Does anyone remember the rumors that circulated around the Oklahoma City bombing? I've heard some crackpot things myself, including one theory that the United States government was secretly concentrating a "shadow government" into the very center of North America, because, naturally, (a) the coasts would really have it in a major nuclear war, or (b) the government knew the ice caps would soon melt, and wanted to be ready for the eventual flood.
Under this premise, Timothy McVeigh somehow knew all the details about this, and decided to show the government that he knew.
What's the point in that? I have know clue, but I'll go with it here, and create skinhead hangouts and other things that I've never seen around Oklahoma City, and nobody has, I bet.
I had a lot of fun weaving conspiracy theories into this chapter, but I guess it's always healthy to spin out "creative" viewpoints.
I notice we have a reviewer, and a positive one, at that. Maybe I can prove I deserve being here this time.
The copyright notice from chapter one applies in this one. Too. Um, if some characters offend anyone based on race, gender, or weight, yes, I said weight, please understand the viewpoints mentioned in the story aren't Viscount Ganymede's or mine. If you're a redneck, bother Jeff Foxworthy before coming after me. Just kidding. Does that cover everyone? What about hillbillies? Isn't Oklahoma too flat to even have hillbillies?
1.
Duo Maxwell, blackened, not burned, Crispy, yet rare, found himself in a meadow.
Oklahoma cattle seemed to be eating grass happily while not even paying a feeble mind to the charred African detective lying among them.
"Have I fallen into the nexus?"
Living leather looked up and whaled a reply.
"I guess not, since I can't talk to the animals."
So, is this an Oklahoma plain?"
Maxwell stood up.
No one dumped him here; that would be stupid, so that meant he was looking for something.
"Now I remember, I was looking for that blasted jammer that fried the jeep's electronics," he stated triumphantly.
"By Jove's sake! How could I forget that?"
Duo rolled to his feet and recovered his bearings.
"Th' bloomin' thing has got t' be heah (here) somewheh," he thought out loud, peering into the distance.
"Just hope I don't get knocked off without Chang here; they'd give th' po' fellow a 140 hour wo'k week."
Maxwell shook his head sadly, 'cause few good inspectors exist these days, save ambitious attorneys and political minded reporters.
Amazing how informants are lacking numbers at the trade conventions, too, but things will change once Duo Maxwell moves on to teaching in another decade or so.
The chaparral-like conditions have crept into this field a tad before the other ranches started suffering this fate, in the year 2023.
More cows, I guess.
After being blown to the farm, walking was a pleasant diversion for the God of Death, Protector of the World.
"Calling in WuFei might insure my safety, but I'm positive someone will come pick up the ECM soon," he assured himself. Certainly he was right, for the suspects are notoriously thorough in every action they ever take.
"And then I'll finally prove it to myself."
With that said, he marched along the meadow, testing his durable camera, to see if he could get some evidence for everyone else.
2
Time passed.
The two renegade vampires, Count Milliardo Peacecraft and Noble Relena Peacecraft, have moved to Louisiana for a vacation-stay at an astronomy-astrophotography commune.
Winner Enterprises did their business, and Zechs did his. Maxwell was on the verge of finding incriminating evidence, and Zack Hamlet was not.
Thurman Dynamics (Lt. Colonel at the moment, the Army doesn't have room for another General) and WuFei Chang learned all they could about the hacker, not much more than what they learned the first hour.
Septum went on leave to Calgary.
Cybernetic dinosaur Auda rotated Une out of the Peacecraft case, and lived in close proximity with the kids for the duration of their vacation.
The crew of My Corona was working as usual, trying not to think about their vacation-time in August.
Une sneaked the Espada out of the Mediterranean, once the Vampire's search faded into nothing.
With every new cycle, teeth were progressively protruding from the turning gears.
3
Inspector Norman Auct was progressively pushing his teeth into the jawbreaker plateau.
This international private investigator had a clear advantage over all the other interested groups; he worked for everyone.
His current assignment has brought him to Beirut, where Trowa and Catherine were waiting to contact him.
Trowa and Catherine.
Two nocturnal vampire shock troopers of the Ringmaster Clan.
Auct had once heard that these two could motion heavy broadswords like foils and drive railroad spikes in the ground no problem.
The heavy Frenchman wondered how much of a burden he might have been if placed in one of their bags.
"How big will they be? How much energy can you store in a compact body, anyway?"
Auct couldn't help but think idly about the entire situation, you see, this international espionage gig has gained a real boost since Corporate Conquest made its debut in the summer of 2020, and there was much glamour in the enterprise, but even Auct, the most successful upstart, has just been finding it dull recently.
After this job, I should get back into homicide detecting. Yeah, maybe that will be fun, just like before this crazy venture.
Honestly, who wants to work for these creepy jerks, anyway?
Auct gulped.
The creepy jerks, I believe I see them.
Two forever sun-shielded night-monsters stepped past the hydrogen bus-stop on the corner before the gaze of Norm. The detective, gripped, forgot where he was- something he had repetitively promised himself he would "never do again!"
"Worst beasts possible in human form," he mumbled under his short breath, working hard to jog his memory, so he could get a fix on his own position.
Yogurt Yurt, on Tigress Street, opposite Lazlo's Comic Shop.
The vampires were his number one concern, and Auct needed to focus.
"All right, the nightmares are crossing the street, like mortals. Maybe these aren't the guys."
They had to be; though Auct expected lumberjacks, these two were dreadfully menacing in their own way.
One was trailing behind the other, eager to visit the comic-book shop. This one was a young man, 170 centimetres in height, yet very slender, still not in his physical prime.
Norman had no way of knowing this, for the one named Trowa wore a loose-fitting orange suit similar to one a rap-artist might have worn three decades ago.
The leading vampire, Cathy, was a woman slightly smaller and older than Trowa.
She was wearing a vibrant Hungarian dress that was even louder than her counterpart's suit.
Somehow, they found a way to stand out in the Beirut of the post-war era.
"They look like circus performers at a costume party," Auct mused, pondering their fashion.
Following this statement, he looked down and stirred his dairy-cauldron, before Catherine could make eye contact.
The detective heard the door-chime jingle, and assumed the vampires had entered.
Still, he waited, his sweet-slough begging to be inhaled.
The marriage of footfall and heartbeat thrilled him negatively, but still, he held his ground; or rather, his vinyl chair.
"Auct, there's no external use only warning for frozen-yogurt," the Nascent arrival teased, baring her void-white fangs in an incidentally heinous smile.
Auct looked up and blushed, surviving his shame.
Ultra-placid Trowa pulled a red and beige bib off a chair.
"I suggest you clean off your fine Italian tweed trench coat with this," he said, extending it (not the coat) toward Norman, who received the gift.
"Thanks, but this old thing was made in Bangladesh."
Trowa's stiff expression softened, but impatience boiled out of Cat.
"Could we just get on with this? King Treize Kushrenada demands your attendance at his ad hoc court right away," she urged, standing firm. Not difficult while standing over Humpty Dumpty.
"Of course, of course," the inspector nodded.
