pocket of the briefcase he pulled out a small disk. It was a small locator device, a bug much smaller and slimmer than the ones he used years ago, but also much more powerful.

He pulled off his sweater and undid the bandage that was wrapped around his upper left arm. Next he grabbed out of his briefcase an extra roll of gauze and a long gauze pad. He placed the bug under the gauze pad over the knife wound and wound the new gauze over the pad, making sure that the bug was nearly undetectable through the pad.

"Casey," he said, taking a chance on making a phone call. "I don't have much time. Detective Morrisey is on his way over to the house to get a look at Danielle's address book. Don't tell him this, but I've gotten word from the kidnapper . . . "

Casey gasped, "Kidnapper."

"Don't tell him," he reminded her. "Get a hold of John and Lee. Tell them they can use the car. They'll know what I mean. I have to go. I love you," he added.

Before Casey could say another word, Britt was gone, leaving her to whisper, "I love you, too," to the hum of the dead line.

Britt snatched up the ringing phone through the open door of his car, praying that it hadn't been too long. "Reid here."

"Dad," Danielle answered, then paused. Britt guessed she was listening to her kidnapper. "He said that next time he won't allow the phone to ring so long."

"Tell him it won't happen again. I got stopped by someone who had some questions. You know how it is at the paper. Something always comes up when you're heading out the door."

"He accepts it this time," Danielle said after relaying the message to her captor, "but he says this will be last time. He wants you to drive north on fifth street until you're called again."

As he had expected, Britt spent the next two hours aimlessly wandering around the city, at times having to deal with late afternoon traffic. Then during the last half hour a pattern began to develop as he began doubling back and forth on himself as the sun slowly began to set in the west. Britt had the feeling that the kidnapper was somewhere close, making sure that the newspaper publisher was not being followed. Finally he was instructed to pull over, get out of the car and wait.

For another half hour he waited in the cold wind until another car pulled up behind his. A sticker from a small local car rental agency on the front bumper told him that the car had probably been rented just for that night. Britt had to fight down a grin as the man fought his way out of the car while trying to keep his face and head covered by a tall peaked hood. The man's robe, like the hood, was made of dark red satin and embellished with a poorly hand painted picture of a dragon impaled by a burning cross. Britt could have almost found the entire situation comical, for the man so much smaller than himself and much slighter in build was obviously an amateur. However, the steady grip on the snub-nosed .38 was anything but funny.

"Strip," the man ordered in a muffled voice.

"It's too cold for that," Britt protested, "It's less than 12 degrees out."

The .38 rose toward Britt's heart, "Do you want to be more uncomfortable?"

"That uncomfortable, no," Britt answered as he started to take off his coat. "How is my daughter?" he asked.

"She is well enough, as long as you cooperate," the man answered.

Britt quickly removed all of his clothes until he was barefooted in icy slush and clad only in his briefs. "That's enough," the man ordered as Britt forced himself not to visibly shiver in front of the robed man. "What's that?" the man demanded, pointing the gun toward the bandages on Britt's arm.

"I was hurt during the explosion at the Sentinel," Britt explained.

"Take it off," the man demanded.

Britt unwound the bandage as he was ordered. As he removed the gauze pad the bug slipped to the ground before he could catch it. For a moment Britt held his breath, hoping that the man had not seen it. No luck. The man slammed the gun against Britt's face, sending him to the ground. Britt quickly rolled to his feet, ready to take on the smaller man. His first angry impulse to jump the small man was immediately quelled by the sight of the gun pointed between his eyes and the click of the safety being released.

"God damn lying bastard!" the man screamed as he ground his booted foot into the bug. "I told you not to contact the police!"

"I didn't call the police," Britt protested. "A police detective was already there when the package arrived."

Britt warily watched the gun as it wavered in indecision. It would be better to take a hopeless chance . . .

"Get in the car," the man ordered, finally making up his mind, "Now."

"Will my daughter be where we will be going?" Britt asked.

"She is," the man said curtly as they pulled away from the curb in the rental car, leaving Britt's clothes in a heap beside his car.

