14
The door eased shut with help from its closer, towering over Kim at its fix on the very top, just as the messy blond strolled out, colored shawl and skull cap in hand. A carefree grin was pulled across his face; an untroubled peace moved his body smoothly out of the room. It was ironic, considering how the utter tension that wringed the region to its core.
Hershel seemed to be a brighter hue of her typical tanned self. She couldn't put her finger on--even place it to begin with. Something about Ron's sudden day trip down south stirred her, she could see it plain as day in her dark eyes.
"Pf..." the woman dropped her head--the mane of full, blonde hair seemingly overcoming her tight face smoothly--almost as if in embarrassment as her hips swayed side to side. "Nice to see someone hasn't lost it."
"Hasn't lost what--exactly...?" her brow kinked.
The blonde pulled her head up. "Oh--nothing." Hershel dismissed. "Forget it."
"Right..." she shook her head.
"Ms. Hershel." Yune's voice easily powered over the tiny squeak of the door. She turned, and the Korean's lean frame squeezed through the space easily. In his forehand carried a small ZIP disk, the plastic shell a shade of grayish blue.
"What?" the woman folded her arms across her chest, the typical tan flushing her lighter features once again, looking plainly as usual.
"Regardless of what some team members think about this," he said as the door clicked shut, "I'd like your guys back at HQ take a look at this disk."
"Yune!" she frowned severely.
"Get over it, Kim." He shook it off, his almond eyes thin slits.
"What's on it?" the woman asked.
"That's just it." The Asian said. "We don't know. The only reason we're--I mean--*I'm* bothering is because Kim snatched this from Drazen himself."
"Drazen!" the blonde's eyes were wide. "Are you positive?"
"Straight from his affects back in Prague." Yune nodded. "Take a look at it."
"Right." The woman nodded just as she approached him, open palm taking the lead. The corners of Kim's mouth threatened to drop beyond her chin as the Korean flipped the disk to the blonde without a second thought. The shell of grayish blue disappeared behind a flap of the business jacket. "I'll have the boys on it ASAP."
"Good." The Asian sighed. "The sooner, the better. Oh yeah--you know Tara's leaving for home this afternoon, right?"
"Of course." The tanned Barbie nodded. "I remember the phone call earlier this morning. I'll be sure she catches her plane."
"Great."
"I think you made a good decision, Yune." Kim noted.
"I agree." He said. "But I wouldn't be you, if I came back in a canvas bag though."
"Yeah..." she chuckled softly. "Tara... she loves you more than anything."
"She does." He nodded.
"Wish I met someone like that."
"Don't be too sure that you haven't found him yet." Yune said simply. "I mean, your special someone has to be someone who knows you inside-and- out, cares about you, and would stick his head through a noose for you too. Am I right?"
"Yeah." She nodded.
"Then maybe your dream man isn't too far out of reach as you think." A corner of his thin lips pulled them into a slight smirk.
"Yeah." She folded her arms. "Who might that be?"
"Don't be dense, Kim."
"Right..." Hershel swayed that full mane side-to-side as she bowed her head gently. "Can we get back on track please?"
"Oh--right." She shook sense back into her head. "Of course."
"Good." Hershel's hips moved oddly with each step. Her pumps sinking awkwardly into the flush carpet upon every landing as she made her way toward the laptop. "Let's begin."
"What's our next move?" The bed made a squeak as her rump met the bedspread. Yune pressed his back against the orange wall, the good hand stuffed into the complementary pocket.
"Here's a small SITREP of the situation:" the Barbie's voice powered over her fingers, dancing erratically on the keys. "As you have heard this morning, one of our F-15 jets had been shot down over the Negev Desert, quite a few miles east of Har Ramon."
"What was it doing out there in the first place?" she asked.
"According to the intelligence," the woman explained, "there was credible evidence that a VSA convoy was on its way south, possibly to Elat, but we can't be certain."
"Okay, but why the need for a bombing?" Yune asked. "You could have just pulled a few units from Philadelphia Road."
"We tried that a few weeks ago," the woman explained, "just before Drazen's meeting with the Seniors. We were lucky to get two men back alive. Rather than relive past failures, we wanted to tail them back to their GHQ and assess a better course of action."
"And if you couldn't," it just clicked in her mind, "you'd drop the bomb on them. Take out Drazen and the rest of his cronies at the same time, right?"
"Yes," the mane of blonde bobbed, "that was the original idea at the time. You see ever since the VSA had been formed, they have purchased mass quantities of scrap material. One of our sources stated that the Major had some huge plan up his sleeve, possibly a huge siege weapon of some kind, ever since talks of the Temple Mount turnover had begun."
"I thought that was a few days ago." The Asian's brow kinked. "I saw the huge story about it back in the Czech Republic. Didn't understand a damn word they were saying, mind you, but I got the gist of it."
"No," the woman shook that mane gently, "talks had been going on before that."
"How long?" she asked.
"I'd say a little less than a month ago." The woman said. "I was completely against it at the start, and so were a majority of the public. Pf--it's probably what started this whole separatist movement in the first place, if you think about it. And in fact, that's about the time the VSA had come to light."
"Right." She nodded. "During that time, back stateside, law enforcement and military were searching the continental shelf for the last Drazen's body. Search came up empty, and now we know why."
"Sure do."
"All right." Kim said. "Just tell me what to do."
The keyboard let out a final clack under the Barbie's stabbing finger. The legs of the chair gently scraped against the carpet as the woman pushed herself about an arm's reach away from the laptop, to the right. The LCD shined in a brilliance of dry, warm colors; a large field of deep blue to the left, the rightmost edge sloping gently against the larger field of tans, speckled lightly with greens with a small oblong oval of deeper blue a couple of centimeters away from a superimposed dark line.
"Here is the deal." The Barbie said. "This is a current map of Israel, courtesy of your Webmaster back stateside."
Suddenly, several red spots had blossomed out of the image like zits on a pizza-face back at Middleton High, and half of the zits bled these thin, little streamers that trailed their way south into the arid desert. A section of each line flared out about half its width near the very end of the streamers, the very end a sharp point.
"These red spots indicate the latest suicide bombings and VSA strikes." The woman explained. "These arrows indicate the rouges' routes of travel, according to US satellite surveillance and eyewitness reports."
"But how are they getting this scrap from?" she asked.
"Whatever they cannot purchase, they pillage from the refuge camps during a strike." The woman explained simply. "And they all take it down south to somewhere with in the country. The tips of the arrows indicate the convoys' last known sighting. And as you know, the VSA GHQ has to be somewhere within that area. I want you guys to find it as soon as Sadie gets back."