Funny how nobody wants to be involved, a much cleaner Duo Maxwell found himself thinking, following his waste of time interviewing the local population at Waldorf's Cafe.
"I think it's time to call WuFei, and tell him I need the forensics lab."
Motion picture phased into a static blizzard in a brief struggle within Zack Hamlet's home entertainment cube.
Jupiter's prodigy child, the budding MASTER OF Quatre AND TIME; the Viscount of Vitamins, modern Ganymede Helen Hero, Iria Winner, beat back the electro-froth to secure her audience with the Austrian Elder.
"Nice to see that you have something to report today, Viscount. Have you found him?" Hamlet the Greybeard was dying to know the whereabouts of France's antihero, Norman Auct.
"Yes indeed, Headmaster Hamlet, one can always count on Detective Auct to visit the Yogurt Yurt wherever it can be found," the mad mercenary lectured.
"He must always have a chalice of chill."
Zack huffed a muffled snort.
"Hmm, good show, now tell me, who's pursuing him right now?"
Iria glowed, proud of her unit.
""Ford Taylor of Macadamia is stalking Auct and two Herculean beings presently."
Hamlet held his breath, gears catching tightly. Could it be them?
Iria gazed at the experienced Austrian, alarmed.
"Awestruck by my lucent likeness?"
Hamlet laughed despite his former state. What a braggart!
"Hiee!! Cuff! Cuff! Pow! Pow! Deep breath . No, sugar, I'm used to your likeness- I just think that I've stumbled into another area of investigation I've been up to," he answered.
The aged vampire rose from his kneeled position, gears moving fluidly.
"He-he-he-he-he! And I was so worried that Treize was advanced in his search. I should have known better. What could I have been thinking? Treize's independent search must be as stagnant as the Russian economy!"
Merc. Winner looked highly puzzled.
Ham picked up on this, and decided that he would trust the fortune-soldier to retrieve more information with more vigor.
"I can't explain right now, but I want you to do something for me that is related to my ranting," was the verbal explanation.
Hamlet pulled two photos out of an album, and scanned them through the feed to Iria.
"I must know if these are the two guys with Auct," he asked.
Iria peered at two large predator-eyed vampire-goliaths.
"I'll ask Ford," Winner droned, telephoning Taylor.
The answer came in shortly.
"Yes ma'am, those are the guys, I'm positive. You want an image?"
Iria affirmed.
The wait didn't take long, since Iria's wireless web was a fast network.
The pro soldier held his phone-screen before Hamlet.
. "Where could they be taking him?" Zack wondered.
"That's what we'll discover," Iria boasted.
Zack smiled; glad to hear that Iria Winner was still enthused about the business.
"Catch 'em for me, Lass, Heaven knows I've had little luck."
The saluting savior (of the hired kind) signed off.
4
"I not coming- just think about it, wouldja? People down here are just too trigger-happy when they see "Gator-man from the Bayou" among them, so I'm staying here, alright?"
Auda protested with the Peacecrafts for the megateenth time about why a dinosaur shouldn't go to the movie theatre.
"Fine, fine, but you know, we'll be without a bodyguard again. Only our anonymity is keeping us safe," Relena informed him, while edging out the oak door of the mobile-cabin.
"Yeah, you're like a masseuse without hands," Milliardo Peacecraft smiled.
"Or a mentor living in prison," Relena added, opening the door.
Exeunt; the Peacecrafts left the cabin. They left Auda behind, and, hopped into the Toyota with two friends (of Relena's, Milliardo was just the driver, but he will watch the movie).
Auda sighed.
"I guess I'll call the boss."
Evolved Beirut Opera House, right-centre balcony.
"Are you certain no one followed you here?"
Odd greeting from Treize, Norm found himself thinking.
"Hard to say in this mid-east neon city, but I would say yes if the stakes were lower," the vampire, Trowa, spoke up.
"Well, there's no reason to fret over something so trivial, is there? No one could gain much from that knowledge, correct? Treize dismissed the worries, and added, "Why do we not enjoy tonight's show? There is much latino-jazz in this production!"
He's always been a good host, Auct thought, placing himself in a plush leather chair.
And the places he hosts at! A nice balcony with mauve bunting along salmon suede walls, tan Russian leather chairs besieging small oak executive-modern tables, and neo-Victorian chrome reading lamps!
Auct turned around...
A miniature buffet and drink fountain!
The curtain rises with a flourish, stirring Auct's attention out of the room.
Raiders of the Creole Tomb jazzed its appealing features of roaring twenties Louisiana life, delighting the affluent crowd at a slap-stick speed that kept them in the dark of what exactly was delighting them, unaware of the filthy moral tone in the entire production.
"Look carefully, Inspector, they have no idea how much this is corrupting their souls, their dearest mores, and all the values that make them human.
It's beautiful, I'll be stealing them of their wholesome selves, and replace all that purity with this counterfeit completeness; I'll put an end to all of this pragmatic split of freewill verses domination once and for all!" He slammed his fist for emphasis, drawing approval from Trowa and Catherine.
"And yet, this is not the masterpiece that will sweep away the two thousand year order that stands in my way," said he, sourly, as he made a sweeping gesture toward the lewd play.
"Still," he journeyed on, rubbing his chin, "this is a crafty skit. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha- Ha- Ha-Ha! He laughed maniacally until the next balcony "shushed" him, but still he was in a good dark humor.
"You see, Auct, without going into details, I seriously need you to capture those Peacecraft kids. You're participation is critical," he pleaded of the international detective.
"I'll do my utmost service, Sire," the Frenchman had no idea where that had come from; obviously he could manipulate anyone before they had a chance to resist.
"Uh, I need to excuse myself for a moment," he squeaked, desperately wishing for some space.
"Be quick about it," Treize permitted, wearing a voice of boredom.
"Trowa, show Mr. Auct to the restroom."
The brawny vampire saluted.
"Sir!" He exited with Auct in tow.
Treize washed them out of his mind, raising his opera glasses to his fore.
"Cathy, do not grow complacent in the coming times, even in the calmest moments, you'll be in a cliff-hanger on the world stage," he told the remaining other occupant of his luxury seating, keeping his eyes fixed on the show as well as it's hypnotic effect on the crowd.
"Splendid, all of these affluent oligarchs here to watch a ritzy program built for their sophisticated entertainment desires, having their minds retooled for the artificial divine will of one King Treize Kushrenada of the toppled Romanian triumvirate, currently holder of Transylvania, Wallachia, and Moldova, now grappling with the big fish, in waters once thought to be over his head!" He rotated his surfaced head toward the vampire-girl.
"And you will get to have all the fun, Miss Bloom, you will be the hand that moves the clandestine game pieces throughout this sphere of humanity. You make me so proud, my child; you have grown strong enough to play your demanding role in the scheme of centuries. For emphasis, I say once more I'm proud."
This horrific boldness startled Miss Cathy, but she held her start in check, flashing a darkened mega-watt smile at her Commander-and-Lord.
"I see you're at peace with your role, and I can't describe my joy at you finding yourself in a calling so close to home.
