We Didn't Start the Fire
Disclaimer: Same as before…I know this one's published a bit late for the 25th of April, but for the Australians who read this, Happy ANZAC Day. The character Jana Reilly is my creation. Marcus Culp is Munro's alias…
"Marcus…" Came a voice, a woman's voice.
Aron Munro turned to face the tall, red haired woman lying in the bed beside him. He turned to her, smiling. "And a very good morning to you."
He kissed her tenderly on the lips, and then deepened the kiss, shifting his position to lying on one side facing her, to rolling on top of her. Just then there was a distinct sound of a mobile phone going off.
"What's that?" Jan Reilly, the red haired woman, asked.
"You knew what it was last night." The South African replied.
Jana playfully slapped him on the side, "No, silly. What's that…?"
This had better be good. Munro thought as he reached over to the bedside table for his mobile. Damn. Talk about lousy timing.
"What kind of surveying work do you do at this hour?" Jana asked, sleepily noting that it was about 6:22 AM on her bedside clock.
"Quite a lot of it actually." Munro replied, as he stood up and began to slide his trousers on, "I'll be back tonight, I promise."
"Hmm." Jana began, as Munro kissed her again, "I consider that one sealed with a kiss."
"And I guarantee I'll be back." Munro replied. This had better be good. Munro thought.
Jana pulled the sheet above the swell of her breasts, and sat up, watching ruefully as he threw his shirt and shoes on and walked outside.
Aron Munro, when the bedroom door closed, glanced behind him. The damndest thing about this Clandestine Service community was that it intruded on you at the worse possible times, such as when you were in bed with a woman you were serious about. Kind of hard to be serious when she thinks your name is Marcus Culp and you work as a surveyor for the county when in fact your real name is Aron Munro and you work as a paramilitary bloke.
He took his jacket from the coat rack, taking the time to compose a little note for Jana and leaving it under her upturned coffee mug on the kitchen counter. He made sure the door to the apartment was locked before he walked downstairs to meet the caller. He saw Bluey Truscott waiting in the lobby.
"What's going on?" Aron asked.
"There was a disturbance last night, at Quake." Bluey began.
"I know." Aron replied.
"What happened over there?" Bluey asked.
"A scuffle between COBRA and the Misfits, with your friends the Incredibles caught in the middle." Aron replied, "Shall we take a drive and discuss this."
"Of course." Bluey replied, as they walked out to the apartment building's parking lot, where a desert tan, fairly beat up, 2004 Toyota Landcruiser was parked.
The two men climbed into the vehicle and closed the doors on their respective sides. "COBRA activity?"
"It's been confined to the Mexico Area of Operations for a long time, as far as the North America Office is concerned." Aron replied, "But we've had one confirmed and several unconfirmed sightings of COBRA personnel here."
"What Tier?" Truscott asked.
"So far, Zartan and the Dreadnoks are the only Tier One personalities we've presumed to be in the area." Aron replied, "Most of them are your typical Tier Three blokes, as in recruiting disenfranchised or pissed off urban youth to train as foot soldiers, liaisons for drug pushers, and maybe a minor agent or two that doesn't supply us names as far as handlers are concerned."
"Right." Bluey replied, "But what's a Tier-One doing in an area considered a backwater for Tier Three blokes?"
"You'd have to actually interrogate Zartan to figure that out." Aron replied, "The Misfits have been unusually active here for some reason."
"When was that started?" Bluey began.
"It started about two months ago." Aron replied, "First a group of FOH activists in the city got beat up by Shipwreck..."
"Shipwreck?" Bluey asked.
"He's an insane sailor that's part of the G.I. Joe team." Aron replied, "He's part of the Misfits as one of its adult human handlers. His children include the Misfits Wavedancer and Trinity. It's all in that file under your seat."
Truscott thumbed through the file, "Trinity? Wait a bloody second, you mean those insane triplets banned from McDonalds in four U.S. states and Hawaii are his children."
"Couldn't you tell?" Aron commented, "Destruction and insanity follow this group wherever they go."
"These reports make the barbarian invasions of Europe look like fashion shows in Milan." Truscott commented, as they stopped at ACME HQ, "I'd best get back to the safehouse and report all this. Mind if I borrow this file?"
"By all means, mate." Aron replied, handing him a USB jump drive.
