Note: Armbruster is the name of the cartoon GI Joe character known as Ace.

The Origin of MASK
Chapter 6: Masquerade Rock, Part 1

By Jelsemium and/or Qweb

Tires squealing, the gaily colored Formula One race cars roared around the track, jockeying for position. The grandstand crowd added their own roars to the noise.

"Yay, Dusty! Go! Go!"

Scott Trakker cheered his friend on at the top of his voice.

Gloria Baker was cheering as uninhibitedly as Scott. She'd grown fond of Dusty Hayes in their few meetings and was glad to see him get a chance to drive something more exciting than a pizza truck. A race driver herself, she had to admire Dusty's handling of the speedy car. The one-time cowboy was as good as she'd been told, certainly skillful enough for the professional circuit, in her judgment.

Scott's father, Matt, tried half-heartedly to match their enthusiasm, but his white-knuckled hands gripped the rail in front of him, as he watched the jostling cars. A natural born worrier, he was sure Dusty was going to get hurt. After all, this was a dangerous business.

Dusty and Gloria had given up trying to talk him out of his fretting and decided to let him work it out himself. If Matt were going to lead a secret crime fighting force, he'd just have to get used to the idea of living on the edge. And, they decided, one of the best ways was for him to watch Dusty at work.

They had been a little surprised that he had agreed to come with no argument. Dusty had been delighted, because he wanted to share his big moment with his friends. Gloria had been glad, because she thought Matt needed a break from organizing MASK while keeping up with all his regular business ventures. Neither one of them realized that Matt had an ulterior motive for his acceptance.

But, at the moment, Matt would have rather been at home. He had a presentment of disaster so strong it made him feel sick.

The crowd was screaming itself hoarse as the group of lead cars raced for the turn. But they were too tightly packed. A sleek yellow racer ran up the curve, forcing Dusty's blue car to the edge of the track. Dusty fought for running room, but the yellow car kept up the pressure. Suddenly, it rocked sideways as if caught in a strong draft. Its front fin clipped the rear wheel of Dusty's car. Dusty spun out of control and hit the edge of the track, scattering protective bales of hay. A concerted gasp, punctuated by sharp screams, went up as the car seemed to soar into the air, flipping end over end to land upside down with a solid crash.

The crowd, on its feet in automatic reaction, was shocked immobile. The other cars fled away from disaster.

And into the sudden silence the director yelled, "Cut!"

Stuntman Dusty Hayes wriggled out from under the overturned car. He pulled off his crash helmet and signaled thumbs up to show he was okay. The relieved crowd applauded thunderously.

Matt vaulted the railing and turned too late to help the equally agile Gloria. Scott ducked between the bars and joined them as they ran to where the stuntman was receiving the congratulations of the film crew.

Dusty grinned at his friends as they rushed up. It was his first stunt since his unfair suspension had been lifted and he was as hungry for approval as a new puppy.

"How'd it look?" he asked eagerly.

"Awesome!" Scott exclaimed.

"I can't believe you did that on purpose," said Gloria.

As a race driver, she'd had her share of spinouts, crashes and even injuries; but as far as she was concerned, they were something to avoid.

Matt studied Dusty with worried eyes.

"I'm still not sure you should be doing this so soon after that whack on the head."

Dusty looked as hurt as a kid who found his Father's Day masterpiece in the trashcan. Gloria hugged his arm in reassurance and scolded Matt.

"Lighten up, Matt," she ordered. "Dusty got green lights from the doctors you sent him to."

"Yeah, Dad, all six of them," Scott chimed in. "Even Julio."

"Okay, okay, so I'm a worrier," Matt confessed.

"Don't pay any attention to him, Dusty. I thought you were magnificent. That crash looked as real as anything I've ever seen at the track," Gloria said, watching the Texan's eyes brighten again.

"Well, it sure scared me," Matt said.

Dusty laughed and punched his friend's shoulder lightly.

"Marvelous, Dusty! Simply marvelous!" said the director who was short, chubby and very pleased with the completion of the final shot of the day.

