Tai Anne Roper 2

 

by Nicole Sutter

 

FOR MATURE READERS ONLY

 

Chapter 3 - "Roadrunner and Coyote"

 

“...and so then I just waltzed right out of that villa with Lady Esperanza in tow," Tai Anne Roper said. "But not before I jammed a pillowcase into the gas spout of Fiendly's precious '64 Jaguar XKE and gave it a flame job!"

Jeb, Kate and Tess Stuart all laughed as Tai Anne Roper finished her story.

"Did that really happen?!" Tess exclaimed.

"Sure!" Tai replied. She had left out the part where she had been captured and kept tied up in the basement for two days before finally knocking out a guard and escaping with Lady Esperanza.

"Well, Tai, you certainly lead an exciting life!" Kate said.

"It has its moments," Tai replied. She looked at her Casio G-Shock. "Jiminy Crickets, it’s after ten! I gotta be back at The Brickyard by eleven!"

"Awwwwww..." Tess looked at her. "Even I get to stay out til midnight on a school night!"

"Sorry." Tai stood up, downing the last of her coffee.

"Well, at least tell me one thing," Tess said. "Where can I get a pair of pants like that?"

Tai froze and looked at Jeb and Kate, then down at her skintight, black leather biker jeans. "Like these?"

"Yeah! They are too kewl!" Tess said. "Only thing is, I wouldn't want to wear real leather... cuz I'm vegan. Or trying to be... I hear pleather is kewl tho."

"Yeah," Tai said. "There's pleather, or PVC, which is poly-vinyl. There's also latex..."

Jeb choked on his coffee.

"So where can I get an outfit like that?" Tess said. "In the Hashbury or the Castro?"

"Actually, I have a friend named Taffy Chu, who runs a store called Fashion Xtremez on Russian Hill. 1864 Leavenworth to be exact," Tai said. "She'll have everything you need. Tell her I sent you and you might get a discount!"

"Why don't you take her over there sometime, Tai," Kate said. "I'd feel better if she was with you."

"Yeah, puh-lease?" Tess wheedled. "I don't have classes til 2 pm tomorrow. You can pick me up tomorrow morning sometime. Howzabout it?"

Tai looked at Jeb. "Well?"

Jeb chuckled. "Hey, I'm just the dad."

"Okay," Tai said. "I'll meet you here around... tenish. We can do a little brunch, do a little shopping and then I'll take you on to your classes."

"Great!"

Tai's cellphone chirped. She sighed and clicked on. "Yeah?" She paused. "Oh, hi Iwana! Heh, I knew you couldn't go a whole day without..." A frown creased Tai's face. "You what? Are you okay?" Pause. "Do you want me to come back to LA?"

Tai moved away from the Stuarts and kept talking in low tones.

"What is it, Dad?" Tess asked. "Who's Iwana?"

"Iwana Binder, Tai's room mate," Jeb explained. "She's a LA cop."

She was also Jeb's new friend. They had met a few days ago while both were searching San Francisco for Tai, who had come up missing while looking for Jessica McClintock.

Tai walked back to the Stuarts with a worried expression on her face. "Jeb? Iwana was in an officer involved shooting. She hadda kill a man tonight! She wants to talk to you now."

"Give me the phone," Jeb said. He was all business as he put it to his ear. "Iwana, Jeb here."

"Hey, blue eyes." Iwana's throaty growl sounded good to Jeb's ear. "Got myseff in a bad scrape tonight."

"So I heard. First time?"

"First time Ah ever dropped the hammer on a man. Not somethin' Ah wanna ever have happen again."

"I understand."

"Ah jus' finished up with the Internal Affairs shoot team," Iwana continued. "They say it's a righteous shoot."

"That's good."

"But Ah have another prob." Iwana took a deep breath. "Seems Ah killed the only son of some big wheel Mafioso outta New York City."

"Give me a name."

