The Origin of MASK
Chapter 6: The Buddy System, Part 3
By Jelsemium and/or Qweb
Later that morning, Alex brought a tray of food to where Hondo was guarding an apparently blank wall.
"Thanks," Hondo said. "Get enough sleep last night?"
"It will have to suffice for now," Alex said drily. "I doubt we'll get any more until this afternoon. Bruce and I are going to check out our friend's room at the motel. Unless you would rather go?"
"No thanks, I'll let you explain things to his friends, if any."
"Is he awake?"
A quick check revealed the burglar was still out of it.
"Have fun," Hondo said, almost cheerfully.
"Don't let the bedbugs bite," Alex advised.
The sound of the door shutting penetrated Buddy's half asleep mind and he reluctantly faded in with a groan. He squirmed around a little, even though he knew darn well he was tied up. Fortunately, whoever had tied him up was a novice at the art of bondage. It didn't take him long to free himself.
"Why didn't they just kill me? I don't understand these dudes at all. They sure don't act like… "
Then he remembered what he'd overheard when he was half-conscious.
"Man, this is weird. I gotta get outa here."
He looked around the room, and deduced where he was.
"I'll just bet the computer access code's in this vault somewhere."
It was a "safe" bet.
Alex and Bruce returned from their early morning excursion to find Matt on hold on the phone.
Matt looked up as they entered.
"Anything?"
"Not a thing, unless you want an extra copy of that rèsumè, or some spare underwear, or a used thermos filled with stale water," Alex reported glumly.
Matt suddenly turned back to the phone.
"Yes, this is Matt Trakker, and I'm trying to get in touch with Duane Kennedy … Yes, that Duane Kennedy … Yes, I'll hold."
Buddy Hawks artistically draped himself with the loose ropes. He estimated how loud he needed to get in order to be heard on the other side of the vault. The door was thick, but there was a ventilation shaft in a strategic location. He went into his patented 'drowning out of water' act. Sure enough, the fella with the blaster mask came in to investigate…
Duane Kennedy turned out to be in Los Angeles when Matt finally got hold of him on the phone. He managed to not laugh in Matt Trakker's face, or even in his ear, when Matt explained what they had been up to, with the Venom research and the fight of the century in Trakker's home.
"This is serious, Duane," Matt said earnestly.
"I know, Matt," Kennedy said soothingly. "I realized that the first time I heard about this high-tech, international terrorist group."
"You know about them?" Matt asked in surprise.
"Of course, it's part of our job to know about these things. But you have come up with more concrete facts than our agents have, so far."
Matt felt a little deflated, like King Arthur going out to slay a dragon only to find that Merlin had turned it into a mosquito.
"How do you plan to handle them?" He asked, thinking to volunteer his services.
"There's not much we can do."
"WHAT!"
"Matt, you have to understand, the PNA doesn't have a tax base. Our funding comes from our member countries, and donations. We do as much as we can with what we have, investigative work, security checks, and so forth. But, frustrating as it is, we don't have the money to act on any of our findings. We can only try to coordinate the efforts of the law enforcement agencies of our members."
"I see," said Matt. "I think we have solutions to each other's dilemmas."
"I certainly hope so, I'll be at your place within the hour, and I'll bring some guards along with me."
"Good, could you bring a doctor as well? I got a little carried away in the subduing department."
"I think that can be arranged."
Matt hung up and joined the rest of the family in the kitchen as they were fixing breakfast.
A sudden clattering noise surprised no one as a trash can shaped robot yawned and clanked his way in amongst their midst.
"Morning, T-Bob," Scott said cheerfully as he set the table.
"Good morning, Scott, Matt, Alex, Bruce," T-Bob squeaked politely. "My, you were up early today, Scott. Or did your midnight snack last all night?"
"Nah, I never even got a chance to eat it, what with chasing after the burglar and all," Scott said.
"Bur…bur…BURGLAR!" T-Bob dithered, his head cover springing up and down like a deranged jack in the box. The tubby little robot spun around in little circles until he collided with a wall.
"Take it easy, T-Bob," Matt cautioned, "You'll break a circuit or something."
"How can you be so calm about… oh, I get it, it was a joke, right?" T-Bob looked at his creator hopefully. "There wasn't really a burglar, was there?"
"I'm afraid there was, T-Bob," Scott said, not sounding very sorry. "Hey! Where'd the leftover pizza go?"