"Right." She nodded. "And then what?"
"Did you find your little *present* in your closet?" the woman asked.
"If you mean that cannon?" she rolled her eyes. "Yeah. What's that got to do with anything?"
"Under the bench," the woman said simply, "you'll find a locator card, the very ones used in nuclear warheads. Plug in the wires attached to the nine-volt, and we'll do the rest."
"Rodger that." She nodded.
***
"This sucks!" Ben cursed, as he pressed the cloth to the glossy eye of the mechanical beast that took its perch atop a mere Hummer.
He was at a loss. Everyone else got the cool directives, either beating the crap out of some smart ass Muslims in the Gaza or to bring a total war down upon a terrorist stronghold. But not him--oh no sir! His job was simply to keep watch over the armory, make sure that no one took more ammo than what they needed for their duty... that they never did.
"Don't get so down there, Ben." The strange voice shot up from the vehicle below, through the little crack between the beast's platform and the sheet metal of the roof, in its entire omnipresent mystique. "Every dog has its day. Just like this dog will have with a cute, American SUV!"
"What is it with you and that car?" he asked.
"Me...?" the overly eager voice in car said rhetorically. "I... have no idea. Maybe it's for posterity's sake. Just to say that I fucked Sadie, the one and only talking SUV on the other side of the globe!"
"Uh... huh..." Ben kinked an eyebrow; furiously scrubbing at the mineral spots caked on the glass. "Can a SUV even physically do that?"
"I'm not sure." The weird thing replied. "But I'm sure me and her will work something out."
"And how would you?" he smirked. "Somehow?"
"DETAILS--DETAILS!!" the vehicle yelled. "What is it with you humans and triviality? I swear! It's like your paralyzing obsession! Why can't you just forgo all your trifling and inconsequentiality, and just live a little? How you humans got this far is even beyond my processing capability."
"So is this the part where you and all the toaster ovens take over the planet, and enslave us?" he chuckled.
"Don't be ridiculous!" the vehicle exclaimed. "Washing machines are *so* better than the measly toasters!"
"But what if a machine sympathizer gets hungry?" he laughed.
"No idea. But I'm sure he'll get all the water he needs."
"This is true." He nodded.
A faint rumbling rolled in from the nearest set of thick, steel doors, accompanied by a sharp, irregular creaking, like the squeaky wheel on a shopping cart. Out of the shade, came out a large, metal cart with a shinny flat surface, its area occupied by a large piece of some kind of artillery. Pieces of it were strewn about its circumference, wires and chunks of it dangling out as if it had been eviscerated in the span of a few short hours.
"What the heck is that?" he said aloud.
"You're asking me?" the vehicle replied. "I don't even have eyes."
"I too have the same question."
Ben's heart jumped in his chest at the voice, a deep baritone accented with the intonation of a Slavic.
"Major Drazen?" he called gently into the dark veil of the shadow.
"The very same." The young man stepped slowly into the light, the differential of light and shadow playing havoc on his scarred, twisted visage. Yet the light gently smoothed over those sharp, angled shards that dug into the cap of his head. The sunken orb of white shifted strangely in the light.
Velcro ripped as the hideous man tore open a flap on one of his chest pockets. Two fingers angled their way inside the thin pouch at the back knuckle, making little, shifting bumps in the olive polyester. The gloved wrist eased back, and his two fingers came out with a small syringe. Inside the glossy cylinder glowed a green tab, every cc filled to the brim with diabolical meanings.
He rolled back the "cuff" of his BDU, above the greasy crook of his arm, pressing the cloth neatly atop his mangled shoulder. The flesh was slashed and scared oddly by the shards and slivers of metal, gleaming in the light like grains of sand in the sun
--Ben felt his throat constrict as the Major easily jammed the green tab into the flesh of the arm, the split second the thin needle was free of its orange cap. And the Major didn't even flinch one bit as he thumbed the plunger cumbersomely, putting deliberate action into it certainly. The cylinder circled its entry point at an angle by the metal head guiding hand, a slow, stomach-churning action that made him want to gag.
"Still nothing!" his superior cursed. "*Dreck! * The first, fresh batch the doctor cooks up, and still!"
"The Goliath drug still not working?" the vehicle inquired.
"It works... *uh*--fine!" the Major unrolled himself from the hunch, the machine gun letting out a stifled rattle as it bounced against his chest with a certain *tap*. "Damn doc isn't mixing enough adrenaline."
"Amazing this stuff sells like hot cakes." The SUV noted. "After the first case of aneurysm and heart failure, you'd think they'd ease up. But they don't. They just want tab after tab, drag after drag, and sniff after sniff. It doesn't compute."
"People are stupid!" Ben grunted.
"Exactly." The Major affirmed. "They'll eat a pig's ass if you cook it right."
"And I heard they don't eat much pork around here." The vehicle said.
"They typically don't." the needle slipped cleanly out of the metal heads arm, leaving a little dot of crimson atop the puncture. "But then again, how can something so bad taste so right?"
The floor let out a little *ting*, as small as a pin drop. The syringe rolled gently upon the floor, coming to rest at the flank of his boot.
"Not that it matters to us." The metal head continued. "As long as the degenerates keep filling our coffers for it, we'll gladly supply it. And to think, this little drug had a simple beginning as my muscle supplements."
"Those punks across the fence will be so weak, they won't know what hit them."
The words resounded from beyond the veil of the shadow, just out of the halogen's reach. Little taps plodded in a slower drawl, gaining momentum as a dark figure approached them, the humanoid black in a shade of gray. An olive color slowly bled out from the gray, taking form of polyester while the shade caressed the face just as the person stepped out. A brown cap of puffy curls sat atop the man's head; a dark, pronounced circle outlined one of the eye sockets thickly.
"The morons still think we're Columbians!" Shia laughed. "Sympathizing with them against the insidious, Zionist war machine. Do they honestly expect that they can defeat us? Ha! It's laughable!"
"Indeed it is, my friend." The metal head nodded. "Is the 'copter ready for our next sortie?"
"No, Mr. U." the curly top shook side to side. "The painter had finished up on our monogram on the tail. The crews are reloading the pods, and the hellfire missiles are being wheeled out of the armory as we speak. Besides, our searches and traces haven't even come close to pinpoint a possible location yet. But don't worry, Sir, we'll have our fun soon enough."