"Man Ah killed was Anthony Scagetti, aka 'Crazy Tony'. Male cauc, 26. They found a crack pipe on him... and some nose candy. Christ, it took four rounds from mah .357 mag t'put him down!"

"What was he doing in LA?"

"He wuz in the porno biz out in Northridge. Place called Miracle Pictures. Hadda bad rep in the valley. Tonight he kidnapped some actress and wuz gonna snuff her for a video."

"And you stopped him."

"Ah killed him, Jeb," Iwana said. "Now Ah'm down here at Parker Center with a roomful of cops and Feds who are scared fo' me to leave the room!"

"It's not like the mob to take retribution out on a cop," Jeb said.

"Well, the Feds tell me that his daddy, a Vincenzo Scagnetti, is a real loose cannon these days. Ain't right in the head. They think he might have a go at me."

"I'll look into it," Jeb said. He may have been ex-CIA, but he still had contacts on both sides of the fence. "You still at your old cell number?"

"Yeah. And Jeb?"

"Yes?"

"Look after sistahgrrl. She don't need to be comin' back to LA while this be hangin' over me."

"Understood." Jeb sighed. "Good luck, Iwana. Here's Tai."

Tai snatched the phone back. "Iwana, I can be back in LA tomorrow... No I..." She paused and sighed. "No, Ma'am. Yes, Ma'am. I'll obey you and do as Jeb says." Tai sniffled. "And I love you too. Bye."

***

A few minutes later, Tai Anne Roper was saying her goodbyes to the Stuart clan. Jeb walked her to her motorcycle parked out front. It had gotten chilly and foggy, and Tai had bundled up in her scarf and biker jacket.

"Stay warm." Jeb pulled the scarf a little tighter around her neck.

"Okay, Dad," Tai replied. "What are we gonna do about Iwana?"

"Let her handle it her way," Jeb said. "Believe me, the LAPD knows how to look after their own. You going out there would just... complicate things."

"Hmph! You just think I'd get abducted by the bad guys right away and be used as bait to get Iwana!"

"Not at all," Jeb said. Truth be told, that was exactly what he thought.

"Besides, you need to stay in town to start my oldest daughter's descent into fetishwear."

"Sorry about that..."

"Look, just don't let her get anything too... out there," Jeb said. "Please, for the old man?"

"I won't." Tai looked at him. "You can trust me."

"I know I can," Jeb hugged her. "Now get straight on back to The Brickyard. And be careful."

Tai straddled her Honda Superhawk, putting her long black hair into a quick ponytail and taking her helmet off the handlebars. "Hey, I'm always careful!"

She started it up, revved the engine and peeled out on Jeb's clean driveway, leaving a nice long trail of burned rubber. She roared up the quiet street, tooting her horn, causing every dog in the neighborhood to start barking.

Jeb Stuart shook his head and headed back into his house.

As Tai Anne Roper turned east on Lincoln Way, a candy-apple red Shelby Mustang pulled out the foggy darkness of Golden Gate Park to follow her.

Fiendly and Wenche were on the prowl once more...

***

"For Chrissakes, what are you waiting for, bloody Christmas?" Fannikins Wenche asked.

They had followed Roper east through Haight-Ashbury, until she had turned onto Market. She seemed to be heading straight back to The Brickyard.

Fiendly sat in the passenger seat, with the Vertagg trank pistol in his hands.

"Well we can't bloody well do her in the middle of a busy street! Besides, we have to wait til she comes to a complete stop, or do you prefer a slavegirl with roadrash?"

"Of course not," The Wenche replied. She was really quite fond of Roper. Which is why she wanted to keep her as a securely bound sexslave for the rest of her life.

"What's this?" Fiendly was surprised to see Roper burn a red light and turn north on Van Ness, heading uptown. "Seems she isn't going straight back to Paige's arms after all! Good. We can take her easily once she arrives at where ever it is she is going. Keep up with her, Wenche! Don't dawdle!"

The Wenche sighed and made the turn, the big block V-8 under the hood rumbling like a beast. Traffic was lighter as they headed uptown, past the tough and ungentrified Western Addition and then into the clean environs of Japantown.