"Thanks." Bluey replied as he headed for the bus station.
Aron Munro walked into the main lobby where he was joined by an unassuming looking, balding man in a gray suit. He recognized David 'Doctor' Cohn, the head of the Counter-Terrorism Section of ACME and his boss walking alongside him.
"So how is the project going?" Cohn replied.
"Reasonably well." Aron replied, neutrally.
"With the exception of side consequences, namely Jana Reilly of the Bay Mirror." Cohn replied, "How did you meet her again?"
"Well, it was during the recruiting operation, where we recruited Fingers." Aron replied, "I kept coming to this coffee house during her lunch hour waiting for Fingers to turn up, and she thought I was this lonely guy named Marcus who worked as a surveyor for San Francisco County."
"Have you told her?" Cohn asked.
"Not yet." Aron replied.
"Well, how is she going to take it when she finds out your real name's Aron Munro and you're a paramilitary officer with the Special Operations Group?" Cohn asked as the two men walked into the elevator.
"When did you tell your wife you were a spook? When you met? When you married?" Aron asked.
"Just after we planned our wedding. Wanted it to be official." Cohn replied.
It was around seven-thirty AM when Bluey Truscott walked inside the safe house. He found Jan Shimoda standing on the front porch.
"You OK, Truscott?" Shimoda asked.
"I'm fine, mate. I just needed a walk." Bluey replied.
"Marian stopped by earlier." Jan began, "She said she ran into you at the park, and added she's worried about you. You haven't exactly been the same since we got back from Nigeria."
"Look, mate, I'm still in the game." Bluey replied.
"I don't doubt that." Jan Shimoda replied, "But realize there's a lot more to life than the job. We're not getting any younger."
"Think she'd want a bloke who's seen all that I've seen." Bluey countered.
"In your own words: 'bollocks'." Shimoda replied, "You know that Carrie-Ann and I have had a happy marriage for almost ten years, with the two kids, the dog, and the white picket fence."
"How is your lot by the way, mate?" Bluey asked, "And my godson."
"You're a corrupting influence." Jan Shimoda grinned, "My nine-year-old says he wants to be a swagman when he grows up, and roam the Australian outback."
"It's not my fault he likes our national song." Bluey countered.
"Gee, a song about a hobo who steals a sheep, gets confronted by the cops and the rancher, and jumps into a billabong to avoid being arrested. What's not to like?" Shimoda began, sarcastically.
"Exactly. It shows our traditional Australian disregard for established authority." Bluey replied.
"No, it's a song about a criminal." Shimoda replied, "Not surprising considering you Australians are an elite."
"This is true, mate." Bluey replied.
"An elite chosen by the best judges in England." Shimoda replied, "Had your great-great-great grandfather not been such a bloody criminal you wouldn't be called an Australian."
"Wanker." Bluey replied, "Marian put you up to that one, didn't she?"
"I thought that one up on my own." Shimoda replied, "Actually she told me to say, Happy ANZAC day to you."
"Bollocks! I totally forgot." Bluey replied.
"About how you two exchange small gifts and cards on ANZAC day?" Shimoda grinned.
"Exactly." Bluey replied, "I'll go hunt up something later today."
"Anything of note?" Shimoda asked.
"Apparently the Incredibles got into some kind of fight last night at Quake." Bluey replied, "Aron told me the details after I'd heard someone talking about it."
"How bad?" Shimoda asked.
"They weren't noticed, I don't think, but I do think our files on COBRA need to updated." Bluey replied.
"What? They were involved?" Shimoda replied.
"Yeah. I've already passed word that COBRA's active in San Francisco for reasons unknown to ACME." Bluey replied.
"Good." Shimoda replied.
"I'm about to head over to see if I can't get in touch with Marian and let her know about all that." Bluey replied.
"How was your night out?" Marian asked Helen, as the latter let her inside the house.
"Let's just say Bob isn't too happy with Bluey right now and leave it at that." Helen replied.
"What happened?" Marian asked. Just then her mobile rang, and she answered. "An altercation at Quake? Yeah, I'm here with them, I'll get their side of the story."
Marian hung up and Helen asked, "Who was that?"
"Bluey," Marian replied, "He was asking if I'd heard about what happened last night."
