Author's Note: This is the fourth Angel story and he needed lots of help for this mission. Even when I threw in characters from my previous work into the mix, we still needed more. I then reached out to other authors who had created heroic figures with a similar purpose. You will see a series of works attached to this story, all launching off the same assignment detailed in chapter 20. I can tell you we had fun doing it- Tyrone Slothrop

 

I Can See For Miles

By Tyrone Slothrop

 

Chapter 10: No Good Deed Goes Unpunished- Pleasanton, California-July

As Larry Elger started the investigation into the odd Mr. Clymer and AB Enterprises, he set some things in motion entirely based on instinct. One of these was to contact Joe Bean, the new head of Junecellular security.

Joe Bean looked like an accountant, down to the wire rim glasses and slightly padded abdomen. Larry knew him to have a dry, biting wit and a natural cynicism which made him a perfect candidate for the professional paranoia required for a security chief. He also knew Joe had exhibited bravery under fire and was partially responsible for Larry's continued breathing. Joe had been recommended for the position by Larry, who had earned the respect of the founder of the company.

"Joe, I think Marissa and her son need an extra screen around them. She asked me to look into something and I am afraid it might get personal. When I know anything I can share, Sean or I will get it to you. And if you tip onto some surveillance, call one of us ASAP. It could be a lead we need. I'll send you the info by usual secure method and the details stay with you. Be in touch." Larry's voice was always an alert signal to Joe. He replayed the voicemail several times before he deleted it.

Joe opened his special email account, the one with shifting addresses and a decent encryption scheme. Larry's briefing was short and to the point. The supplier issue, the strange behavior. The potential threat to Marissa, and by extension, Brian, her son.

Text messages went out to selected individuals on his tactical squad, authorizing expenditures for round the clock coverage in depth for Marissa and Brian, and the need to preserve any live suspects they found, preferably without tipping their hand.

Four hours after Joe Bean had put things in motion, the security teams got a nibble. Brian, Marissa's son, a lanky blonde fifteen year old was playing basketball at the middle school court a half mile from his house. On this sunny Saturday afternoon he was happily sweating and trash talking with several friends while occasionally getting the ball through the hoop.

"Red One this is Red Two. We have confirmed a licensed PI in watcher mode. Blue Crown Vic. Reed Fernando. Rep as small time gray player."

"Red One to all Red Units. Watch for grab attempt."

Larry and Sean had set up a working office in a suite at the Hyatt, not ten minutes away. When Joe Bean alerted him, Larry shut down his laptop and tapped a concentrating Sean on the shoulder.

"They got a nibble. I think we may learn more on the scene." Larry said. Sean moved quickly yet with smooth practice, checking her weapon, grabbing her leather jacket and shoulder bag and locking down any secure material. They were in their car within seven minutes, three of which were due to a slow elevator.

While Sean drove, Larry turned a radio transceiver to the channel used by Junecellular security tac team.

"So far, it looks like one of us is headed down under soon, Larry. Everything I have points to several places in Australia." Sean said while she navigated the interstate.

"I have gotten farther into some of the initial shipments of the replacement material, the 'sleeves' to some addresses around the world. They were all one time orders and then all material flowed into a bonded location in Melbourne. Half of them are in the US." Larry responded, and then broke off as he listened to the radio in his earpiece.

Brian and his friends were standing by the parking lot when a car pulled up.

"Red Two to all units: It's ok; they are teenagers from the local high school. They know the subject. Move closer and have vehicles hot just in case." Larry heard on the TAC frequency.

"Red Three: PI has a telephoto lens and what appears to be a camera targeted at subject. Moving to intercept."

"Red Two Mayday, weapon in car! Aimed at subject! Take him out!"

Brian was shocked when Chuck, the school asshole, pulled up in his car and started acting friendly. Chuck never traveled alone, and was accompanied by three toadies all jammed into his Corolla. Brian saw the paintball gun being pulled out and held in firing position outside the car window from the backseat. That move probably save the kid's life, since the first shot shattered the gun, spraying red paint balls all over the car.

Reed Fernando was very surprised when a pistol appeared in his face. He slowly set down the camera and got out of his car, hands clasped behind his neck with fingers interlocked.

Chuck knew he was in serious trouble when three armed men converged on his car, pointing handguns directly at him. His bladder chose this time to release, and he sensed someone in the back seat was in similar straits.

Larry and Sean drove up just as the security team had locked down the area. The kid who held the paintball gun was fortunate that the marksmanship of Red Three was superb. He only suffered minor scratches from shattered plastic. If he had been outside the car and tried to use the gun, he would have been dropped with at least five shots in his torso. Brian and his friends were secure in the back seat of an SUV, covered by two team members.