The Mustang crested a hill just before California Street. Both Fiendly and Wenche were surprised to see no sign of Roper or her little red racing bike.

"Damn, we lost her!" The Wenche pounded the wheel.

"Never fear," Fiendly replied. "There will be other days..."

The Mustang came to a halt at the red light at Van Ness and California. Tai Anne Roper, astride her motorcycle, then pulled out of an alleyway and eased up right beside the driver's side of the Mustang.

As Fiendly and Wenche stared at her for a long moment, Tai eased the visor of her helmet up and stuck out her tongue at them. Then she tooted her horn twice and squealed off, cutting across their lane to head east on California, up the steep slope of Nob Hill.

"Bitch!" The Wenche growled as she spun the wheel and floored the Mustang, burning rubber as she made the turn up California.

The Shelby Mustang had more horses under the hood, but Tai's sleek, Honda Superhawk could dart and weave through the traffic, going airborne as it crested each upward sloping intersection.

Tai looked behind her and laughed as she saw the diabolical duo was closing on her. She throttled up and eased around an eastbound cable car loaded with tourists, then dropped her speed and rode parallel to the cable car as they roared past. Then she revved her engine and came up behind them again, tooting her horn and flipping them the bird.

It was quite a chase on the Nob Hill downslope, with the Mustang's suspension getting a real workout as it made a series of jumps and rough landings to keep up with Tai on her agile racing bike.

"Good Lord, my kidneys!" Dr. Fiendly exclaimed as he was bounced about the Mustang's interior. "Be careful, Wenche!"

"Dammit, I shall have her!" The Wenche growled. "I'll chase her round the outer nebula and round the Antares maelstrom and round Perdition's flames before I give her up!"

Tai cut around traffic to a chorus of car horns and created quite a jam as she turned south on Powell Street. The Mustang jumped the sidewalk --causing pedestrians to scream and scatter-- and The Wenche managed to keep her in sight.

They were fast approaching Union Square. Fiendly looked up as they passed the grand old Sir Francis Drake Hotel, remembering the recent adventure he and The Wenche'd had on the 18th floor with Tai's friend Iwana Binder.

"Christ on a crutch," The Wenche howled. "I don't believe this!"

Tai Anne Roper had popped the curb and was cutting across the park at Union Square, disturbing the sleep of the homeless regulars who took over the park benches at night. The Wenche stayed on Powell and turned the wrong way onto Geary to cut her off.

Tai screeched her bike around in a 180 and turned into the underground garage that was beneath Union Square. The Wenche followed.

The import of this place was not lost on either Fiendly or Wenche. Only four short days ago, the two of them had ambushed Roper in this very garage, securely binding and gagging her and placing her in the back seat of Fiendly's new Jaguar sedan.

What had occurred shortly after that was still a sore point to the both of them. Roper had proceeded to cause an accident that had totaled out both his precious Jag and several other cars.

Tai took the long corkscrewing tunnel down at a fast pace, to keep up, The Wenche increased speed, until the left side of their new Mustang was scraping and sparking off the concrete walls.

Down in the lower levels, there were only a few cars parked. Tai weaved around the concrete posts as Fiendly took a shot at her with the trank pistol. He missed. She honked her horn and laughed as he reloaded.

Trying to follow her back up the ramp, The Wenche slammed the rear of the Mustang into a concrete post, shattering the rear glass. She screamed and kept following her prey.

Tai Anne Roper made it back up to street level first, coming up fast on a black and yellow retractable barricade that warned DO NOT EXIT HERE! SEVERE TIRE DAMAGE!

There were two sets of spikes on the pavement that would take out a car's tires. Tai popped a wheelie, riding between the spikes and taking out the wooden barricade and the warning sign.

She came out on Geary, almost running into a SFPD black and white cruiser that had to slam on its brakes to keep from hitting her.