He walked up and studied the wreck which was almost exactly centered between two remote control cameras and right on top of the plexiglass that protected a third camera in a shallow pit. The director sighed with satisfaction.

"Right on the mark, and in only one take. It's a pleasure working with you, Dusty," he said, shaking the stuntman's hand with honest enthusiasm. "It's good to have you back, kid. If I have my say, we'll work together on a lot of projects."

Dusty flushed at the lavish praise.

"Thank you, Mr. Berger. But I had to take on some extra responsibilities when I was 'at liberty'."

Dusty spoke the actors' term for unemployment with the justifiable pride of one who had mastered a foreign language.

"So I may not be as available as I used to," he finished.

"I hope we can work something out, Dusty. We need more like you."

Berger spotted an approaching figure and raised his voice to include the newcomer. "Now, if Mr. Riker can do his aerial stunts half as well tomorrow, we may actually get this video back on schedule," he said cheerfully.

"I aim to try, Mr. Berger," the pilot said easily. He turned to Dusty as the director moved away to supervise the loading of some equipment. "I didn't want to intrude, but I wanted to add my congratulations to everyone else's. That was some stunt. I can't think of anything harder than deliberately racking up a car."

"Shoot, I'm only so high off the ground," Dusty replied, miming the height of the ground-hugging racer. "I don't have near as far to fall as you."

The pilot had the tall, straight-backed stance of a man who'd spent a lot of time in the armed forces and his curly hair was close cropped in the military style he had grown accustomed to. His long, square-jawed, high cheek-boned face was naturally solemn, but the twinkle in his eyes belied any notion that he was humorless.

"But I'm not supposed to hit the ground," Riker said gravely. "In fact, I believe it's in my contract that I don't get paid if I do."

The others chuckled.

"How long have you been doing stunt work, Mr. Riker?" Gloria asked.

"Minus one day, starting tomorrow," he answered, "and make it 'Ace,' please, everybody."

Introductions were handed around. Ace hadn't realized he was talking to the famous Matt Trakker, but he controlled his surprise well.

"How did you happen to get involved in this … business …, Ace?" Matt asked.

"A friend of mine from the service was supposed to do the flying; but he got hurt and couldn't come. So he recommended me."

"Did he crash?" Scott asked eagerly.

"No, he broke his ankle playing football with his six-year-old," Ace said dryly.

"Tough kid," Matt commented.

Anyway, he remembered I was climbing the walls, so he gave me a call. My wife was so glad to get me out of the house, she practically begged me to take the job. 'Course, when she found out it was a rock video for Brad Turner, she was sorry she promised to watch the hardware store for me. Wish she could have come. She would have enjoyed all this," he said wistfully.

"She probably didn't want to watch your stunt work," Matt said wryly.

Ace waved away the idea of danger.

"This is nothing, just some aerial acrobatics in a sweet little plane I know like the back of my hand. When I was test piloting, I did more dangerous stunts in planes no one understood. And I've got the scars to prove it."

The pilot stretched his back by way of illustration. "Not to mention a couple of fused vertebrae for me from a 'slight mishap' on my last test flight. And thus endeth my career as a test pilot."

"Why?" Gloria asked. "It obviously doesn't prevent you from flying."

Ace grinned at her.

"No, my back is no problem in flying. But there are strict standards for NASA test pilots, and I don't meet them anymore. I could have gone back to the Air Force, I suppose. But as my buddy Armbruster used to say: 'A test pilot is a test pilot until he finds something stupider to do.' "

Dusty laughed, "And you figger stunt work just may be it?"

"I have my hopes. It's kind of pitiful in a way," Ace said ruefully. "I've got a good business and a great wife, but the nice, peaceful life starts to drive me crazy after a while. Then I've just got to go do something dangerous with an airplane. Guess I'm just an adrenalin junkie."

Race driver Gloria and stuntman Dusty both nodded complete understanding. Matt looked at them all as if they were crazy.

"I've never understood that," he confessed.

