Chapter Three
Weapon's Test
Wrapped in a jilbab, or Arab woman's garment, and hidden behind a khimar, or veil, the Baroness squirmed in discomfort. She wished for the feel of a cool breeze, or better yet, the freedom to work on her tan. But Destro had ordered a low-profile to their presence in Libya, and asked her to adorn traditional Muslim attire. It was a difficult burden to bear—she was a woman who liked to flaunt her striking beauty, not hide it beneath a disguise based on suppressing temptation.
Her lover's manufacturing plant was outside the town of Sabha, just about the only large urban area in the center of the Saharan Desert. Sabha was built atop a huge oasis and surrounded by red rocky sands. Destro kept his plant at a distance from the Libyan government's own weapons research center and training camp by the city. In the 1980's, the U.S. government had kept an eye on the Sabha area—that was what made the area perfect for the current M.A.R.S. manufacturing plant.: if the U.S. took a look again, it would think any goings-on were an operation of the Libyan government, not Destro.
The sand-scraped, two-story plant was small and decrepit-looking—but that was a deception. Once a visitor stepped in, their breath was usually taken away by the shining and ultra-modern lay-out of the structure. Miniature, yet highly-efficient claws hung from the ceiling along large robotic arms and conveyor belts covered with partially-constructed assault-rifles and gun-parts. This plant was not designed for vehicles—it was an infantry-weapons plant, and the shelves lining its walls were smothered with rows of ultra-modern, highly-destructive hand-held weapons, many of which could be seen in the ranks of Cobra and the Iron Grenadiers. Still other shelves held light, removable weapons designed to be attached to conventional and experimental vehicles. Turrets and heavy-machine-gun mounts hung from the silvery ceiling alongside missile-launchers and RPGs.
Strategically, Destro kept his ammunition production separate from his weapons production, in an effort to help reduce damage from bombing and to make weapons theft less destructive. Ammo supply was kept to a bare minimum in this building, despite the thousands of devices that needed the bullets and rockets.
Tired of looking across the view of the Sahara's sickeningly red horizon, the Baroness spun around and headed through the southern entrance of the plant, nearly smashing apart the rusty brown door. Knowing right where Destro was, she stomped up the stairs, ripping off her khimar as she climbed.
Shoving open the thick stainless-steel door into the research room, Baroness could see her lover sitting right where he was the last time she saw him. He was wearing his normal outfit now—no longer the dress uniform. It was black, and enticingly tight. A unique feature was the thick red collar that rounded high above his shoulders. But the Baroness' favorite aspect was that the black shirt parted below the chest, revealing a yellow shirt that stuck tightly to the weapons genius' broad chest. Destro had a strong, powerful chest, one that was a thrill to run her hand across—if that silly rectangular ruby-red medallion he wore around his neck didn't get in the way.
"Destro! I cannot stand it here another day! If you do not finish your project right now I am leaving without you!" barked the frustrated temptress.
Sighing, the weapons designer replied, "Patience, dear Baroness. This work is of utmost importance, and cannot be rushed. But rejoice! You have timed your entrance quite exquisitely, because I have just completed the inner core of my device."
Now intrigued, the Baroness took a closer look, "So, can I finally see what it is supposed to do?"
Shaking his head, Destro held up a fat, metallic, tubular device that had an insanely intricate layout of wires draped across it and sported a hollow conical cap on its end. "To do that I would have to take it outside, and since I have not constructed the outer casing yet, the device would be exposed to the elements, and could be irreparably damaged."
Despising the idea of not getting her way, the Baroness thought for a second. "So, stick it out of a window."
If it had been any other person in the world being so obnoxious, Destro would have killed her instantly. But this was the Baroness, and her spunk was good for him—at least she told him so. Giving in to her will, he set the device down and picked up his gauntlets. His right gauntlet carried two small missiles, the left had a grappling hook—they were two of his earliest inventions, and he still loved using them. "All right, if it is that important to you, I will show you what it can do. But if it gets damaged, you will help me repair it. Agreed?"
Smiling with an empty grin, the Baroness nodded. "Agreed."