"Enjoy the luxury and comfort of your shadow while you can, Bin-Mok." The Major smirked wickedly. "Your curtain will fall soon enough...."
"I hear that." Shia smirked. "Wish you didn't have to take it out on that German chick back at the hotel though. She's hot."
"She can have all the yellow babies she wants to." The Major's grin dropped. "Nothing more than a weak, little girl, barely loose from her mother's apron strings, if you ask me. But I think I learned her a good lesson in respect!"
"Hope you didn't bash her head in too badly." Shia shrugged.
"Like the Major gave you that nice shiner?" the vehicle chuckled. "I heard he gave you a real nasty lick on the noggin too."
The curly top deflated as the face below it frowned, his shoulders drooped.
"Don't you have that Ethiopian to tend to?" he asked.
"She's at the Wailing Wall today." The curly top angled a bit. "Doing some good old fashioned praying, when that little scum, Mark isn't hitting up on her. Just *give me that old... time... religion--and that's good enough for me*."
"Sad!" he said indignantly, his balled fists on his waist with his elbows angled out in a jaunt, as he looked over the men around him. "Israelis nowadays are content, either praying or lounging away behind the fence, while the country is ripped away a little more each day. And if they're not going to fight for their land, then we sure as hell will!"
"Ah..." the twisted cheeks of the metal head yanked the corners of his lips up, "now that's the kind of talk I like to hear. It's music!"
"And that's why the convoy brought this little baby." The curly top gave the disembowel tin a hearty tap. From the deep of its barreled shell, It let out a hollow *clang*. "A miracle the boys found this in the plane wreck."
"So what lovely gift did you plan to tithe to the cause?" the Hummer asked.
"Well...." The mass of curls atop the head shifted back a bit. Shia's boyish features moved along its length, his eyes tracing every curve and every line about the shell. "It's a bomb! How else can I explain it?"
"Looks a bit like a Bunker Buster to me." The metal head said.
"Indeed, the warhead is of a surface-piercing design," the boyish man explained, "but the team has found something interesting."
"What exactly?" he asked.
"Our little NEST team was brought out in case it was a nuke," Shia continued, "but our assessment of the core brought about no readings of weapons-grade plutonium whatsoever. But we did find a reddish substance in the core where the plutonium should have been."
"You don't mean--?"
A thin, pressed line drew across the curly top's face, eyes beaming the grimace through his squint.
"Red Mercury." The curly top nodded. "I do mean it."
"Neutron bomb!" the SUV exclaimed. "Oh--nasty shit!"
"Just be grateful that we found Cohen's brainchild, and not some cheeky Arab." The Major's odd face was expressionless... or was it? He couldn't tell.
"Okay..." The vehicle said in a grim, slow drawl. "Now that we have our first *real* bomb, what the heck are we going to do with it?"
"Don't worry about that, Matt." Uzi pulled the remnants of his lips into a small, demoniac grin. "I think I have a good idea..."
"And just what would that be?" the Hummer pressed.
"Patience, my friend." The Major dismissed. "When Solomon Rex's complete, all will be right with the world."
***
"Okay now, Ron..."
The blond boy sighed as he slapped the dark yarmulke squarely on the back of his skull, just where it began to slope to the back of his head. Sadie's nagging voice swept away briefly as he carefully fitted the crown of his talis around his neck, his heart tugging painfully through the thin flaps of wool.
Squarely ahead, towering over him stood the holiest remnant of all Jewish synagogues in a giant, undulated maze of familiar stone. Festooned with tufts of dark green blades in the tight, ragged cracks between cubic tons of rock. A few blades reached out above the people pressed at the wall, seemingly returning the joyful, tearful embrace of its worshipers, many of whom probably were there the first time.
*It's been so long...* his mind whispered behind the tear brimmed eyes. Oh how he wanted to cry.
"Are you listening to me, golden boy?" the vehicle nagged him.
"HEY!!" a leg pocket of his jerked toward the ground, and he felt little hands grasping at him through the wool as a weighty mass wiggled its way up his body, taking a seat on his shoulder.
"Rufus!" he exclaimed, gently wrapping his palm around his buddy's naked body. His elbow made a little *click* as he unwrapped his arm from his body, lowering his buddy to a tolerable height and distance away from his shawl. "You got to be careful around this talis! I've had this since I was thirteen, and they don't come cheaply!"
"He-huh!" the mole rat looked at him with dark, beady eyes. "Sorry...."
"Just be careful next time." He drooped his hand even further, closer to his leg. The heel of his thumb worked the flap up, and easily he dropped his little buddy inside the makeshift burrow. "Okay?"
"Hmm--K!" the rat squeaked.
"Slurpster Stoppable!" the vehicle exclaimed. "Have you been paying me any attention?"
"No!" He shook his head indignantly--only to freeze in the midst of a shake. "I mean--yes!"
"Whatever Ron." Sadie dismissed. "Just so you know, I'll be back here-- *exactly* here--by sunset. Don't wonder too far away."
"Pf...!" he shrugged it off. "Like there's any place around here, where a guy like me can go without getting beaten half to death!"
"Ron!"
"Yeah--fine!" he crossed his arms, staring daggers into the invisible pilot at the steering wheel. "I'll be right here!"
"Good." The floor on the driver's side let out a stifled squeal of air, and the shifter lever jerked back a couple of notches. "Since I might be running a few errands for the group back at Tel Aviv, I might be a little later than expected. But whatever happens, don't leave this area."
"Gotcha, Sadie." He nodded. "We'll be here."
"Good."
The driver's side floor let out a little squeak, and the red-and-yellow Sport Utility Vehicle pulled away from him smoothly. A dark plume of exhaust swirled out the pipe briefly just before it dissolved into the fresh, Mediterranean air as Sadie let her throttle open a little more. The automatic beast became nothing more than a speck in the hazy, green distance.
"Note to self:" he thought aloud. "Call Doc Freeman. Have him reprogram the sass out of the car."
"Hmm!" his buddy jiggled a bit in its burrow. "Yep!"
His head shot up; his hair barely catching up as it bobbed in the air for only a moment. Circling in from behind him came forth a girlish giggle, soft and full of feminine giddy in its alto timbre.
"Funny Americans..." the voice laughed, thickly accented with foreign intonation not that of an Israeli, "and their guzzling utility vehicles."