"You will, pard," Dusty said with a more shrewd character assessment than most people would have given him credit for. "Now that you're … "

He stopped suddenly, realizing he couldn't mention MASK in front of Ace.

"Now that you're hanging around with us," Gloria finished for him, deftly recovering the cowboy's fumble.

Ace didn't seem notice. He was looking up at the sky where he would challenge death tomorrow.

"It's the risk that makes life worth living, but when I was in NASA, there was a point to the risk, even if it was only making sure a new plane was safe for other pilots to use. It seems kind of silly to risk your life to make a rock video, though," he said.

"At least the proceeds are going to charity," said a new voice, an awfully familiar voice, even if Ace had never met the speaker.

The pilot winced. Open mouth, insert foot, chew well, he thought as he turned to meet Brad Turner, star of said silly rock video.

As always, it was hard to tell exactly what Brad was thinking. His famous sunglasses hid his eyes and shadowed his lean, hungry face. But when Ace started to blush, he grinned broadly and laughed away Ace's stammered apologies.

"It is a damn silly way to make a living, isn't it?" he said cheerfully. The star who needed no introduction shook hands all around, even with Scott. "Hi, I'm Brad Turner. I make loud noises for a living. Some people call it music, but I'm not that pretentious."

-MASK-

The others protested. Brad's upbeat affirmations of life, love and friendship didn't usually rank high on the charts so full of doom and gloom. But he had a growing following of not yet cynical youngsters, like Scott, and a solid core of older, never-say-die types, like Gloria and Matt.

Where Brad topped the charts was in public esteem. He consistently scored in the top 10 in polls that judged the "most respected" celebrities. He always seemed to work as much for others as he did for himself, whether it was a TV safety message, a benefit motorcycle race or a rock video for charity.

Brad dropped to a seat on one of the hay bales. Standing he had some of the same shoulders-back posture as Ace, but when he sat, he relaxed completely, recharging the dynamo of energy he radiated when he moved. His lounging reminded Matt of Buddy Hawks.

"Didn't mean to eavesdrop, folks." Brad apologized. But I wanted to come over here and thank Dusty for making me look so good.

Dusty didn't say anything, but he was surprised Brad knew who he was, since they'd never been introduced. That was Brad's way, though. He always knew the names of everybody working with him.

"I'm flattered," Dusty said, "I was just doin' my job."

"And doing it so well," Brad said.

The others introduced themselves. Brad thought that he had recognized Matt Trakker, and he was thrilled to meet racecar driver Gloria Baker.

"That was a neat job you did in that Miller 300," he said with admiration. "Are you going into stunt work also?"

"Nah," Gloria said. "Too tame."

Ace said, "I certainly hope not."

Brad grinned, then turned to his fellow pilot.

"I know what you mean about needing that adrenalin," the singer said. "That's why I still race, even though it gives my agent the willies. I can't seem to give it up."

"No one's asking you to," Matt said.

"My agent is," Brad said ruefully. "He wouldn't even let me do some of the easier stunts in this video. If it were up to him, I'd… well never mind, you aren't interested in my problems with my agent."

"What does he think of your helicopter flying?" Matt asked.

"Not much," Brad shrugged. "But I still fly them, although I did let him talk me out of racing them."

Ace assessed the singer with a professional eye.

"Military pilot?"

"Yep," Brad said cheerfully. "Army Air Cav. My unit was loaned to the PNA's war zone evacuation team. And I'll tell you, once you get used to being in mortal danger, anything less seem kinda bland." He looked Ace over carefully. "I'll bet you were in the Air Force."

"I started out there, then transferred over to NASA."

"And now you're a stuntman," Brad said.

"That depends on if it is as dull as Miss Baker makes out," Ace said.

"Probably as dull as being a 'rock star', Brad said. He sighed.

"Is something wrong, pardner?" Dusty asked.

"I'm not sure, my United Charity liaison gives me the creeps. I wish they had sent the old one.

Matt raised an eyebrow.

"Do you want me to check him out for you? Or is it a her?"

