Tai Anne Roper 2

 

by Nicole Sutter

 

FOR MATURE READERS ONLY

 

Chapter 8 - "Guardian Angels"

 

 

 

After about thirty minutes of having to walk barefoot through the Pine Barrens wearing nothing but panties and a bra --with an ogling Samarkand behind her all the way-- a bound Drew Thrasher sighed with relief when they finally arrived back at the ruins of Leedsville.

 

"This is quite a place," Samarkand said as they walked the deserted main street. "The legend of the Jersey Devil was hatched right here, and supposedly still haunts the Pine Barrens."

 

"I have no idea what you're going on about," Drew replied with disinterest. Besides, her bound elbows were beginning to chafe.

 

"Well, back in Colonial times, a woman here supposedly sold her unborn child's soul to the devil. She then gave birth to this... horrible, winged creature. This monster just took off into the woods, and every once in awhile rips open a cow or kills a pig... or is seen by somebody driving along the Jersey Turnpike."

 

"How enchanting."

 

"Typical Drew! Only believing what you see with your own eyes!" Samarkand laughed. "That's okay. The whole Jersey Devil story actually works against us. Every once in awhile a few curiosity seekers with a video camera show up to do their own Blair Witch Project and we have to chase them off. Ah! Here we are!"

 

They were back at the hospital ruins, where Dr. Device, Bruizer and Ms. Santiago hurried out to meet them.

 

"You found her!" Dr. Device shouted.

 

"Obviously," Samarkand replied. "And without any help from you three brainiacs."

 

Dr. Device shrugged. "Must've not used enough knockout gas..."

 

"Hey, where's my piece you took?" Bruizer demanded of Drew.

 

"I lost it in the river," she replied.

 

"Goddamn" Bruizer stomped his foot. "That means I'm out eight hundred bucks!"

 

"Really?" Samarkand said. "I have a new BMW X5 up the road with a nice bullet hole thru the engine block. Wanna trade?"

 

"What about the limo?" Rivah Santiago asked.

 

"Don't remind me," Samarkand groused. "It's in a ditch by the north bridge. Gonna have to hire a tow truck to get it out. Lose another three hundred bucks on the rental."

 

"You know, you're a lot trouble, missy!" Ms. Santiago said to Drew, poking at one of her outhrust breasts with a long nailed, red fingernail. "You think just cuz we're white slavers that we have all the money in the world? Well you are so wrong! Most of us are on salary, with no expense account! We're all just working stiffs!"

 

"Not to mention a bunch of whiners," Drew replied.

 

***

 

Drew was led through the hospital ruins, down into the basement, where mossy, cobblestoned walls slowly gave way to cold concrete and humming fluorescent lights.

 

"Ah, the quintessential Evil Lair!" Drew said. She waited with her captors while Samarkand tried several times to swipe his keycard to open a locked, stainless steel vault door. "I've always wondered, who actually builds these things?"

 

"It's all sub-contracted," Dr. Device replied. "By the way, we haven't been formally introduced. I'm Dr. Device."

 

"You say that like I should know who you are."

 

"Well, I am quite respected in certain circles," Device replied in a hurt tone of voice. "I'm expert in the science of the extraction of information..."

 

"Vee haff veys uff meking you taaawk..." Samarkand said, finally suceeding in opening the vault door. Ms. Santiago pushed Drew through the door and into a large room. There were no windows, just wood-paneled walls, cheap desks and a few pieces of office furniture.

 

"Not very James Bondish," Drew remarked. "Looks like you got everything from Office Max."

 

Drew was silent however when she was led into the next room, which resembled some kind of diabolical operating theatre, where everything was cold stainless steel and padded black rubber. Including an ominious looking, rotating gurney festooned with straps.

 

"All this to find Jessica McClintock?" Drew asked as Bruizer hefted her up and into the gurney. "I told you I honestly don't know where she is."

 

"But you do have knowledge of her," Samarkand said. "And of the people who also have an interest in her. The person we work for wants that information. Every bit of it."

 

"Would that person be Joseph Weskler?"

 

Samarkand nodded. Ms. Santiago used a scalpel to snip the cord holding Drew's wrists and elbows. Dr. Device eased her down into the gurney and began buckling her in with the heavy rubber straps.

 

"And after you have retrieved this information, what then?" Drew asked as her wrists and shoulders were secured.

 

"As I said, we'll see what kind of use you can be as a hostage." Samarkand replied as he leered at her tits. "After that, we just let you go."

 

"Oh, of course."

 

"Don't worry," Dr. Device said gently. "After we're done I'll give you a gentle, short-term memory wipe."