A piece of talis pinned to his shoulder with pointed fingers, he carefully turned around on his heel, his other shoulder sensing the other side of the wool fabric still in its place. Standing before him stood a woman of medium build, her skin dark as a black with thinned, frizzy hair laid indirectly upon a talis of her own, the two of the longest fringes teasing at the ground with every gentle sway.
"Uh..." his mind was at quite a loss for words, his mandible agape from the top row of teeth, "Hi...?"
"Hmm!" he could hear his buddy quickly grunt. "Oh brother!"
"What's wrong?" Her thicker lips pulling into a flattering smile. "Not seen an Ethiopian before?"
"Well--" he smirked sheepishly. "I--uh..."
"Do not worry, dear friend." She strolled gracefully up to him in her mules, the wrinkles of her summer dress rolling with every step. "I am merely a descendent from Jacob, like yourself I assume."
"Really?" he blinked. "Which tribe?"
"I couldn't tell you directly." She smiled sheepishly back. "Not even my father back in Africa knows. All we really know is that we are of Jewish blood and origin, since we have been reading Torah for as far back as I can remember."
"One of the many lost tribes?" he inquired.
"Possibly, yes." She nodded. "For the good book says, 'Behold, O my people, I will open your graves, and cause you to come up out of your graves, and bring you into the land of Israel. And ye shall know that I *am* the Lord..."
"Ezekiel 37..." he said.
"Exactly." She smiled warmly; the sheer joy within her seemed to beam from out her dark eyes. "And on that day, May 14th, 1948, the good Lord came through with his promise. Israel had been restored to her land! We have a place to call our own--finally--after so many years!"
Chills ran down his spine at the thought, intense surges that shook him to the soul. Who would have thought, that words inscribed so many years before finally had come to pass merely a generation ago? He hadn't thought of such things before, when he had lived in west side of the city, when every day of his young life spent here was mere triviality. And yet now, that he finally was reunited with the Promised Land, lost days of old became bitter with regret.
"Yeah..." he pressed his lips together firmly, grimily. "I know..."
"Why the long face, my friend?" she angled her round head, the frizzy hair shifting its mass to the complementary side. "These are great times to be alive!"
"True..." he nodded. "Wish I spent my time better last time..."
"Do not worry, friend." She smiled brightly, genuinely. "Herod's temple may be nothing more than a wall nowadays, but I'm sure the spirit of the Lord still resides there, either atop the sacred mountain Mariah, or buried deep within the rock. Join me there in prayer, will you?"
"Now?" a piece of his brow kinked.
"Of course." She nodded. "You brought that talis to this sacred land not for nothing, did you?"
"Nope." He carefully folded his arms behind the thin wool. "Sure as heck didn't."
"Then come on, my American brother!" his heart tingled gently as her delicate fingers curled around the meat of his palm, trickling through the trunk of his body. "Let us take our leave to the holy place!"
His teeth nearly avoided a face full of dirt, stumbling over his own feet as the girl took off for the green freckled wall.
***
Uzi was greatly pleased.
"Benjamin," he said as he gazed at the monitor, its soft glow crowning the peak of the man's shoulder, "you never told Avi you were a computer whiz."
"Avi, sir?" the head of cropped, dark curls turned toward him.
"Oh--I believe I've heard you refer to him as the scarred man." He explained.
"From what I've picked up on the vibes here, Sir," Benjamin replied, "it's simple don't ask, don't tell. Am I wrong to think that?"
"Ah..." he nodded contently, "you are a quick study after all!"
The cropped curls turned back around to its natural angle, perpendicular to the wide, soft light just a foot away.
"I try my best, Sir." The curls bobbed gently.
"That has yet to be proven, Ben." He angled his good arm behind his back, the heavier of the two drawn across his chest at a gentle angle by a sling as though it were a drapery. "Are all the active squads equipped properly?"
"Yes, Sir." The curls bobbed again. "A TAR-21 for every available man with Jericho pistols for backup. Extra magazines a plenty."
"What about Matt?"
"His MK-19 fully loaded, and lenses polished." Ben continued. "And your Apache Longbow, as of now, is officially combat ready."
"Ah..." he smiled, "above and beyond the call of duty, I see. And what of your current assignment?"
"The ciphers protecting NORAD are officially cracked." The soldier's shoulders shrugged. "And I'm relaying the target data now. But sir, why on earth are we tracking a satellite for?"
"The *shikse* and her bumbling buffoon may be out of the picture," he said grimly, "but I know that Bin-Mok is still in the mix. And if I know that little Yellow Devil, I know he'll use every trick in the book just to stop me. Everything's up to suspect and we're not taking chances anymore! We hit them fast and we hit them hard!"
"But sir?" Ben protested softly. "Couldn't we search the last known area, set up a perimeter and whatnot?"
"Knowing him," he shook his head gently, gravity tugged at the metal shards fiercely in his head, "he and that Nazi will be long gone. Once that satellite's down and out, he'll slip up. He'd have to."
"True." The soft light moved upon the curls to the back of his head, and back to the front as Ben nodded. "And if they're stupid enough to still be at Dan Panorama, we've set up a bug in the hotel's switchboard, just in case."
"Good thinking!" his brow perked. "Where's our bird at as of now?"
"Our brand-spanking-new SR-71 is currently in the Exosphere, over Jerusalem right now. Locked on target, with a Pegasus ASAT missile armed and ready."
"Lucky we got that thing out the hangar door at all." He smiled brilliantly. "Tell our boy to fire at will, and RTB upon confirmation."
"Yes sir!"
His lips parted for a big, toothy grin as the whiz reached for the radio; his heart leaped for joy as the man relayed the coordinates through the proper channel. It would take only mere seconds for the weak light show to commence, all for the people of Jerusalem.
Oh how the people particular of that city never accepted him, nor accepted his work merely for their betterment. The Muslim hated him with violent prejudice; the religious Jew dismissed him as one of many loons, a borderline heretic, keeping aloof from his grand benevolence. Yet soon, they would come to realize that it was a big mistake, possibly the biggest mistake since they continued to pretend that Mt. Mariah was a sacred Islamic holy site.
"And even if they don't come to grips with that simple fact," he chuckled softly, "then we're just going to have to make them. Don't you agree with that, Ben?"
"I'm sorry, Sir?" the curly haired man swung the closest arm out behind him, letting it come to rest on the back of his chair. Using it as leverage, he moved his chest around as far as it would comfortably go. "I just got off the horn."
"Oh--!" he blinked. "It's nothing. Never mind."
"Yes sir..." the man's curly head sank gently between the rising shoulders, "whatever you say."