IV

Trying to look casual, John stood guard as Lee vaulted over a side wall into the small duplex. He waited for what seemed forever and was starting to consider climbing over the wall too when the door behind him opened.

"What took you so long?" he asked as he slipped rapidly in.

"The only window I could get into was one in the bathroom," Lee explained. "And I could barely get through it as it was."

The duplex apartment was small and sparsely furnished, looking more like an impersonal hotel room than someone's room. However, instead of cheap mass produced reproductions in plastic frames, large black and white photos in chrome frames hung on all the walls. Starkly dramatic, they illustrated riots, tragic accidents and the horrifying level of violence human beings could perpetrate against each other.

"Good work," John commented, "At least from a technical point of view, but I sure wouldn't want it hanging on my walls."

"Me neither," Lee agreed as he followed John from room to room, "Do you have any idea what we're looking for?"

"Nope. You're the masked crime-fighter. What do you think?"

"Masked crime-fighter-in-training," Lee corrected. He picked up a trash can and rifled through its contents. Finding nothing, he set it back down with a disgusted sigh. "It'll be long time before I get to your father's level. I guess we're supposed to looking for some kind of clue about whether he knows anything about your sister's disappearance."

"I don't know him very well," John said, "I've been out of the country a lot, and I've never worked an assignment with him. You've worked with him. What do you think?"

Lee shrugged, "Damned if I know. He seems to be a nice guy, you know, real religious and stuff, but I always feel like he's riding on the edge. Like, well, like he's too nice. Nobody can act that nice all the time."

"Yeah, isn't that how they describe mass murderers?" John said, "They're always the quiet ones who never bothered anybody. They're always the ones people least suspect."

"Kind of makes a case for being a bad-tempered s.o.b.," Lee commented wryly.

"I wonder where this goes to," John said, noticing a locked door in the tiny kitchen.

"Probably the basement," Lee guessed. "I noticed some windows that might belong to a basement while I was outside. They were all locked and blacked out."

"Sounds like a good place to check out." John gave the locked door a solid shaking. "No way I can open it." As Lee knelt to look at the lock, John commented, "I thought all you crime-fighter types have lock picks and stuff."

"Junior crime-fighter. Remember? Besides your father has something that usually works a lot better than any old lock pick."

"Yeah, I noticed. Must be rough on the ears though. And there sure as hell isn't anything subtle about it." John gave the door another shake. "So what do you think?"

"Move back," Lee answered, waving John out of the kitchen. Lee leapt into the air and gave the door an experimental kick. It held solidly. Lee stepped further back and took a few deep breaths. With an earsplitting catlike Kai, he leaped again into the air and slammed a mighty kick against the door. Lee caught his forward motion just in time to stop himself from falling down the stairs. He grinned at the astonished John and deeply bowed as he motioned for the younger Reid to go first.

John stopped cold on the narrow steps, nearly getting bowled over by Lee who not expected him to stop so suddenly. He could barely believe the bizarre scene below him. Hundreds of white votive candles on a stepped table, flickering from deep inside their red glass containers, cast bizarre shadows against red velvet draped walls. Above table was a huge crucifix bearing an agonized Christ that seemed to writhe in the fitful light. A congregation of plaster and wooden statues of the Virgin Mary and the saints stood in silent attendance, their cracked and chipped shapes seeming to sway in tune to some silent hymn.

Lee reached past John to pull on the chain of the bare bulb hanging over his head. The light was not very bright, but by its very ordinariness chased the nightmare vision back to the realm of John's imagination.

"James said he had bought all the statues from that church downtown that's being turned into a mosque," Lee said commented as he followed John down the rest of the stairs.

"Looks more like a shrine than a collection," John said, still feeling spooked. Finally at the bottom of the stairs he could that the small basement was separated into two parts. One was the shrine which John with a chill still running down his back, made a point of avoiding. The other was more prosaic with a dryer washer combination and a large work bench against the wall.

"I don't know if your sister was held here or not," Lee said, finding some cut ropes on the dirty floor near the workbench, "But it looks like somebody was tied up here."

"What makes you think that?" John asked.

"These ropes," Lee said, "You can see that they were cut instead of being untied."