"I assume this was something more than a High School prank." Larry said, after being briefed by Red One. Sean was talking to Reed Fernando.

"The driver is babbling about being given fifty bucks to pull a gag on Brian here. He's already fingered the PI with the camera. " Red One smiled.

"I know that kid! He was hassling Brian and the Carter kid two years ago. Still an asshole, I guess. Let me talk to him. I think I can guess what this was all about."

Chuck was standing against his car with his hands placed on the hood. He had been told if he moved a hand, he would lose it and the men with guns were not the joking kind. Suddenly, he saw Larry Elger approaching and the nightmare from two years ago came flooding back.

Chuck and his followers had been bothering Brian and his friend Alan Carter from Santa Barbara at a restaurant after a basketball game. When Chuck was testing one of them in the men's room, Larry, who had been assigned to protect Alan Carter, burst in. He had convinced Chuck he would have to testify as a solicitor of gay sex and proceeded to 'arrest' Alan Carter. Chuck had lived in fear he would see Larry again.

Larry looked Chuck in the eye.

"Well, if it isn't Chuck? This the new way to solicit oral sex, Chuck? It seems you never pick the right victims, do you, Chuck? And that incontinence problem is embarrassing, isn't it Chuck?" Larry said mercilessly.

After twenty minutes, Sean returned from her discussion with Reed Fernando. Red One, Larry and Sean held a quick conference,

"How confident are you there is no backup to Fernando, watching him?" Sean asked.

"Pretty confident, Ms Taylor. We've done an area sweep, physically and electronically. It seems this was slapped together quickly. Fernando hired the punks to pull a prank which he would photograph and send to Mrs. Dupre. If I got that and it was one of my kids, I'd be pretty worried. He was hired by a guy we know as a local thug and we can now walk back the trail, quietly.

"My guess is he has to send a signal when the photo is delivered and Mrs. Dupre will get a threatening call. Since it was a harmless prank, there's no crime, and Reed here looks like a good citizen showing her how her poor son is getting bullied. Of course, the signal they are sending is unmistakable- do what we want or we can get to your kid." Red One began to let the adrenaline crash show in his face as he eased down from the situation.

"I think we re-enact the shoot, let the PI take his photo and deliver it. Let him send the signal. We'll plan a follow the chain investigation. Marissa may even agree to their demands, just to keep this trail hot." Larry said.

Red One and Sean nodded in agreement.

"One recommendation, Mr. Elger. Let my guys do the camera work and the paintball shot. I want it done right." Red One smiled to Larry and Sean's grinning assent.

Brian found himself standing on the curb, having been coached to not overplay the surprise of getting a shot. Chuck, sweating profusely, drove up with Larry in the front passenger seat and Red Three in the back with a new paintball gun. They got it in one take, with red splatter all through Brian's shoulder length blonde hair, his face and chest. He emerged smiling when Sean told him he could get up; they had the pictures they needed.

That evening, Marissa was furious with everybody. Joe Bean accompanied Larry and Sean to her house, which was covered with several layers of electronic and human protection.

It was Joe's unpleasant job to inform Marissa that if she wanted a protection level against a random shooting then Brian would in effect live in a bubble, like the President. And so would she. Security was a trade off of probability of threat versus intrusion into personal life. They had been fully prepared for a kidnapping or a threat, but an assassination was not probable. And the actual event showed they had been right. Joe was a patient man, and a parent himself. He knew the anger was emotionally driven, a normal response to a threat to a child.

Marissa apologized to them all after a few minutes, and felt no embarrassment at the tears she shed while calming down.

"Larry, you really want me to agree to their threat?" Marissa asked.

"I want Brian out of the line of fire until this is resolved. If you agree, Sean will escort him down to stay with the Carters in a suitable disguise for the trip. Schools out for the summer and I know he likes the Carter kids.

"Then, if you will play along without legal jeopardy for Junecellular, let them think you will not delay the shipments. You have four months before you lose that clause you invoked. Get them to place advance orders so we know where it will be shipped. I want them to think you have been scared out of your wits when the call comes. Don't volunteer any information; just agree to move towards phase two. Well be tracking the trail from several angles. " Larry explained.

"Mrs. Dupre, I will be adding layers to your security and also for your housekeeper. If you play along, I don't see why they would threaten you again, but it will be there. Just make sure you plan your movements with your team leader for the duration of this. " Joe Bean said as soothingly as he could.