 

"You'll wake up in a hotel room wondering where you are and how you got there, but you'll be quite alive and well," Samarkand replied. "Despite what happened in San Fran, I have no desire to see you harmed, Drew."

 

Drew bit her lip. Straps tightened across her hips, knees and ankles. "This memory wipe... how long..."

 

"It lifts about the last ten days to two weeks of your life away," Dr. Device said casually. "Don't worry, I've done it a thousand times, with very few side effects."

 

Drew realized she had met Tai Anne Roper only three days ago. I won't even know she exists! Drew thought. For some reason that prospect made her want to cry.

 

"Samarkand, please wait..."

 

"Open wide, Ms. Thrasher," Ms. Santiago said, holding a large, black rubber ball before her face.

 

Of course, Drew thought. Any bondage scene would be incomplete without a large rubber ball to stuff into a damsel's mouth!

 

Drew accepted the rubber sphere with a grunt as Ms. Santiago strapped it in tight. She then held Drew's head while Dr. Device placed a black rubber breather mask over her mouth. She struggled and squirmed for a few seconds and then she was out.

 

"Very good," Samarkand said. "How long is this going to take?"

 

Dr. Device shrugged. "Four to six hours max."

 

Samarkand nodded. "Fine. I'll get Frank to take me into Philly so I can rent a tow. You three think you can handle this by yourselves?"

 

"Sure!" Bruizer replied. "What could go wrong?"

 

Samarkand just looked at him and walked out.

 

"Okay," Dr. Device said. "Ms. Santiago, be so kind as to clean her up inside and out, While I get the latex skinsuit and the vaginal and rectal plugs."

 

"Righto. Don't forget the lubricant."

 

"Can I watch this time?" Bruizer asked.

 

"Go to your room, Bruizer," Ms. Santiago replied.

 

Bruizer left. Dr. Device and Ms. Santiago both slipped clean hospital scrubs on over their street clothes.

 

Dr. Device then started collecting the instruments he would need while Ms. Santiago snipped away Drew's naughtygirl underwear. She then removed Drew's Rolex watch, the two gold rings on her fingers and a small charm necklace of silver that was around her neck.

 

The charm itself was interesting. Barely an inch high, it appeared to be some kind of Hindu goddess or something, kneeling with four outstretched arms, each holding a different weapon. The long hair and breasts on the figure identified it as female, but the face was drawn back in a ghastly grin and the eyes were made of chips of red ruby that seemed to glow.

 

Ms. Santiago shrugged and tossed it onto a steel tray with her other belongings.

 

"Owww!!! Shit!"

 

Dr. Device looked up at her. "What is it?"

 

"That... thing." Ms. Santiago was holding her right hand, which was dripping blood from her index finger. "It cut me!"

 

"What thing?"

 

"That charm necklace that Thrasher was wearing."

 

"What necklace?"

 

"Right..." She blinked, looking at the tray. It was gone. "What the fuck?"

 

She sighed and went over to a bureau to bandage her finger, which had a deep, half-inch gash.

 

"You mean this charm?" Dr. Device asked. He was standing over by the unconscious Drew, indicating the small silver necklace still around her neck.

 

Ms. Santiago stared at him. "I just took that thing off."

 

"Yeah, yeah..." Dr. Device carefully snipped the silver chain with a pair of surgical scissors and lifted it gingerly away.

 

Then it was his turn to yelp it pain.

 

Ms. Santiago turned back to look at him. "What now?!"

 

Dr. Device was holding his left hand as blood dripped off the fingers. "That... fucking necklace! It... jumped in my hand... the chain is razor sharp... cut my finger to the bone!"

 

"That's impossible!" Ms. Santiago came over to look at his wound. "If it was that sharp how could she wear it without being cut to ribbons. Jesus... you're gonna need stitches, Dee!" She looked around. "Where is it anyway?"

 

"I dropped it on the floor, I think."

 

They both looked. There was a smear of blood on the tile, but no charm.

 

"What's all the hollering about?" Bruizer appeared at the door, eating a microwaved breakfast burrito.

 

"Nevermind." Device said.

 

"We lost this charm necklace the patient was wearing," Ms. Santiago said. "See if you can find it..."

 

"You mean this?" Still chewing, Bruiser noticed a small silver figure dangling from a water pipe by a chain over his head. He snatched it up in his big hand.

 

A second later he was screaming.

 

"Bruizer, what is it?!" Both Dr. Device and Ms. Santiago were by his side instantly as he screamed and pounded at his right hand and arm. Device forced open the fingers of his right hand to see a big, angry looking gash in the palm of his hand.