T-Bob was not to be side-trakked. "Bu… bu… but shouldn't we be doing something about the bu… bur…"
"It's already taken care of old chap," Alex said soothingly. "He locked up all neat and tidy in the money vault. You can go up and see for yourself, after breakfast."
"N…n…no thanks, this is as close to a burglar as I ever want to get!"
When the human diners finished laughing, Matt said, "speaking of breakfast, has anyone taken anything to Hondo, and checked the catch of the day?"
"I did," said Alex, as he deftly grated potatoes. "And I'll check again as soon as I have eaten."
"I'll fix the eggs and bacon…" began Bruce.
"Matt, you take care of the toast," Alex interrupted, fearing that Bruce had another aphorism on the tip of his tongue.
Bruce, who had an aphorism on the tip of his tongue, looked surprised, then amused as he started cooking the bacon and eggs.
Matt started the toast, helped himself to a cup of coffee, and looked at his son with amusement. "Lose something, Scott?"
"My breakfast pizza."
"Worry about that later, besides, you need a healthier breakfast," Matt said.
Scott sighed. "Hey, the milk bottle is empty!" he added indignantly.
"And whose fault is that?" Matt asked mildly.
Scott protested his innocence half heartedly, not sure if he was guilty or not.
"Fetch me the orange juice, will you, Scott?" Alex requested.
Scott looked in the well searched refrigerator.
"It's not here, either."
"Are you sure?" Alex asked in surprise. "It was there when I fixed Hondo's breakfast."
"Well, it's not here now."
"Hmm, maybe I left it with Hondo."
"There's more in the freezer," said Matt. "Mix some up in the lemonade pitcher, Scott."
They were finishing breakfast when the doorbell rang.
Matt opened the door to see a tall, somewhat overweight politician type standing there with four armed guards in attendance. There were two limousines parked in the driveway.
"Duane, so good of you to come."
Sandy haired Duane Kennedy grinned wryly at the conventional pleasantry, then the worry lines returned to his high forehead.
"The pleasure's all mine, especially if you can help with my 'venomous' problem. But first let us see this burglar of yours."
"This way," Matt said. "Where's the doctor?"
"He'll be along in a short while."
Trakker escorted Kennedy and his four armed guards to the vault, followed by everyone in the house except T-Bob, who elected to remain in the kitchen. And, of course Hondo McLean, who was in the vault, tied up with some ropes that had been lying around handy at the time. The burglar was obviously not there.
"I'm sorry, Matt," Hondo said as he was unbound. "I should have suspected a trick." He touched the side of his jaw, which was turning a rather interesting shade of blue-green.
"That's okay, Hondo, it's not your fault."
"But now we're sunk!" said Hondo despairingly.
"Maybe not, he may still be on the grounds," Matt said.
A search revealed that there was nobody in the house.
"He must have escaped through the computer room," said Alex. "He can't have gone far in the time he had."
"Yes he could. I left Firecracker parked there!" Hondo moaned. he put his back against the wall and slid to a sitting position. "We're in for it now!"
"Duane, could you have your guards check the grounds while we check the computer room?"
"Certainly," said Duane, and sent the men outside.
Matt looked at the teacher in concern, "Hondo, are you all right?"
"No."
"Why don't you go lie down awhile?"
"That sounds like an excellent idea," Hondo replied, and departed upstairs with an icepack.
"So, where's this top secret computer that you don't even want my pet bodyguards to see?"
Matt escorted Duane to the computer, trailed by the other two would-be MASK agents and Scott. He opened the door and found the burglar.
He was sprawled comfortably in the chair in front of console with the half empty bottle of orange juice, the remains of Scott's pizza and an empty package of Oreos.
The smug-as-a-cat burglar stretched casually as they entered and said:
"Oh, good morning, Duane."
"HAWKS ?! What in blue thunder are you doing here?"
Hawks shrugged "Barking up the wrong tree, I guess."
"You two know each other?" Alex asked, aghast.
Duane sighed heavily, "Gentlemen, this is my agent Hawks, the one who's been investigating the museum robbers for the PNA."
"You thought we were the museum raiders?" Matt asked incredulously.
Hawks looked at him defensively, "Well, you were gathering information on all the places that had been hit, you broke into every law enforcement computer in the PNA, you've been collecting enough high tech weaponry to start an army, and you have a flying car that's armed with laser cannons. What was I supposed to think? That you were starting up a new Boy Scout troop?"