Marissa nodded. "Thanks Joe. I'm sorry I got upset. Were those teenagers hurt?"

"Just scared enough to need a laundry, ma'm. They will be better behaved, for a while at least."

The picture was delivered. Reed Fernando gave his signal, a call to a voicemail box. Red One was already stationed outside the house in Oakland where the man who hired Fernando waited. Red One watched the man dial his cell phone.

Marissa took the call, with Larry on an extension. She let anger show in her voice when asked to cooperate with her contractual obligations. She was holding the picture of Brian staring at the red blotch on his chest, a shocked look frozen in time.

Larry gave some credit to the caller. He never made threats, and indeed two packages of pictures arrived by separate couriers. One held Brian's photos, and one was innocuous pictures of the product samples. The caller could always claim he was referring to the other pictures if arrested. His tone was sufficiently ominous. Marissa agreed to proceed with the set up for phase two. The caller coldly hung up.

The man in Oakland called a number in Cairns, Australia, another voicemail box. Red One listened in with an extra-legal radio scanner. The message was short and seemed to signal mission accomplished. Payment was requested. He made sure he had the number and conversation recorded, and sent the files to the Junecellular network. The man in Oakland would have a shadow for some time to come.

Larry knew he was headed for a long flight.

Brian was amazingly cooperative, finding all the secret agent stuff pretty exciting, until he was told he was riding to Santa Barbara as Sean's sister. Sean was coffee and cream colored, with short curly black hair crowning her finely featured face. Brian was a fair skinned blonde. And a boy.

"Dammit, Brian, how many guys get a chance to be as cool as a black chick, even for half a day? You think we hand out invitations? You got to be special to even try!" Sean gave him a look while Larry hid a smirk and Marissa could not stop grinning.

Brian reluctantly agreed. Black rinse in his hair, skin tone now just a bit lighter than Sean's, dark soft lenses and a well padded bra later, he stood there in his running suit and gave his Mom a hug as he climbed up into the front seat of the SUV. Sean told him he looked good and pulled away, headed for the freeway.

"If we stop to eat, try not to talk. Especially to black people. There is no way you are going to pass if you open your mouth. And for God's sake, remember to use the girl's room. Now let's hear some music." Sean said, grinning at her new little 'sister'.

Brian was a fan of rap and hip hop, and was clearly expecting something contemporary to come out of the speakers. He shot a glance at Sean when Mozart's Jupiter Symphony began it's first movement.

Black Like She- Monterrey California

Brian was getting more uncomfortable by the second. Mitzi Diamond was a strange presence, and he felt like the human in an alien abduction story.

"Can you do it Mitzi?" Sean asked, her voice carrying a level of amusement. Brian assumed it was at his expense.

Mitzi had named himself after Mitzi Gaynor, and shared the circumference of his wrist with her waist size. Polished bald black head, in that ageless zone middle aged black men get, he could be anywhere from forty to sixty. Huge at six foot six, with hands twice the size of Brian's, well muscled without an ounce of fat detectable, Mitzi was the most overtly gay man Brian had ever met.

"Of course, sugar. If I can make those skanky anorexic witches look like street ho's for the rap and hip hop videos, I can take a pretty white boy and make him look good. I assume this is involuntary on his part? He looks like I might skin him alive or something." Mitzi said in a deep, barrel echoed voice which somehow sounded like music.

Sean had explained to Brian that his current disguise was a 'field improvisation' and she needed to give him something better before they began their journey. She had a friend who helped Larry and her on such things.

Sean also explained that while their destination was the Carter house in Santa Barbara, which Larry had secure with trusted teams in place, they were not going to risk the Carters by heading right there. They were going to meander a bit and then arrive four or five days later, when the chance of a panic reaction by the bad guys had subsided.

"You can be sure they are watching that house by now, and if anyone suddenly arrives, they'll figure it out, no matter what you look like. So you, young lady, arrive at a decent interval removed from the action. Larry and your Mom are going to really piss off the bad guys and it may get ugly." Sean had explained. Brian almost stopped listening after the 'young lady'. He was still not used to being a girl, having been one for five hours now.

So, the alien abduction was underway and Brian had no idea what would happen when it was done.

Over the next two days it became apparent. They stayed in rooms in the back of the large loft Mitzi kept over a warehouse. Food was take out but gourmet take out. He was dying for a burger.

Mitzi was actually very funny once you stopped shaking when he talked. Brian got the condensed version of Mitzi's life.