"Well, we were enjoying a nice dinner at Quake, a restaurant where one of our neighbors used to work." Helen replied, "Then the Misfits, I presume you know who they are…"
"A little bit." Marian replied, "Apparently this world's ACME has more information than our field office had on the Misfits."
"Anyway, the Misfits came into the restaurant after this character named Zartan, apparently he's a master of disguise." Helen replied, "Long story short, they tore the restaurant to shreds and we were caught in the middle."
"Ouch." Marian replied, "That can't be good."
"Yeah, considering we got into a fight and barely escaped being noticed. Not two minutes after we got out a KTSF news van appeared just outside of the restaurant." Helen replied.
"Where's Bob?" Marian asked.
"He's at work." Helen replied, "He doesn't complain nearly as much about his job at South Bay Social Services nearly as much as he did when he was with Insuracare."
"Speaking of Insuracare, you heard that Huph got killed." Marian replied.
"I heard it from the expatriate network." Helen replied, "How did you relocate so many people here?"
"We have our ways." Marian replied, "We moved a lot of the refugees from you world to many other worlds, set them up with jobs and in communities and they still keep in touch with that newspaper of yours."
"What's the situation with the Russians?" Helen asked.
"That's classified I'm afraid, but all I can say all signs are that Metroville is going to war with the Soviet Union. And the Soviets upped the ante by assassinating Gilbert Huph." Marian replied.
"I know." Helen replied, with a sigh, imagining all the people she knew back in Metroville, those same innocents she had struggled to protect would now be caught between the guns of Syndrome's forces and those of the Soviets. God forbid the Russians decided to use their nuclear capability, if the Omnidroids ever got deployed…
"Are you alright?" Marian asked.
"I'm so worried." Helen confided, "We left so many people we knew back in Metroville. We used to protect them from the likes of Syndrome, but now that he's in charge and dragged them into war with the Soviet Union. I don't want to think about them being trapped between Syndrome's guns and the guns of the Warsaw Pact."
Marian recognized the unexpressed pain in Mrs. Parr's face, as the pain she had seen with many refugees from worlds attacked by the Heartless. Now her home faced destruction from Syndrome and the Heartless inside and the ominous threat of the invading Soviets on the outside.
Marian's mobile went off again and she saw a text message on the screen of her phone and smiled.
"What is it?" Helen asked, grateful for the distraction from such grim thinking.
"Bluey just text messaged me." Marian replied, "He just said 'Happy ANZAC Day. Stand by to be pleasantly surprised…'"
"ANZAC Day?" Helen asked.
"Australia, New Zealand Army Corps Day. It's to commemorate Australians and New Zealanders who fought during the First and Second World Wars." Marian replied, "I've known Bluey since we were children, and my parents worked in Australia and lived next door to his family. We always celebrated ANZAC Day together."
"What's the story with you and Bluey?" Helen asked.
"It's complicated." Marian replied.
"I can tell he really cares about you." Helen observed.
"Sometimes I worry." Marian confessed, "It's like he pushes me away at times. He's become more distant since he got sent to Nigeria a year and a half ago."
"So you grew up together, and you obviously like each other. Why didn't you ever…" Helen replied.
"My dating life is none of your business." Marian replied, defensively.
"I'm sorry." Helen replied.
"I have to get back to work anyway." Marian replied.
"If you need someone to talk to, you know where to find me." Helen replied.
"Thank you." Marian replied, as she followed Helen to the front door. Neither Marian nor Helen had any idea they were being watched.
Hidden on the roof of the house across the street, the one being sold, a solitary man watched the entire affair. Beside him, within an arm's reach was his H&K PSG-1 sniper rifle, and in front of him were a pair of binoculars and a camera.
Staff Sergeant Cooper MacBride, also called Low Light, watched the scene behind the red tint of his goggles. He photographed the two women talking on the porch of the house, next door to the Halliwell Manor of all places. What do you know, maybe Ted can go find something else out about these neighbors when he goes to see Paige next time. Low Light thought.
The two women were an unlikely pair. One was in her forties, with short brown hair, with a baby in her arms and the other was younger, maybe in her late twenties or early thirties. They didn't look related, but then again both of them were brunettes. The older of the pair looked similar to the woman the Misfits reported to have stretched herself far enough to punch adversaries across the room.