After hooking up a rather large power cable to the device, the duo stepped out of the research room and into the decrepit hallway next to an empty window pane. Roughly a hundred yards away sat a junkyard. It was used to throw away damaged and worthless parts from the plant, or sometimes even to find scrap. Although it was not a public dump, people in the area had also filled it with rusted cars, old stoves and a hefty supply of trash.
Destro hesitantly twisted on a small power switch and the device hummed to life. "This, dear Baroness, is the Matrix Cannon." Setting the cannon onto a towel on the window's edge, Destro aimed it, then, happy with his work, gently bent forward a switch at the device's rear.
Sand lying on the desert between the plant and the scrapyard began transforming into glass. The charred ground spread out from the plant in a triangular pattern, growing wider and wider, reaching its widest berth at the junkyard. Instantly, every amount of scrap burst into flame or began to melt. Amazingly, bits of sand on the other side of the yard started a shiny change as well. The lights in Destro's production plant began to flicker and a pair of Iron Grenadier guards ran out of the building to investigate just what was going on. Suddenly, but with little surprise, the plant's power blacked out and the Matrix Cannon shut off. Destro flicked the power switch back and lifted the device up under his arms. Looking over to the Baroness, he smiled, "Are you impressed, dear Baroness?"
Quivering, as she stood with her mouth hanging open, the Baroness did not know whether to be frightened or start scheming on how to get the cannon from Destro. "My god, Destro! That was incredible!" She looked back over to the junkyard. A massive amount of sand had been changed into glass, and the scrapyard was still in flames, a molten wreck even more worthless than it was before. "How did you…how could you…I am speechless!"
An Iron Grenadier came running up the stairs in a panic. "Lord Destro! We are under attack! Something has laid waste to the junkyard and then wiped out our power systems!"
"Calm down, Lieutenant. We are not under attack. I was merely experimenting. Please reset the power generators and make sure the junkyard fires stay away from this building."
"Uh…yes…yes, sir!" The lieutenant saluted and ran back down the stairs, still in a state of confusion.
Destro turned back to the Baroness, "Come with me, my dear."
Once they were back in the research room, the lights turned back on, and Destro unhooked the power cable from the device. "The Matrix Cannon is an extremely complex laser system that instead of firing a straight laser beam, it shoots an expanding cone-shaped beam that keeps growing in strength as it expands through time and space."
"There could never be enough power for something like that." said the Baroness.
"Correct. You saw right here that my plant's generators couldn't keep it going for more than a few seconds. That is why I have been working with scientists around the world on ways to solve the power problem. One scientist in China has constructed a device that I believe will solve my problem. It is a power amplifier, one that should increase the life of the beam ten-fold. Another scientist in Japan has created a design for the Matrix Cannon that is fifty-percent more efficient. Usually I do not like working with outside sources, but this project has too much potential for me to be exceedingly stubborn."
"This all sounds good, Destro, but where are these exotic parts?"
Growling, the weapons designer pounded his fist on the table, "I was convinced by Cobra Commander to use his elite Crimson Guard to transport the devices to me through their quote-unquote 'elite network.' I am still waiting for them, and have heard nothing from the Commander or those numbskull twins of his."
"This is not the kind of project that you work so closely with Cobra Commander on." warned the Baroness. "He will snatch it from your hands and take it for himself, then screw everything up when the pressure grows too high."
"That is why I have asked for the assistance of Storm Shadow. As long as he's performing meaningless tasks for me, the Commander can't use him against me." Destro stood up and walked to the door. "There is still a third piece in development. Perhaps I should get that one personally before the Crimson Guard does."
"Yes!" the Baroness stood up. "I will go with you. Let us abandon this horrible place and secure our destiny on top of the world."
Looking back at the Matrix Cannon, then peering over at his lover, Destro sat back down. "No. I shall not go. You go, my dear. I must continue my work on the cannon, especially if the other pieces arrive. But I trust you to bring me the final device. Remember: without it, the Matrix Cannon is nothing more than a luxurious toy. Acquire it, and we will have the final part to my…I mean our…key to world dominance."