"No, it's a him," Brad said. The singer thought over Matt's offer and said, "But I did check out the representative. The woman at United Charities said that he had the personality of a rat, but he knew his stuff… What's wrong?

Matt kept his shock under control with effort.

"I … I've heard that somewhere before. I think that maybe this rep ought to be double-checked. Mind if I look into it?"

Brad looked almost as surprised as Dusty and Gloria felt, but accepted with thanks.

"Look, why don't you all be my guests at the concert this weekend," Brad said, pulling out a sheaf of tickets and backstage passes.

"Giving out free tickets, again? That's not the way to make money, you know. Not even for charity." a tall, distinguished looking man had come up behind Brad. He spoke as if joking, but there was an under tone to his voice that Matt didn't like. "Don't forget, you have an appointment with your special effects manager."

"I haven't forgotten, Chad. Guys, this is my agent, Chad Frankel," the musician said. He pulled another card from his pocket. "Gotta go now, here's my private number, I have call forwarding, so you'll be able to catch me with it."

-MASK-

Ace was looking at his ticket mournfully.

"I'm a dead man," he said. "When my wife finds out I've met Brad Turner and gone to a concert as his guest, while she's mixing paint and sorting nails in Denver, she'll kill me."

"There's one way out, pard," Dusty said.

The cowboy mimed a crashing airplane complete with explosive sound effects.

"No," Ace said with regret. "I can't do that."

"Chicken?" Gloria teased.

"Professional pride?" Matt put in.

"Nope," Ace said. "It's not my plane."

Matt was very quiet on the way back to the hotel, and Gloria asked him what was wrong.

"You heard what Brad was saying about the United Charities representative?"

"Yes, what exactly is bothering you about it?" Gloria asked.

"The part where the woman at United Charities described him as having 'the personality of a rat, etc.'"

"Wasn't that what Vanessa said about Rax when Ward checked him out?" Scott asked.

"Almost exactly."

"You think Venom is around here?" Dusty asked in astonishment from the back where he was sitting with Scott. "But why?"

Matt shrugged, "I don't know. I hope they haven't anticipated my next recruitment."

"Oh, wow!" Scott enthused from the back seat with Dusty. "Are you gonna get Brad Turner to join MASK?"

"The thought has begun to consider the possibility of crossing my mind," Matt admitted.

"WHAT?" was Gloria's response.

"Well, as Buddy brought to my attention, he has all the qualifications we need," Matt said somewhat defensively.

"But, but he wouldn't be interested in joining MASK!" Gloria said.

"Why not? You heard what he was saying about needing action. Besides, he likes helping people."

"But what about Venom?" Gloria asked worriedly. "Do you think they're on to us?"

"I doubt it," Matt said.

His confidence lasted until they came back from breakfast the next morning and found an intruder in their suite.

Matt's reaction was automatic:

"Buddy! I hate it when you do this!"

Scott, Dusty and Gloria crowded around Matt and looked at the invader curiously.

Buddy was firmly ensconced in the couch of the sitting room of the Trakker suite with the television on in the background. With cat-like insolence, he eyed the four as they approached, but couldn't be bothered to stand up, or even move his head.

"How did you get in here?" Matt asked, as he recovered his composure.

"Through the door," Buddy said, as if that explained everything.

"How'd you get the door open?" Scott asked.

"With the key," Buddy replied, holding the object in question up for inspection.

"How'd you get a key?" Dusty asked, bewildered.

"I picked Matt's pocket," Buddy replied blandly.

"WHAT?" Matt gasped in a voice at least two octaves higher than normal.

Scott sniggered into his hands as his father slowly began to lose his cool.

"When did you get close enough to pick his pocket?" Gloria asked.

"Oh, a couple of times," Buddy explained as he turned his attention back to the television." But I was a bag lady when I lifted the key."

"The one I gave the twenty to?" Matt asked in a choked voice.

"Yep, oh, and thanks for lunch, by the by," Buddy said with apparent sincerity.