Tai came to a halt and flipped up her helmet visor as the cruiser's lightbar started strobing and the officer driving rolled down his window as he came to a halt beside her.

"Okay, missy, what goin' on here?" He was a middle-aged cop, with a handlebar moustache. His partner was a young blonde kid.

"Officer, you gotta help me!" Tai cried. "Somebody in a red Mustang is trying to kill me! They had a gun and everything!"

The cop squinted at her. "Are you sure you aren't..."

That's when the Shelby Mustang came squealing at high speed off the ramp. With the warning sign gone, The Wenche drove right over the spikes, shredding all four tires so that when she slammed on the brakes to avoid the cop car, all she had was the rims, which sparked and scrapped the pavement as the Mustang T-boned the police car.

"That's them!" Tai Anne Roper screamed.

The two cops got out of their wrecked cop car and approached the totaled out ponycar with guns drawn.

Fiendly and Wenche looked out the spiderwebbed windshield and across the smoking, steaming hood to see Tai Anne Roper smirking at them. They raised their hands with the cops screaming at them, while Tai tooted her horn twice and took off.

***

It only took ten more minutes for Tai Anne Roper to scoot across town, into the SoMa and back into the safety of The Brickyard.

She rode the freight elevator down to the secret parking garage and pulled her bike in beside Paige's black Ford Expedition.

"Very good, brat!" a voice called from the dark.

Tai turned and watched Paige Torne walk from the darkness. She wore a black leather robe and pink bunny slippers.

"Those slippers don't go with the your 'fetish diva' image," Tai said. She cut the engine and got off her bike, leaving her helmet on the handle bars.

"Hmmmm... but they are comfy," Paige replied. Her blue eyes were deep and soft in this light. Her blonde hair long and shiny. She looked like a leathered angel.

Tai looked at her watch. "Got here with three minutes to spare."

"I know," Paige said. "I was... concerned. Iwana called me after she talked to you."

"You were worried I might be heading for LA," Tai said.

"It occurred to me." Paige stood next to her.

"I wanted to go, very badly." Tai looked up at her. "I think Iwana needs me."

"Then why didn't you go to her?"

"Because she made me promise to stay here," Tai said. "And also... because I have a responsibility now to you. I said I wasn't leaving SF until I got Jessica McClintock back, and I meant it."

"Brat." Paige kissed her deeply. When she pulled away, both women were panting.

"You'll be spending tonight with me," Paige husked.

"Yes'm," Tai whispered.

***

Paige's quarters deep within The Brickyard were fairly plush to be sure. A massive canopied bed with black satin sheets, redwood paneled walls and a killer sound system.

"Remember the last time you were here?" Paige asked as she unbuckled and unzipped Tai's tight leathers off her body.

"Yeah," Tai answered. Just a few days ago when she had been a captive of Paige and her organization. Iwana had come in to bust her out, and Tai --with her hands cuffed behind her back-- had still managed to kick Paige upside the head and almost manage to escape. Almost.

Paige ripped Tai's top off, revealing her full, round breasts. Big, firm, all natural handfuls that Paige squeezed and played with. Then Tai lost her thong, and Paige palmed Tai's cunt to find her already sopping wet, with girljuice running down her legs.

"Good girl," Paige purred. She pushed Tai onto her bed. She sat there with legs spread while Paige dropped the robe to reveal her own creamy nakedness.

"Tonight, you get a choice," Paige said. "It can either be just the two of us under these sheets... or this."

Tai sucked in her breath. Paige was holding up a handful of heavy, black leather straps with shiny buckles.

"I will strap you up tight, jam a rubber ball in your mouth and fuck you senseless," Paige growled. "But only if you want me to."

Tai bit her lower lip. "W-what do you want?"

Paige chuckled. "Oh no, you aren't getting out of this that easily, brat. It's your call. Tell me what you desire. Go ahead. Admit to yourself what I already know."

Tai Anne Roper swallowed hard and locked eyes with Paige. "Please... strap me up. Make it tight and make it hurt. I do want it."