"Oh, Destro," said the Baroness as she slid onto his lap, "I shall go to the four corners of the world for you."
"It will be our world, my dear." As he took off his facemask, Destro knew he should enjoy the time he had now, because the future would be a much different experience.
1.
Slowly adrift on their rented fishing boat, the Joe team was growing more and more frustrated about the apparent cessation of time. Reyes' ski boat had stayed moored to a lone yacht floating about a mile away from the Pearl Farm Beach Resort in Davao Gulf for nearly an hour, repetitiously batting the foam pads that separated the two crafts. No lights were on in the yacht, and there was no apparent movement of any kind.
Chuckles had taken off his Hawaiian shirt, put on a blue button-down, and donned a large hat. He was leaning over the side of the fishing boat and doing the best he could to keep an eye on the yacht. Scarlett wore a similar disguise and stood next to him while manning a fishing line with her hair bunched up under her hat. Snake Eyes kept watch from inside the cabin.
"I don't like this." said Chuckles. "That boat's empty. I'd bet my life on it.'
Scarlett turned her head over to it. "You're probably right, but we can't afford to screw this up. Let's give it a few more minutes."
Chuckles looked to the cabin and called to the only quiet Joe. "What do you think, Snake? Should we keep sitting out here or check that thing out?"
Snake Eyes stepped out of the cabin and pointed to the yacht."
Chuckles grinned. "Now you're talking!"
Feeling surprise was irrelevant, the Joes took their boat up to the stern of the yacht and turned ninety-degrees, bringing their side up against the larger boat. Stepping out, they reached for the rear ladder and pulled themselves on board. The yacht had a very simple triangular shape to it. It had a very high deck, and little to no detail in its design. The outer frame was white, painted with third-rate paints. It had a wooden deck, with chairs set upon it, but they were cheep, plastic builds and the deck's wood looked like second-rate plywood.
"Boy, talk about your lowest-bidder boat designs." commented Chuckles.
As the team took a few footsteps, they noticed the deck begin to warp and crack. Apparently, there was no support beneath the deck!
"What the heck is going on, here?" cried Scarlett.
Before she could think of an answer, the front end of the yacht exploded, sending shards of plywood frame fluttering into the sea.
"This…this entire boat is made of plywood! It's just a hollow cover!" deduced Chuckles.
Scarlett's eyes shrank as she struggled to keep herself from falling through the floor. "Yes, but a cover for what?"
More of the front-end erupted, and the cabin dropped straight down, collapsing onto another boat hidden beneath the plywood shell. A crack zig-zagged through the middle of the yacht's body and the boat's frame began to split apart. Snake Eyes slid across the starboard-side deck and fell out into Davao Gulf; Chuckles and Scarlett fell off the port-side.
After once again thrusting her head out of the salty pacific waters, Scarlett pulled the hair back from her face and wiped her eyes. When she saw what sat in the gulf rocking in the waters in from of her, she was tempted to slip back below the waves.
A Cobra Moray Hydrofoil began roaring up its jet engine. The massive craft wasn't one-hundred-percent complete—its main guns and torpedoes had been removed so that it would fit beneath the yacht cover—but it was complete enough. If it still had its hidden front-deck missiles and a couple of good mountable machine guns, it could wreak havoc on Davao City.
The jet engine pulsed out rippling waves of heat, and the hydrofoil started to creep across the water. Squinting her eyes, Scarlett could see two men sitting at the controls: a Cobra Lamprey Eel, and the man who picked up the box from Chuckles back at the resort: Julio Reyes.
Chuckles came swimming over to her. "Scarlett! You okay? Can you believe that? Never in a thousand years did I think I'd ever see something like--!"
"Shut up, Chuckles." Then it hit her. Looking around, Scarlett panicked. "Where's Snake Eyes?"
2.
G.I. Joe's ace commando hung on to the starboard side of the Cobra Moray. His fingers were dug in to the mounting-hole that a .50-cal. machine gun would normally be locked into—if it wasn't for the fact that this Moray was stripped down for the purpose of disguise. Painfully pulling himself on board, purely through the strength of his fingers, Snake Eyes slid down to the deck floor and crawled his way up to the cockpit.