 

"Where is it?" Device asked.

 

"It's... inside me!!!" Bruizer screamed.

 

Ms. Santiago screamed as she saw something moving up Bruizer's right arm, under the layers of skin and muscle, clawing it's way up the armbone.

 

"Doc, help me!!!" Bruizer shouted. "It's gonna kill me!!!" He broke away and pounded at his own arm and shoulder as it moved into his chest.

 

An instant later Bruizer convulsed and crashed to the floor, still twitching. Dr. Device and Ms. Santiago could only hug each other and watch as something cracked his chest open from the inside, shredding his heart and sending blood geysering all over the room.

 

"I ain't believein' this..." Device whispered as a tiny silver figure now crawled out of Bruizer's ruptured chest, still dragging a silver chain behind it.

 

The figure was still that of the four armed goddess, but now instead of being just one inch high, it was four inches tall. About the size of a Kenner Star Wars figure. The little weapons it carried glittered in the light, as did its teeth when it licked its lips and cackled.

 

That was more than enough for both Dr. Device and Ms. Santiago. The both took off like scalded dogs, slamming the door behind them, then locking the big steel vault door and running some more all the way down the long corridor to the first floor of the hospital ruins.

 

Dr. Device stopped. He had to hold on to Ms. Santiago to get her to stop.

 

"Wait up... we gotta figure out what to do next," Device hissed.

 

"Whachoo mean, what to do next?" Ms. Santiago asked incrediously. "We keep running, you dumbass! Then we get to my car and drive like hell! Le’ts go!!!" She pulled at his hand.

 

"It's gotta be some kind of new... personal security device, made to resemble a religious charm," Device said. "A mini-bot with its own AI, utilizing some kind of nanotechnology... altho the power source would have to be internal..."

 

"I don't fucking care if it's a voodoo doll from the planet Vulcan!" Ms. Santiago said. "I just wanna get the fuck outta Dodge 'fore it finds us!" She twisted her hand free. "You com'n or stayin'?"

 

Both of them turned as a long creaking sound echoed from down the corridor.

 

"Let's beat feet," Dr. Device said.

 

The ran as hard as they could to where Ms. Santiago had parked her Jeep Liberty, they then drove off fast, neither of them saying a word until they had made it to the Jersey Turnpike.

 

***

 

In Joe Killian's experience, there was no better way to really get to know somebody than to search their home from top to bottom while they were gone.

 

Right now he was in bedroom of Sue Kaminsky's apartment, reading a stack of personal letters that she had kept in her bedside table. Mostly they were from her mom and a sister who was married and living in Chicago.

 

Sitting on the bed bedside him was Sue Kaminsky's cat, a huge, ring-tailed Maine Coon cat that looked at Killian distrustfully.

 

"I don't blame ya, pal," Killian said, putting the letters away. The apartment was small but well kept and homey. In the living room and kitchen area, FBI techs were going over everything with a fine tooth comb.

 

One of the techs entered the bedroom. "Yo, Joe! You want me to take her whole computer in or just the hard drive?"

 

"Take everything," Killian replied. "Make sure you get every disk too."

 

"Right. Also, you got a cop out front with a search warrant. Wants to see the agent-in-charge."

 

Killian smiled. Spinelli had finally decided to show. He got up and walked into the living room, and motioned for one of other agents to let Detective Sgt. Sal Spinelli through the front door.

 

"So, what the fuck is goin' on here?" Spinelli asked. "I come here to execute a search warrant on a suspect's abode... and find I gotta wait in line!"

 

"I hadda take a number myself," Killian replied. "When I got here an hour ago, I found some punk trying to jimmy the locks to get in. He took a shot at me and the landlady... I hadda whack him."

 

Spinelli chuckled. "Good for you, G-man! Capped some junkie burglar trying to steal a VCR..."

 

"Nope, he had a pro set of lock picks," Killian said. "He had already gotten past two sets of locks on the front door and was working on the deadbolt when I walked up on him."

 

"He got a name?"

 

"No ID on him, we're running his prints." Killian handed Spinelli a polaroid snapshot of the dead man. "Know him?"

 

Doesn't ring any bells," Spinelli replied, barely glancing at the photo. "Maybe he was connected to the shooting at the Plaza."

 

"The Plaza shooters used silencered 9 mils, this guy had a .32 H&R revolver. Saturday night street trash," Killian smiled. "Not that he couldn't afford a weapon's upgrade. When we searched him, we found 25 thousand dollars in used hundreds, wrapped up tight and sealed in tin foil."