"If you Google on Black Fairy Queen, I'm the first ten entries, sweetheart! Just a big old fag who used to be a chemist for a cosmetics company back east. I got tired of them stealing my patents, so I headed out here. I found big scary black men are usually not hired as cosmetics consultants, even when they are as sweet as I am, so I starved for a while. After a few breaks where I won't admit what I had to do to get, I got work on the first rap videos. I had a whole bag of tricks on makeup and padding and things, and I made girls look like 'street' like Playboy made white chicks look like hookers that live next door.

"You think those bubble butts and skinny arms are naturally occurring? Think again, chicklet. Mitzi's got some magic things which are under development to go commercial and Mitzi's ready to retire. Except for my dear friends like Sean and Larry.

"So now we need to go to work on you. Now I absolutely know you are not gay, right? "

Brian nodded in rapid agreement.

"Thought so! Well I am, but I promise you, work with me and when you leave here you still won't be gay. You'll be gorgeous and black and girl, but you won't be gay. Are we ok?" Mitzi stuck out his huge hand.

Brian nodded and saw his hand dwarfed inside Mitzi's. The smile was thousand watt.

Brian remembered snippets of the next two days.

Mitzi-"My Lord, Sean, you brought me a white boy that can almost dance! His dad made him take ballroom lessons! That'll help a lot."

Sean- "Brian, you can't learn to be American black and girl in two days or two years, but we can do this. You are Michelle, your are just fourteen and are from Morocco. You attended a convent school on the island of Malta. You are my little sister. You speak perfect English with just a hint of French accent. Your real mom is French Canadian and I know you know some French and have heard French accented English your whole life. So you can just look bewildered at the street talk. The boys will be intrigued and the girls will hate you, which is fine, since the girls will blow your cover in a flash if they get a chance."

Mitzi- "You are lean and muscled which is good, some black girls are pretty muscular. Two years ago I would be doing corn rows, sweetie, but straight is back in the 'hood right now, so we dye it black and I have some stuff that will make it appear coarser and a little processed. You do have beautiful hair and I will make sure you get it back when this is over."

Sean- "Shave all over and we will use this semi permanent skin dye. You should come out light, about my coloring, and it will last for about three weeks without smudging. By week four, you will look like a white girl who surfs a lot. By week six, you will need to use a lot of foundation because it will finally fade but get a little blotchy. By week seven, you can be Miss Scandinavia."

Mitzi- "These tits are my specials. They stay on, they form an almost undetectable seal and are impervious to shock and swimming. Stay out of saunas over 180 degrees Fahrenheit, which might cause the seams to open. The hip and butt pads work the same way. With a little tucking, you can wear a bikini. I have a few gaffs here, which will help you tie little Michelle down, Okay mon cherie?"

Sean- "Here's the rules. Don't talk to boys. Don't talk to girls. Speak when spoken too. If you have to talk, use your accent and pretend you don't understand. Use the girls room. Avoid contact. " Sean grinned. "Now, those rules will be impossible to keep. Just be careful around boys and real careful around girls. And assume all black girls are your disguise's most deadly enemy."

Brian/Michelle became proficient at makeup under Mitzi's tutelage. Mitzi was a font of information on boys passing as girls and managed to make it entertaining.

"Michelle, love, you can actually dance! I'm impressed. Now remember honey, you are going to be a magnet for black boys with that light skin and your fine features, especially when you couple it with those 'D' bazooms and that big bubble butt. And your hair is fabulous. Make sure you keep doing enough to keep some body in it. And don't dance with any black girls, they will make you in a flash. The boys will be looking down your blouse and at your rear. " Mitzi said while doing some moves with Michelle/Brian to contemporary hip hop. Sean looked on and smiled.

Mitzi cried when they left.

"I cry whenever someone leaves, Michelle, don't worry. You'll be fine, sister. Just remember you're from Morocco, not Pleasanton." Brian got a huge hug from the huge man.

"Stay close to Sean. She and Larry are the best. They keep people like me and you safe to have the fun lives we do. Appreciate them and hope we never run out of them." Mitzi whispered into Brian's ear.

Brian/Michelle kissed Mitzi on the cheek, knowing it was in character. Mitzi responded with a musical basso round of laughter.

Down the road, they decided to head inland. Sacramento, Fresno. Palm Springs.

Brian/Michelle had a few adventures. One at a stop for lunch at a chain restaurant. Three black young men, well dressed and from a local college had introduced themselves to Michelle while Sean was paying the bill. Brian batted his eyes and played dumb, pretending not to understand in cute French accented English. Sean had to pry the boys away with a lot of effort as they drove away.