"Ha! Ha! Ha! That was awesome! We'll be able to brag about that one for months!" cheered the Lamprey.
"Are you kidding? That stunt'll make us the stars of the entire Cobra Organization for years!" dreamed the other guy.
The Lamprey put his finger on his chin. "Do you think Cobra Commander will reward us?"
Smiling, the passenger, whom Snake eyes deduced could only be Julio Reyes, bent his fingers into a pistol shape, "If he doesn't, I'd love to take him out on a boat ride sometime!" With that, the passenger fired his imaginary finger pistol and made a shooting sound.
As the two men laughed hysterically; Snake Eyes rose to his feet. Grabbing Reyes' body, he shoved the smuggler's head into the boat's metal side panel. Before the Lamprey could figure out what was happening, Snake Eyes pulled the Cobra Eel's helmet off and copied the head-slam move on him. The Joe commando reached over the unconscious pilot's shoulders and killed the craft's power, slowing the hydrofoil to a drift. After pulling the bodies of the Cobras to the rear of the boat, he slid down into the driver's seat. Snake Eyes grabbed the steering wheel, pressed the accelerator pad and made a steep right turn, racing back to rescue his friends.
3.
Chuckles wiped potato chip crumbs from his shirt and picked up the black box. "I can't help thinking that we're back to square one. Here we are sitting in a hotel room, looking at this stupid little box without a clue about where it's supposed to be going."
Picking the container up out of his hands, Scarlett studied it by rotating it around. "Yes, but at least we're back in the Waterfront Hotel. I feel a lot safer here than at that Pearl Farm." Their room's layout was similar to the Farm resort, but the décor was strikingly different, with a more processed look to it and less color. The desk that Mainframe sat at was a bit larger, and the window that Snake Eyes looked out of was a bit smaller.
"Hey, wait a minute, Scarlett." said Mainframe as he reached for the box. "I just noticed something." The red-haired Joe handed over the container to the computer specialist, who began analyzing the lock. "This isn't the same box as the one we had before!"
Chuckles choked on his potato chips. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. Look." Mainframe pointed to the lock. "The keyhole is built into the box, right? Well, in all my infinite grace, I scraped the lock with the edge of the laser-gun tubes as I was putting them in the box. Look: there's no scrape on the lock now."
Scarlett stared nervously at the container, and Chuckles picked it up again. "I don't know, Mainframe, the weight feels right. Maybe we should just open it and see if the equipment is in inside." Before he moved another inch, Snake Eyes pushed him against the wall and grabbed the box from him.
"Hey, what the hell was that about?"
Scarlett scolded him, "Are you crazy? If this really isn't the box, then it has probably been given to us as a trap, a bomb of some kind. I'm a bit disappointed in you, Chuckles, a G.I. Joe should have more common sense than you just showed.
As Scarlett sat back down on the bed, Chuckles stood in silence by the bathroom and Snake Eyes kept holding on to the box as he stood by the window. Mainframe knew he had to think of something fast.
He did.
"Duh! There is one way to know if this really is the box. We've forgotten about the tracking device we placed in it! All I need to do is turn on my laptop…" the Joe computer expert spun around and pushed the power on. Scarlett stood up and took a stance behind him. Snake Eyes watched from a distance, but Chuckles stayed by the bathroom.
"There!" cried Mainframe. "Look at that! The satellite connection from my laptop to the tracking device shows that the box has moved over seven hundred miles away from us!"
"Yes, but where's it going?" asked Scarlett.
"Well, I suppose we won't know that until it gets there. But at least now we know it's going somewhere. Our plan worked, for the most part."
"So, is it heading to Peru?" The group of Joes around the computer looked right to see Chuckles looking back at them, hunched down in a slump.
Mainframe turned back to his laptop. "Well, the tracker hasn't gone very far, but I can tell that it's not going East. It's moving very low across the Indian Ocean, so I don't think it's heading up into Asia. My guess is Africa."