Matt, Alex, Bruce and Scott looked at each other. Before they could start laughing, however, Duane broke in.
"Hawks! how dare you break into private property?" demanded an outraged Security Chief Kennedy.
Hawks swung to his feet, wincing a little as he straightened up.
"I was just doing my jo…"
"Oh, no you weren't! Your job does NOT entail breaking and entering without a warrant. You've grossly over stepped your authority," Kennedy paused, then added acidly, "as usual."
Kennedy turned to Matt, "I'm terribly sorry about this, Matt. I assure you he will be severely disciplined."
Buddy pulled himself to his full height and started to say something.
"Not another word, Hawks."
The doorbell rang again as the PNA doctor arrived. He checked everyone out, and ordered Hawks to the hospital for skull X-rays.
"Makes sense," Buddy grumbled. "I was beginning to think I needed my head examined."
Duane shook his head as his man departed. "Excuse me while I dismiss the guards."
He returned in a few minutes.
"Where will they go?"
"Back to the airport, we came in separate planes."
"No fraternizing with the hired help?"
Duane gave him a blank look. "No, it's just that I thought I might need one to transport the prisoner."
"Who turned out to be one of your agents in the first place."
Duane blushed, "I terribly sorry about that, Matt," he said again. "I can understand you being upset. Hawks is a good man, really." Duane shook his head sadly, "But he just has to jump into the water head first, no matter how deep or hot it may be."
Matt made soothing gestures. "Calm down, Duane, I'm not upset. It's not your fault. In fact, I don't think it was your agent's fault either. Like he said, what was he supposed to think? I was so worried about Venom's actions being so suspicious, I never even considered how mine might look."
Bruce added his two cents, "And the bait that attracts the tiger may also arouse the curiosity of the jackal."
"Huh?" said Duane.
"Don't look at me," said Alex, returning from shutting off the security system and opening the shutters. "I just work here."
"He means that if my actions attracted the PNA, they might attract Venom as well," Matt translated.
"I see, well tell me more about this, I suppose you'd call it 'Anti-venom' program of yours."
Matt, Alex and Bruce looked at Duane sharply. There was the barest hint of a twinkle in the man's eyes. And just when they were becoming convinced that he had no sense of humor.
"Actually, we call ourselves MASK," Matt said.
"MASK?"
"For our weapons," Matt showed him Ultra-flash and Bruce put on Lifter and looked at the couch of the living room as they entered it.
"Lifter, on."
The little rings of light entrapped the couch and Bruce brought it over to where they were standing.
"Good Lord!" Duane exclaimed, jumping back a pace.
"We thought a little sauce for the goose might be in order," Matt said.
"Wonderful, now's he's doing it," Alex moaned. "I'm going to have to program T-Bob to translate everything for me."
Matt laughed. "Sorry, Alex." He turned to Duane "What I meant was, if Venom is going to use high tech, so must we."
"It's a good idea, but the PNA's budget won't run to this sort of thing."
"I understand that," Matt explained, "which is what I was saying about us solving each other's dilemma. You have the authority, but not the equipment. We have the equipment, but no authority. We could physically handle Venom. But if we constantly have to fend off the authorities as well, we won't get very far. If you could somehow deputize us or something, we wouldn't have to worry about that."
"Where would the money be coming from?"
"From me, it's my game."
"But even you don't have a bottomless purse, or do you mean to give up your charities?"
"Of course not, for one thing, that would be too conspicuous. True, my resources aren't without limits, but a lot of this gear is made from developments that are already on my drawing boards. I also have the volunteer services of my colleagues." Here he paused and gestured to Bruce and Alex. "I also expect to get more volunteer fighters, with their own areas of expertise."
"But why? You have so much to lose, why risk it all on something that's not your fight?"
"It became my fight the minute Mayhem and his bunch dragged my company into it. Besides, all my charity work, as you call it, is to make this planet a better place for my son to live on. I'm not about to see Venom and their ilk mess it up."
"As you wish, I'll see what I can do." He hesitated. "I can't promise anything, but I may be able to assist with the funding, at least somewhat. Wouldn't want you to go bankrupt fighting our battles for us … besides, it would look suspicious."
The next morning, Buddy Hawks was discharged from the hospital. He looked around the reception room a trifle sourly, wondering if Kennedy was going to make good his threat to make him pay his own way back home.
He also wondered if he dared hang around and hint for an invitation to Trakker's team, or if it would be more politic to allow a cooling off period first.