Twice, he almost wandered into the men's room, and once he was accosted for money in the girl's room. He found he got by being shy and staying close to Sean.

Sean realized she liked her little sister, even if he was a boy. They became friends while driving around the state, and Sean shared parts of her life story, which also meant she had to tell part of Larry's.

One night, in the room they shared in Palm Springs, Brian asked Sean about the scars on her hand. Sean explained what they were and then showed Brian her stomach and upper arms, also heavily scarred.

"This is part of me, Michelle. It is who I am. I stopped feeling sorry for myself a while ago. So if you see me reluctant to display this, it's because it upsets people." Sean said with a hint of sadness.

Brian did not know what to say.

"My Dad used to say to look at people without your eyes." Brian said, beginning to choke up.

"Your Dad was a smart man. I would have liked to have met him. I lost mine too and I loved him very much." Sean said. She extended an arm around Michelle/Brian and held him for some time.

They finally approached the Carter house in Santa Barbara, right after breakfast.

"Michelle, Brian, you know what the plan is. You appear here as Michelle until the dye fades, at which time you re-emerge as Charlene, the cousin of the twins. The security people know what's going on. The Carters will help all they can until this is over. You will be 'home schooled' for now.

"If you are here, your Mom can relax, we can protect you better and put more people on covering your Mom. It really helps if no one ever knows Brian is here. So can you be a girl for a while?" Sean said as they drove up.

Brian knew this, Sean was just reviewing. "Sure, Sister Sean. Please keep my Mom safe. And you too. I just got a sister and I don't want to lose her."

"Me too, Michelle. Anytime you need a big sister, call me. You're a good kid, Brian. And a good sport. You really impressed Mitzi, too." Sean said, kissing Michelle/Brian goodbye.

Inside the house, Cecilia, sweatsuit and black hair curly over her ears, and Cissy, skirt and camisole top with black hair past mid back welcomed Michelle/Brian.

"Welcome Michelle! We're so glad you could come. And we can't wait until Cousin Charlene shows up!" They said in unison.

Brian swallowed hard. It was going to be a long summer.

 

 

Chapter 11: On A Clear Day, You Can Cause Havoc- July

 

Vanished into thin air. Marla Brokken's cry for help found it's way to Lady Jean's shelter service, a plea to get away from her abusive father and passive mother, a pattern that Steve Dunbar seen too many times. A live in uncle made this one even worse. Marla had not been a virgin for a while, and she was not enjoying her role as home entertainment center for blood relatives. She had learned to get them so drunk they passed out before they could actually do much to her, but she was not always successful at this ploy. She had been ready to bolt into the safety of a shelter but was gone when Steve's agent had shown up.

Steve's detectives had some information from the neighbors, some of whom had tried to help the girl. Today, he was in Crescent City, the northernmost coastal town in California. The cable TV van was his only lead. The cable company office had no record of any vans in the area on the days in question, but one van had been out for repair at a local car dealer.

Rolling into town in his black Ford Expedition, he saw the pattern of most coastal towns. Two major parallel streets, one usually part of the Pacific Coast Highway, a town defined by waterfront, long and narrow, recreation and tourist business on the beachside, local services inland. A drizzle, a gray sky and a vague mist in the low points completed the scene. He pulled into the service area of the Chevrolet dealership.

A man larger than Steve walked out of the large service bay, into the mist, to meet him. Similar tattoos, but where Steve was large and lean, this one was larger and thick. Few would dare call him fat. Arms like medium tree trunks, bald head and foot long beard, brown streaked with gray, he stood there in a mechanic's one piece coverall with the sleeves cut off at the shoulders, making him a gray apparition. Only the small, round wire rim glasses softened his appearance.

"Francis! You look well preserved." Steve said, finding himself lifted off the ground as he exited his truck cab. Francis Funkerman was the son of unknown parents, who had found a home in Steve's old motorcycle gang, the Disciples.

Like Steve, he had retired from the criminal life and moved away. He had been part owner of the Chevy dealership for at least ten years, and ran the service department with passionate efficiency.

"Steve! I heard you were back! Sorry about your old lady, man. If I'd known I'd have tried to help, but word didn't get up here until much later. Glad those Cottrell assholes are gone." Francis referred to events that happened five years ago, when Steve had been missing in the South China Sea and his wife was killed, his sons were on the run from the Cottrell brothers, who ran the Disciples. Through the kindness of Lady Jean and many others, they had survived and were there for him to help in their final rescue.