Laughing, Paige flipped Tai onto her belly, and with an ease that came from appearing in hundreds of bondage videos, quickly strapped Tai's arms behind her back, linking wrists to elbows.

Tai groaned as she more straps circled her shoulders and tightened, followed by a wide one around her belly, and a leather collar that almost made her orgasm as Paige buckled and secured it.

Her legs were drawn up so that her heels were tight against her chubbed bottomcheeks, then strapped and secured.

I do love this so... Tai thought as her mind raced and her heart hammered in her chest. To be safe and sound and bound... at the hands of someone I trust... and love.

Paige flipped her onto her back. Tai was intricately strapped down and helpless, unable to even twitch. Tai grunted as Paige straddled her and fitted a shiny and huge red rubber ball into her mouth and buckled it in tight.

"I don't mind listening to you scream, darlen'," Paige said as she got off her. "But I do believe you are going to need something to bite down on..."

Tai watched as she strapped on an impossibly huge, multi-hued rubber dildo that seemed to bulge and shiver with a life of its own.

"I believe you've been introduced to Mr. Wigglesworth," Paige said with a chuckle.

She watched as Tai Anne Roper's eyes got larger and larger as she approached, spreading her bound legs wide and finally impaling her with the massive dildo. Slow fucking her with deep, sure thrusts.

Tai's first orgasm was fast, her second took much longer. It wasn't until the third orgasm washed over her that she realized that Paige was not going to stop. At least not until she had taken Tai someplace that was both dark and wonderful. A place of impossible pleasures that could hold a woman captive for the rest of her life.

***

Montreal, Canada is one of the great cities of North America, with gleaming skyscrapers and an old world charm that enchants visitors and residents alike.

And like most great cities, Montreal also has a dark underside. The backwaters and eddies where desperate whores give quick blowjobs to get enough cash for a few rocks of crack.

Just off the busy Boulevard St. Laurent was the Rue de Mercy. A long block of porno moviehouses, sex shops, cheap hotels and strolling prostitutes in too tight shorts and high heels.

Located on Rue de Mercy just opposite the popular Boutique de Sexe, was the Hotel Duprais --otherwise known as the Hotel Depraved-- which had frankly never seen better days.

Walking down the neon splashed street at 1:30 in the AM was a slender Asian woman wearing boots and a long, black leather coat. She was in her late thirties and gravely pretty, with long, black hair falling in shiny waves to the middle of her back.

She was Detective Chief Inspector Michelle Qwan of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, and she was in Montreal to catch a white slaver named Samarkand.

She casually opened the back door of a

Quebec Telephone service van and hopped in, slamming the door behind her. Inside, two members of the Montreal Urban Community Police's Intel Division were hunched over a complex surveillance setup listening in on in Room 401 of the Hotel Duprais.

The woman could feel the resentment radiating off the Montreal cops. They considered this their turf, and they had done everything short of pissing on the sidewalk to mark their territory.

"She's still bitching about the setup, Inspector," Detective Sergeant Yves Sarrazin said, taking off his headphones. "Says she wants a face to face with you before the hostile shows."

Qwan sighed. She wasn't that well known in Montreal, having worked mostly out of Vancouver. But the last thing she wanted to do was screw the pooch and let Samarkand get away. Especially when she had him on Canadian soil.

"Okay, I'm heading in," Qwan said. "Notify the fourth floor team."

"Roger that."

Qwan exited the van and walked quickly across Rue de Mercy and up the hotel steps. The small lobby stank of disinfectant and stale urine. A night clerk --a bored young Quebecois-- didn't even look up from his porno mag as she went up the stairs.

The fourth floor hallway was poorly lit. Qwan went right up to 401 and knocked.

The door opened immediately. A tough looking woman in her forties or so stared back at Qwan. She had long, straight black hair and was smoking a cigarette.

"About time you showed up," she growled, letting Qwan into her room. She had a hotplate in the corner, and the combination of smells of recently cooked food, recent sex, cheap perfume and cigarette smoke almost made Qwan puke.