"Yeah, and look here," John said as he examined the ropes, "You can see where somebody was trying to cut them with something dull. And they're stained too, like somebody might have been fighting against the ropes."

"Think it could've been your sister?"

"If it was, I'd sure as Hell wish I knew where she is now," John said grimly.

Lee nodded his agreement, "And O'Leary," he added.

"Let's look around a little more, then I want to get call the Sentinel. If O'Leary's still there, I got a lot more questions to ask him," John said.

"You might to ask him about the bombing, too," Lee said, as he rummaged through several boxes on the workbench.

John joined him and gave a low whistle of surprise, "Dynamite, blasting caps, timers. Everything you need to make a bomb."

Shaking his head sadly, Lee said, "I never would've thought he'd be the one behind the bombing at the Sentinel. The one at the conference I could almost understand. But why the Sentinel?"

"I don't know," John answered, "But I have a feeling that when we get our hands on that bastard we'll get all the answers we want. One way or the other," he added harshly.

"Including where your sister is," Lee said.

John nodded his agreement, his pale grey eyes reminding Lee of the same look he was learning to recognize in the elder Reid as one that meant no good for anyone who chose to cross him.

John snatched his chiming cell phone out from under his sportscar's seat just as he sat down. "Sorry, Mom," he said, recognizing his mother's voice, "I had to leave the cell phone in the car. I didn't want it to go off while we were checking things out," he explained.

"That's okay," Casey said in a rush, "I'm glad I reached you. Your father just called. He didn't have much time to say anything, but he did say that your sister's been kidnaped and that he had been contacted by the kidnapper. He said I needed to tell you that you could use the car."

"The car?" John echoed.

"Yes, he said you would understand. Does he mean the Black Beauty?" she asked.

"I don't know," John said doubtfully, "I was kidding him about borrowing it, but . . . "

"That must be what he means then," Casey said, "He couldn't explain anything. He just said that your sister was okay. For now. I know he's going to meet the kidnapper. You and Lee will have to go after him. If anything should happen to him or your sister . . . " her voice caught as she choked down a sob of fear.

"Don't worry, Mom. We're on it. We'll take care of everything," John

assured her.

John shook his head wryly as he followed Lee down the short flight of stairs leading to the townhouse's garage. Dressed in the black chauffeur's uniform, Lee moved lightly, almost skipping as he led the way. "You really dig this crime-fighting stuff, don't you?" he remarked.

Lee's smile answered John's question, then fell as he remembered why they were going out this night. His eyes still gleamed with barely suppressed excitement. "Hell," he said with a shrug, "It's a lot better than sitting around worrying and waiting for somebody to do something."

"That's for damn sure," John said.

Lee stopped in front of a pair on pegboards on the garage's wall. "Watch," he said. As John watched in interest he reached up to a rachet wrench and twisted the head on it twice without removing it from the pegboard. A small panel opened between the pegboards revealing a set of switches and buttons. He flipped a switch and the lights overhead dimmed to a dim green. Then he directed John's attention to the beige Chrysler 300 convertible parked in the garage.

"Hey, I think I've seen that car before," John said in surprise.

"Yeah, it's your father's. He's letting me use it. It's a good thing he never gets rid of anything. Otherwise I'd have a Hell of a time finding something that would fit."

"Fit?"

"Yeah," Lee grinned, obviously enjoying himself. "Now, watch," he said. He pressed a button and heavy rams appeared out of the corners of the convertible's front and rear bumpers. Another button was pressed and big clamps rose out of the floor, solidly grabbing onto the rams. John shot a questioning look at Lee. Lee grinned. "Wait."

Lee pressed another button and beneath his feet John could feel the rumble of a powerful motor came to life. Then John's jaw dropped in surprise as the floor under the convertible began to tip over. It continued to tilt as the garage's secret was revealed. The Black Beauty rose from its hiding place, the dim light playing along its big central grille like fingers across the strings of a harp.