Matt made a sputtering noise, and reminded himself of the PNA's chief of security Duane Kennedy. Duane had been Buddy's boss, and he had warned Matt about Buddy's peculiar way of doing things. The line of poetry Duane had used came back to Matt: "He will do, as he do do, and there's no doing anything about it!"

Gloria looked at Matt's red face, then looked at the smug intruder with interest.

"You want me to kill him for you, Matt?" the Kung Fu expert asked.

The threat would have been more effective if she'd been able to keep a perfectly straight face. Buddy looked at her with interest. He liked a friendly brawl.

Matt took a deep breath, faked composure, and headed off the fight before it could start.

"What brings you to L.A., O Master of Stealth?" he inquired with just the faintest hint of sarcasm.

Buddy grinned faintly at the tone of Matt's voice.

"Just a little plumbing job, O Peerless Leader," he replied.

Dusty went over to an easy chair and plopped down in disgust, "You sound like Bruce!" he complained.

"Sorry," Buddy said as Matt and Gloria pulled up seats.

Scott climbed up on what little free space was left on the couch and sat cross-legged, staring at Buddy with wide eyes.

"Do you know how to pick locks, too?" the boy asked breathlessly.

"Sure," Buddy said lazily, inching over a tad to give the boy some room.

"Could you teach me … ?"

"Scott!" Matt roared.

"Huh?" Scott looked at his father, who was definitely not thrilled at the thought of his son learning illegal skills. Scott turned back to Buddy

"… er … how to disguise myself?" Scott completed hurriedly.

"If your father doesn't object," Buddy said with a straight face. Matt made a face at him.

Buddy ruffled the boy's hair affectionately, then noticed something wrong.

"Where's T-Bob?"

"Huh? Oh, Bruce took him to his lab to outfit him with a radio, in case I get into trouble again," Scott said absently.

"But what did you mean by plumbing?" Dusty prompted.

"I thought maybe we should know how info about Spectrum 'leaked' from Brubaker Industries lab to Venom. They weren't out there waiting for a taxi, y'know. They were there to get Matt."

"You came out to investigate all by yourself?" Matt asked disapprovingly.

Hawks frowned at him.

"You said you wouldn't put any restrictions on me," the spy sulked.

"I said 'few restrictions'," Matt corrected. "And you're the one who told me I should have had my back-up close at hand when I went to pick up Spectrum."

"That's different," Hawks sniffed.

"How so?" Gloria asked.

"I didn't need to be rescued by a pizza truck!"

Matt sighed dramatically. "I'd appreciate it in the future if you would tell us what you're up to. Just in case we need you for something?"

"I told Alex where I'd be," Buddy said defensively, omitting the fact that all he had told Alex was that he'd be in 'Southern California'.

Matt gave up the battle for the time being and got down to business.

"So, did you find out anything?"

"A few things," Buddy drawled sleepily. He settled down in the couch farther and closed his eyes.

"Dusty, Gloria, hold him upside down until some information comes out," Matt ordered with mock ferocity.

The two pounced on Buddy and grabbed his arms and pulled him partway off the couch. Scott scrambled onto Buddy's chest so he could sit nose to nose with the recalcitrant mechanic.

"All right already!" Buddy yelped. "I'll tell all!"

Gloria giggled as she and Dusty released his arms, "Some spy! Gives in at the first sign of torture."

Buddy laughed and pushed himself back on the couch. Scott slid back onto the couch and leaned against Buddy's chest to keep him "pinned down." Buddy rested his chin on the top of Scott's head.

"O.K., I found out who the snitch was," Buddy said. "A technician by the name of John Harris. The scientist, whats'ername, Bennett, who worked on the Spectrum project, suspects he's dribbled other bits of useful information to the wrong ears. She has no proof or she'd have him canned. But she doesn't intend to let him in on anything important any more.

Buddy allowed himself to digress, "I like that woman, she reminds me of a Doberman who tried to eat me once."

"What'd you do about the agent?" Dusty asked impatiently.

"What do you want me to do, pizza-wrangler?" Buddy reproved. "Push him under a bus?"