Her name was Madelaine Chartres, and she was a prostitute, junkie, drug dealer and a go-between who specialized in providing fake IDs and passports.

Michelle Qwan thought it was nice to finally meet someone who didn't want to get locked down to one career.

"What's your problem now?" Qwan asked. "Samarkand could be on his way up any moment."

"The other cops would tell you that," she replied. "I want to renegotiate our deal."

"You're already getting a walk on every criminal charge you have pending," Qwan reminded her. "Quite a laundry list if I remember correctly."

"If I rat out Samarkand, I might as well close up shop!" Madelaine replied.

"You won't have to testify, that's part of the deal."

"But he'll know," she hissed. "I want money and a clean passport to relocate stateside."

"Deal," Qwan replied. "Anything else?"

"No." Madelaine looked at her. "Why'd you go along so easy?"

"I don't have time to haggle with you," Qwan replied. "Besides, the idea of getting you out of Canada permanently is quite to my liking."

"Bitch."

"Yes I am." Qwan moved in close to her. "And you would do well to remember that."

She slammed the door behind her.

***

Instead of going back to the surveillance van, Qwan took up position with two other Montreal plainclothes cops waiting in 408.

"So how long you been a mountie?" Constable Michel Duval asked.

"About five years," Qwan answered, sipping some hot tea. "I was on the Hong Kong PD before that."

The room was a small, smelly rat trap. Qwan unbuttoned her leather coat, underneath she wore a white turtleneck sweater and brown knit stirrup pants tucked into knee boots.

"So who is this guy we're after, Inspector?" Corporal Tom Scoggins asked.

"Samarkand," Qwan answered. "International arms dealer and white slaver. Did some business here in Montreal about a year ago. Abducted seven street girls and was fixing to ship them out to the Mid-East when I caught up with him."

"I remember that," Duval said. "Wasn't he connected to that big terrorist shootout in San Francisco a couple of days ago?"

"Yes." She looked at Scoggins, who had just slipped his headphones on. "Got something?"

"Yeah, he's on his way up."

Qwan activated the earbud and wiremike

connected to her comm unit. "This is Qwan, what's up?"

"Two male whites, well dressed, just entered the lobby. Didn't talk to the clerk. Took the stairs, over," Sarrazin replied from the van.

"Roger that." Qwan noticed that both the Montreal cops were checking the loads on the big Franchi SPAS-12 shotguns they had concealed under their trenchcoats. "Hey, we want these guys alive if possible, right?"

"Sure, Inspector." Duval tromboned the shotgun and set the safety.

Qwan cracked the door and looked down the hallway. Two big men in overcoats and hats where heading to 401. But Qwan couldn't tell if one was the elusive Samarkand or not.

They hammered on the door, and entered a moment later.

Qwan went to the listening post and picked up a pair of headphones.

"About time you guys got here," she heard Madelaine's charming voice. "You got the money?"

"First things first," a male voice replied. Neutral accent. Could be Samarkand. Audio quality was for shit. "Let's see the goods."

"Here they are," Madelaine replied. "Passports, American Social Security cards that will check out, along with New York drivers licenses..."

"We're gonna need to look 'em over." Second male voice. Very faint.

"Sure, take your time."

"Got something to drink?"

Qwan peered out the cracked door to see the same two well-dressed men now quietly exiting the room.

"Sure, beer okay?"

"Whatever."

"I'd like a Scotch. If you got it"

Michelle Qwan unholstered her .40 caliber Glock pistol, threw open the door, dropped to one knee and drew down on the two men, using the door frame for cover.

"RCMP!" she shouted. "Stand where you are!"

Both men turned. swinging Uzi machine guns out from under their coats. Qwan fired twice, taking one down before having to duck back as the doorway erupted in a flurry of splintered wood, as the staccato chatter of submachine gun fire filled the hallway.

The two Montreal cops were there in a split instant, leaping into the hallway with their shotguns out. Qwan heard four booming shotgun blasts in less than two seconds.