I've always been hoping you and Trowa would forever be happy beside me; now I know that everything is going to be alright," Treize issued his charismatic glow throughout his warm speech.
A possessive joyful feeling enveloped and throbbed across the girl, Cathy, upon hearing the Regent speak.
"I love you, Dearest Daddy, and you're right, I am happy serving you in whatever mission you find you must do. I'll never allow those Peacecrafts to hurt you, never," she cried, rushing forward to hug her dear beloved leader.
"I know dear, I do, and I wish the best for your brother and you in stopping that troublesome lot, Hime," he soothed, noting Norman's return, and shocked expression.
He laughed heartily at Auct's response to the preternatural Catherine being called "Princess."
Auct shifted and stammered through dozens of lines before hitting the "New Yorker" approach.
"So, a-hey, all this is really nice, but, a, I gotta demanding business, and, a, wanta get back to th' job, ya know?"
Once more, Treize barked his jolly laugh, humored by the tension he sensed in the detective.
"Oui suppose you should, but tell me, do you have any lead to follow? "Nay?" Am I correct?"
The Frenchman looked inward for the longest moment, before answering.
"Yes, Your Majesty, I only require a flight across the Atlantic to extract the remaining holes in the case."
The Vampire King had expected this kind of bravado, but he outwardly swallowed Norman's misinformation.
"Alright, Detective. I'll charter two Taurus flights for Cairo tonight, where a military transport is waiting to carry you across. These two will fly along with you. I dare you to go right away, if you're so sure you won't disappoint me," Renada challenged, gesturing toward Cathy and Trowa as "these two."
Norm was taken aback; he didn't expect Treize to listen to him- he really needed to understand this guy!
"Gee, sure, right away," he saluted, moving to the back of the balcony.
"Trowa, Cathy, do keep Mr. Auct in line. Until later," the Regent waved off, swiveling to watch their exit.
"So long," they said, turning and waving in one motion.
At last, the bright duo could no longer be seen, and only Treize's pride was left for company-, which was fine, since no one was going to keep those two vampires from returning.
Treize had raised them himself, after all.
5
Halfway across the planet, the two Peacecrafts emigrants were also enjoying the theatre- Joe Bob's Mighty Fine Cinema-Screen, in fact.
That day's show was none other than the sci-fi thriller, THE DAY THE EARTH FRIZ ON IT'S AXIS, one of the better films of the 2023 summer.
As good as retired, the little dino, Auda, guarded the mobile-cabin, while Milliardo drove Relena to the theatre, as well as her two friends, Jewel and Athena.
The sun was overhead, as it always was in the northern hemisphere in the month of June, and had these two been purebred nocturnal vampires, as their ancestors, they wouldn't have survived the day.
The drive was as fair as the weather and the Peacecraft skin-tone, a major factor in the pleasant mood of the group as they seated themselves in the velvet chairs before the screen began to play.
(Projector lights screen, and violins play gothicly with a flourish.)
The entire pantheon of horror effects shocked the audience to life, with infernal ticking, and ghostly scenes of abstract terror.
At last, the sickly-green printing...
THE DAY THE EARTH FRIZ ON IT'S AXIS!
Every once in a while, Milliardo found something that stumped him up in English, and the word "FRIZ" racked his mind for several moments, before he decided the word originated in Kentucky.
Some slow, depressing instrumental music summoned in the early scenes of the film.
It all held no interest to Milliardo, who hunched his head under his shoulders, and quickly scribbled a possible poem on a small notepad.
It read...
My land is covered with flies, my firstborn dies.1
I'm Egyptian.2
Our tools are made of bone, 3
Our language written on stone, 4
I'm Egyptian.5
I live on the Nile 6
I kill a crocodile, 7
I'm Egyptian.8
We built the Sphinx, 9
Our bloody river stinks.10
We're Egyptian.11
We chased our slaves, 12
We drowned in waves.13
We were Egyptian.14
The Count felt the urge to write: "writ in stone."
When in Rome, he shrugged, considering all he could do with the work.
"Fifteen lines... hmm, perfect Rhyme, perfect length, easy to remember- could be my inspiration of the year," he pondered aloud, getting a "shush!" for the effort.
"I wonder if I can make a sequel?" He wondered. "How about another civilization?" He thought for an exhausting moment.
"Nothing rhymes with Anazazi," he said, not stopping to think that he hadn't used anything that rhymed with 'Egyptian ' either.
Insights like the first one refuse to come often.
Ford Taylor of Macadamia, a tall, slightly lean bronze man, diligently probed for routes that would keep him close to the hopefully unsuspecting prey.
"Viscount, Viscount, the bats are winging out of the cave. They're heading is sky-bound," he reported in real time to his hired-soldier boss.
His eyes bugged out at what he saw next.
"Ganymede, the bats have morphed Sampson style," he urgently called, seeing a pair of Taurus Cruisers.
"I copy, Alex, I see that they want out quickly. Stay safe, Bud, I must cut some ham, over," the boss replied, obviously asking Zack Hamlet for advise.
Ford was forced to accept this.
Iria was the victor of the static war once again.
"Zack, Alexan-er, Ford, yeah, Ford says they're leaving the city from the airport. I need the client to make the call," she called in.
Ham hummed a patriotic tune.
"Just create an emergency, will you, girl? Something to force Norman into the hospital. My guys can take it from there."
Iria said she could manage that.
"I have the formula you've been looking for!"
The Oklahoman revealed a small vial as she said this.
The Austrian's brows ruffled.
"Is that the trick?" He inquired.
Iria forced herself to change modes, getting back to the task.
"Sure is, I gotta contact Ford before the vampires leave," she excused, shutting off the phone.
"See ya, Zackery!"
She waved him away, turning Zack's box to darkness.
"Understood, Captain, applying the substance," said Taylor, applying the substance, as he said.
He dismounted from the last two-seat Taurus cruiser, putting his dripper away
Minutes later.
"Time to fly, Norm, and see what you can do," Iria Winner listened to the large female vampire, who was mounting the two-seater Taurus, as the large male Romanian soared into his single-seat fighter.
"Next stop, Cairo," Winner heard through her eavesdropping-beam phone, as the word resonated in at real-time speed.
"Looks like I'm on the path to victory, as expected," she laughed, succeeding once again in the Corporate Conquest era.
Airborne, hanging over 70,000 feet, the Taurus buffeted, as the canopy exploded outward. (By design, as it turns out.)
The pressured canopy took a wiz, if you will, leaving the Frenchman's lungs empty, until he reconnected his mask, which he fumbled into place.
His pilot worked to drop airspeed, and also to plunge they're elevation to twelve thousand feet.
He gasped vaderly, suffering severely from decompression.
"There spots in your vision?" He heard Cat ask blandly.
He affirmed (and refused to swear), describing the spots.
I just want to be a homicide detective again!
For once, a plan more sophisticated than shopping worked flawlessly!
Tactical example: The Taurus pair made an emergency landing on Cyprus, and Zack Hamlet's Bi-static radar eyed them, reported the exact moment of touchdown.
"Strike Team Saturn, time to harvest," Hamlet green-lighted the team, Austrian accent sounding intellectual for once.