Hey, I live with teenagers that can make earthquakes, alter probabilities and make themselves invisible. What's a forty-year old woman who can give reach out and touch someone a new meaning? Low Light thought. He took more photographs, hopefully intelligence back at the Pit would be able to identify them.
"Hey Jana, what's up?" Phoebe asked her coworker as they went for some coffee in the break room of the Bay Mirror.
The red headed photographer smiled at the advice columnist, saying, "Nothing really."
"How is everything with Marcus?" Phoebe asked.
"OK, except he got called away this morning." Jana replied, "The third time this week."
"You think he's hiding something?" Phoebe asked.
"I know this is silly, but I kept imagining he was racing home to a wife and kids, or another woman or…" Jana replied.
"Jana," Phoebe replied, "We've been over this before. I did look him up, and there is in fact a Marcus Culp who works as a surveyor for San Francisco County. He's not a married guy after a quick lay."
"I know, it's probably just me getting jealous." Jana replied.
"He just had work to do," Phoebe replied, "And he doesn't sound like the kind of guy who'd ditch you over work."
"He does come back earlier than expected when he has to leave early in the morning quite often." Jana replied, "I just hope he'll be able to make it to the Giants game this weekend."
"How are you going to explain baseball to a guy from South Africa?" Phoebe asked.
"It's certainly nothing I'm used to with dates, but he's willing to listen and I'm willing to give it a try." Jana replied.
"Then you've got nothing to worry about." Phoebe smiled as she headed back to her office.
"Idiot…Moron…Nincompoop…" Bob grumbled as he punched away at keys on his keyboard.
"Morning Bob," Paige said, as she walked into the room, "Wow somebody's not in a good mood."
"I was having a pleasant evening until some federal idiots decided to have a shootout with some lunatic named Zartan." Bob growled, as he sipped at some coffee.
"I hope you weren't calling Piper any of those names." Paige began.
"No, I was calling my idiot Australian real estate agent those names. When I see him again, I'm wringing his neck." Bob replied.
"It seems like you have anger issues." Paige replied, "But I can see why an encounter with the Misfits might ramp up your pulse a bit."
"A bit…" Bob replied, "Way to understate things."
"I guess you could say I'm kinda used to them." Paige replied.
"You're dating one of them, of course." Bob replied, "I can't tell what was worse, working with my hellish last boss or running into those madcap mutants at every turn."
"How was your last boss?" Paige asked.
"Bureaucratic, inane, petty, and a little worm. Those about cover it." Bob replied. Still he didn't deserve to have the Russians just gun him down like vermin.
"You're gonna love our first case, Bob." Paige replied, "Apparently this landlord on Telegraph Hill keeps shutting off the heat for his tennents. There's an old lady that's in danger of getting pneumonia. She can't afford medical care for it, because she's on a fixed income…"
"Paige," Bob replied, "Say no more. Let me do the talking…"
They headed into the parking lot, where Paige reached for her keys to open up her Volkswagen Bug.
"You don't seriously expect me to ride in one of those things and be in a good mood, do you?" Bob asked.
"Of course not." Paige replied, "I was thinking we could go for a good-cop, bad-cop routine."
"And for me to really be the 'bad cop' a surly mood would help?" Bob asked, and a grin spread across his face, "I like the way you think…"
They stepped into the small car and headed almost all the way across town to the apartment where the complaint had originated.
Twenty minutes later: C.J., the landlord, was a fellow in his late twenties, with long sideburns brown, a goatee and mustache.
"Well, tough shit." C.J., the landlord began, "If she wants to live here, she's gonna have to put up with it."
"She's almost seventy, has no family to take care of her, and she certainly can't pay medical bills if she winds up with pneumonia." Paige argued.
"I have costs lady." C.J. replied, "And I have to cut corners somehow…"
C.J. took his feet off of the desk where he had propped them to squash a bug that skittered across the floor and went to move his desk. The broad doing most of the talking wasn't too bad looking and there wasn't a ring on her finger. Maybe he could make a move later, if he felt so inclined.
"Here, let me help you with that." Bob replied, and with one arm, effortlessly lifted C.J.'s desk off the ground and over his head like it was a paperweight.
C.J.'s eyes widened. Holy fuck. That guy just lifted my desk like it weighed nothing.