After ten minutes of mutual remembrances, Steve found himself in Francis' office, a large mug of very strong coffee cutting the chill so prevalent in morning time on the Pacific coast. He explained what he was doing in town and the hunt for the mysterious Cable van.

"I remember that van. I asked one of our service writers why it was hanging around for so long. Then it left the lot and I forgot about it. Let's have a talk with that guy." Francis said in his normal low rumble.

Fifteen minutes later:

The service writer was shaking nervously. His boss was fearsome enough, but this other guy scared the hell out of him. These old bikers had a reputation for mean that created images in his head he wished would go away.

"It was Broken Billy. The crip who hangs out at the Rusty Nail. He got some gig in Oregon, running supplies. He wanted the van for two days."

Francis rose out of his chair and lifted the man by his shirtfront.

"I hope he paid you good, shithead, because you're done here and anywhere else in this area. And if we find Broken Billy has gone missing, I would suggest you say goodbye to you elbows and kneecaps. Get out now before I violate several labor laws." Francis thundered. He dropped the man in a heap.

Four hours later:

The cabin was lived in but currently unoccupied. Steve had been watching the local dogs running back and forth through the yard since he had started the stakeout. From the SUV he had been in touch with the Lodge and Lady Jean's staff had given him a profile of Eugene Dunderman, aka Broken Billy. A small time grifter, he had suffered an unfortunate 'accident' trying to scam an Indian Casino. Broken knuckles, broken elbow, broken leg. Broken dreams. It's hard to blend in and be unrecognized, a requirement for running a con, if you have a limp, a marginal arm and partially functioning hands.

Francis was drinking coffee in the passenger seat, managing to make the normally spacious cabin seem cramped. A proud father of two girls, he was furious his business had been even an unwitting part of a girl's suffering. Steve was glad for the company.

Broken Billy showed up a half an hour later, his pickup full of grocery bags and Federal Express boxes. They watched the man limp around his heavily dented vehicle to tie down a tarp over his cargo, struggling with the simple tasks of knots and pulling the fabric taut.

"Looks like Old Broken Billy is making a delivery. I think you may be in luck, Steve." Francis said in a whisper.

"I hope we get an idea of where he is heading soon, I have some backup on the way north up I-5 and they can cut him off or help follow as we see fit. They've been rolling for three hours now and are just approaching Shasta. If Billy stops someplace without his dogs around, I'll try to plant a locator on that pile of rust he's driving. Then we can follow him at our leisure with the GPS signal." Steve said, poring over the displays in his truck. He was happy Lady Jean spared no expense equipping their small fleet of vehicles. Francis was amazed at the ability to surf the internet, check his portfolio and email all from the seat of a parked truck out in the hills and marsh.

"He's rolling now. I'll bet he gasses up at the Chevron back at 101 if he's going any distance." Francis said. "Cheapest gas and good coffee. We should roll out and be there, he has to pass it going anywhere."

Steve started the big V-8 and backed out onto the logging road. Once he was clear of the cabin view, he turned on the lights.

Francis was right. They were able to attach the locator beacon, which looked very much like a mud splatter on a rear fender, while Broken Billy was flirting with the counter girl and having his thermos filled.

"We may lose that signal in the hills and passes if he goes East." Francis said.

"Not a chance. There's a King Air twin engine plane in the area, and his job is to fly to that signal while staying high enough to not be heard. He will relay it to us. He is rigged for slow flight and has a ton of fuel. My boss told me to spare no expense on this one. The signal may be lost going sideways, but not straight up." Steve grinned while Francis nodded appreciatively.

The trail led northeast into Oregon, through small towns along the Illinois River valley to Grants Pass, a sizeable town on the Rogue River and sitting along I-5. Down the interstate , then cutting east through the relative flat and wet lands which made up the gap between the Sierras and the Cascade Mountains. Past Klamath Falls onto the mixed wetlands and forested mountains, past Lakeview and onto washboard dirt, sagebrush and high desert, where Oregon blends into northern Nevada.

Wild horses roam here, and Steve had one pace his Ford for ten miles down a dirt track, until the horse looked him in the eye, reared his head and snorted. The stallion then began moving perpendicular to his track, having claimed his dominion and challenged the interloper.

The second SUV was twenty miles behind and maintaining distance, while the blip on the screen showed Broken Billy three miles ahead.

"When are you taking the bastard, Steve?" Francis asked, chewing on a protein bar and washing it down with coffee. Eating and drinking while doing thirty miles an hour on a washboard dirt road is challenging at best, but Francis seemed unfazed by the vibrations. The big SUV was a dervish rolling through the land, trailing a plume of reddish brown dust marking the only visible movement for miles.