Yep, things work when Iria Winner is involved.
A paramedic team carried the detective away, and the two vampires had silence at last.
Trowa rubbed some wet stuff across his fingers, eyeing the grease intently.
"Something is not right," he called for Cathy's attention.
As she moved near, he continued.
"I found this on the canopy. I'm sensing deceased microbes, and their corrosive enzymes," he concluded, turning toward his sister.
"We're in some sort of trap, and it doesn't look good."
The entire attitude of the medical team changed once the doors closed, and the ambulance transfigured into an interrogation room.
A barbiturate dosage placed the subject into a semi stupor, and answers were extracted before Auct could receive treatment.
Zack scored big, and the team scattered before the "vampire guardians" could react. Bingo.
Ganymede and company packed up and left for payment, never to trust a wired transaction.
"That was good, Ford. I'll let you carry the money this time, huh?" Iria slapped the Macedonian and boarded the ramp of her jumbo-transport.
"It's nice beating someone in our line of work like that. Auct had it coming, you know? Monopolizing while not looking for us. I really enjoyed myself this time."
As was common in the 2020s, Iria left Beirut happy.
6
At last, Duo Maxwell spotted movement on the ranch.
His old KGB monocular lacked the power he needed, however, and he was forced to spy through the bulkier 50mm Sovietsky field binoculars- impossible to conceal.
Sure, he could have used his much smaller digital camera, but he absolutely loathed the idea of using battery power for magnification.
However, he was aware of the risks in being caught spying on a rancher; cattle rustling is a serious no-no, and the state courts would be sure to let a rancher go free for shooting Maxwell, should the cowboys see him.
He continued zooming in.
A common forklift, a Korean model, lumbered toward a beige semi, transferring a large grill-plated box.
"This is worth a picture," he remarked, snapping an image with his Fuji.
"Now here's th' haud paut," said Duo, as the truck began moving.
"Stupid civil liberty unions have made it really hod to identify fom trucks."
He slandered America's lack of control over farmers, finding no I.D. signals on the truck.
"Zombie, looks like Chang had to trail this bugger."
They had to take a commuter flight from Cyprus to a more public airfield, but the two vampires and one Frenchman safely reached Cairo, and boarded their Aeroflot transport.
"The old crate" landed in Bermuda, where Detective Auct worked on arranging another flight.
"This really isn't 'across the Atlantic,' there is still water between me and North America. But hey, whatever," Auct shrugged, grateful to have made it to the old blockade-runner island.
"Ok, so where are we going next?" Cathy pressed, as she and Trowa flanked Norm in the terminal.
"Denver Colorado. I'm hoping we can catch a detective and pump him for information. I'm afraid the chances of this plan working are slim, however," he admitted matter-of-factly, sounding confident in tone, like a cyber-detective might.
"Fine then, maybe Trowa and I can find time for batting practice while we're a mile up."
Saturn had reaped a bundle of information, and once every datum reached Vienna, Zack Hamlet looked over the harvest.
"So Auct wants to meet Inspector Maxwell and/or Detective Chang in Colorado, does he? He says Oz Intel has an advanced search of their own? Why- excuse me, how did this outside partnership of Maxwell and Chang become so advanced in this vampire concern?"
The black-on-silver suited blond Carpathian male, Saturn Leader, explained.
"Auct said the Inspectors arrived and assisted the Alliance States Space Force H.Q, in Colorado, shortly after My Corona Battled the Blood Pact Fang-Interceptors off the coast of Spain, Sir."
Hamlet appeared slightly flustered.
"Captain, is Lisbon the capital of Spain?"
The Carpathian blinked.
"No, Sir, it's the capital of Portugal."
Zack nodded.
"And where did you say Corona was?"
The Saturn Force leader stared at the floor.
"Spain, Sir, I'm sorry."
Zack straightened in his chair.
"As you should be. The Aries took off from Lisbon; the battle was on the west side of Iberia. Now, Captain, was this a subtle misinformation ploy, or a dereliction of duty?'
The Captain seemed unable to focus on his shoes.
"It was just an innocent slip, Sir. May I continue the report?"
"Sure."
"Okay, as we know, a particle-beam from space operated against Transylvanian forces out in the Atlantic; it appears Winner commandeered the beam from Space Force."
The Austrian acknowledged this as creditable, the captain suspected.
"Thank you, Captain, you are dismissed." As the Taskforce Leader slid the door closed, Hamlet rested a hand on the executive phone-pad.
"I could shadow Maxwell before Auct arrives, a shuttle from Los Angeles may beat a flight from Bermuda, but that slight advantage doesn't make up for leaving Auct alive. I must do better than that."
Zack pondered the geopolitical situation alone in his chambers, gears grinding for a masterstroke, calculating for a solution for a spare few minutes, before the pause counts as a hesitation.
"I agree to a point, but Une could possibly get soft, guarding the Peacecrafts for so long. On the other hand, she may begin considering this her project, and work at a higher efficiency than on any other job," said Quatre Winner, hearing of Auda's involuntary neglect in Louisiana.
I'm sorry, Sir, but I might actually do harm if I go into town with them," said Auda, softly.
"I understand, but I have a lack of talented people. Rashid, Kurama, or Afmad could possibly do the job well, but My Corona still needs them," Winner speculated, just trying to help.
"Rashid would have the same problem, but Afmad may just be able to help."
On his end of the line, Quatre dropped his head back and smiled.
"What about Heston, he should be available, since he's been retired for some time."
Auda snorted.
"I'll make you a bet, he's still working twelve hours a day somewhere in the I.D.F. (Israeli Defense force)."
Quatre hummed an affirmative. You see, Heston Hill, Afmad's father, is a former Director of Intelligence at Mossad, and has a terribly strong work ethic.
"Although I'm a sucker for the underdog, even I'll turn this bet down."
Auda had nothing left to say.
"I'll send Une over. You'll stay to guard the mobile-cabin, unless you're bored," Winner resolved, and began winding down the conversation until hang-up.
Somewhere in Queens, New York, New York.
"Ganymede! Welcome again, and congratulations on yet another highly successful job! I hope it was fun," said SIP- Simon Ichabod Prescott- the banker mediating between Iria Winner and Zack Hamlet.
Iria Winner smiles fiendishly, just to mislead Simon Prescott a bit.
"Yeah, we took care of business."
"I see," said Sip, although he really didn't.
"Sure you do- so anyway, I'll need my emeralds," Iria casually demanded, holding her smile tightly.
"Of course, you're light weight hard currency."
Iria and her crew visually followed spring colored butterflies arc around the neo-classical dome of the Solomon's palace replica- or an architect's conception of it.
At last, Solomon's wives, or a modeling agency's conception of his wives, brought in early Californian satchels containing the payment.
"Thanks, Sip, although you steal more than taxes and import duties, you do make my job possible," said the Viscount, paying Simon the ultimate complement.
"Thank you, Ma'am, you're a real constant, you know, and you dress well, too," Sip replied, scanning Iria's rodeo-rider "getup."
"Cool, take care," Iria waved, turning after collecting her payment, leaving the banker and Turkish belly dancers behind.