"Need a lift?"
He turned in surprise to see both Trakkers and an ambulatory ashtray waiting for him.
"What are you doing here?" Buddy asked, outwardly peevish, but inwardly hopeful. "I couldn't have put you in the hospital, Duane would have strangled me with my own I.V. if I had."
"No, no, nothing that dramatic," Matt said. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right, and see if you needed help paying the bill."
Hawks rubbed the lump on the back of his head.
"I'm okay, I've been hit harder. And my insurance will take care of the bill. Lord knows I've made my deductible for the year." He started to shake his head ruefully, then thought better of the gesture.
"I see, well," Matt paused then continued, "There must be something I can do for you."
"Do you know where Kennedy is?"
"He left for New York last night, I'm afraid," Matt apologized. "If you need transportation, I can arrange something, I'm sure."
"Why all the hospitality?" Buddy wanted to know.
"Well, my actions did lead you to my house and my vase," Matt said mildly, wondering if he ought to approach Hawks about joining MASK, or if he should allow a cooling off period first. Hawks still looked rather bilious.
Matt postponed the decision for the moment.
"Why don't we discuss this over breakfast?" he asked in sudden inspiration.
Lured by his stomach, Hawks climbed into Thunderhawk.
"By the way, just to get formal, I'm Matt Trakker. This is my son Scott, and Scott's robot, T-Bob."
"Hawks, Buddy Hawks."
"Well, I'm glad to hear that, I was beginning to think that you didn't have a name."
"Buddy?! That hardly sounds like the name of an international spy to me," T-Bob squeaked up from the back seat.
Buddy looked around at the sound of his name and was taken aback to be insulted by an ash can.
"You talk!" he said accusingly.
"Of course," T-Bob squeaked with dignity. "I also convert into a motor scooter."
"Oh, really? Can you microwave pizza?" Buddy said sarcastically.
Having put T-Bob in his place, Buddy turned back to Matt.
"Of course I have a name," the spy said loftily. "In fact I have lots of names."
"I guess a lot of aliases would be useful in your line of work."
"Most of 'em aren't exactly aliases."
"How'd that happen?" Matt asked.
Buddy shrugged, "It's a boring story."
Matt gave his now invited guest a sideways glance.
"I'd like to hear it."
"Well . . ."
"I could get Duane off your back, if you make it worth my while," Matt bribed.
Buddy laughed. "If you insist. It's the result of being raised in about a dozen different foster homes, plus a bunch of hospitals, orphanages, shelters, boarding schools and summer camps, not to mention good old juvie hall, each with a different name for me.
"In juvie hall? You mean juvenile hall?" T-Bob asked in surprise. "That sounds awful, why'd they put you in jail?"
Hawks shrugged again. "A lot of kids get sent there when the authorities haven't got anyplace else to put them. It wasn't all that bad, though. For one thing, it convinced me that I didn't want to go in for a life of crime."
"Don't like being caged up?" Matt asked.
Buddy shook his head in spite of himself. "The food's even worse than a hospital's."
Matt laughed, "Well, my cooking isn't the world's best, but I can guarantee that it's better than that!"
"What about your parents?" Scott asked, "What happened to them?"
"I don't know anything about my parents," Buddy sighed. Even with all his investigative training he'd never found any information on them. "I've never even met anyone who'd ever seen them. I was told I was found in the parking lot of some supermarket."
"It sounds like you had a tough life," Scott said with sympathy.
Buddy tossed his right hand back, as if to toss away the notion. "It wasn't so bad. Since I spent so much of my life being bounced around so much, I always knew things were going to get better."
"A born optimist," Matt said humorously, but with a trace of admiration.
"Yep, but I always called it the Buddy System," Hawks said slyly.
"Ouch."
Scott interrupted with the question paramount in his mind, "How'd you become a spy?"
Buddy spread his hands out, palms up. "When you're caught on the borderline of poverty, you can get a scholarship, which my tangled up school records would have prevented, even if I'd been any great shakes in school. Or you become a great athlete, which I wasn't interested in, and I'd already written off crime."
Buddy allowed himself to go off on a sidetrack. "Too bad, in a way, I'd have given cat burglars back some class." He looked out the window with a wistful expression on his face, then twisted around so he could look at both Matt and Scott and got back to business.
"Those of us who didn't take those choices went into the military." He waved his hand forward in a "charge" motion as he spoke. Matt was beginning to get the idea that a lot of Buddy's conversation was in body language.