Lee touched one final button and the left-hand doors of the big car opened. John nodded in admiration. The other night he'd had little chance to study the Black Beauty except to notice that it packed a frightening amount of firepower. Now it gleamed softly in the green light with only a few touches of chrome trim along the upper edges of it sides and a small dart of chrome on its nose to break up the soft satin black finish. Yet his first impression of its terrible might remained. It was a huge car, low-slung, with a massive trunk that was as long as the hood with its formidably protruding grille. It dominated the garage with broad-shouldered menace. He could not have imagined a more suitable vehicle for a gangland boss of the Green Hornet's supposed stature.

"So that's what you were doing all last night," John remarked, "Last time I saw it, it was covered with mud from its wheels to its roof."

"No way I'd leave the Black Beauty dirty," Lee admitted. "Now we must look the part," he added as he opened a hidden panel in the wall beside them.

"Is this why you asked me to wear a dark suit?" John asked.

"Yes, otherwise the overcoat won't fit right," Lee explained as he pulled out a long white silk scarf, "Same thing with the dark green tie. If you're going to ride in the Black Beauty, you have to look the part. Here, take this scarf and wrap it around like this," he said as he placed the scarf around John's neck. "Just cross it across your chest so that it covers the collar and lapels of your suit coat. Now the coat itself," he said, pulling out a midnight green overcoat. "I found one of your father's old ones. It's still in pretty good shape," he added. He opened the coat, "Inside are pockets for the weapons."

"Will I have to use them?" John asked.

"If you're going to play the part of the Green Hornet, you may need to." Lee answered. "Too bad we don't have the time for you to practice with them, but there's not much to them. The gas gun is a little lighter than an ordinary gun and the trigger is above the butt instead of under the barrel. Since it sprays out a sleeping gas, you don't have to worry about being accurate. Just make sure that you catch yourself or me in the side-draft, or we'll wind up taking a nap at the wrong time.

Now the Hornet Sting is something else. It's mainly a close-in weapon so you don't have to worry about too much about accuracy. That's a good thing too. It uses sound waves and the more power you have to use the worse it vibrates. If you don't have a good hold on it, it'll kick itself right out of you hands."

"What about real guns?" John asked.

"The Green Hornet doesn't use them. Your father's kind of old-fashioned that way. He's said that the Green Hornet isn't a killer, even if the guy deserves it. He's told me that it's up to the justice system to decide if somebody is guilty and to punish them. It's not the Green Hornet's place to be judge, jury and executioner. He just makes sure that all the evidence is there to make a conviction stick. I guess it's some kind of family tradition."

"Yeah, I guess so," John agreed, thinking of the masked man's portrait in his father's study. "Yet this Hornet Sting, you've been telling me about, and that car. They're both deadly weapons."

"That's why we have to be careful with them. The Sting can punch through steel like it was butter, so you have to be careful about aiming it at anybody. Don't ever do it, unless you use the lowest setting. Even then it hurts like the worst bee, uh, hornet, sting you've ever had. Same thing with the Black Beauty's rockets. We always have to make sure we don't hit a target in a way that somebody might get killed. We also have to watch out for innocent bystanders too. The Sting and the Black Beauty are a big responsibility."

"Have you ever killed anybody?" John asked.

"Yeah, once. We blew a helicopter out of the air with the Black Beauty's rockets. It was a one in a million shot. If we hadn't made it, we would've been toast. Funny thing, it bothered the hell out of your father. My Dad told me it always bothered your father, even if it was by accident. Something to do with karma, he said."

John slipped into the coat, feeling more than its weight on his shoulders. Lee pulled a green plastic mask and snap brim hat of the same color from the closet. John took the mask first, noticing that it was molded to the shape of his father's features. "How did you feel when you first put on your father's mask," he asked.

"Honored," Lee answered.

"And?"

"Scared as Hell. Your father's a hard man to follow. I still don't think I'll ever measure up to his standards."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. You know, I've always felt torn between being my own man and being like my father. I worship the man, but damn, his shoes are hard to fill. I always feel like everybody at the Sentinel is comparing me with him. I don't think I'll ever measure up. I guess the only saving grace is that he knows what I'm going through since he went through it with his own father," John gave a short laugh. "You know some of the old timers, like Mike, still talk about him like he's a wet-behind-the-ears kid. They call him "college boy". Now, not only am I trying to figuratively fill his shoes, but I have to wear the same mask he's worn. And if I fail, I won't just merely be a laughing stock, I'll be dead, and maybe you, Dad and Danielle as well."