"See you around, Ms. Winner," Sip yelled, edging in the last word- he couldn't resist!
"Well, he's not at Boulder," said the pudgy Auct, watching another hardball rise to the upper deck.
"Who?" Trowa asked, turning from batting practice.
"Duo Maxwell. I thought he'd be at Space Force, but it seems he left."
Trowa blinked.
"I thought the Space Force H.Q. was in Colorado Springs."
"It is," Auct explained, "but much office space exists in Boulder. You see, a national park kept the H.Q. from expanding, so an office building was erected a few years back (in Boulder)."
"Oh."
The loud-mouthed pitcher pulled Trowa's attention away.
"Hey, stop stalling and let me keep my rhythm," yelled Catherine, loosing a four-seemed heater.
Whiff!
Auct choked on thin air as he witnessed the ball rise over the bat, resulting in a high infield pop-up.
"My Goth, even pitches rise on this mountain."
It was true agony, following this truck down a farm road at a snail pace of seventy clicks an hour (40MPH), but at least Chang WuFei wasn't on a stakeout- Maxwell did that.
And the conversion van was moving through the air fast enough to make a.c. unnecessary.
Also, there was the satisfaction of being on the right track.
One more 'also,' a toll way- er, pike, is coming up, meaning, more speed.
WuFei gazed at the green sign.
So 'pike' doesn't have a 'y'.
Colorado Springs.
"Ma'am, is Inspector Duo Maxwell in? We have a situation," asked Trowa, looking as trustworthy as possible in a recently purchased Sunday suit, a button-less blazer, slakes, and a pocket less undershirt, all blue.
The civilian clerk interacted with a touch-screen tablet before answering.
"Sure, Sir- oh! He's in an inspection tour in Oklahoma, and I can't get hold of him at this time. Sorry!"
" Sigh , well, thank you, Ma'am, for the help."
Abruptly, blue streaked across the room and the 'honest' guy was gone.
Huff-Huff! He's in Oklahoma! An inspection tour- that's what the clerk said!"
Auct, sitting on a car hood, stared into his lap and groaned.
"Let's charter a flight."
Sure they were "rocky," but Trowa liked the sound of "THE AMERICAN ALPS," and couldn't understand why these snow-capped hills had such a dumb collective name.
He recalled seeing the really big one early in the car ride to Denver; doesn't pike have a 'y'?
Will Rodgers World Airport, OKC.
From a closed-circuit television, a low-light view of the suspect twinjet craft taxied across the concrete plain, naked and open to a determined assault.
Iria Winner had run multiple simulations to this scenario.
Many involved a con-air flight to and/or from the circuit court in Denver, so a simple trailing mission like this will be easy.
Of course, she may be called in to apprehend these guys, and then it gets a bit harder.
May get the call, or I may not. Is Zack hesitating or what?
Bats were in the hanger, a perfect indication that this was a good place to stay for the day.
"So, grandmaster, how are you going about finding Mister Maxwell?"
Angrily, Norm thought, will she never stop bothering me?
"I looked through the Space Force answering service. It seems that Maxwell made a call to his partner, Chang. The call was made from, or nearby, Waldorf's Cafe. If Duo asked questions, people will be talking about it at breakfast. I'll go listen to the early-risers, and you guys should stay out of the sun."
Surprised, Catherine didn't respond.
So, he must be growing a brain after all, she thought of Auct.
He seemed so pathetic back in Beirut, but I guess that's what happens when people meet vampire kings; happens to the master's amusement!
"...And you guys stay out of the sun." Iria Winner's eavesdropping beam alerted her once again of Auct's intentions.
"They'll be sleeping in the hanger, leaving Auct alone, perfect."
And Merc. Winner had a lead.
"Waldorf's, okay."
She theatrically turned to exit, poncho rippling through air.
7
"...As long as I shall live, the Earth shall never frizz up ever again."
The film's hero looked into space as the sun took cover under the horizon, making room for credits to role in.
Masses of mankind arose from inexpensive seating, emitting a drone of noise, as small groups of people conversed about a number of subjects.
Many older men and women excuse themselves to see "the John," and "the Jane."
Milliardo guessed they were an important couple, this John and Jane.
He tapped Relena, whom was just ahead in line to the exit, on the shoulder.
"Excuse me a moment, I must visit the John, (I'll) be back," he lied; actually he headed for the men's room.
Before reaching the room of relief, a strange behavior in young men was noticed.
Adolescent males everywhere pulled their empty hands out of caramel popcorn boxes, and announced their faith(s) to their peers.
Milliardo shook the strangeness out of his mind, pushing the men's door open.
8
"How come everyone, all the young men, I mean, are acting so funny when eating Caramel Jacks?"
The girls giggled, confusing If.
"Oh, you mean you haven't seen it?"
"Seen what?"
"The commercial," one girl explained, (not really) "the one with that boy- he, that voice says 'now more valuable toys are found in everyday boxes of Caramel Jacks," you know? - Well, that boy- he pulls his hand out (of the box?) and steam rises from his hand, you know? And he says stupidly "Look, I found religion!"
The female trio roared laughter at the recollection, leaving Milliardo in a stupor.
"My corona," he murmured, wishing for simpler times.
Waldorf's Cafe, South of OKC.
Good java, though the tobacco flavor spoiled the taste somewhat.
Farming villages, not worthy of the term 'hamlet,' didn't follow the normal rules of commerce, allowing local farmers and assorted drivers from anywhere, and sometimes from nowhere, to smoke.
Norman Auct and Iria Winner learned this firsthand, ah, secondhand- they weren't smoking.
Auct held all the trumps in his domino game, while Iria lasted a record time on a mechanized bull.
"Smell of a ride, soldier, ya almost stoled all my shells!" Said a young stroke survivor, handing over twelve-gauge ammunition to settle his debt.
"''Preciated, friend, I earned my share. Now I need a drink," said Winner, striding to the counter/bar
A head-shaved crowd whooped applause, crowning the twenty-four year old "Queen of the cafe cowboys!"
Flopping into her stool, the mercenary began conversation with the bald kid beside her.
"So I heard an Oz lackey stormed in here yesterday. What was that all about?"
The boy's pupils expanded, surprised to hear the news travel so quickly.
"Shoot, man, you know about that?"
Iria grinned.
"Yep, came in asking about one of our boys here, or his truck, mainly."
The boy sipped some Colombian breakfast, nodding at the waitress.
"What brings you up so early, Pal?"
The kid placed his cup down and grimaced at the taste.
"An old man's fields- my working dusk-till-dawn makes me more valuable than Mexicans, who should be suffering from hangovers for another few hours."
Iria smiled internally. Political correctness didn't exist in this corner of the world. Many people raised in the mainstream world would be shocked by these generalizations about racial groups; but here, the kid was just making an "honest" observation.
"Well, good for you, partner," Winner prided.
"Where did you say he was headed?"
The farm-boy sipped more java.
"I didn't say, but Jones did. Said the snoop back to the ranch he was asking about."
Iria glanced toward Auct; saw a pile of illegal ammo. High stakes game, perhaps.