The door eased shut with help from its closer, towering over Kim at its fix on the very top, just as the messy blond strolled out, colored shawl and skull cap in hand. A carefree grin was pulled across his face; an untroubled peace moved his body smoothly out of the room. It was ironic, considering how the utter tension that wringed the region to its core.
Hershel seemed to be a brighter hue of her typical tanned self. She couldn't put her finger on--even place it to begin with. Something about Ron's sudden day trip down south stirred her, she could see it plain as day in her dark eyes.
"Pf..." the woman dropped her head--the mane of full, blonde hair seemingly overcoming her tight face smoothly--almost as if in embarrassment as her hips swayed side to side. "Nice to see someone hasn't lost it."
"Hasn't lost what--exactly...?" her brow kinked.
The blonde pulled her head up. "Oh--nothing." Hershel dismissed. "Forget it."
"Right..." she shook her head.
"Ms. Hershel." Yune's voice easily powered over the tiny squeak of the door. She turned, and the Korean's lean frame squeezed through the space easily. In his forehand carried a small ZIP disk, the plastic shell a shade of grayish blue.
"What?" the woman folded her arms across her chest, the typical tan flushing her lighter features once again, looking plainly as usual.
"Regardless of what some team members think about this," he said as the door clicked shut, "I'd like your guys back at HQ take a look at this disk."
"Yune!" she frowned severely.
"Get over it, Kim." He shook it off, his almond eyes thin slits.
"What's on it?" the woman asked.
"That's just it." The Asian said. "We don't know. The only reason we're--I mean--*I'm* bothering is because Kim snatched this from Drazen himself."
"Drazen!" the blonde's eyes were wide. "Are you positive?"
"Straight from his affects back in Prague." Yune nodded. "Take a look at it."
"Right." The woman nodded just as she approached him, open palm taking the lead. The corners of Kim's mouth threatened to drop beyond her chin as the Korean flipped the disk to the blonde without a second thought. The shell of grayish blue disappeared behind a flap of the business jacket. "I'll have the boys on it ASAP."
"Good." The Asian sighed. "The sooner, the better. Oh yeah--you know Tara's leaving for home this afternoon, right?"
"Of course." The tanned Barbie nodded. "I remember the phone call earlier this morning. I'll be sure she catches her plane."
"Great."
"I think you made a good decision, Yune." Kim noted.
"I agree." He said. "But I wouldn't be you, if I came back in a canvas bag though."
"Yeah..." she chuckled softly. "Tara... she loves you more than anything."
"She does." He nodded.
"Wish I met someone like that."
"Don't be too sure that you haven't found him yet." Yune said simply. "I mean, your special someone has to be someone who knows you inside-and- out, cares about you, and would stick his head through a noose for you too. Am I right?"
"Yeah." She nodded.
"Then maybe your dream man isn't too far out of reach as you think." A corner of his thin lips pulled them into a slight smirk.
"Yeah." She folded her arms. "Who might that be?"
"Don't be dense, Kim."
"Right..." Hershel swayed that full mane side-to-side as she bowed her head gently. "Can we get back on track please?"
"Oh--right." She shook sense back into her head. "Of course."
"Good." Hershel's hips moved oddly with each step. Her pumps sinking awkwardly into the flush carpet upon every landing as she made her way toward the laptop. "Let's begin."
"What's our next move?" The bed made a squeak as her rump met the bedspread. Yune pressed his back against the orange wall, the good hand stuffed into the complementary pocket.
"Here's a small SITREP of the situation:" the Barbie's voice powered over her fingers, dancing erratically on the keys. "As you have heard this morning, one of our F-15 jets had been shot down over the Negev Desert, quite a few miles east of Har Ramon."
"What was it doing out there in the first place?" she asked.
"According to the intelligence," the woman explained, "there was credible evidence that a VSA convoy was on its way south, possibly to Elat, but we can't be certain."
"Okay, but why the need for a bombing?" Yune asked. "You could have just pulled a few units from Philadelphia Road."
"We tried that a few weeks ago," the woman explained, "just before Drazen's meeting with the Seniors. We were lucky to get two men back alive. Rather than relive past failures, we wanted to tail them back to their GHQ and assess a better course of action."
"And if you couldn't," it just clicked in her mind, "you'd drop the bomb on them. Take out Drazen and the rest of his cronies at the same time, right?"
"Yes," the mane of blonde bobbed, "that was the original idea at the time. You see ever since the VSA had been formed, they have purchased mass quantities of scrap material. One of our sources stated that the Major had some huge plan up his sleeve, possibly a huge siege weapon of some kind, ever since talks of the Temple Mount turnover had begun."
"I thought that was a few days ago." The Asian's brow kinked. "I saw the huge story about it back in the Czech Republic. Didn't understand a damn word they were saying, mind you, but I got the gist of it."
"No," the woman shook that mane gently, "talks had been going on before that."
"How long?" she asked.
"I'd say a little less than a month ago." The woman said. "I was completely against it at the start, and so were a majority of the public. Pf--it's probably what started this whole separatist movement in the first place, if you think about it. And in fact, that's about the time the VSA had come to light."
"Right." She nodded. "During that time, back stateside, law enforcement and military were searching the continental shelf for the last Drazen's body. Search came up empty, and now we know why."
"Sure do."
"All right." Kim said. "Just tell me what to do."
The keyboard let out a final clack under the Barbie's stabbing finger. The legs of the chair gently scraped against the carpet as the woman pushed herself about an arm's reach away from the laptop, to the right. The LCD shined in a brilliance of dry, warm colors; a large field of deep blue to the left, the rightmost edge sloping gently against the larger field of tans, speckled lightly with greens with a small oblong oval of deeper blue a couple of centimeters away from a superimposed dark line.
"Here is the deal." The Barbie said. "This is a current map of Israel, courtesy of your Webmaster back stateside."
Suddenly, several red spots had blossomed out of the image like zits on a pizza-face back at Middleton High, and half of the zits bled these thin, little streamers that trailed their way south into the arid desert. A section of each line flared out about half its width near the very end of the streamers, the very end a sharp point.
"These red spots indicate the latest suicide bombings and VSA strikes." The woman explained. "These arrows indicate the rouges' routes of travel, according to US satellite surveillance and eyewitness reports."
"But how are they getting this scrap from?" she asked.
"Whatever they cannot purchase, they pillage from the refuge camps during a strike." The woman explained simply. "And they all take it down south to somewhere with in the country. The tips of the arrows indicate the convoys' last known sighting. And as you know, the VSA GHQ has to be somewhere within that area. I want you guys to find it as soon as Sadie gets back."