"Africa? Boy, Cobra really does have a worldwide network." said Scarlett in amazement.
"I thought you said our next stop would be in South America." murmured Chuckles.
Scarlett picked up her bag and hung it over her shoulder. "Our next stop is wherever that box is going." She looked back at the screen and leaned closer. "I think we're a big step closer to finding Destro, boys."
4.
"Destro! Come in, Destro! Answer me before I send out a thousand Vipers to vaporize your precious production plant and melt off your chrome-plated skull!"
Grunting as he walked through the door, the chief weapons-supplier to the Cobra Terrorist Organization adjusted his facemask and activated his video-communications screen. It was not the enormous screen you always saw in science-fiction movies and cartoon shows. It was only a thirty-six-inch monitor that Destro had set up in his plant's main control room. What gave it a technological edge were the four digital cameras set upon each corner that took complete, holographic images of whoever stood in front of the screen. A program in the computer then composited an accurate holographic depiction of the person from the angled shots, then broadcast the image to another computer. It gave someone the ability to talk to a life-size hologram of the person they were having a conversation with, and not have to look at a side camera. Destro had constructed one of a smaller scale for Cobra Commander and installed it by his throne. One was also built for the Crimson Guard Commanders, a move that Destro disproved of, but was more than happy to accept an extra twenty-million dollars for.
"Commander, you are one of the few people on this earth that I would allow to say such an insult to me." responded the agitated weapons developer as he activated the computer and had a glowing copy of Cobra Commander appear standing on the floor in front of him. The Commander took a step back, obviously a reaction to a hologram of Destro appearing in front of the Head Snake in Cobra Temple.
"Destro! Where have you been? I have been trying to contact you for nearly an hour! I do not appreciate such flagrant disrespect of my authority."
"Calm yourself, Commander. I have only a skeleton crew here at my plant in Libya. I do not assign a full-time communications officer." Destro grinned as he watched frustration nearly drive the leader of Cobra towards chewing up the long blue hood that draped his head.
"Fine then. Let's get to business. I have disturbing news from the Philippines."
Destro's grin evaporated from behind his mask, and he began to pay a lot more attention to the Commander's words. Sensing Destro's change in emotion, the Head Snake sat back onto his throne, which partially appeared as a hologram.
"What has happened in the Philippines? You swore to me that your relay man in Davao City was impossible to find!"
Cobra Commander waved his arm. "Don't blame me, Destro. He was a Crimson Guardsman, blame those fools Tomax and Xamot. I can't control their network. It is a task too large for any one man. The point is that the relay post is gone. Do not send any more equipment there."
Destro slammed the counter. "Do you realize what your incompetence has cost me Commander? Those parts were one-of-a-kind! You have cost me a fortune! I demand compensation!"
"Destro will you shut up?" groaned the Commander. The tables were turned, causing both men to ponder the strangeness of the situation—it was far more common to see Destro damning the ravings of the Commander, not the other way around.
Adjusting his hood, Cobra's leader enjoyed knowing more than Destro—for once, "You see, Destro, when my Guardsman was captured, the Joe's were so anxious to find out where the box was going, they actually continued the relay on its course to us!" Cobra Commander began giggling his gloat-stricken laugh. "But when the Joes attempted to get it back, we gave them a duplicate, loaded with explosives!"
Feeling a bit of a smile slide back onto his frowning face, Destro asked, "What have you done with the real box?"
"It is on its way to you, naturally."
The grin totally vanished once again. "You fool! The Joes would surely have placed a tracking device in the box! If it is heading for me, then the Joes will find my plant! I won't have any time to finish the Matrix Cannon!"
Cobra Commander's laughter stopped and he began chewing on his hood again. "I…blame those damn twins! This is all their fault!"
Destro began typing and called up a Perimeter Defense Control Program. "Blame is irrelevant at this time, Cobra Commander. I have very important work to do, and a production plant to defend."
"I am sure you will do fine, Destro. You have free access to any Cobra asset in the Eastern Hemisphere. To be safe, I am going to head to Peru a week early and prepare our operations. Goodbye!"