 

"Might've been a payoff."

 

"He also had two grams of cocaine on him," Killian said. "Kinda unique criminal behavior isn't it? I mean, a junkie breaking into an apartment when he already had enough money and dope to party hearty... usually its the other way around."

 

"You got a point to this shit?"

 

"This wasn't a payoff, it was a setup," Killian replied. "Somebody got this mook to break in here so he could leave the 25K stuck in the freezer or jammed behind a baseboard... and then he was gonna take the coke and scatter it around the sink or in the bathroom, just enough so that some trace elements could be found."

 

"You have a vivid fuckin' imagination."

 

"That way, when you show up here later with that search warrant in hand, you'd find evidence of a dirty cop, who also had a taste for nose candy."

 

Spinelli lit a cigarette and looked at Killian. "Y'know, I've only known you a few hours... and already you're a major league pain in the ass."

 

Killian chuckled. "It's a gift."

 

Spinelli headed for the door, but stopped at the threshold. "By the way, ballistics matched up Kaminsky's Glock with the slugs they pulled outta Hodges. And her prints were on the gun. Right now there's a warrant out for her arrest."

 

He gave Killian the finger. "Have a nice day, mutha-fuck-ah."

 

After Spinelli walked out, Killian's friend and partner, Special Agent Thad Kudlow walked over. "Now what?"

 

"Stay here and catalogue everything," Killian replied. "Then padlock the door and seal it. Put two of our people out out front on a rolling stakeout. Anybody from the city tries to get in, arrest 'em. If soembody squawks, refer them to me."

 

Kudlow looked at him. "So what does that make you? This Kaminsky babe's guardian angel?"

 

"I guess so. Til somebody else shows up."

 

"Y'know, Joesph," Kudlow said. "The last guy who tried to take on the NYPD single-handed was Frank Serpico... and he ended up with a bullet in his head."

 

"Yeah, but he also got a movie made with his name on it," Killian replied.

 

"Bright lights, big city," Kudlow shrugged.

 

Killian looked down at his feet. Kaminsky's cat was now sharpening it's claws on his good loafers. "And what do we do about her cat?"

 

Kudlow shrugged again. "City pound?"

 

***

 

Oh his way out, Joe Killian stopped by Isadora Kesselbaum's apartment again.

 

"Good to see you again, Mr. Killian!" Mrs. Kesselbaum said. "What are you doing with Sue Kaminsky's cat?"

 

I'll get around to that," he replied, stroking the big Maine coon cat he held in his arms. "How are you feeling, ma'am? Are you sure you don't want the paramedics to look you over?"

 

Oh my no! I'm fine," she said. "And thank you again for pulling me out of harm's way like you did."

 

"Just doing my job," Killian grinned. "We'll be keeping the building under surveillance for awhile. But I was also wondering if you would contact me if you saw or heard anything... suspicious?"

 

"Of course." She looked at the business card with his cellphone number that he had just handed her. "Susie... she's in big trouble, isn't she?"

 

"Maybe," Killian said. "Just don't believe everything you'll be hearing about her." He looked down at the cat purring in his arms. "Oh, and I was wondering..."

 

"I'll be glad to look after Alfie." She took the cat into her arms. "And if there's anything else I can do help Susie... just let me know!"

 

"Thanks, Mrs. Kesselbaum. You're a brave woman."

 

She chuckled as she stroked the contented cat. Killian then noticed the faded numbers still tattooed on her forearm. "Brave? Oh my no, Mr. Killian!

I just quit being scared a long time ago..."

 

***

 

Michelle Qwan woke up slowly, allowing herself the luxury of not looking at her watch as she stretched and enjoyed the comfort of a soft bed.

 

While in Montreal, she was staying at a friend's house on the Ile des Soeurs, or Nun's Island. A very upscale piece of real estate just 15 minutes away from downtown, with business parks, condos and greenspace.

 

She finally got out of bed, yawning as she looked out the window at a lovely view of the St. Lawrence Seaway with the skyscrapers of Montreal off to the north. It was a lovely day. Crisp blue skies and not too chilly.

 

She finally looked at her Rolex. It was 10:05 am. She had finished up with the local gendarmes around two, and had collapsed in that bed at three in the am. Managing seven hours sleep while still suffering jet lag from San Francisco was fairly impressive.

 

Still in her silk pajamas, Qwan strode to the center of the bedroom and started her morning Tai Chi. Moving swiftly from stretching and breathing exercises to a series of complex movements based on the martial arts.