"As a spy?" Scott asked eagerly.
"No, as a mechanic," Buddy grinned at the crestfallen boy.
"So, that bit about being a great mechanic wasn't just part of your cover?"
"Of course not, I always stick to the truth when I can. It makes the lies sound so much more real."
"Then what? Matt asked.
"Well, my ASVAB scores…"
"As who?" Scott interrupted.
"ASVAB, Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery. It's the I.Q. test the army gives everyone who joins," Buddy explained. "Anyways, my score was higher than the powers- that-be expected, and they thought that I might have an aptitude for intelligence work. So they made me an offer that my snoopy self couldn't refuse."
"Why'd you leave the army and join the PNA?"
Buddy looked at Matt curiously, "Is this a job interview or something?"
Matt smiled blandly "Or something."
Buddy slouched down in his seat happily, maybe he wasn't going to have to beg for a job after all.
"The army pries too much into your private life and the PNA was the only civilian agency that would have me."
"Why not?" Scott broke in once more. "You're a great spy."
Buddy grinned at that one.
"Not enough education. Besides, I did get caught."
"But you also got away," Matt pointed out. "And you got the information you wanted. My organization could use someone with your talents."
"I'll think about it."
Matt grin was pure mischief, a quick look around told him everybody was buckled up. "While you're thinking, I'll take a short cut."
He slammed the gear shift all the way forward and the conversions that Bruce had finished tutoring him on took place, the gull wing doors popped open the spoiler sprang into place, and the sports car leaped skyward.
"What the…" Hawks blurted, sitting bolt upright and bracing himself against the dashboard. Knowing the car could fly and flying in it were two different things.
"All right!" cheered Scott.
T-Bob fainted.
"C'mon," Matt laughed, "you've been hoping for a job offer, or you'd have never told us so much about yourself without truth serum and rubber hoses."
"What's the pay like?"
"Well, the MASK agents would be more or less volunteers, though I would pay for expenses and time lost. You would be full time, however, taking care of the vehicles and maintaining the gas station cover. I'll top your current salary and throw in a better benefit package. Not to mention fewer rules to entangle you, nobody prying into your privacy, plus the ultimate skeleton key."
"You mean that green mask that went through the walls?"
"Exactly."
"I almost tossed my cookies when I got hit with that one," Buddy complained.
"I'm working on that bug right now," Matt said.
The idea of being able to walk through walls was enough to make Buddy drool. But still he balked.
He frowned thoughtfully, ignoring the sounds of Scott reviving T-Bob in the back, and not even hearing T-Bob's complaints about "If robots were meant to fly, they'd have interfaces with airline computers."
"Do the others approve or do they plan to lynch me if I show my face again?"
"They had some reservations…" Matt began.
"Meaning they got on your case about it," Buddy interpeted freely.
"From lunch time 'til bed time," Scott confirmed.
"But my calm, skillful leadership brought them around to my point of view," Matt said airily.
"You threw a bigger tantrum than they did," Buddy guessed.
Matt's glare into the back seat kept Scott and T-Bob silent, but when Buddy looked back at them, they both nodded vigorously, even though Matt's version was closer to the truth.
"What do you expect from me?"
"I expect you to use your mechanical skills to keep our fancy vehicles moving, and your snooping skills to keep us informed and your anti-social skills to keep people from hanging around the Boulder Hill gas station."
"Anti-social skills?" Buddy put on his best choirboy expression. "What makes you think I'm anti-social."
"I talked to Duane about you."
"Oh."
Matt laughed at his deflated expression.
"You could also teach us how to tie people up so they stay tied up."
Scott bounced up and down in excitement.
"And you can teach me all about being a spy, and… and… you can teach T-Bob how to microwave pizza!"
The belly laugh started up Buddy's headache again, but he couldn't stop it.
"How can I refuse an offer like that!" he chortled.
"Then you're in?"
"Yessir, Mr. Trakker, sir !" Buddy exclaimed happily as Thunderhawk made a four point landing in the mansion's driveway.
"We're informal here," Matt informed his new employee. "You only have to use one sir."
Buddy threw him a mock salute as the elder Trakker led the way to the door and held it open.
"By the way, Buddy…" Trakker began as they went inside.
"Yes?"
"Were you ever a Boy Scout?"
In the next installment:
Matt gets an "E" ticket ride in a pizza truck
and Venom learns that "Fast Food"
can be hazardous to your health.