The Commander's image flickered away as Destro cried "No! That damn fool! We are not ready to set up in South America yet. He'll botch everything up as he always does." Growling, the leader of the Iron Grenadiers punched open the control room doors, stomped down the stone stairway and marched out into the desert, looking for the officer in charge; he needed to do some yelling.
5.
The Baroness' high-heeled shoes clicked as she walked up the cobblestone stairway, turning the heads of a few puzzled men. After all, why would a robed woman be making such a curious sound as she ascended the walkway up into a Muslim village? Her high-heels represented the Baroness' defiance of her ridiculous disguise. She may appear like a poor, suppressed Muslim woman on the outside, but she was still Anastasia DeCobray, spoiled-rotten European aristocrat on the inside.
Still, as far as African cities go, Tunis was not that bad. It had some impressive-looking buildings and some beautiful designs, here-and-there. This small village seven miles northeast of Tunis, called Sidi Bou Said, was the supposed "crème-of-the-crop" when it came to places to live. Its buildings were almost all cubical in shape, with their second and third floors stacked upon each other with wide overhangs. The buildings, stairways and even the sidewalks were painted white, with cobblestone used as the dominate construction material. The doors and window frames were all painted blue, with some gold doors here and there. It was like stepping into a strange little world that was a tribute to the right-angle.
Despite getting quite a few confused looks in her direction, the Baroness brushed her way through the natives, making her way down the street, ignoring the markets filled with blue tubs stocked with odds-and-ends, and the mule-drawn carts being passed by European-style cars. Despite the ancient foundation to the village, the Baroness did pass a couple of fairly modern-looking restaurants. It was a merging of two periods of time. Spread across the world were many societies that seemed as though the ancient and the modern ages clashed together, neither one having dominance over the other.
But that didn't concern the feisty Cobra agent. The cubical apartment at the end of the street did. Clicking her feet up another stairway, the Baroness reached the doorway and knocked. A few moments later a scruffy-looking Muslim-man opened the door.
"Can I help you?" he asked in Arabic.
The Baroness slid back her khimar. "Yes, you have something that I want."
All color in the man's face vanished and he stumbled backwards into his dark and rude-smelling apartment. The little cubical residence was a stark contrast to the vigorous world on the other side of its walls. Clothes, food, books, even broken glass lay splattered throughout the apartment. Whoever this man was, he certainly did not belong here.
"B-Baroness!" he gasped, now speaking perfect English. "I did not expect you to come and pick up the equipment!"
Barging her way in, the Cobra Queen shut the door and dropped her jilbab, revealing a tighter, more exotic uniform underneath—however it was not her usual leather one; that would have been just too hot to wear in a desert. "Rahman Aktas, Destro has sent me here to acquire the piece of electronic equipment that you have on relay from Europe." She took a couple of steps in and held out her hand. "I will take it now."
Ali started shaking. "I…I do not have the equipment."
The Baroness eyes slid into a glare. "What?"
"I…my apartment was robbed last night." He pointed around with a quivering hand. "See for yourself. They…they took everything. I have nothing left."
Baroness examined the room more closely. Robbery was a possibility: the ravaged appearance of this place was a bit hard to swallow. Desk drawers were all thrown to the floor, and the television was missing from its stand, so maybe…
But a single object sitting on the coffee table changed the Baroness' entire perspective of the situation.
Clicking her heels across the room, the Cobra Queen moved towards the table in front of the sofa. "Mr. Aktas, do you know how long I have been a dealer in the Black Market?"
Dumbfounded by the question, the quivering, hunched–over man took a step closer to her, looking even more nervous. "N-no, B-Baroness. I would imagine--."
"Longer than I would dare to tell you." She turned to look at him and smiled. "It might let you calculate my age." Bending down to the table, the Baroness picked up a long, plastic object and held it out in plain view of Rahman. "Do you know what this is, Mr. Aktas?"
Feeling his confusion transform into tingling panic, Rahman answered, "A television's remote control."