"Ya'll fine here?"
Auct consumed his cup contents, placed the cup near the waitress.
"I'd like more coffee, thank you."
"Same amount of sugar?"
"Sure."
"A-ight." She smiled an idiot's grin.
New on the shift, Norm guessed.
Turning back to the game...
He raised his domino hand up- all trumps.
The detective allowed himself to drop his poker face this time, suspecting the other players would dismiss his smile.
"She does look a little funny, don't she?"
Norman agreed with the kind-faced ranch-owner, concealing the real meaning of the smile.
"Ain't her fault her daddy lost control of his side in the Med. It just happened, you know?"
Auct gave a nod. The Mediterranean War had many, countless, surges of violence, followed by instant annihilation of the antagonizing cell. Followed quickly by a radically different organized beast, who launched a novel attack, never thought of in any form by whole masses of people.
These attacks never involved interdictions of medical evacuation teams.
Meanwhile, the antagonists- no other name fit- disappeared, apparently satisfied with the breakdown of the Oz-supported United Nations Forces.
No one knows their agenda.
No one knows the identity or even ethic group[s] of their soldiers.
The bodies evaporated, leaving no traces of identity.
Weapons became piles of dust.
Articles of clothing: common.
Gear of secondary importance: common.
Personal items: common.
This group never issued a formal statement.
"It's sad- beat you again!"
Astonishing, Auct had the three opponents ammo-belts, ending the game[s]!
Norm rose from his seat, clipping belts across his waist.
"I guess you won't play for money, so I'll be seeing you," said Auct, turning from the table.
"Okay then, take care," replied the ranch owner, lazily waving at Norm, who paid his bill, helping the drowsy girl with the register.
Pulling out ice cream money, no doubt, thought Ms. Iria Winner, stepping out the door, like the all-knowing hero of Corporate Conquest. That movie made three years ago.
8
"Maverick Sun-Key Ranch. That was the ranch Maxwell was asking about," said Iria, pointing toward the brown field of livestock.
"Desolate. Like Mojave or Groom Lake, but no Air Force facilities, pity," stated Sally, an early partner of Iria in the bounty hunting business.
"That's what we're here for," said Iria.
"Abdul?" Abdul, eminent virus-writer and long-time partner of Iria and the Houston Trio, Sally, Nichol, and Walker, pivoted his head stiffly.
"Has a link with your brother, Sir. I followed Mr. Winner's farm-aid donation like no one else can, and it all turned up here."
Iria bowed her head, amused stoically of the untangling plot.
What could all this mean?
"Anything to connect Maxwell with the ranch?"
Abdul peered at his own fingernails.
"Circumstantial. Walker walked along the ranch perimeter, searching for physical clues. He found tire marks resembling a Jeep Liberty's between the ranch and the highway.
Maxwell seemed to have lost control of his car.
With Nichol's mechanical speech skills, I found that a United Nations owned Liberty is docked- for lack of a better term- in Baker's Repair Shop, in Muskogee
On my request, a police officer questioned the mechanic in charge. Seems that the dash exploded. Sounds stupid, but the mechanic was sincere, according to the badge," recounted the Arabian native, all matter-of-factly, until the final paragraph.
Iria asked one more question.
"You found a small out-of-the-way mechanic shop like that...how?"
"Simple," Abdul said proudly, "I am the greatest virus-writer of all time, I just opened up a lot of car part sites, turning over fire-walls like book covers and sifted through each site's mail.
The suspect's jeep wasn't that hard to find. Laughter ."
Iria said nothing, regretting the last question.
Boy.
"Is this lorry (truck) really out running me?" Detective WuFei floored the pedal, yet his conversion van lagged behind the awesome truck, on the last leg of the toll way.
"What is a bearcat, and why is that town the home of them?" That last booth really slowed the South African detective down, giving WuFei way too much time to read posters below the overpass.
"Doesn't matter- does a bearcat have antlers, as the name of the town implies?"
These idle thoughts, stop thinking them.
"How insane, I'm going to lose him," seethed WuFei, seeing the rig drop below a distant hill.
"How could this be possible?"
Abruptly: "How's the geopolitics?"
What happened?
"Quatre, Sir, how did you surprise me like that?" A virtual Quatre Winner figure appeared, lower body covered by fog, upper body dressed as a Turkish sultan, he sprayed from a bottle.
To say the very least, Heero was surprised.
"I didn't notice you were entering...how?"
Winner smiled the smile of victors, with arms crossed, he ascended to towering heights.
"Easy, every easy. You see, I have an optical link you don't know about."
Winner's VR eyes narrowed.
"No way! I have checked and disassembled all connections again and again: it's impossible."
Winner paced atop a sand dune, having grown legs to do so.
"But in the last five minutes? Look at your barcode scanner," demanded Winner, displaying one of his own (a pen).
Heero dropped into the real world.
"Hola! What is this?" Violet light emitting from somewhere pulsed on his scanner, which resembled a razor...but what was it reading?
Yuy hopped back into VR, demanding answers.
"So I left it on, it isn't reading nada."
Quatre scolded Yuy, saying...
"But it is, you remember how convincing our holograms get, don't you?"
Yuy told Winner to "go on."
"Would you believe they could fool your barcode reader?"
The hacker grunted.
"The air vent, check it out."
Yuy typed a message to his helicopter drone. It promptly searched for the intruding device.
"I don't see a transmitter," he stated, helpless.
Q: "Use your laser-ruler carefully."
He did.
H: "You have a robotic snake clinging to the vent ceiling, in the left corner!"
"Correct."
Yuy stuttered.
"B-but how did you sneak around my box (computer) without being painted (detected)?"
Arms akimbo, Winner explained more.
"Well, I loaded an AI probe into you inventory database- you didn't see that?"
"No."
"Didn't think so. Anyway, this probe is much like the one Abdul used to poke around that Hollywood mental health clinic. Auda and a few guys helped me mutate this virus for your system."
Yuy still had his eyes narrowed, but Quatre continued.
"The probe flowed through data streams, hiding among incoming files in the vampire search, until finally, it had built a link between you and me."
The Japanese hacker was impressed.
"How...biological."
Yeah, it did seem wormy.
"Yeah, it did seem wormy,"
Said Quatre, meaning the probe resembled a parasite in its actions.
"Impressive. Maybe more so than your dogfight in the Atlantic," the hacker acknowledged.
"Sure, I guess, but that dogfight was easy; the Fangs flew in two parallel formations, easy targets for the Proximity slug-canisters, mounted on the starboard and port sides of my fighter, so simple."
"I see what you mean," Yuy agreed, beating them was a whole lot easier than beating me."
Gomer McDune- So that's his name.
"Ma thought Gunner sounded violent," explained the ranch owner, pocketing his business pen slowly.
"I see," said Norman Auct, grinning with one mouth corner raised, damming a wave of laughter. Gomer, way out here in Mayberry!
"Thanks for the cattle, Gomer, every McDonalds in France owes you a debt of gratitude." Auct offered McDune his hand.
McDune accepted. The agreement was official, game-set-match.