"After he shows us where he's going. Those groceries are for somebody, and I hope it may be the kid. It turns out the girl's uncle hangs out with Broken Billy at the Rusty Nail, and I stopped believing in coincidences a long time ago. I'm hoping he delivers, takes a break and then heads out. Then we bushwhack him. And persuade him to give us intel on the target."

"We allowed to 'persuade' him like the old days?" Francis grinned.

"If we have to. It's a big desert and folks get lost out here all the time. Especially the uncooperative ones." Steve said grimly. If Broken Billy had anything to do with Marla Brokken's disappearance, Steve had little compassion for him.

Evening came, cold and clear with a full moon painting the landscape a grayish tint. The high desert is a land of extremes, heat and cold, bright and dark with sparse moisture the only constant. Steve examined the cluster of connected prefab buildings sitting on the raised mound of earth, greenish hued in the night vision goggles. There was no apparent movement and Steve wondered if there were motion sensors or other security measures.

Broken Billy has stayed less than an hour inside the building. The second team had arranged for his truck to blow a tire when it was several miles back up the dirt road. With Billy cursing the lug nuts frozen to his wheel with his truck jacked up, he was easily subdued by Steve's men.

Francis and Steve, a combined five hundred pounds of tattooed muscle and mean were a convincing sight. Broken Billy needed no persuasion. He hated the job, the people and was worried about the girl he had delivered to the remote location in the desert. Steve began to change his mind about the twisted little man's culpability in whatever scheme was underway out here under the starry sky.

"Those goddam dykes treat everyone like shit. They give me a list, and I pick up the Fed Ex packages and supplies three times a week. An old guy I knew told me there was a regular gig for me, since I can't do the con anymore. The two dykes met me at the Nail on the coast. Big blonde bitches. They send money to my account once a week, and all I do is run supplies.

"The girl was extra. The dykes met her uncle and he told me to get a van and wait for her to run out to me. I was to tell her I was taking her away to someplace safe. So I did. Shit, it sounded good, and she told me all kinds of crap about why she was running away. Poor kid, she was desperate. She kept asking if I was taking her to see the Lady. I said yes, if you consider them dykes ladies.

"Every time I ask about her and those bitches just tell me to fuck off. I tell you, that girl was willing, I didn't touch her. She kept thankin' me for 'saving' her."

Billy spilled what he knew about the layout. There were only two women there now. The older one, a tall thin woman was not there. She was the boss, they all jumped when she said 'frog'. There was no security, no call signs, he just drove up and knocked on the door. They acted like he was the only live body that ever came, and he had never seen but one set of tracks other than his, and those made by the Cadillac Escalade they kept in the storage bay.

The tire repaired on Broken Billy's pickup, the tarp shielding Francis and the two men in the truck bed, Billy handcuffed to the SUVs a mile away, Steve drove the old Chevy up to the main building. Billy had whined that if they all got killed he would die. Steve had laughed and agreed, which only served to add to Billy's distress.

As he approached the door Steve felt the tightness in his stomach, the general level of tension wash over him. Cops he knew told him they got this feeling every time they walked up to a stopped car. Counting on intel from a source like Billy was risky, but his gut told him the main protection these people had devised was the remoteness of the location.

This area was truly no mans land, with the chance of a random visitor approaching zero. He saw a microwave dish, which meant a private repeater for the communications, and he heard a generator in the background. This place was off the grid, no utility visits. There was probably a private water supply.

Billy's battered Stetson was a poor fit, stretched tightly around his forehead. He knew he was hardly a good mimic of the crippled delivery man, but was just cutting the odds in his favor by any means possible. He stayed in shadows as he faked a limp to the front door, his Glock solidly in his grip.

The team slipped out of the truck bed one at a time, moving invisibly to their planned positions. They all knew if there was any kind of sophisticated security systems, they would be at significant risk. They all agreed to go ahead and take the chance.

Steve pushed the buzzer button next to the doorjamb. He had been told to expect a long wait. The five minutes was long enough for him to lose some high adrenaline edge, so when the door flew open and the pugil stick drove on his solar plexus he was only able to dodge some of the blow. He could feel his ribs crack.

It did not register in time that his attacker was a six foot tall woman with short blonde hair and oiled muscles under her khaki tee shirt. A veteran of close combat in gang fights, drug deals, prison cells and oil rigs Steve's instinct was to immediately close with the attacker and neutralize the weapon. His headbutt smashed her nose bloody while he locked her arms in a futile fight for control of the pugil stick. She should have dropped it and gone for him directly.