"Right." She nodded. "And then what?"
"Did you find your little *present* in your closet?" the woman asked.
"If you mean that cannon?" she rolled her eyes. "Yeah. What's that got to do with anything?"
"Under the bench," the woman said simply, "you'll find a locator card, the very ones used in nuclear warheads. Plug in the wires attached to the nine-volt, and we'll do the rest."
"Rodger that." She nodded.
***
"This sucks!" Ben cursed, as he pressed the cloth to the glossy eye of the mechanical beast that took its perch atop a mere Hummer.
He was at a loss. Everyone else got the cool directives, either beating the crap out of some smart ass Muslims in the Gaza or to bring a total war down upon a terrorist stronghold. But not him--oh no sir! His job was simply to keep watch over the armory, make sure that no one took more ammo than what they needed for their duty... that they never did.
"Don't get so down there, Ben." The strange voice shot up from the vehicle below, through the little crack between the beast's platform and the sheet metal of the roof, in its entire omnipresent mystique. "Every dog has its day. Just like this dog will have with a cute, American SUV!"
"What is it with you and that car?" he asked.
"Me...?" the overly eager voice in car said rhetorically. "I... have no idea. Maybe it's for posterity's sake. Just to say that I fucked Sadie, the one and only talking SUV on the other side of the globe!"
"Uh... huh..." Ben kinked an eyebrow; furiously scrubbing at the mineral spots caked on the glass. "Can a SUV even physically do that?"
"I'm not sure." The weird thing replied. "But I'm sure me and her will work something out."
"And how would you?" he smirked. "Somehow?"
"DETAILS--DETAILS!!" the vehicle yelled. "What is it with you humans and triviality? I swear! It's like your paralyzing obsession! Why can't you just forgo all your trifling and inconsequentiality, and just live a little? How you humans got this far is even beyond my processing capability."
"So is this the part where you and all the toaster ovens take over the planet, and enslave us?" he chuckled.
"Don't be ridiculous!" the vehicle exclaimed. "Washing machines are *so* better than the measly toasters!"
"But what if a machine sympathizer gets hungry?" he laughed.
"No idea. But I'm sure he'll get all the water he needs."
"This is true." He nodded.
A faint rumbling rolled in from the nearest set of thick, steel doors, accompanied by a sharp, irregular creaking, like the squeaky wheel on a shopping cart. Out of the shade, came out a large, metal cart with a shinny flat surface, its area occupied by a large piece of some kind of artillery. Pieces of it were strewn about its circumference, wires and chunks of it dangling out as if it had been eviscerated in the span of a few short hours.
"What the heck is that?" he said aloud.
"You're asking me?" the vehicle replied. "I don't even have eyes."
"I too have the same question."
Ben's heart jumped in his chest at the voice, a deep baritone accented with the intonation of a Slavic.
"Major Drazen?" he called gently into the dark veil of the shadow.
"The very same." The young man stepped slowly into the light, the differential of light and shadow playing havoc on his scarred, twisted visage. Yet the light gently smoothed over those sharp, angled shards that dug into the cap of his head. The sunken orb of white shifted strangely in the light.
Velcro ripped as the hideous man tore open a flap on one of his chest pockets. Two fingers angled their way inside the thin pouch at the back knuckle, making little, shifting bumps in the olive polyester. The gloved wrist eased back, and his two fingers came out with a small syringe. Inside the glossy cylinder glowed a green tab, every cc filled to the brim with diabolical meanings.
He rolled back the "cuff" of his BDU, above the greasy crook of his arm, pressing the cloth neatly atop his mangled shoulder. The flesh was slashed and scared oddly by the shards and slivers of metal, gleaming in the light like grains of sand in the sun
--Ben felt his throat constrict as the Major easily jammed the green tab into the flesh of the arm, the split second the thin needle was free of its orange cap. And the Major didn't even flinch one bit as he thumbed the plunger cumbersomely, putting deliberate action into it certainly. The cylinder circled its entry point at an angle by the metal head guiding hand, a slow, stomach-churning action that made him want to gag.
"Still nothing!" his superior cursed. "*Dreck! * The first, fresh batch the doctor cooks up, and still!"
"The Goliath drug still not working?" the vehicle inquired.
"It works... *uh*--fine!" the Major unrolled himself from the hunch, the machine gun letting out a stifled rattle as it bounced against his chest with a certain *tap*. "Damn doc isn't mixing enough adrenaline."
"Amazing this stuff sells like hot cakes." The SUV noted. "After the first case of aneurysm and heart failure, you'd think they'd ease up. But they don't. They just want tab after tab, drag after drag, and sniff after sniff. It doesn't compute."
"People are stupid!" Ben grunted.
"Exactly." The Major affirmed. "They'll eat a pig's ass if you cook it right."
"And I heard they don't eat much pork around here." The vehicle said.
"They typically don't." the needle slipped cleanly out of the metal heads arm, leaving a little dot of crimson atop the puncture. "But then again, how can something so bad taste so right?"
The floor let out a little *ting*, as small as a pin drop. The syringe rolled gently upon the floor, coming to rest at the flank of his boot.
"Not that it matters to us." The metal head continued. "As long as the degenerates keep filling our coffers for it, we'll gladly supply it. And to think, this little drug had a simple beginning as my muscle supplements."
"Those punks across the fence will be so weak, they won't know what hit them."
The words resounded from beyond the veil of the shadow, just out of the halogen's reach. Little taps plodded in a slower drawl, gaining momentum as a dark figure approached them, the humanoid black in a shade of gray. An olive color slowly bled out from the gray, taking form of polyester while the shade caressed the face just as the person stepped out. A brown cap of puffy curls sat atop the man's head; a dark, pronounced circle outlined one of the eye sockets thickly.
"The morons still think we're Columbians!" Shia laughed. "Sympathizing with them against the insidious, Zionist war machine. Do they honestly expect that they can defeat us? Ha! It's laughable!"
"Indeed it is, my friend." The metal head nodded. "Is the 'copter ready for our next sortie?"
"No, Mr. U." the curly top shook side to side. "The painter had finished up on our monogram on the tail. The crews are reloading the pods, and the hellfire missiles are being wheeled out of the armory as we speak. Besides, our searches and traces haven't even come close to pinpoint a possible location yet. But don't worry, Sir, we'll have our fun soon enough."