"Now," Bob began, in an even and low voice, "About the heat and those costs…"
"I'm sure we can come to some kind of arrangement." C.J. said.
"Good…" Bob said, "See Paige, he can be reasonable."
Bob put C.J.'s desk down and the two of them walked out into the parking lot towards Paige's car.
"What did you want to see me about?" Marian replied.
"I just wanted to have lunch." Bluey replied, "My treat. After all it is ANZAC Day."
"You're too kind." Marian replied, smiling as she put her glass down, after sipping some water.
Easy Truscott, don't reach across the table and take her hand in both of yours. She's your friend, remember…Bluey thought. He couldn't help but stare at the slender ivory of her forearm as she lay it on the table.
What's that look about, Bluey? I swear I can never figure you out entirely. Marian thought. Maybe he…No…You don't want to drive Bluey away, the way you drove away Steven. You don't want to hurt him like that. Can you ever go back if you make that leap from friends?
Mercifully their food arrived. "Bluey, how you can stand some of those exceedingly spicy Thai recipes, I'll never be able to figure out." Marian replied.
"You don't know what you're missing." Bluey replied.
"I know what I'm missing. Severely scalded innards." Marian replied, "I don't want to think about your blood pressure right now."
"You're starting to sound like my mum." Bluey replied.
"I hope you don't think of me as a mum…" Marian replied.
"I don't." Bluey replied.
Marian felt something pat against her right leg, and she glanced down to see a card and a paperback book in Bluey's hand. "I found this one going through Borders. I thought you'd appreciate it. I know you're fond of Jane Austen…"
A smile lit up Marian's pale Scottish complexion and Bluey felt his own heart warm. That smile of yours is one of your most endearing traits. Memories of Nigeria began to melt away. How much he wanted to take her in his arms, share that first of passionate kisses.
Bluey watched as rays of sunlight filtered in through the window, as the early spring sun warmed San Francisco.
"What happened to you out there, Bluey?" Marian asked, concern in her eyes, "I know that you changed after you came back from Nigeria."
"Have you ever seen what happens when people can't tolerate their neighbors?" Bluey asked.
"I can imagine." Marian replied, "I did see the newscasts…"
"They don't begin to cover it. I saw the refugees in Cameroon, while we were training the Ibo to fight against Yakubu and his nutcase lot." Bluey replied.
"But you'd been to combat zones before." Marian replied.
"It was raining that night…" Bluey began.
Bluey Truscott knotted the headband behind his head, and added some more camouflaged face paint. Behind him the rest of Recon Team Oakland followed, doing last minute checks on webbing, magazine pouches and weapons. Behind them followed a Hatchet Force Company, another eighty men. The goal wasn't reconnaissance this time. The goal was to raid a target, and the Recon Team was leading the Hatchet Force Company, composed of seventy-one Ibo irregulars and nine ACME paramilitaries.
The Recon Team had found one of Yakubu's interrogation and detention centers on one mission. And after a second trip, where they scouted the defenses, it was decided to use a Hatchet Force Company to raid the facility and free the prisoners. The Cactus Air Force would then fly into a designated landing zone, where the Hatchet Force men would load the prisoners aboard, and stall Fulani attackers long enough for the evacuation to take place.
As soon as the Hatchet Force was deployed, it's three platoons surrounding three sides of the camp, a wall of killing energy just waiting to be released. The weapon's platoon was covering the main road into the camp with its M-60 machineguns and M79 grenade launchers.
As soon as the prearranged time came about, the night sky was lit up with tracers as the guard towers were peppered with machinegun fire and the bunkers saturated with grenades. Quickly, several Ibo with wire cutters cut holes through the fences and poured into the compound.
Bluey Truscott charged forward, prying open the hatch of a bunker, after pulling a white phosphorous grenade from his webbing and pulling the pin free. One…two…THROW. Bluey flung the grenade inside. The grenade was designed to cause fires that were impossible to put out, even with water, and he could hear the screams of three Fulani soldiers as the burning metal clung to their clothing and skin. He pointed his CAR-15 into the bunker and squeezed off a short burst. The screaming stopped.
He followed Jan Shimoda as the latter kicked a door down, covering the room with his weapon as two more Ibo soldiers followed him. A Fulani guard raised his AK-47, only to be practically shredded by Shimoda's weapon on full auto.
