Notes: Once again, never been there. Any factual errors are therefore due to my utter lack of clairvoyance. Aside from the final third of Team Raptor, there's another minor character popping up in here just 'cause I like him, not because he adds anything to the plot. And hey, thanks, reviewers! What are the odds that four of us would be working on Max fics at the same time, huh?

Fayetteville was a small but bustling little town on the western side of the New River Gorge Bridge. It was collectively overjoyed to host Bridge Day every year, mostly due to the influx of over two hundred and fifty thousand spectators that came along with the four hundred-odd jumpers. Two hundred and fifty thousand people equaled a lot of money. Berto had been told by the hotel manager that the good citizens wouldn't mind a second or third day of jumping festivities, but legal matters prohibited that. Apparently, closing off the bridge and the highways leading to it was technically illegal, and it was only the good humor of the government that kept the six-hour annual celebration happening.

The government had a solid reason to be so magnanimous: Bridge Day pulled in a lot of money for more than just Fayetteville, and it attracted news media to West Virginia as a whole. The day was a public relations gold mine; it was, after all, the world's single largest extreme-sports event, and a great chance for Team Steel (and N-Tek) to grab a bigger audience.

But first he had to get to the trade show before it opened.

He parked the van as close to the hotel as he could, then ran through the ritual of setting the security system - one bombing was enough, thank you - before grabbing a doughnut and some last-minute items. He had exactly five minutes to get inside, get the booth ready, and look professional. No sweat.

Then his cell phone rang, startling him into letting go of the doughnut, and he spent a few seconds inadvertantly juggling it before finally catching it again. The phone was still ringing. He spent another few seconds trying to get it out of his pocket without dropping anything else, which was harder than he thought it would be. What he needed was an extra hand.

Berto solved the problem by shoving the doughnut in his mouth, pulling out the phone, balancing it on his shoulder, and removing the doughnut with his now-freee hand. That was a doctorate's worth of creative thinking, there. "Hello?"

"Berto," Jefferson's voice said. "Good morning."

"Oh, uh, hi, Jefferson." He paused outside the hotel's 'employee only' entrance and checked his watch; it was just getting to be morning in Fayetteville, so it was barely dawn in Del Oro. Even the most dynamic of CEOs were still asleep in their beds; but then, Jefferson never left the office, and as someone who used to be a permanent office fixture himself, Berto could appreciate that.

"How's the trade show going?"

Berto used his foot to wedge the door open, nearly losing the phone in the process. "Just heading in, sir. We set up the booth last night, so we're ready to go."

'So please don't ask where Josh is,' he added silently. This was not an authorized trip. Josh and Kat were supposed to be with him, at the trade show, selling N-Tek. That was why they'd set up the booth last night - because this morning would be wasted driving down to the rafting put-in at Hinton and back.

"Good, good." Jefferson - he couldn't bring himself to call the man "Jeff" - moved right along: "Where's Josh?"

Berto winced. He hated lying, which was probably a good thing, because he wasn't very skilled at it. Sure, he occasionally pulled one off, but on the whole, it was a loss. He didn't know how Josh had managed to lie to so many people for so long. Manuevering into the hotel proper, he tried, "Uh - he's busy, sir."

It was, of course, a paper-thin lie, delivered unconvincingly, and his boss saw through it immediately. In a harder tone, Jefferson repeated, "Where is he?"

Berto closed his eyes and told himself that only Josh could be blamed for this. "Whitewater rafting."

Jefferson was silent for a moment, then exhaled slowly. "And where's Kat?"

He sounded like he already knew the answer, so Berto said, "Doing the exact same thing."

"Those two are going to cost me a fortune in antacids," Jefferson muttered. "Well, it's too short-notice to send anyone else out today. I'll see if we can spare someone from Marketing for tomorrow, but you'll be solo until then. Handle it however you have to - just as long as the booth stays open. Got it?"

"Not a problem." That lie sounded almost passable.