A few disabling blows and she was subdued, bound and gagged. Her eyes tracked him as he examined the room and Francis entered through the door.

"Nasty piece of work, Steve. I think you improved her face." Francis said as the woman wriggled furiously screaming obscenities into her gag.

Gray walls and ceiling, surfaced with some kind of composite, probably sprayed onto the metal skin made a box fifteen feet high and the size of a basketball court. Desks, chairs and odd pieces of random furniture littered the openness, and cubicle walls demarked sleeping areas. It was clear one resident was fastidious and one was your basic issue slob. Steve pegged the slob as the one in custody.

Chatter in his earpiece indicated the rest of the team had found pay dirt. Marla Brokken was alive.

The next building over revealed another blonde, tall, thin and whiney who apparently ran the production equipment. She had offered no resistance when the men entered after forcing the door. Restrained but ungagged she was talking a mile a minute, letting them know about the kids, the sex shows, the weird old bitch who hired them, and how she had nothing to do with anything. She was just a techie; she handled the internet stuff, the cameras the communications.

The place looked like a movie set. Inside the soundproof room, Steve saw two girls. One was Marla Brokken, dressed like some housewife on those old sitcoms. The other was sucking a phallic device with great enthusiasm, starting into the overhead camera. She was dressed in a schoolgirl's outfit which barely contained her breasts.

Before Steve could shut the process down, the girl received a stream of fluid into her mouth and a satisfied look appeared on her face. The screens flashed a 'Shows Over" title under the "Johnnie To Jill" logo.

"Good thing you let it finish. The little junkie gets her fix that way." The bound woman said coldly.

Steve opened the closed studio and walked up to Marla.

"You asked for us, Marla. You were gone when we tried to pick you up. We're here to give you the help you asked for." Steve said softly.

Marla looked at the big man, the thick arms and the tattoos with kindness in his eyes.

"You're from the Lady? My God I thought she didn't exist anymore! " Marla's face mixed hope and sorrow.

"Yes. It took some doing to find you, but we're here to take you to sanctuary."

Marla ran up and hugged him. Steve noticed the glazed eyes of the other girl and decided the captured techie was not lying. The girl looked like a classic heroin addict after a fix.

"Can Jill come? There's just the two of us and she's been here for so long. Please don't leave her here!" Marla pleaded.

"We'll take her, Marla, and get her some help. Let's get you both out of here. What was that device in the studio?"

"The PleasureJac, they called it. It's better doing that thing than dealing with real people. It's how they gave us our junk. We did it a few hours a day, and they left us alone the rest. Something about the internet." Marla talked nervously, while Steve draped a blanket around her. The cold of the desert night was chilling the insides with the doors knocked open.

The girls fed and sleeping in the SUV, Broken Billy released and driving away with the sure knowledge he had crossed a line with Francis, Steve and Francis were waiting for a helicopter to evacuate the girls. The other men were photographing the interior and Steve was unclear about what to do with the two captive women.

Lady Jean's organization kept a solid distance from the legal system, taking no retribution for abuse but not hesitating to use force to save their charges. Steve knew the two women were bad actors, and he could either let them go or kill them. Given the captivity and forced addiction they had performed, he was tempted to let the desert bleach their bones. He knew he would have to be content to save the two girls and let Jean bring them back to a real life.

Chatter in his ear grabbed his attention. "Remove that plastic prick and bring it along. I want to know what it is and if we're going to see more of this crap." He told the man inside. The other one was already carrying out a handful of cd-roms he had stripped off the computer hard drives.

"Steve, I pulled it out of the USB port and the computers all went blank. There's a high pitched noise." The man inside said.

"Get out now!" Steve screamed.

He watched the figure of the man in the door, running hard while carrying the black PleasureJac. Flames barely preceded a skeleton rattling explosion as the man hugged the ground. All of the buildings fractured and threw shrapnel out into the desert night.

Shielding his eyes Steve dived for the ground. He heard a side window shatter on the SUV as something propelled by the series of explosions flew into the empty driver's seat.

It was a miracle they suffered no more than dents, some broken glass and bruises. The man who narrowly missed the close up view had some superficial burns but was already back at work.

The decision on the two blondes had been made by their former employer.

"Hell of a severance package, Francis. They did not want that place salvaged. All because of this thing." Steve held the broken PleasureJac unit up.

The helicopter rotor could be heard in the night.

  

  

  

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