 

When she was done, she was just beginning to work up a sweat. She pulled off her pajamas and hit the shower.

 

***

 

The intruder had parked a block away from the house Qwan was staying in, moving casually along the sidewalk before slipping under the open garage door and expertly picking the cheap lock on the kitchen door.

 

The intruder noticed the Sonitrol alarm system now blinking by the door. It was disarmed in twenty seconds by short-circuiting the password array.

 

Realizing Qwan was upstairs, the intruder headed stealthly up to the second floor, drawing a pistol and jacking the slide back.

 

The intruder heard the shower going in the bathroom, and saw steam coming from under the bathroom door. Moving quickly, the intruder eased the door back, entered the steam-filled room and yanked the shower curtain to one side to reveal an empty shower stall.

 

Hiding behind the door, Qwan slammed it shut on the intruder, twisting the gun free of the intruder's hand and swinging down for a mortal strike across the throat.

 

"Inspector Qwan!!!" Yukari Mei Awai screamed. "Don't hurt me! Kudasai!!!"

 

Qwan paused. Officer P-2 Yukari Mei Awai of the Metropolitan Tokyo Police Department was now trembling in her grasp.

 

"What the hell?" Naked and still dripping wet, Qwan picked the lightweight, plastic gun off the floor and fired it into the bathroom mirror. A nerf dart stuck to the surface. "What are you playing at, Yukari?"

 

Yukari twisted about in Qwan's grip, her arms still pinned behind her. The short, yet quite pretty, Japanese woman with the bowlcut hairdo was wearing a knee-length grey wool skirt, a white turtleneck and boots. "I... was just kidding around, Inspector! I just wanted to see if I could sneak up on you!"

 

"After what I went through last night?!" Qwan was genuinely angry. She went through Yukari's purse and with one hand, while keep her arms pinned with the other. She came across her hinged, police issue handcuffs and hooked Yukari up with her hands behind her. "You stupid girl! I almost killed you!"

 

"Gomen nasai, Qwan-sama!" Yukari cried. She then squealed as Qwan yanked her head under the showerhead, giving her a good soaking.

 

Yukari was still shaking her head and sputtering as Qwan led her into her own bedroom. She stood there silently at attention while Qwan got a towel and dried herself off.

 

Yukari noticed that despite being an older woman --she was after all, 39!-- Michelle Qwan still had a good body, slender yet strong. Her biceps and leg muscles weren't bloated and huge either, but were corded like slender steel bands.

 

Qwan slipped a robe on and belted it, turning her attention back to Awai. "Why are you here?"

 

Yukari swallowed. "I-I am your new partner, Inspector."

 

"Honto-ni?" Qwan smiled.

 

"Hai! The paperwork is in my purse!"

 

Qwan went through her purse again, removing the small, Kahr pistol she carried and an offical looking envelope that had DCI Qwan scribbled across it. Qwan recognized the handwriting as she open it up and read the letter aloud.

 

"Dear Michelle... Heard about the bomb, thought you might need some backup on this one... Yours, Superintendent Peter McCracken, RCMP Vancouver..."

 

"After I left San Francisco, ICPO sent me to Vancouver!" Yukari said breathlessly. "After the incident at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, I applied for Interpol's Anti-Terrorist Strike Force!"

 

Qwan sighed. Like herself, Yukari had credentials with the International Criminal Police Organisation, aka Interpol. Yukari had been working undercover at the Mandarin Oriental in San Francisco a couple of days ago, when Qwan had needed her to help rescue two women named Drew Thrasher and Tai Anne Roper who were being held hostage there.

 

"That doesn't explain your presence here," Qwan said.

 

"Hai! After hearing of the attempt on your life last night, your Superintendent McCracken ordered me here, to back you up." She grinned. "I guess that make us partners, eh, Sempai?"

 

"Not quite." Qwan stood up and looked at Yukari. "I am not your Sempai and you are not my Kohai. And we are not partners. Now get downstairs and wait for me."

 

"But..." Yukari looked like she was going to cry, twisting her handcuffed wrists uselessly about behind her.

 

"Go."

 

"Hai." Yukari bowed slightly and left. Qwan shut the door behind her and started to get dressed for the day.

 

***

 

Ten minutes later, Qwan came down the stairs to the kitchen. She was dressed in tan leather pants, ankle boots, a crisp, starched white cotton shirt and matching tan leather blazer. Her long black hair was pinned back into a bun with two lacquered Chinese hairpins.

 

She found that breakfast was ready and waiting on the bar next to the kitchen, A kettle of Chinese green tea and some toasted English muffins with butter and orange maramalade on the side.