"We could forget about this whole Green Hornet thing. We could follow up without this mask and costume shtick," Lee suggested.

"No way. If Dad said we could use the car, and we both know he meant the Black Beauty, then there's got to be something important about it. There's something we need that goes with the Black Beauty. And the Green Hornet."

"I see what you mean," Lee said, "Especially since he seemed so against the idea of you ever taking on the Green Hornet role."

"Is there anything special about the Black Beauty, besides the weapons that is," John asked, "Anything that might help us track somebody?"

Lee's eyes lit up. "Yeah, it has a tracking device. That's it, I bet your father has a bug on him."

"Then we had better get moving," John said quickly as he donned the mask and the hat.

Lee nodded his agreement and snatched his own mask and hat out of the closet before heading for the Black Beauty. John followed Lee to the car and climbed into the back seat behind him. Lee, now in the role of the Green Hornet's aide Kato, twisted back to talk over the back of his seat.

"To your right in the back of this seat is the weapons locker," he said.

John felt around, pressing gently until he heard a soft click. He opened the narrow door that was almost as tall the seatback.

"The black rod with the gold bands is the Hornet Sting that I was telling you about," Kato continued as John pulled it out of its bracket. "Flip the domed end to the side," he instructed.

The air was filled a high-pitched hum. "That means it's powered up and ready to use." Kato said.

"Hornet Sting check," John said, noticing Kato's nod of approval and stowed it into an inner pocket, a slight but significant weight against his chest.

"The green pistol is the Hornet Gas Gun," Kato said as John removed it from the bracket next to the one the sting had occupied. "Slide the butt open like you would an automatic and pull out the cartridge inside it."

John did as he was told. "It looks like it's almost full," he said, noticing the level of the green liquid inside the cartridge.

"Good. Take two more just in case."

John snapped the cartridge back into the gas gun, then noticing a small pressure gauge, checked it. "Gas Gun, check," he said before stowing it into a pocket next to the sting. "What's the other stuff?" he asked.

"There's a mini flash, Green Hornet style," Kato added wryly, as John noted the flash's slender green shaft and the odd bit of curved metal that slid forward to form a handle. "I have no idea why it's made that way. Sometimes our fathers had odd notions of how to design something. Must've been a 60's thing."

"There's also some flash and smoke bombs that might come in handy too," he said as he watched John stow them into the pockets of his coat.

After he had pulled out everything that might be useful, John sat back into his seat and took a deep breath.

"Are you ready?" Kato asked.

"Yeah," John answered, wondering what he was getting himself into.

"Don't worry, you'll do okay. At least this will only be temporary."

"Let's hope so. At least this time," John answered. He closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself. He was scared as hell of failing, and yet along with it he felt the delicious stirring of excitement. It felt so right. He smiled as he opened his eyes. "Let's roll, Kato."

"Yes sir, Green Hornet, sir."

"We got the signal," the Green Hornet said as a slow, steady beep came from the palely glowing circular screen set in the console in front of him. "He's moving erratically, making a lot of turns."

"The kidnapper's probably making him go all over town to make sure someone isn't following him," Kato said.

"How close should we stay so we won't lose the signal?" the Green Hornet asked.

"Ten miles is about the outside limit, but we should stay closer than that. I don't want to be too far away in case we lose the signal, but I don't want the kidnapper to spot us either."

"There seems to be a pattern that's developing. I think if we stay in the area between 10^th and 18^th and east Old Market near Riverside we'll be able still to stay in range without risking being spotted or losing the signal." The Green Hornet frowned in thought. "We could get closer in. Do you think even if he saw us he'd think we're involved?" he asked.

"I'd hate to take the chance. Not with Dani and Mr. Reid's lives on the line."

"You got a point. Well, as long as we stay in that general area I think we should be close enough in case something happens," John decided.