Jefferson bid him good luck and hung up. Berto sighed and set everything down behind N-Tek's booth in the hotel confrence room, which was slowly filling with people. The booth had several television monitors and computers, all of which were running different footage, and it took even him some time to get them all started up. Then he had to set out all of the freebie items - mostly keychains and stickers with the N-Tek logo, along with some pens in assorted aqua and green flavors - and arrange everything else. This show was all about hyping N-Tek's new low-speed parachute, which was specifically designed for BASE jumping events like Bridge Day, although it would almost certainly wind up starring in unauthorized jumps in state parks out West. They also had some rappelling gear and rock-climbing equipment; rappelling from the bridge was a secondary event of the festival, and almost as popular as the jumping.

They did not have anything for running whitewater.

By the time he'd gotten it all squared away, the doors had opened and the first wave of Bridge Day tourists had begun wandering in. N-Tek, with its excellent booth location and well-known brand name, was popular. Very popular. And after the first dozen disgruntled extreme sports fans gave him an earful about the lack of extreme athletes, Berto was ready to do something drastic. All he needed was one more person asking him-

"Where's Team Steel?"

He looked up sharply, a nasty comment - as nasty as he could make it on short notice - ready to go, and found it replaced by a startled, "What -?"

Standing on the other side of the counter, wearing a sympathetic grin, was Carlie Hoffman, manager of Team Raptor. She was also wearing the tourist uniform - t-shirt, jeans, jacket, baseball cap - and it took Berto a second to recognize her. "They ditched you, didn't they?" she asked.

He blinked and tried to discreetly look behind her for Ethan or Trip, neither of whom he felt up to dealing with at the moment. "Ah, yeah. What are you doing here?"

"Being ditched," she said, matter-of-fact. "My 'boys' are whitewater rafting down the New River."

The implications of that sank in fast. Berto suspected that Josh would, after all, rather deal with one of their villains - even Woody Barkowski - than Ethan Raptor. "So are Josh and Kat."

They exchanged a knowing glance, and then Carlie shrugged and said, "Well, it's a big river. The bodies probably won't surface for a while."

At that, he had to laugh. Carlie was the only thing that kept Team Raptor from being kicked out of every event they attended, even more so than Ethan's obvious level of talent; she was smart, capable, and always knew exactly what to say to make everyone get along again. "Probably not," he agreed.

She clapped her hands together. "So. Short of sitting around and watching bad movies on the hotel TV, I have absolutely nothing to do. Need some help?"

"Actually, yes," he said, moving some of the stacks of N-Tek paraphenalia so that she could have a place to sit. Tomorrow would be a different story, maybe, but today her offer was a godsend.

She looked about as grateful as he was relieved, and moved quickly to take the proffered seat on the other side of the booth. "Great!" she said, flashing him a brilliant smile.

He returned the smile, beginning to see some spark of joy in this long day, and then heard another voice he recognized: "Hey, Martinez. There's a noticible lack of athletes around here."

"Orrin," Carlie said before Berto could say anything. "Good morning! How are you?"

LiveSport had won the broadcasting rights to Bridge Day this year, having snatched them away from ESPN in retaliation for the latter network stealing the X Games. Berto was not surprised to see that they'd sent Orrin Carter, who usually covered Team Steel and Team Raptor both. He had probably come to West Virginia looking for a vacation from all the freaky things that happened on a circuit where one team secretly consisted of professional counterterrorist spies. Berto fervently wished that Orrin would have a peaceful, freak-free broadcast this time, if only because such a broadcast meant that his life would be a little less frantic.

"Just fine," Orrin said, at once friendly and professional. "But Martinez - you still haven't explained where Team Steel has gotten to."

Berto grinned and started playing the PR game, despite the fact that Orrin was sans cameraman. He was getting pretty good at it, and on some days he thought he might even like it. "Don't tell anyone, but Team Steel is enjoying the local whitewater. An opportunity like this was too much to pass up."

Orrin nodded, amused. "And what about you, Ms. Hoffman? Fraternizing with the enemy?"

Carlie adjusted her glasses and looked aloof - for a moment. Then she broke into a grin as well. "Nope - demonstrating manager solidarity. Team Raptor is also enjoying the gorgeous river system."

Orrin's eyebrows rose sharply, no doubt as he came to the same conclusion that everybody else had, but all he did was turn to Berto and ask, "They are going to be back here for the big day, right? I can't do a live broadcast without the circuit's most prominent rising stars."

With an assurance he didn't entirely feel, Berto said, "Of course they are."