Truscott kicked in one rotted wooden door and saw an Ibo man in his late teens curled up in a ball in the corner. His skin sported numerous angry welts where Fulani torturers had touched him with lit cigarettes, and scars crisscrossed his back.
"Come on, we're here to help you…" Bluey began, calmly, as he reached for the prisoner.
"I can't…" the prisoner said, feebly.
"I won't hurt you." Bluey began, reaching for the prisoner, lifting him over his shoulders before taking him to the collection point where first platoon had formed a perimeter.
The Ibo irregulars were moving through the compound efficiently, a testament to the SOG men's training. In pairs and small groups they flung grenades into rooms, and swiftly entered, dispatching Fulani guards and pulling prisoners from their cells.
Malawi hacked at a rusty padlock on the ground, pulling up a bamboo grate and a feeble looking woman inside it. He half dragged her to the collection point as the first of the helicopters appeared over the hillside.
Shimoda and Truscott raced behind one of the outbuildings. A shallow pit, recently covered over with dirt, failed to hide an atrocity. Arms, legs, and part of a face were visible. The poor bastards. Truscott thought.
Marian looked on with fascinated horror as Bluey continued his story. She had read the after action reports, seen the pictures of the victims, the half starved survivors, the pits where the executed had been unceremoniously dumped. But nothing compared to hearing it from one of the SOG raiders who freed nearly two hundred and fifty survivors. But for nearly three hundred people, they had arrived too late.
"The only reason they wanted us to raid the place was because three white Christian missionaries had gotten arrested and imprisoned there." Bluey replied, "We could've hit the place any time, saved more of those people, but HQ sat on their asses while people died."
"Not everyone in the Counter Terror Service felt that way, Bluey." Marian replied, "A lot of us wanted to take a more active role in toppling Yakubu, but we kept getting overruled."
"I don't blame you, Marian." Bluey replied, "I couldn't. I blame the blokes that denied our plans."
"I'm sorry things had to turn out that way Bluey." Marian replied, feeling nauseated that the policymakers had credible reports from the SOG men about what was happening in that prison and didn't act on that intelligence until it had been operating for almost a month.
"It's alright." Bluey replied, "We saved what we could."
"I'd better be going." Marian replied, after Bluey had paid the check. She wrapped her arms around him, and Bluey returned the hug.
Bluey remembered what happened next when he and Shimoda kicked down another door.
The Fulani guard's trousers were literally around his ankles. His female victim vainly covered herself with the torn remnant of her blanket and dress in the corner. "Surrender! Surrender!" The Fulani shouted, throwing his arms into the air.
Bluey Truscott aimed his CAR-15 at the man and squeezed off a single round into his forehead, as Jan Shimoda ran over to help the rape victim. He stood over the cooling body of the dead rapist, before running back into the hallway…
Naval Spetsnaz Detachment 2-F-50 had come ashore, some by large rubber boats, others by swimming in dry suits with aqualungs, masks, and fins. The group promptly secured its headquarters in an abandoned rock quarry, stowing its equipment and heavier weapons and set up its positions.
"Comrade Major." Nikolai began, "All equipment and weapons are ashore. I have already sent detachments to reconnoiter the beaches in both directions and to conceal any trace of our landing."
In the background, the specially trained Soviet sailors were setting up communication equipment, mines and booby traps, and posting sentries armed with silenced AKMS-47 rifles to quietly dispatch anyone or anything that approached the encampment.
Portable lights, stowed their by the agent, an unemployed prospector bribed by the GRU were already running deeper inside the shaft.
"Reconnaissance teams?" Major Ivanovich asked.
"I already dispatched them to our target facilities." Nikolai replied.
"Disposal?" Ivanovich asked.
"The liquidation team has already dealt with Mr. Alder." Nikolai replied, referring to the agent, whose lifestyle had been funded almost entirely by payments in cash from the GRU.
"Good. Insure his body is never discovered." Ivanovich asked.
"Already taken care of, Comrade Major." Nikolai replied. Two more sailors were carrying what was unmistakably a corpse wrapped in a canvas tarp, while two others moved beams and debris away from a particularly deep shaft in the mine. The two impromptu pallbearers flung the corpse into the shaft without ceremony.