For nearly another hour they kept a close watch on the tracking signal as it wound around the streets, frequently seeming to change without purpose or logic but always in the same general area. Then it came to a stop. The Green Hornet checked the small map on the locator's screen. "He's stopped around 15^th and Oak."

"We'll close in slowly. I don't want to spook our man," Kato said as he turned the Black Beauty onto Oak street. They moved slowly, trying to melt in the light traffic on the street. A prowl car passed them, unknowingly, but still giving both men in the big black car a momentary start.

"Damn!" the Green Hornet suddenly cursed.

"What?"

"The signal's gone dead."

"Dead?"

"Yeah, one moment it was there, just like it's been for the past half hour and now it's gone."

"Damn," Kato echoed softly as the Black Beauty picked up speed.

After parking the Black Beauty just out of sight, the Green Hornet and Kato cautiously approached Britt's Cadillac.

"Still no sign of Mr. Reid," Kato commented.

"Yeah, but this is where the signal stopped," the Green Hornet said. He moved closer to the car. Behind it he spotted Britt's clothing. "Well, wherever he is, I hope it's heated," he said grimly as he showed Kato the clothes and the crushed locator.

The rental car finally came to a stop in front of a shuttered neo-gothic church. The red-robed man gestured with his gun for Britt to follow him out of the car. Britt gritted his teeth as the harsh wind bit at his bare skin. It had been barely warm enough in the car, but outside the wind made the cold unbearable. He wanted nothing more to curl up into a ball as his bare skin first pinkened then whitened under the harsh cold. Instead he forced himself to appear unaffected by the chill. As his unprotected feet broke through the snow's hard crust he walked proudly erect, leading the way to the church's iron bound doors as the man in red followed, gun in hand.

It wasn't much warmer inside the unheated church, but at least it was out of the wind. Its interior was completely bare of the normal trappings. There were no pews, no altar, no choir loft, only a black cavern of stone pillars that appeared ghostly grey in the hissing light of a single Coleman lantern that was placed on the ground next to a large rough-hewn cross

A small movement caught Britt's eyes. Near the edges of the lantern's fitful light he could see a slight form tied against one of the pillars. "Dani," Britt said softly. He turned to his captor. "I'm here now, let her go," he asked.

From behind the hood a muffled voice rumbled with bitter amusement, "You're always the one for giving orders, aren't you? Even freezing your ass off, you still figure you're the boss." The man laughed. "I'll clue you in, Reid. You're not in charge here, I am. I'm the one who's giving the orders here. Not you."

He motioned for Britt to move forward. Britt paused for a moment, thinking about his chances if he rushed the much smaller man. The gun waved menacingly. "Don't even think of it," came the warning.

Britt took a deep breath, he had to remain calm, and not allow his feelings to get the better of him. His life and Dani's depended on him staying cool. A wry thought crossed his mind. In this chill staying cool was the least of his problems. He bowed his head in surrender. "You're right. You're the boss here. Could I at least talk to my daughter? I'd like to know that she's all right," he said meekly. "Please," he added.

Ice-water blue eyes doubtfully regarded Britt. After several heartbeats the hood finally nodded. "Go to her. I have not touched her. No tricks," was the harsh warning.

Britt walked slowly under the hooded man's watchful glare. No tricks, Britt reminded himself. Not yet, at least. Danielle was dressed in a coarse brown robe and her hands were tightly tied around the base of the pillar. Her dark hair raggedly hung around her face. Seeing Danielle's bruised and tear-streaked face almost made him forget his resolve to remain calm.

"Daddy?" she asked shakily, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"It's okay, baby," Britt said, his voice cracking against his will. "I'm here now. Everything going to be okay." He wrapped his arms around her the best he could with the pillar in the way. He could feel her slender body shake against his as she sobbed uncontrollably. Grieving over her lost innocence, Britt was torn between sharing his daughter's tears, and raging at the man responsible. He could do neither. All he could his hold her as tightly as he could, shushing her fears, trying to reassure her, like he used to do when she was a tiny baby in his arms.