"That's exactly right, Mr. Aktas! Very good! Now let me educate you on a little fact about the black market. Remote controls—of any kind—are very valuable objects. A thief breaking into your messy apartment here would never steal your television set—and by reading your remote control, it was a very pricey HDTV—without taking its remote control."
"Per-perhaps he did not see--."
"Do not insult my intelligence!" barked the Baroness. "Your remote control was sitting here in plain sight atop your coffee table. Even a naïve, first-time crook would have enough intelligence to look here to find the remote!" Looking towards the only closed door in the apartment—the bedroom door—the enraged lady adjusted her glasses and asked, "What is in there?"
Attempting to portray the stance of a dominating man, Rahman stated, "That is my bedroom. A woman may not enter there unless I allow it!"
Pulling out a small pistol from her uniform, the Baroness stated, "I do what I want, when I want, with whomever I want. Open the door."
Following the waves of the pistol, Rahman nervously stumbled over to the bedroom. Clicking her way closer to him, Baroness kept a close eye on his movements to make sure he didn't pull out a weapon from a piece of furniture or lump of clothing on the floor.
Rattling the door handle open, Rahman hung his head down as the door opened. "Get on the floor, hands on your head." ordered the Baroness. Once her prisoner had obeyed, she stepped into the dark room.
The room stank of cigarette smoke, which was strange, since the living room didn't smell like smoke at all. Once she felt around the wall for the light switch, she flipped it up…and shrieked as a pair of men dressed in black grabbed her arms and pinned her to the wall. Unable to withstand the painful pressure upon her arms, the Baroness dropped her pistol and began frantically kicking out.
A fat, stout, Arab-man, puffing heavily on a thick cigar, walked around the bed—which had a TV on it. "Baroness, I am happy to see you again."
"Muhammad-Rabah! You fat bastard! How dare you come here and ambush me like this!"
Blowing a puff of smoke into his prisoner's face, Muhammad-Rabah smiled. "I have been tracking you for a long time. I was happy to hear that you and Destro came to Libya. I knew I could finally catch you!"
After laughing, Baroness replied, "Are you insane? Once Destro learns of this, he'll have his worldwide network hunting you down, with a bounty on your head that is so high even your own men will betray you!"
Smiling, Muhammad-Rabah took another puff. "If he hunts me, I will kill you." He patted the Baroness' cheek. "He will not hunt me." The fat Arab picked up something that was sitting next to the TV set. When he turned around, the Baroness gasped. It was the black box. "This will be, as the Americans say, my "safety net." If he hunts me, I will kill you, or I will destroy his device. That is too high of a price to pay, I think."
"You really are stupid."
"Those are the words of a loser."
"No, I am someone who knows Destro. And you, you fat fool, have just awoken a lion.
6.
The sizzling, hissing noise of the welding device was unbearable. Not because of the audio volume, but because it was such a slow, delicate process, and at this point in time, anything that was slow was impossible to endure.
There. The weld was complete. Destro pulled off his welding goggles—he wore a titanium facemask, who needed a welding mask? The casing for the Matrix Cannon was now complete! Destro was very proud of himself this time. It really looked like a 21st-century device, with a smooth and shiny thirty-six-inch long and fifteen-inch wide tubular casing that had no hinges—everything was sliding panel access. Very sleek. It could even come apart at specific points so that the upgraded parts could be attached.
If they ever got here.
Destro nearly dropped the device when someone began pounding on the lab-room door.
"This had better be an emergency or I will drag you out into the desert and have you shot!" The CEO of M.A.R.S. swung open the door to see a panting Iron Grenadier gasping for breath in front of him. "What is the matter? Are we under attack?"
"N-no, Lord Destro. There has been an emergency transmission from…from the Baroness."
"The Baroness!" bellowed Destro, now happy that he had posted a full-time soldier at the communications post. "What did she say?"
"N-nothing, sir. The Lieutenant that went with her has reported that she has not returned from her pick up job for over three hours."
"Damn. Come with me back to the control room."
"Yes, sir!"