The rancher believed he was supplying the French black market with genetically altered cattle- a crime on par with mass murder in France. But in reality, Auct was going to further alter the cows into the guise of missing oxen, receiving bounties without the hard labor.
"It's an honor to feed France the good stuff; what they don't know won't hurt them, huh?"
"Same to you, Pal," thought Auct, enjoying the designed irony again (and again and again...).
"Honor?" Asked the Frenchman, rhetorically. "Yes, I'll be bigger than that British Nelson spit ."
Public Library, Muskogee, OK
For one-forth of a century, Oklahoma universities have enjoyed the most powerful backbone-and still enjoy-of all civilian networks.
Today, Duo Maxwell immerses himself into the local net, routing through a police-training academy, into the Highway Patrol logs.
On the current logs, Duo sees a crudely animated highway, with digital cartoon traffic moving at over 100 kilometers an hour.
A beige truck, moving an impossible speed, switches off his toll pass, disappearing from the screen.
A specially marked Oz van trails at too far a distance behind.
"Chang, you fool, he saw you."
Stretching out his net-immersed hand, he reduces the traffic window, moves it aside.
Opens Baker's Repair Shop; "Paints" other browsers. Opens more windows. Duo adds captioning to the comet-like browser images.
He tags all he can.
Maxwell up-loads a Sentry.
"Is anyone hiding in the shadows, I wonder?"
Nowhere, North Texas
Lime-dust cyclones on a rural road, obscuring vision for biped humans' visual range to that of a snake's.
A truck plows through, how strange.
It's the Beige rig, pulling into a yellow-brown lot.
MY CORONA'S crew waved in this delivery machine.
The beast settled into an aluminum hanger, a short distance from the lime road. A minute later, it rumbled to a stop.
Two khaki-clad Corona crewmembers paddled to the semi, reaching the left side as the door spanned outward.
A man's posterior end slid from the cabin, rolled 180, and found footing.
Oddly, Afmad saluted.
The driver managed a wave, commenting on the weather.
Ms. Noin agreed with the man's comment, as a hairy guy handled a forklift.
"What kinda monkey is that?"
Noin answered the driver.
"He's a Yowie, native to Australia. Primatologists claim he's in their jurisdiction, but female Yowies have a pouch."
"Gawl, you have a bigfoot," said the driver, dismissing the woman's "mumbo-jumbo."
"Australia finds them ideal for black ops," Afmad added.
"Why's that?'
"They're so hard to find. So few myths exist about them," Afmad explained.
"Okay."
The driver parted the trailer doors, allowing Rashid to scoop the ECM (the jammer).
"Sasquatch in the northwest were meant to protect Boeing trade secrets from Australia," said Noin.
"Uh-huh."
"Some portions of the company have been taken into protective custody at Groom Lake."
"Alright."
"That's why more of the cool stuff is flying out of Edwards and Holloman AFB (Air Force Bases)."
"Yeah."
"Nevada doesn't have room for everything, you know."
"Sure."
A tilt-rotor V-22 Osprey, visible despite the dust, hovered above tossed-up sand.
Noin and Hill pulled the brims of their AREA 51 hats over their eyes, as the driver coughed, and the yowie ignored the storm.
This yellow-green checkered craft finished its descent.
The forklift was driven through the opened door rather quickly.
"Thank you, Mr. Jones. Don't go creating any myths about your bigfoot."
The two Corona crewmembers leapt into the cargo plane, leaving the rancher & driver to wonder- "who said that?"
9
Aircraft Hanger, OKC
Darkness fades in as Auct drives a cart beside the hanger. Good timing.
"Got a lead," he yelled, calling for the duo to come see him.
"Turned in a lot a bounties, made lots of money!"
The hanger door creaked open slowly, too narrow, and creaked again.
"Many thanks sigh ."
Auct ventured inward, sensing danger- twin destroyer-vampire shock-troopers are always danger- saw that the hanger-dwellers had set up a bargain priced space heater.
This propane-fed fire hazard- Auct bought it from a defective product store- heated canned soup, always a bargain.
"Nice stovetop," commented Norm, "But we gotta leave for the back roads of Northern Texas."
The two warriors exchanged displeased looks.
"Right, you got a lead," observed Catherine, disbelieving.
"Yes, I have a lead," insisted Auct, "Through a clever ruse and the right attitude I got all the answers I was looking for, and some easy bounties as well."
"I'm all packed," mumbled Trowa, even less convinced.
8
"Yes, it is true. Now, could you stop asking that?"
Norm chartered a Leer-jet for a trip to a nowhere airport in North Texas, and he thought he needed a cover story.
"Yes. The WNBA team in Montreal is looking for basketball talent in Paris, Texas- stop laughing! It is not funny that a man with a French accent wants to go to that town! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!
Catherine (speaking) is the top prospect for this women's basketball franchise. Norman is the scout. Trowa, the agent.
"A'ight, I just never had a scout from Montreal come in before," said the pilot, accustomed to routine, suspicious of the abnormal.
"But y'all seem a'ight. Let's fly."
That settled it, Auct and co. were in the lead.
After the flight, North Texas
"People find me extremely easy to talk to," gloated Norm, vectoring off the highway for a county road.
"Only a few more 'miles' as people say in this land. How do people do this- drive through this dust day-after -day?"
Trowa covered his fragile eyes as dust fell into the Pontiac convertible.
"Here it is, 'migos, the shack," pointed Auct, viewing "the shack," a giant aluminum farm hanger.
"Check it out," dared Auct, "But try not to disturb anything.
The two night-demons landed before the garage door as quick and silent as a barn swift.
"And before we knew it, we were shoved to Dunkirk," mumbled the Frenchman, awed by the speed of the burglars.
"No electronic countermeasures here," Cathy reported, after peeking in the barn, "But I did find something interesting."
Norm's eyebrows asked Cat what she meant.
"Could be a Yeti or something- footprint, I mean. Come take a look."
The detective was tugged to the scene before he could respond- yanked, really.
"Five toes. Sasquatch is said to have three, isn't it?"
Cathy replied that she didn't have a clue. Auct laughed at that, however, saying that print in itself was a major clue.
"Absolutely," she laughed, understanding.
"Jeepers roc, it must be sentient, or at least moderately intelligent, to have all those digits, don't you agree, Cathy?"
"Has to be, if it works for W.E."
"Oui, and stealthy."
"Neither Sasquatch nor Yeti fit this print," Trowa chimed, "Australia's Special Air Service Yowies fit the bill."
"SAS Whats?" Cathy's eyes locked on her creepy brother.
"I've heard campfire tales about old drilling wars in Antarctica. The Aussies gained rights to the Wendell Sea after ape-men stormed Argentine camps. At least that's what the boys said."
"How would your buds know about anything like that?" Catherine, what a skeptic!
"Would you believe they were there?"
"What do you mean, they um, were-"
Detective Auct intentionally stumbled in his speech, inviting the vampire to volunteer more information.
"Argentina contacted the clan through old ODESSA channels, and paid a bundle of NAZI loot for our services," he explained.
"Must have made too many campfire stories," commented Auct, inviting yet more informative yarn.