"Got'em!" Scoggins announced triumphantly.

Qwan edged around the door to see that both hostiles were now splattered all over the hallway and the walls. She walked over to them and looked down at what was left of their faces.

"Well, is one of them Samarkand?" Duval asked.

"This could be Samarkand's mother for all I know." Qwan kicked the other one over with her boot. "Kind of hard to question them now." She turned back to 401. "Let's see how the managed to be in two places at once..."

She kicked open the door to Madelaine Chartres' room with her gun drawn.

Madelaine was duct taped to a metal folding chair, bound and gagged. She hummed and shook her head, nodding over at a stainless steel briefcase sitting innocently on her kitchenette table.

Also on the table was a small stereo cassette player with three voices on it still having a merry conversation:

"So you like what you see?"

"Yeah, but I don't know if they're worth what we're paying you..."

"Damn!" Qwan strode over to the table and shut off the cassette player. She flipped open the briefcase and looked inside.

"Hey, Inspector," Scoggins entered the room. "What's..."

"Get her outta here," Qwan said. "Duval, you start evacuating this hotel as quick as you can. And close the door behind you!"

"Jeeeeeezus..." Duval looked at the interior of the briefcase. "Is that a..."

"Bomb," Qwan finished. "Now get out!"

"You want me to call the Bomb Squad?" Scoggins asked, hefting the bound Madelaine over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

"Not unless they can get here in three minutes and forty seconds," Qwan replied.

Qwan was alone in the room three seconds later, the door slamming shut behind them.

Qwan studied the explosive device for a few seconds, before finally taking out her Nokia cellphone and quickcalling a number.

She got an answer on the fifth ring.

"Hello?" Kate Stuart asked.

"Kate? Michelle Qwan here. I need to speak to Jeb right away."

"Well... he's busy."

"It's... real important."

"He's in the bathroom."

"Kate!!!"

"Alright awwready..."

Qwan heard static and fuzz momentarily before Jeb Stuart's voice came over the line."

"Michelle?"

"Hi Jeb! Didn't catch you at a bad time did I?"

"Just sitting here reading the sports page."

"Good. Long story short, I'm in a fleabag hotel in Montreal standing next to a bomb that's going to go off in three minutes, five seconds."

"Ouch! I suggest running really fast."

"No can do, we'll never evacuate all the people out of here in time."

"Damn. Describe it."

"Right. I make it about... five pounds of C-4 plastique. US military grade. Connected to a digital, LCD timing device. Roughly four by six inches. Four D cell batteries are wired to the timer by what looks like flashlight components. Wires are everywhere."

"Tell me about the wires running into the C-4."

"Two sets. Multi-colored. Six or seven to a set. Two minutes, 32 seconds by the way."

"Okay, I want you to backtrack the two sets of wires until they intersect, and snip the wires firmly at any point before that intersection."

"Roger that."

"You do have something to snip them with, don't you?"

"My trusty Swiss Army knife. Never leave home without it."

"Good girl!"

"Here goes."

Silence.

"Michelle?"

"Got it. Just disarmed the power supply. Bomb is disabled."

"Good, now separate the timer from the C-4 just to be sure."

"Roger that."

"So, any idea who did this?" Jeb asked.

"Remember Samarkand? I'm here to get him and he almost just got me! Couple of hired goons faked us out with a phony conversation that was supposed to keep us occupied while the bomb went off."

"Hmmm... doesn't seem like his style. In fact, this bomb seems more like the kind of setup that US east coast mobsters use. Their bombmakers love that style. And a mob hit in Newark a couple of weeks ago used stolen US Army C-4."

"Thanks, I'll check into it." Qwan said. "How are Kate and the kids?"

"Oh, they're fine. In fact, Tess just made a new friend tonight. Remember Tai Anne Roper?"

 

"Yeah, I remember her," Qwan answered. "Better be careful, Jeb. That girl is nothing but trouble!"

***

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