"Don't even joke about killin' people," said Dusty. "Couldn't you just call the police?"

Buddy laughed at that, "And tell them what, cowboy? That this technician would have sold these amateurs' high-tech, secret weapon system to the Museum Raiders, if some pizza delivery man hadn't saved the biggest philanthropist in the world?"

They all laughed at that.

"So what did you do?"

"Traced him to his connection with Venom. Then I followed the connection around for a while and found out all sorts of interesting things about Mayhem and company."

"Like what?" Scott asked, his voice rather muffled from under Buddy's jaw.

Buddy released Scott and laughed.

"Like the fact that they all hate pizza."

"I can't imagine why," Matt said drily, "Anything else?"

"Yep, I found Venom's chemical supplier, their L.A. real estate agent, the dude who smuggles in computer components from Japan and Silicon Valley, and where they like to eat."

Buddy looked at Matt and finished the report.

"Knowing part of Mayhem's 'vicious, evil network' ought to help us keep track of them," Buddy drawled. "For instance, they have feelers out for any signs of any organization that's putting together weapon type masks or fancy vehicles. But I doubt they have any idea exactly what they're looking for.

"I also know they're in the area looking to score a lot of money. I haven't found out exactly where they are yet or what they're up to, but I will soon enough."

"We know where they are, don't we?" Scott asked smugly.

"At the track?" Buddy inquired.

"Yes, we think that Brad's video may be the next target," Gloria told him with a certain amount of relish.

"Oh," with that Buddy slid down until he was facing the ceiling.

Matt studied his employee curiously. He suspected that there was a good deal of exhaustion behind the spy's laziness just now, and that under the insolence, Buddy craved approval for his fact finding as much as Dusty had craved applause for his stunt work.

"But we're not sure yet," Matt said. "And we don't know what they're after."

"Hmmm," Buddy commented thoughtfully. "Speaking of which, did you talk to Turner?"

"Yes, but I didn't have a chance to 'proposition' him."

"Why (yawn) not?"

Scott bounced to his feet. "He couldn't ask him to join MASK with Mr. Riker there," Scott explained.

"Who?"

"Ace Riker," Dusty elaborated. "The pilot who's gonna do the aerial stunts for the video."

"Ace Riker?" Buddy repeated faintly. "Doesn't he have some kind of back problem?"

"You mean the fused vertebrae?" Gloria asked. Buddy nodded as Gloria continued. "But he said that doesn't stop him from flying, it just prevented him from passing the requirements for being a NASA test pilot."

"Do you know him?" Matt asked in surprise.

Buddy didn't answer; he was too busy laughing hysterically. He rolled off the couch and landed on his back with his feet sticking up in the air.

The others crowded around him in bewilderment.

"Buddy?" Dusty asked in alarm. "What's so funny?"

Buddy looked up at them through teary eyes.

"Serendipity strikes again!" he chortled.

Ace Riker told himself he was being ridiculous. This was none of his business. He was a pilot, not James Bond. He was acting like "That Maniac." He was … he was dying of curiosity. The way Trakker had reacted to Turner's description was downright bizarre. Almost as if he had a score to settle.

Ace had finished his stunt scenes as quickly as he could, in only three takes. Which made the producer ecstatic. All that was left to do on the video was the concert, and then it would be finished, on time and under budget. Finishing early also gave Riker a chance to follow a hunch.

Instinctively, he had accepted Brad's judgment of the United Charities agent. And the Cherokee quarter of his heritage had taught him to trust his feelings. Which is why he was poking around like this, even though the Scot/English/German quarters of him were disagreeing vehemently with his actions.

And there was a good deal in his current actions to disagree with. For one thing, he was sneaking into the office of the representative of the third biggest charitable organization in the world.

For another thing, he'd forgotten to call his wife as he'd promised. He'd have to do that later, he told himself. He'd better do it; she was going to be ticked at him as it was. He wondered vaguely if going to a concert without her was grounds for divorce.