 

Yukari was at the bar, her hands now in front of her, but still cuffed.

 

Qwan sat down at the bar. Yukari poured her some tea into a china cup. She sipped at it.

 

"Very good," Qwan allowed. "Join me."

 

"Hai, Inspector." Yukari poured herself a cup of tea, her small, almost dolllike hands contrasting with the steel of the handcuffs on her wrists.

 

"How did you know I like this for breakfast?" Qwan asked while she buttered an English muffin.

 

"I think someone in Vancouver mentioned it to me, Inspector," Yukari asked.

 

"And how did you get your hands in front of you?"

 

"I am double-jointed in the shoulders, Inspector."

 

Qwan took a bite and smiled. "This isn't personal, Yukari. You may be young, but I think you have the makings of a fine police officer. You handled yourself well in San Francisco."

 

"Domo arigato," Yukari said. "But ICPO operations says that I need more... seasoning. A senior partner... a sempai to show me the ropes, so to speak. Otherwise it's back to Tokyo for me."

 

Qwan finished the muffin and sipped her tea.

 

"I know you had a partner once while you were with the Royal Hong Kong Police," Yukari spoke carefully. "And I know of the incident in Vancouver five years ago..."

 

"Then you also know my reasons." Qwan looked up at her. "I work solo."

 

"Perhaps the people trying to kill you also know that," Yukari said. "And will take advantage of this."

 

Qwan shrugged.

 

"Perhaps... we can help each other. Hai, Inspector?"

 

Qwan looked at her cuffed hands. "Do you know how to pick a handcuff lock?"

 

"No, Inspector."

 

"It's simple." Qwan removed a lockpick secreted under the lapel of her jacket and took Yukari's hands into hers, working the pick into the cuffs. "Standard police issue cuffs the world over have a simple set of inverse tumblers... like so."

 

First one, and then the other lock gave way. Yukari rubbed her freed wrists. "Arigato."

 

Qwan stood up. "Go dry your hair and fix your makeup. We have an appointment to see the chief of the RCMP Forensics Lab this morning to find out where that bomb from last night came from."

 

Yukari snapped to. "Hai, Sempai!"

 

"Don't call me that." Qwan got up and took her dishes to the sink. "You are not my kohai... and I am not your sempai. Simple as that."

 

Yukari nodded. "Hai... Inspector."

 

***

 

The headquarters for the RCMP in Montreal was located not far from Nun's Island in the Westmount district, at the foot of famed Mont Royal Park.

 

Due to its proximity to the American eastern seaboard, Montreal had the dubious distinction of being the hub of organised crime in Canada, not to mention home to a growing collection of Arab terrorist splinter cells.

 

The RCMP's Forensic Laboratory Centre reflected that in it's state of the art services and equiptment. Overseeing it all was a tweedy, old English gent by the name of Dr. Armand Butterworth.

 

"You Qwan?" he asked as the two policewomen entered his domain.

 

"Detective Chief Inspector Qwan," she corrected, flashing her gold badge. "My partner, Officer Awai of the ICPO."

 

"Very good, I'm Butterworth. Heard about your work out west. This way please." He reminded Yukari of 'Q' from the Bond movies.

 

He led them into the main laboratory, where techs were busy analysing everything from car tires to human bones. They approached a long table that held the disassembled bomb from last night.

 

"Good thing you disarmed this bad boy," Butterworth said. "It held 5 pounds of military grade plastique. Enough to take out the entire block."

 

"Got any idea who made it?"

 

"Montreal has at least five bomb-making factories," Butterworth said. "Serving everyone from the Free Quebec loonies to the Arabs, to the local Quebecois mob extortionists. I know their work, and this isn't it. This bomb came from out of town."

 

"What can you tell me about the explosive itself?"

 

"As I said, Military grade, C-4 plastique. As you may know, all military plastique has it's own serial number to trace where it goes." Butterworth hefted one of the big gray blocks. "Unfortuantely, these serial numbers have been removed."

 

"What about a signature tracer?" Qwan asked.

 

"A what?" Yukari asked.

 

"Very good!" Butterworth said to Qwan. He turned to Awai. "A signature tracer consists of minute particles of a radioactive substance mixed into the compound as its created, so that even the exploded residue can be traced to its point of origin."

 

"Something the American FBI came up with after the Oklahoma City bombing," Qwan said.

 

"Your plastique started out two years ago in an American munitions factory in Utah," Butterworth said. "From there it went to an American Army base at Fort Lewis, Washington, where it was quite legally sold to South Korea. It was supposed to be used for land mines in their DMZ... unfortunately it was part of about a hundred pounds of the stuff that was stolen."