He glared over his daughter's head at their kidnapper. "How could you do this? What kind of monster are you? She hasn't done anything to deserve this." He stroked her hair, dark like his used to be so many years ago. "Whatever I've done, whatever you've think I've done to you, she's not a part of it." He was no longer the powerful newspaper publisher, no longer the feared Green Hornet, just a sorrowing father. "I beg you, let her go. Do whatever you want to me, but for God's sake, let her go."

"That's why I'm doing this. For God's sake. I have you and your daughter here for God's sake. Everything I have done has been in God's name, but every time you and yours have interfered. Against all odds you survived the bombing at the Daily Sentinel, and then your man interfered when I tried to strike down those believers of a false prophet at that unholy conference. The only time any one of yours did anything right was when your son's fiancee killed that so-called holy man."

"What?" Britt said, not believing what he had heard.

"So, you didn't know after all," the hooded man gave a short barking laugh. "You've taken a viper to your breast and you didn't even know it. But I saw, yes, I saw. I was going to choke the very life out of that bearded demon, I was going to squeeze and squeeze until the devil revealed himself, but she got there first. I saw her leave, and when I entered he was already dead. Even that small victory, that small task, one of yours took from me. But you didn't know, did you?" the man said relishing Britt's dawning comprehension. "All the time you were trying to make those rag-heads to get along, your son's woman was working against you. Ironic, isn't it?" The man paced agitatedly back and forth as he talked. "But now God has delivered you into my hands." His voice lowered in awe. "The Lord works in great and mysterious ways."

"So what are you going to do to us?" Britt asked.

"To your daughter, nothing," the man answered. "But she is not as innocent as you would have me believe. We are all sinners on this earth, including her, and you. But most especially the daughters of Eve, for they betrayed mankind by tempting Adam. Oh, how your daughter sorely tempted me. The way she moved, like a song on the wind, the way her hair floated in the air, like a thing alive of itself, the way her gaze would melt my legs beneath me. But you see I did not succumb. I have remained pure. I have remained pure to my cause, despite all temptations. Even when all those around succumbed to the temptation of power like that liar Hakenkrueze or fame like Dr. Goode, I have remained true to the one God, even when tempted by your daughter's evil wiles. But no harm will come to her, at least not from me. That will come on the Day of Judgement."

"Then you will let her go," Britt said hopefully.

"Yes, but not yet. She must bear witness to the punishment of one who would offer succor to those who distort God's word."

"Please don't hurt my father," Danielle pleaded fearfully. "He's a good man."

"Too many good men do wrong," the hooded man replied bitterly. "Your father must suffer for his sins."

"Daddy . . . " Danielle pleaded as Britt pushed himself to his feet. For the first time she noticed how badly bruised and beaten he was. She had no idea what had happened to him and she fearfully wondered how close was he to his limit.

Britt forced a reassuring smile, "Don't worry about me, baby, I'll be okay." He turned to the hooded man. "What do you have in mind for me?" he asked.

"Our Lord and Savior died on the cross for the sins of the world," came the reply, "Can you do no less for your own sins?"

Britt looked down at the cross, noticing that it was attached to a set of ropes and pulleys to make it more easy to raise when burdened with a heavy weight. His. "No, I can do no less. Not if it will stop you and save my daughter."

"Don't fool yourself, Reid. I will not free her for your sake, or hers. It will be her duty to testify of this lesson to all sinners. But I will not stop. I will punish those I chose until all sinners have repented." With the gun he waved Britt to the side of the cross. "Lay down," he ordered.

Britt did as he was told, stretching each arm out, trying to balance his broad frame on the narrow wooden form, wincing painfully as he raised his left leg to rest on top of his right. The hooded man knelt down and with leather thongs tightly bound Britt's ankles and wrists to the cross. He tested them, making sure they would hold fast.

"If you survive, you will be a changed man. You will have shared the passion of our precious Lord and emerge truly saved." He removed one of his gloves and showed Britt his open palm, revealing a deep depression in the center of it. "You see, I too was an unbeliever, but now I know the truth."

He grabbed up a heavy wooden mallet and a large nail that looked more like a railroad spike. "Scream all that you want," he said, "For that is the Devil leaving your body."