"Good." Ivanovich replied, "The Coast watcher stations, power relays, and communications nodes are to be attacked immediately."
Nikolai grabbed his helmet and his AK-74 and said, "Yes Comrade Major…"
Several hours later:
Lucius had intended to call the hospital and ask how the Rydingers were holding up, and if there was anything else he could do for them. He picked up the phone, and got nothing except for a hiss of static.
"Honey," Lucius shouted from the kitchen, "How long have the phones been out?"
"Since about an hour ago." Honey replied from the bedroom.
Lucius turned the television on, to see what was on the news.
"This just in." the newscaster began, "Random telephone and internet outages have been occurring around Metroville. Utility companies are currently addressing the problem but say it could be several hours before phone service will be restored."
"In other news, a Velocipod accident was reported by troops stationed near Watcher's Woods." The newscaster began.
Honey had walked into the room just then, after hearing about the phone outages.
"What if there's a connection between all these accidents?" Honey began, having been a Special Agent for the Metroville FBI had made her deductive abilities sharp.
"What do you mean?" Lucius asked. Ever since the Huph homicide, Lucius began to feel like something was wrong, but he couldn't quite pinpoint it.
"These attacks have a pattern." Honey began, "First there was that Polish tanker that exploded, and caused that fire that closed West Port down for three months. Then there was that incident where that derelict yacht exploded. Next the Union Carbide Chemical Plant caught fire after an explosion in one of the labs. Then my contacts still in the Bureau say that there have been murders, carried out with modern Eastern bloc assault weapons all over the place, including Gilbert Huph's."
"I don't follow you." Lucius asked.
"Don't you see?" Honey began, "Syndrome stirred up a hornet's nest, provoking the Soviet Union into a war."
"We don't know if the Russians are behind all this yet." Lucius replied, "The yacht that blew up was a Norwegian…"
"False flagging, Lucius." Honey began, "The Russians bought the yacht, created a fake paper trail, and used it for some covert purpose."
"What?" Lucius asked, "They bought a boat and used it for a floating bomb?"
"No, I doubt that." Honey replied, "Erin, my contact, said the yacht can hold about twenty-two people aboard it. My guess is they threw on aqualungs after they booby trapped the boat, and swam ashore. There could be hundreds of Soviet spetsnaz troops in Metroville by now, if not thousands."
"I don't see where you're getting all this evidence," Lucius began, "But I've learned after twelve years of marriage not to distrust anything you bring up out of hand. What makes you think the Soviets are behind all this?"
"For one, their spetsnaz formations specialize in this kind of behind the lines work." Honey replied, "Secondly, one of our agents in Moscow was just arrested and likely shot by the KGB. We have to do something."
"You mean warn Syndrome about the approach of the Russians?" Lucius began, "After he killed so many Supers. I don't think so."
"Lucius, think of the greater good. Syndrome and his cronies won't be the only ones affected by this." Honey thought, "Think about all those innocents that will be caught unaware when Russian tanks start coming across the plains or when Russian paratroopers start dropping into our territory."
"So you want us to work with Syndrome?" Lucius replied.
"Just to warn the people to get out of the war zones. You don't have to give him complete intelligence on how to defeat the Russians." Honey replied.
"I'll see what I can do." Lucius replied, as he headed for the hidden compartment where he kept his Super Suit.
"Don't engage the Russians," Honey replied, "Whatever you do. Just observe them, and drop off the intelligence. Be careful."
"I always am, Honey." Lucius replied as he put the suit on as he prepared to go track down the Russians, wherever they were hiding.
TBC
Agent – Spies recruited from a target country by case officers. In the case of Mr. Alder, he was recruited by a GRU case officer to construct the base for Detachment 2-F-50 and then executed to prevent his ever betraying the group's position.
ANZAC Day – On the 25th of April, this day is set aside in both Australia and New Zealand to commemorate the bravery of the ANZACS (Australia New Zealand Army Corps) who fought courageously in the two World Wars, Korea, Vietnam, and most recently Afghanistan and Iraq.
Swagman - A gentleman of the road, an itinerant roaming country roads, a drifter, a tramp, a hobo. Carried his few belongings slung in a cloth, which was called by a wide variety of names, including 'swag', 'shiralee' and 'bluey'. Given the large number of names for them, they must have been a pretty common sight.