 

"Did it ever turn up?"

 

"Yes, in the international black market," Butterworth said. "A car bomb in Sri Lanka... a bomb in a discotheque in Jakarta... a Muslim extremist group in the Phillipines got most of the rest..."

 

"So how did any of it get to Montreal?" Yukari asked.

 

"Well, 14 months ago an independent dock workers union leader named Anthony Scarza and his family were murdered in their vacation home in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania," Butterworth said. "About five pounds of C-4 took down their house and damn near vaporized the bodies."

 

"His family, you say?" Yukari asked.

 

"Yes, a wife and two children, a boy who was 12 and a 7 year old girl," Butterworth said. "Anyway, the American BATF matched that explosive to the same batch stolen in South Korea."

 

"Did they ever find out how it got back into the US?" Qwan asked.

 

"No... but the did have their suspicions about this man." Butterworth handed her a file folder. "Kenny Bok Choi. He runs an import, export business out of Jersey City, New Jersey. Runs cargo freighters from South Korea to the eastern seaboard. He could've smuggled the plastique back to the states, and he had reason to want Scarza to go away."

 

Qwan flipped through the file. "What can you tell me about the bomb last night?"

 

"It was made by a pro," Butterworth replied. "No bells or whistles or boobytraps... just a simple and well made timing device that would have worked perfectly." He smiled. "By the by... your friend you called last night knows his bombs!"

 

"Lucky for moi," Qwan replied. "Could the man who made the bomb that blew up Scarza, also be the man who made the bomb that almost blew me up?"

 

"Maybe. The BATF never found enough of the Scarza bomb to be able to get a make on the bombmaker."

 

"What about this bomb?"

 

Butterworth nodded. "After coming up empty on the locals, I ran the techniques used in creating this bomb through the RCMP's own ViCLAS system..."

 

"The what?" Yukari asked.

 

"ViCLAS," Qwan said. "Violent Crime Linkage and Analysis Support. Not unlike the FBI's VICAP."

 

"Which I had a go at as well," Butterworth handed another file to Qwan. "I just got this kickback."

 

"Bingo." Qwan flipped through this file. "Terrance O'Malley. 67 years old, and an experienced bombmaker. Started out working for the IRA in the sixties, immigrated to the US in 1973, and settled in New York City."

 

"He was an independent in New York," Butterworth said. "Made bombs for the black radicals, the SDS... and even the local mobsters."

 

"Arrested and convicted in 1985 for the deaths of four Bayonne, NJ firemen..."

 

"It was oen of his mafia bombs that got him caught. They needed a factory to burn down for insurance purposes," Butterworth said. "The set the secondary device wrong, and it blew up after the firemen had arrived."

 

"Serving 75 years to life, currently imprisoned in Rahway State Prison, New Jersey," Qwan finished.

 

"But how could he have created the bomb from last night... from a jail cell in New Jersey?" Yukari asked.

 

Come now, Yukari," Qwan said. "O'Malley here is a master bombmaker... and in prison you have cellmates, and lots of time on your hands. Maybe this O'Malley played sempai... and it was one of his kohai who made last night's bomb."

 

"Haaaaaaiii..." Yukari nodded.

 

"Got anything on the two men who delivered the bomb last night?" Qwan asked Butterworth.

 

"Both were ID'd off their fingerprints," he replied. "Gerard Benoit and William Samms, both members of The West Enders, a mostly English-speaking Quebecois gang. They dally in drugs and extortion, but are also known to do contract work for American mobsters."

 

"Any links to Samarkand?"

 

"None that we could find." Butterworth paused. "It might also be prudent to beef up your own personal security while you're staying in Montreal, Inspector. The 'Westies' are big on revenge, and might have a go at you."

 

"That's okay," Qwan answered. "Looks like Officer Awai and myself are going on a little roadtrip to scenic New Jersey."

 

Yukari gulped. "We are?"

 

***

 

Drew Thrasher woke up.

 

She yawned and stretched, realizing in mid-yawn that she was no longer tied down to the gurney. The black rubber straps had all been neatly cut away and even her rubber ballgag was gone.

 

She was however, still quite naked. Shivering, Drew sat up, swung her feet over the side and screamed.

 

The body of Bruizer was laying on the tiled floor. Dried blood had pooled around the body, and he now stared with glazed over eyes up at the ceiling.

 

The massive wound in his chest looked like the exit wound to a large calibre handgun, Drew thought. She swallowed and looked around the stainless steel room, but there was no one else. And the door leading to the next room was open.