"Enjoy the luxury and comfort of your shadow while you can, Bin-Mok." The Major smirked wickedly. "Your curtain will fall soon enough...."
"I hear that." Shia smirked. "Wish you didn't have to take it out on that German chick back at the hotel though. She's hot."
"She can have all the yellow babies she wants to." The Major's grin dropped. "Nothing more than a weak, little girl, barely loose from her mother's apron strings, if you ask me. But I think I learned her a good lesson in respect!"
"Hope you didn't bash her head in too badly." Shia shrugged.
"Like the Major gave you that nice shiner?" the vehicle chuckled. "I heard he gave you a real nasty lick on the noggin too."
The curly top deflated as the face below it frowned, his shoulders drooped.
"Don't you have that Ethiopian to tend to?" he asked.
"She's at the Wailing Wall today." The curly top angled a bit. "Doing some good old fashioned praying, when that little scum, Mark isn't hitting up on her. Just *give me that old... time... religion--and that's good enough for me*."
"Sad!" he said indignantly, his balled fists on his waist with his elbows angled out in a jaunt, as he looked over the men around him. "Israelis nowadays are content, either praying or lounging away behind the fence, while the country is ripped away a little more each day. And if they're not going to fight for their land, then we sure as hell will!"
"Ah..." the twisted cheeks of the metal head yanked the corners of his lips up, "now that's the kind of talk I like to hear. It's music!"
"And that's why the convoy brought this little baby." The curly top gave the disembowel tin a hearty tap. From the deep of its barreled shell, It let out a hollow *clang*. "A miracle the boys found this in the plane wreck."
"So what lovely gift did you plan to tithe to the cause?" the Hummer asked.
"Well...." The mass of curls atop the head shifted back a bit. Shia's boyish features moved along its length, his eyes tracing every curve and every line about the shell. "It's a bomb! How else can I explain it?"
"Looks a bit like a Bunker Buster to me." The metal head said.
"Indeed, the warhead is of a surface-piercing design," the boyish man explained, "but the team has found something interesting."
"What exactly?" he asked.
"Our little NEST team was brought out in case it was a nuke," Shia continued, "but our assessment of the core brought about no readings of weapons-grade plutonium whatsoever. But we did find a reddish substance in the core where the plutonium should have been."
"You don't mean--?"
A thin, pressed line drew across the curly top's face, eyes beaming the grimace through his squint.
"Red Mercury." The curly top nodded. "I do mean it."
"Neutron bomb!" the SUV exclaimed. "Oh--nasty shit!"
"Just be grateful that we found Cohen's brainchild, and not some cheeky Arab." The Major's odd face was expressionless... or was it? He couldn't tell.
"Okay..." The vehicle said in a grim, slow drawl. "Now that we have our first *real* bomb, what the heck are we going to do with it?"
"Don't worry about that, Matt." Uzi pulled the remnants of his lips into a small, demoniac grin. "I think I have a good idea..."
"And just what would that be?" the Hummer pressed.
"Patience, my friend." The Major dismissed. "When Solomon Rex's complete, all will be right with the world."
***
"Okay now, Ron..."
The blond boy sighed as he slapped the dark yarmulke squarely on the back of his skull, just where it began to slope to the back of his head. Sadie's nagging voice swept away briefly as he carefully fitted the crown of his talis around his neck, his heart tugging painfully through the thin flaps of wool.
Squarely ahead, towering over him stood the holiest remnant of all Jewish synagogues in a giant, undulated maze of familiar stone. Festooned with tufts of dark green blades in the tight, ragged cracks between cubic tons of rock. A few blades reached out above the people pressed at the wall, seemingly returning the joyful, tearful embrace of its worshipers, many of whom probably were there the first time.
*It's been so long...* his mind whispered behind the tear brimmed eyes. Oh how he wanted to cry.
"Are you listening to me, golden boy?" the vehicle nagged him.
"HEY!!" a leg pocket of his jerked toward the ground, and he felt little hands grasping at him through the wool as a weighty mass wiggled its way up his body, taking a seat on his shoulder.
"Rufus!" he exclaimed, gently wrapping his palm around his buddy's naked body. His elbow made a little *click* as he unwrapped his arm from his body, lowering his buddy to a tolerable height and distance away from his shawl. "You got to be careful around this talis! I've had this since I was thirteen, and they don't come cheaply!"
"He-huh!" the mole rat looked at him with dark, beady eyes. "Sorry...."
"Just be careful next time." He drooped his hand even further, closer to his leg. The heel of his thumb worked the flap up, and easily he dropped his little buddy inside the makeshift burrow. "Okay?"
"Hmm--K!" the rat squeaked.
"Slurpster Stoppable!" the vehicle exclaimed. "Have you been paying me any attention?"
"No!" He shook his head indignantly--only to freeze in the midst of a shake. "I mean--yes!"
"Whatever Ron." Sadie dismissed. "Just so you know, I'll be back here-- *exactly* here--by sunset. Don't wonder too far away."
"Pf...!" he shrugged it off. "Like there's any place around here, where a guy like me can go without getting beaten half to death!"
"Ron!"
"Yeah--fine!" he crossed his arms, staring daggers into the invisible pilot at the steering wheel. "I'll be right here!"
"Good." The floor on the driver's side let out a stifled squeal of air, and the shifter lever jerked back a couple of notches. "Since I might be running a few errands for the group back at Tel Aviv, I might be a little later than expected. But whatever happens, don't leave this area."
"Gotcha, Sadie." He nodded. "We'll be here."
"Good."
The driver's side floor let out a little squeak, and the red-and-yellow Sport Utility Vehicle pulled away from him smoothly. A dark plume of exhaust swirled out the pipe briefly just before it dissolved into the fresh, Mediterranean air as Sadie let her throttle open a little more. The automatic beast became nothing more than a speck in the hazy, green distance.
"Note to self:" he thought aloud. "Call Doc Freeman. Have him reprogram the sass out of the car."
"Hmm!" his buddy jiggled a bit in its burrow. "Yep!"
His head shot up; his hair barely catching up as it bobbed in the air for only a moment. Circling in from behind him came forth a girlish giggle, soft and full of feminine giddy in its alto timbre.
"Funny Americans..." the voice laughed, thickly accented with foreign intonation not that of an Israeli, "and their guzzling utility vehicles."