There were a lot of people wandering around getting things set up for the video/concert. Nobody looked twice at the pilot as he casually strolled in the freight door. He remembered "That Maniac" telling him the best way to sneak into a place is not to look like you're trying to sneak.

There was a row of offices behind the sound stage, and Ace went through them until he found the office belonging to the U.C. rep. A thorough search didn't turn up anything unusual. "What did you expect?" he asked himself. "A note saying 'Don't forget to rob Brad Turner blind?'"

He shook his head at himself and sifted through what papers he did find. He gave up, put everything back where he found it and started to leave.

-M-

Brad Turner told himself he was being ridiculous. Just because he didn't like the U.C. rep, whatsis name, Sylvester, didn't mean the man was a crook. And even if he was, there was no reason to get jittery around the mousy special effects technician; he certainly was no crook.

"So, do you understand all this now, Mr. Turner?" the technician asked.

"Not completely," Brad confessed, "I'm pretty good with math, but this is way out of my league."

"You're just being modest," the technician said admiringly. "Say, could I get you to autograph these plans?"

"Certainly," Brad smiled and signed his name with a flourish.

"Thank you, Mr. Turner."

"You're welcome, Mr. Gorey."

-M-

Matt looked at the chortling intelligence agent on the floor of his suite and then turned away to get something. Gloria anticipated his needs and handed him the water pitcher.

The first few drops landed on Buddy's face, giving him enough warning to dive under the couch to safety as 32 ounces of iced water went cascading to the spot where he had lain.

Buddy cautiously peered out from under both his ubiquitous red cap and the blue couch.

Matt looked at him sternly. Or at least, tried to look stern.

"You know this Riker?"

"We've met," Buddy sort of answered. "In fact, I'm surprised I didn't think of him sooner. He'd be perfect for MASK." Buddy shook his head at his own absent-mindedness.

"But he's married," Matt objected.

Buddy shrugged, "It happens to a lot of people. He was married when he was a test pilot too."

"Welll," Matt hesitated.

"Marriage could happen to any of us," Dusty added.

"You wouldn't fire a MASK agent just because he or she got married," Gloria chimed in. "Just think of the bad publicity if we sued," she added with a grin.

Matt grinned back, "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to ask him if he'd be interested." The MASK leader turned back to his pet spy. "I suppose he can be relied on to keep this to himself, can't he?"

There was no reply. The questionee was catching up on his sleep.

"He sure is quick to zonk out when he doesn't want to talk anymore," Gloria complained.

Dusty looked at her solemnly, "You mean he's 'fast' asleep?"

Gloria threw a punch at the cowboy, and the Trakkers booed.

"Well, we can't leave him under the couch all day," Dusty said, pleased with the reception of his little pun.

"True," Matt agreed. "I doubt the maids would approve. You take his feet and I'll grab his shoulders."

They hauled Buddy to Dusty's room and dumped him onto the double bed. They debated about putting him in the bed, then settled for taking off Buddy's shoes, jacket and hat and covering him with the bed spread.

"You sure you don't mind sharing, cowboy?" Matt asked.

"'Course not," Dusty replied cheerfully, "He obviously don't snore."

"O.K.," Matt said, "Now, if you'll be so kind as to grab a cab and meet Hondo at the airport, Gloria and I will check out this United Charities rep to make sure he really is with Venom. Buddy will never let us live it down if he catches us in an error."

Gloria and Dusty agreed, but Scott objected.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked. "There's nothing on TV and I don't even have T-Bob to argue with."

Matt thought it over. "You go with Dusty as co-pilot," he said to his son. "It ought to be safe enough."

"Co-pilot? I ain't flyin'!" Dusty protested.

Matt grinned, "I've ridden with you, remember? You certainly couldn't call what you do driving."

They all laughed as they started to leave. Matt was halted by a sudden thought. He went back to Dusty's room and removed his hotel key, and $20, from Buddy's pocket.

"Turnabout's fair play, old boy," he told the sleeping mechanic.

In the next episode:
There's a spine-tingling chase.
Hondo ditches trouble.
And there's a whole lot of sneakin' goin' on.