 

Trying to ignore the blood on the walls, Drew hopped down and noticed her personal effects still lying on a steel tray next to the gurney. Her lady's Rolex and her two rings.

 

She looked at the Rolex as she slipped it on. 10:37! Ye Gods, she had been out for over two and a half hours! Yet, she did feel well rested, and the jet lag was gone.

 

She looked down at herself, running her fingers over the intimate parts of her body. She didn't feel like she had been... probed. And her memory seemed to be intact.

 

Something happened here, but what? If someone else attacked this place, why just leave me here, unattended?

 

Drew shook her head. She wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, even a mysterious one.

 

As she slipped her rings onto her fingers, she also checked around her neck, and sighed with relief when she felt the silver chain and pendant still there.

 

Just a day ago, while sipping a whisky at Paige's ritzy bar deep inside The Brickyard, being approached by the mysterious and beautiful East Indian girl known as Shakira...

 

"I... won't tell anybody what I saw. Ever," Drew says.

 

"I know you won't," Shakira replies.

 

Shakira removes a small silver pendant from around her neck and hands it to Drew. "Here, this is yours."

 

It's a small, sculptured figure of the Hindu Goddess Kali. Kneeling, with four delicate arms extended, each with a weapon. She has glowing, ruby eyes.

 

The Kali-Ma... twin soul to Durga, the Mother of Creation, Kali was the Mother of all Destruction. Death personified.

 

"She's beautiful," Drew says.

 

"And terrible. And now she will protect you... always and forever."

 

Drew remembered those words as she looked at the death around her.

 

She hurried into the next room and went through the lockers. She found a sack of dirty women's clothes in one locker, probably belonging to Ms. Santiago.

 

The jeans were too tight and the tee shirt too lose, and the sneakers rubbed the back of her feet, but she was grateful to be wearing anything.

 

Drew then searched the room for something useful. Like a gun or a cellphone. No such luck. Taking a deep breath, she walked to the big steel door leading to the basement and saw that it been sprung off its hinges.

 

There was no sign of anybody. Drew walked upstairs and soon found herself back in the ruins of the hospital.

 

The sky was a clear blue and a breeze that smelled of pine pleasantly blew past her. She was still weighing her options when she heard a heavy vehicle coming through the town and towards the hospital.

 

Drew hurried to a stand of pines adjacent to the driveway and hid. An instant later, a big Chevy diesel tow truck pulled up to the driveway, it's powerful motor making quite a racket as it idled and two men got out.

 

One was Samarkand --still dressed in his cammies and his fez-- who was holding a 9mm stainless Beretta pistol. Next to him was a skinny blonde kid who was nervously clutching a big Frianchi SPAS-12 pump shotgun.

 

Drew watched as they argued. Samarkand wanted the kid to stay with the vehicle. The kid didn't want to be left alone. Finally Samarkand won out, and stalked towards the hospital.

 

Then he turned and came back, taking the shotgun for himself and leaving the pistol with the kid. He headed back into the hospital ruins.

 

Samarkand knows something's happened in there, Drew thought. Probably tipped off by Dr. Device or Ms. Santiago. Maybe he's looking for me!

 

She also realized that this was going to be her last, best chance to get some transportation out of these woods.

 

Drew snuck out of the pine stand, keeping the big tow truck between herself and the kid. The loud, idling motor covered her footfalls. She eased around the back of the truck, noticing a toolbox secured by the tow apparatus.

 

She opened it up and chose a particularly heavy crescent wrench.

 

She then snuck around behind the kid --who seemed to be looking for something close to the ground-- and bonked him hard across the back of his head.

 

Now if this had been an action movie, or even a badly written piece of adventure fiction, the kid would have crumpled neatly to the ground, and that would have been it.

 

But this was reality. And the kid fell to his hands and knees, rubbing the back of hie head and screeching,"Owwwwww! Jeeezus, that really hurt, you bitch!"

 

Drew bonked him again, and this time it was lights out. She went for a weapon upgrade, dropping the wrench and claiming the Beretta.

 

Next, she hopped into the cab of the tow truck, trying to remember how to use a stick shift. After grinding some gears, the big truck jumped forward, and she was off and running.

 

This time, Drew followed the tracks the truck had made coming into town, and in a few minutes was on a dirt road with the truck humming along in third gear.

 

Drew Thrasher allowed herself a silly grin. She was free, but she still had to find a main road, and then some civilization would be nice.

 

I'm not out of the woods yet! Drew thought, snickering at her own little joke.



 

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