Biting his lip, Britt tried to keep his palm open, trying not to struggle as he watched the mallet begin its descent for the nail centered in his open hand. A loud hum reverberated through the barren building until Britt's ears were ringing. It was a very sweet sound. The church's heavy doors violently shook and trembled under the assault until they slammed open with a loud bang and billowing smoke. Although he had expected it, Britt gaped at the sight of the Green Hornet and Kato stepping through the shattered doors. A small voice inside him wryly noted, so this is what it feels like to be on the other side of that mask.

The hooded man snatched up the mallet he dropped in his surprise and drove it down toward the nail he still held in Britt's open palm. The Hornet Sting screamed again. The man echoed that scream in excruciating pain. Britt dodged his head barely in time to prevent the falling mallet from braining him, but he saw enough to see the terrible damage the sting had done to the man's hand. The man fumbled with his remaining hand for the gun he had laid down beside the cross.

"Don't even think about it," the Green Hornet warned.

"You have no right!" the hooded man raged through tears of pain and frustration. "You have no right to interfere. This is none of your business."

"I have every right," the Green Hornet gritted, storm grey eyes hard behind the green mask. "Move away from Reid." He ordered.

His hooded head shaking in disbelief, the man slowly backed away as the Green Hornet and Kato moved closer. The Green Hornet stopped beside the bound publisher, but Kato went to Danielle and began untying her hands.

"No!" the hooded man screamed as he snatched up the lantern and flung it at Kato and Danielle. Kato threw himself in front of the flying lantern. His jacket erupted in flames as the lantern's spilling gas caught fire. He quickly pulled the jacket off and stamped on it until the flames were all out.

The hooded man snatched up the gun and fired at the Green Hornet. The Green Hornet dodged the bullet. He swung the Hornet Sting around, catching the man against the side of his head. But the fight was not yet out of him. He turned his fall into a roll and tumbled himself into the Green Hornet's legs, bowling him down like a nine pin. Before the Green Hornet could recover the hooded man regained his legs and charged for a nearby open door with Kato close at his heels.

For a few moments there was complete silence after both men had disappeared through the door. Then there was a loud crash, a scream and again silence. Kato reemerged alone, and breathless.

"What happened?" Britt demanded. He was wearing the Green Hornet's coat, that somehow, oddly to him, did not quite fit.

"Well," Kato said slowly, "He's not going to be going anywhere for a while. You better see for yourself."

Danielle, Britt and the Green Hornet followed him out into a small frozen yard behind the church. A large old wooden statue of Christ had fallen on top of the hooded man. "It kind of just tipped over. He's alive, but like I said he's not going to be going anywhere real soon. It's kind of ironic, if you ask me." He gestured with his chin toward the bloodied rags he had wrapped around what remained of the man's right hand. "I think he's going to called Lefty by everybody after this," he added with a meaningful look at the sting in the Green Hornet's hand.

"But he does have a name already," Britt said as he knelt beside the prone man and removed the crumpled hood.

"James O'Leary. Just like we figured," the Green Hornet said.

"Is that how you found us?" Britt asked as he tiredly rose to his feet. Danielle nestled into his arms. They'd support each other.

"Yeah," Kato said, "Mrs. Reid got through to us right after we finished checking out his place. There's quite a set up he has there. There some kind of weird shrine there and the makings of another bomb."

Britt nodded, "He admitted was the one behind the bombs at the Sentinel and at the conference. But how did you track us after O'Leary smashed the locator?" he asked.

"Kato remembered that O'Leary was planning on a protest against the conversion of this church into a mosque. We figured since most of the statues in his shrine came from here, this would be the best place to find him, and you." The Green Hornet looked down at the unconscious photographer. "So that just about finishes things. Doesn't it? O'Leary bombed the Sentinel, knocked off the Ayatollah. And in return Ibn Ubayy's aide and his boys knocked off Dr. Goode. So it looks like all of the loose ends are finally wrapped up."

"I'm afraid not," Britt said, "There's one last loose end. I'm afraid I have some bad news for you," he gazed meaningfully at the Green Hornet, but this time not seeing the masked man, but his son.