Destro's blood pressure was reaching critical mass. Nothing seemed to be going right today. First: dealing with the ambitions of that fool Cobra Commander. Second: preparing this plant for an eminent assault from the G.I. Joe team. Third: performing a rush-job on the Matrix Cannon. And now, the Baroness was missing—with the final part needed for his weapon.
Barging into the control room, Destro threw aside the chairs and stepped in front of the transmitter controls. After typing in a broadcast frequency, he crossed his arms and waited for a response. After a couple frustrating minutes of wait, an audio response came in.
"I am here."
"Fi--."
"Do not say my name!"
Sighing in frustration towards the mercenary's flare for the melodramatic, Destro continued, "The Baroness may have been abducted in Tunis. I need you to move in and rescue her, as per our agreement."
"Fine. But I do not like being a 'rescue troop,' Destro."
"You will certainly like having your pay tripled for this job. Now move it!" Poking the "off" button, Destro grabbed the sides of his facemask and growled. "Why must these buffoons be so difficult? Why can't I just find one loyal servant who will do my bidding without any kind of complaint or damning comment to me?"
"I…I am loyal, Lord Destro."
Looking over, the frustrated tyrant could see his control room op standing by the door, his hand raised like a little school-boy's. Destro walked out of the doorway and patted the Iron Grenadier on the soldier, painfully resisting every urge to punch this little butt-kisser through the wall.
But at the moment, he really needed someone manning communications.
7.
Buried beneath a dark night sky, parked a quarter mile from Sidi Bou Said, a team of three Iron Grenadiers sat in their black Volswagen Polo 4-Door, unsure of what to do next. In order to maintain her dominance, the Baroness refused to take any officers with her—just low-ranking trigger-pullers. Now that she was gone, and Destro hadn't responded to their situation report, they were getting very nervous. None of them had been to Tunisia before, and only one had even been to Africa before. This was a green group of mercenaries, without a lot of respectable military pride to fall back on. There was just as much uneasy heat pumping inside of the car as their was baking the paint-job—but at least the Polo had air-conditioning.
"I say we go in there and find the Baroness. We can't just sit around here all day waiting for some pack of malevolent shrugs to find us."
"Wilson, you are a fool. We can't go in there without Destro's orders. If he calls in a command to us and we're off doing something else, he'll kill us all for insubordination!"
"I don't know, Popinjay, I tend to agree with Wilson. If we do go in and rescue the Baroness, Destro would reward us greatly."
"But you're just a greedy thug, Reynolds. What do you think, Humperdink?"
"Well, let's stop to analyze things. Perhaps we could--."
Before the bureaucracy could finish its debate, a man dressed in light-and-dark-gray camouflage yanked open the door and sent the trio of newbies into shrieks of panic.
"F-Firefly!"
"Silence!" The Cobra saboteur looked around to see if anyone had heard his name called, then grabbed the Grenadier in the driver's seat by the collar. "Why are you fools just sitting around in this car? Why haven't you tried to rescue the Baroness?"
Mumbling, the driver, Wilson replied, "That's…that's what I've been trying to get them to do, sir. But they're all so bloody stubborn. Especially that Popinjay, he has constantly--."
"Shut up!" barked Firefly. Blowing out frustration through his cowl that only left a small slit open for his eyes, the saboteur threw the Grenadier back into the car. "So, basically you idiots have done nothing. Because of your stupidity, we'll be going in blind."
One soldier in the back raised his trembling hand. "N-not completely blind, sir. I did go in to confirm the Baroness' destination, but could see no signs of trouble there."
"And you are?"
"Reynolds, sir."
"And you never went back and established a watch on the location?" growled Firefly. Reynolds slipped back down and shook his head. "Where were you idiots trained? A Boys Scouts Camp?"
Anxious to jump out of the car, the Iron Grenadiers began opening the Volkswagen's doors.
"Stop, you idiots!" Firefly sighed as the troops sat back in the car. "You can't just barge in there without a battle-plan! It looks like I've got a lot of work to do." As he looked up the street towards Sidi Bou Said, Firefly whispered to himself, "This is exactly why I hate working with other people."