"Oh yeah, plenty. Personally, I doubt the ambush stories were true," Trowa was easy to interrogate.
"Oh, why's that?"
"Because ambushes by their very nature happen so fast. For example, one chap claims a yowie slashed him with an obsidian ax. No shattered fragments were recovered, though. Do you think it didn't fragment against a vampire skeletal frame?"
"I would never experiment the case."
The trio laughed. Cat abruptly stopped, mesmerized
"If yowies never leave behind evidence of their existence, how'd this print leave itself here?"
Auct knelt for a better look.
"Looks like the print is made up of dried mud. But it just doesn't rain here in July. What does your nose make of it, Catherine?"
Her brows tightened in concentration.
""Human urine. Carbonated beverage drinker."
Norm nodded.
"I see. The truck pulls in. (Given.) The yowie takes the ECM (assumed.) The driver takes a wiz. (Assumed.) And a helicopter or tilt-rotor carries away the counter-measure.. The yowie, even with its strength, couldn't have lifted the load without the forklift. The driver must leave the cab and walk to the trailer to open the door for the forklift. Sometime after opening the door or gate, he relieves himself. Why does the yowie step off the forklift?!" Auct madly thought through an explanation.
"Someone else must have been there, talking to the driver before the door was opened. He was held up from opening the back, and our yowie, if indeed he is, grows impatient, tries to open the door. Maybe the trailer had a lock, and the driver only closed the door[s], after our yowie did his deed. Yes, maybe our yowie opened the trailer and our driver closed the door and took a pee."
Trowa asked about the tilt-rotor/helicopter hypothesis.
"You didn't measure the sand depth in this parking lot, did you? It's thickest around the outer edges. I'm thankful this sand is lime. The print wouldn't have been left at all if a man hadn't wet sandy lime."
Eventually, Chang found the truck and driver, but he just didn't understand interrogation techniques like the French detective.
Abdul successfully followed altered records all the way to the jammer's final disposal.
Iria Winner didn't ask how Abdul did it; instead, she took a nap.
10
Duo Maxwell didn't nap; instead, he used WuFei as his eyes, seeing the empty trailer at the weigh station.
"No cargo, WuFei? What was his last shipment?"
Chang replied from the virtual station,
"The Daewoo. He says he delivered the Korean forklift."
Maxwell grinned broadly.
"So he did. You could re-enroll into a good criminology class, some new interrogation techniques are being taught at John Jay in New York, after all."
WuFei considered how to take that- was it constructive, or was Duo insulting him?
"Maybe someday, when true professionals are once again teaching," Is that a fair reply?
"You're right, absolutely. But ten years from now, I will be teaching, friend, and the many lecturers may settle into teaching."
Must have been the right thing to say.
"I'm guessing our driver used a back road to avoid the station, right?" WuFei agreed.
"He couldn't have taken the jammer much farther south than this, and he most likely didn't dump it on the highway. I'm arranging for a drug taskforce to handle the Oklahoma search. You can take Texas, chap. This is the time of year the Marijuana searches begin out here anyway."
North Texas is a big place for one van. Oh boy.
Cold people are in that Pontiac! One can react strangely to something so- well- strange. Chang's van rolled six times, ripped through a fence, and instantly killed an emu. His heavy head activated the car horn, attracting more Aussie birds.
The Pontiac convertible swerved to avoid the "median crossing" van- failing, but stopping before nailing an oak. (A fencepost stopped them.)
Wuf managed to hit an emergency button on his phone before falling out his open door.
"Two people in that car didn't have an IR signature."
He mingled with the emu crowd best he could, meekly hoping his visible IR signature, his heat, would blend with the birds.
"Why did I do that? Now two cold boogiemen are searching for me in pitch black, either wanting to take my insurance or my blood!"
One handful of twilight was left, but Brevet General Thurman Dynamics fit skeet shooting into his day.
"Pull," he said in a preoccupied tone.
The wee little oak bolt split air once it left the war-harp.
Thurman pulled his rifle skyward, prepared to nail this arrow that didn't care.
The Detroit native squeezed the trigger, missing by a hair.
"Drat!"
His pocket zapped him.
Duo Maxwell called.
"Hola, 'migo, wazzup?
Got a DEA sweep going on if you want to join, it involves your trouble at Space Command."
"Sure thing. [I am] going for the jump-jet now." He shut down the phone as he lifted his rifle.
"Pull!"
The green neon shaft divided, split in the center, and fell, as dusk became night.
"Hey! No need to run! If you're intoxicated I understand... I am French, after all!"
Many international players know that kind voice- Norman, a.k.a Rene Dupuis, retired French cop.
(Auct once spoke at a large Interpol seminar about terror-hunting clerical systems. WuFei was Maxwell's proxy.)
"Auct, is your ugly mug in this pitch black?"
"Is your pitch black mug in this pitch black, Chang?"
"Those are fighting words, 'migo!"
Auct was undeterred from approaching the mock-offended South African.
"Who are your cold friends?" Chang ventured dangerously.
"This," Norm gestured, "Is Sir Trowa, born of the old warrior nobility in his land."
Norm and Cat shared a silent laugh as Wuf flinched from the chilling handshake.
"And this lady is Catherine, twin of Trowa."
One can't recoil forever; they shook hands.
Auct's mother had poor circulation (therefore a little cold in the hands) and she trained young Rene Dupuis in her job in the morgue, so Auct was never disturbed by physical contact with vampires.
"Are they-?"
"No, Wuf, they aren't the living dead. They are a living nocturnal sub-species of humans, so to speak."
"They evolved-?"
"Vampires aren't natural. Don't be a fool."
Wuf adjusted his specs.
"What do you mean, I was born with HIV antibodies and cured the AIDS epidemic in my-"
"I know, but did you ever wonder who fed the Minotaur?"
"What?"
"The bull that lived in the giant labyrinth!"
It hurt to gulp. This is worse than the AIDS prevention "talks" on African radio.
"Slaves?"
"Your average day-walking human slave couldn't survive giving proper veterinary care to the massive Taurus in complete darkness. So, new slaves had to be bred. Quite the undertaking. A super race with what modern literary critics consider absurd shortcomings was created.
They shy away from crucifixes, they burn when drenched in holy water, silver also burns them. They recoil at the smell of wolf bane and garlic!"
Here come more foolish questions!
"How can such man-like inventions not have a pulse?"
Catherine objected to being called an invention.
"Hearts don't have to pump, stupid! A rotary engine-like flagella moves the blood around!"
"How-"
"Of coarse we breathe, idiot!"
"Why-?"
"Because I don't need you idly thinking stupid thoughts when you help run some searches for us tomorrow," Norm interrupted briskly, getting to the point that he wants something.
"The man is right. We are the oldest civilization on Earth, (vampires built the Sphinx for the Minoans!) and we killed our masters in a super coup, (the coup coincided with the Moses defection) and we now need your help if we are to survive through this century.
-TO BE CONCLUDED
(Note: "MASTER OF Quatre AND TIME" means: "Ruler of Industry and News Services" in 2020 slang.)