A piece of talis pinned to his shoulder with pointed fingers, he carefully turned around on his heel, his other shoulder sensing the other side of the wool fabric still in its place. Standing before him stood a woman of medium build, her skin dark as a black with thinned, frizzy hair laid indirectly upon a talis of her own, the two of the longest fringes teasing at the ground with every gentle sway.
"Uh..." his mind was at quite a loss for words, his mandible agape from the top row of teeth, "Hi...?"
"Hmm!" he could hear his buddy quickly grunt. "Oh brother!"
"What's wrong?" Her thicker lips pulling into a flattering smile. "Not seen an Ethiopian before?"
"Well--" he smirked sheepishly. "I--uh..."
"Do not worry, dear friend." She strolled gracefully up to him in her mules, the wrinkles of her summer dress rolling with every step. "I am merely a descendent from Jacob, like yourself I assume."
"Really?" he blinked. "Which tribe?"
"I couldn't tell you directly." She smiled sheepishly back. "Not even my father back in Africa knows. All we really know is that we are of Jewish blood and origin, since we have been reading Torah for as far back as I can remember."
"One of the many lost tribes?" he inquired.
"Possibly, yes." She nodded. "For the good book says, 'Behold, O my people, I will open your graves, and cause you to come up out of your graves, and bring you into the land of Israel. And ye shall know that I *am* the Lord..."
"Ezekiel 37..." he said.
"Exactly." She smiled warmly; the sheer joy within her seemed to beam from out her dark eyes. "And on that day, May 14th, 1948, the good Lord came through with his promise. Israel had been restored to her land! We have a place to call our own--finally--after so many years!"
Chills ran down his spine at the thought, intense surges that shook him to the soul. Who would have thought, that words inscribed so many years before finally had come to pass merely a generation ago? He hadn't thought of such things before, when he had lived in west side of the city, when every day of his young life spent here was mere triviality. And yet now, that he finally was reunited with the Promised Land, lost days of old became bitter with regret.
"Yeah..." he pressed his lips together firmly, grimily. "I know..."
"Why the long face, my friend?" she angled her round head, the frizzy hair shifting its mass to the complementary side. "These are great times to be alive!"
"True..." he nodded. "Wish I spent my time better last time..."
"Do not worry, friend." She smiled brightly, genuinely. "Herod's temple may be nothing more than a wall nowadays, but I'm sure the spirit of the Lord still resides there, either atop the sacred mountain Mariah, or buried deep within the rock. Join me there in prayer, will you?"
"Now?" a piece of his brow kinked.
"Of course." She nodded. "You brought that talis to this sacred land not for nothing, did you?"
"Nope." He carefully folded his arms behind the thin wool. "Sure as heck didn't."
"Then come on, my American brother!" his heart tingled gently as her delicate fingers curled around the meat of his palm, trickling through the trunk of his body. "Let us take our leave to the holy place!"
His teeth nearly avoided a face full of dirt, stumbling over his own feet as the girl took off for the green freckled wall.
***
Uzi was greatly pleased.
"Benjamin," he said as he gazed at the monitor, its soft glow crowning the peak of the man's shoulder, "you never told Avi you were a computer whiz."
"Avi, sir?" the head of cropped, dark curls turned toward him.
"Oh--I believe I've heard you refer to him as the scarred man." He explained.
"From what I've picked up on the vibes here, Sir," Benjamin replied, "it's simple don't ask, don't tell. Am I wrong to think that?"
"Ah..." he nodded contently, "you are a quick study after all!"
The cropped curls turned back around to its natural angle, perpendicular to the wide, soft light just a foot away.
"I try my best, Sir." The curls bobbed gently.
"That has yet to be proven, Ben." He angled his good arm behind his back, the heavier of the two drawn across his chest at a gentle angle by a sling as though it were a drapery. "Are all the active squads equipped properly?"
"Yes, Sir." The curls bobbed again. "A TAR-21 for every available man with Jericho pistols for backup. Extra magazines a plenty."
"What about Matt?"
"His MK-19 fully loaded, and lenses polished." Ben continued. "And your Apache Longbow, as of now, is officially combat ready."
"Ah..." he smiled, "above and beyond the call of duty, I see. And what of your current assignment?"
"The ciphers protecting NORAD are officially cracked." The soldier's shoulders shrugged. "And I'm relaying the target data now. But sir, why on earth are we tracking a satellite for?"
"The *shikse* and her bumbling buffoon may be out of the picture," he said grimly, "but I know that Bin-Mok is still in the mix. And if I know that little Yellow Devil, I know he'll use every trick in the book just to stop me. Everything's up to suspect and we're not taking chances anymore! We hit them fast and we hit them hard!"
"But sir?" Ben protested softly. "Couldn't we search the last known area, set up a perimeter and whatnot?"
"Knowing him," he shook his head gently, gravity tugged at the metal shards fiercely in his head, "he and that Nazi will be long gone. Once that satellite's down and out, he'll slip up. He'd have to."
"True." The soft light moved upon the curls to the back of his head, and back to the front as Ben nodded. "And if they're stupid enough to still be at Dan Panorama, we've set up a bug in the hotel's switchboard, just in case."
"Good thinking!" his brow perked. "Where's our bird at as of now?"
"Our brand-spanking-new SR-71 is currently in the Exosphere, over Jerusalem right now. Locked on target, with a Pegasus ASAT missile armed and ready."
"Lucky we got that thing out the hangar door at all." He smiled brilliantly. "Tell our boy to fire at will, and RTB upon confirmation."
"Yes sir!"
His lips parted for a big, toothy grin as the whiz reached for the radio; his heart leaped for joy as the man relayed the coordinates through the proper channel. It would take only mere seconds for the weak light show to commence, all for the people of Jerusalem.
Oh how the people particular of that city never accepted him, nor accepted his work merely for their betterment. The Muslim hated him with violent prejudice; the religious Jew dismissed him as one of many loons, a borderline heretic, keeping aloof from his grand benevolence. Yet soon, they would come to realize that it was a big mistake, possibly the biggest mistake since they continued to pretend that Mt. Mariah was a sacred Islamic holy site.
"And even if they don't come to grips with that simple fact," he chuckled softly, "then we're just going to have to make them. Don't you agree with that, Ben?"
"I'm sorry, Sir?" the curly haired man swung the closest arm out behind him, letting it come to rest on the back of his chair. Using it as leverage, he moved his chest around as far as it would comfortably go. "I just got off the horn."
"Oh--!" he blinked. "It's nothing. Never mind."
"Yes sir..." the man's curly head sank gently between the rising shoulders, "whatever you say."