THE ABDUCTION OF AMY ROBERTS - e-z.netskylab/Bronze Saga/Adobe Acrobat/Bronze Saga 4-The Abduction Of Amy...The Bronze Saga #4: THE ABDUCTION OF AMY ROBERTS The leader issued a silent

The Bronze Saga #4: THE ABDUCTION OF AMY ROBERTS

The Bronze Saga #4: THE ABDUCTION OF AMY ROBERTS A Doc Savage novel by Mark and Karen Eidemiller ------------------------- Colossians 1:13-14 "For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the Kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins." (NIV) Matthew 18:12-14 "What do you think? If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go look for the one that wandered off? And if he finds it, I tell you the truth, he is happier about that one sheep than about the ninety-nine that did not wander off. In the same way your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should be lost." (NIV) ------------------------- Excerpt, ENCYLOPEDIA AMERICANA, Online Millennium Edition: SAVAGE, Clark, Junior. Born 1901, died?. In the early 1930's and 1940's, Clark Jr. ("Doc") Savage was thought to be an adventurer and crime fighter. However, because of the EDWARD R. MURROW expose into the so-called "Crime College" (see video, 'See It Now: TARNISHED BRONZE') and subsequent investigations (Senator ESTES KEFAUER in 1951, Senator RICHARD M. NIXON in 1952), the picture of the "Man of Bronze" became a major event in the battle for CIVIL RIGHTS in America. Savage was never brought to trial, but his holdings were liquidated by court order for compensation to the Crime College's victims. Rumors abound - especially in the tabloids - that Savage is still alive and in exile, but no proof of this has yet been found. ------------------------- OUR CAST OF CHARACTERS* (in alphabetical order): (*More complete information can be found by reading the previous novels.) SUNNI BRADSHAW (a.k.a. SUNNI STEVENS) - Roommate of Amy Roberts (see Bronze Avengers for more information). PHILIP AND BRENDA BRADSHAW - Sunni's estranged mother and stepfather. STEPHEN BRADSHAW - Sunni's estranged older brother. MITCHELL "MITCH" DRAKE - Director of a covert organization that has helped Clark and crew. WILLIAM HARPER "JOHNNY" LITTLEJOHN - A member of the original team, now head of the Archaeology Department at Drake College near Rutland, Vermont. PERRY LISTON - Formerly a street preacher from Portland, Oregon, he found his path in life closely tied to Clark's. Now as his friend and companion, he shares the task of evangelism with Second Chances Ministry.

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DOROTHY "DOT" LISTON - Granddaughter of Monk Mayfair and Ham Brooks, now the third partner of Second Chances Ministry. ANDREW 'MONK' MAYFAIR - A member of the original team, he now lives near Tulsa, Oklahoma with his wife Lea. CLARK "GUMBALL" MAYFAIR - The firstborn son of Monk and Lea Mayfair, he owns and operates an executive air charter service, flying a custom Boeing V-22 Osprey tilt-wing jet named Blue Thunder. IVAN (JOHN) "RENNY" RENWICK - A member of the original team, he fabricated his death in 1989, settled down in Romania - taking Ivan as his new first name - and married Amanda. They immigrated to the United States in 1997, and now live on a farm in Oberlin, Kansas. AMY PHAN ROBERTS - Long Tom's adopted daughter, she carries on her late father's electronics research at the family home in Lincoln City, Oregon. CLARK "DOC" SAVAGE, JR. (a.k.a. CLARK ROBESON DENT) - Following 50-years of suspended animation, and a quest to reconcile his missing years, he now follows a new course in his life as a traveling evangelist, fighting the source of evil by preaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ. PATRICIA "PAT" SAVAGE - The unofficial 'sixth' member of the original team, Clark's cousin and only living relative. In light of events chronicled in Bronze Refined as Silver and More Precious Than Gold, she turned her life from selfish to selfless goals. She is currently supervising the developing of her island home into a refuge and home for children who have been abandoned or orphaned. ------------------------- PROLOGUE WEDNESDAY EARLY MORNING On this calm September morning, it was not unusual to see fishing boats bobbing lazily in the waters off the Oregon Coast. But what was unusual were the two rubber rafts lowered over the side, and the eight men -- their faces as black as their clothing -- who climbed aboard them. Like shadows swiftly passing across the waters, they silently rowed towards the shore, and made beachhead minutes later. Two men leapt from each boat's bow into the breaking surf, one scanning the beach with an alert AK-47 submachine gun, while the other drew the raft closer into shore, assisted by the next wave, hiding them in the shadows of some large pieces of driftwood. The rest of the men scattered from the rafts, while one man softly barked commands and helped pull ashore the boat he came in. With surprising efficiency, the rafts were pulled several yards onto the beach, and then covered with tan-colored tarpaulins. Then two others erased the tracks made by the dragged boats with wide brooms.

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The leader issued a silent hand signal to the rest of his men, and six of them moved like a dark cloud towards the seawall, leaving two to watch the rafts. A set of wooden steps wound up to a stairway carved in the rock. Soon they appeared in a residential neighborhood, along a pathway between two upper-class homes. The leader didn't hesitate, but silently directed his men to a nearby house. Armed sentries with silenced weapons kept watch for the exception to the still neighborhood, while another man located and disabled the house alarm and incoming telephone line. The lock on the sliding glass door was easily snapped, and the men flowed inside. Using hand gestures, the leader of the team motioned for his men to scatter. They entered the bedroom where a young dark-haired woman was sleeping. The leader consulted a photograph while two men looked to him for confirmation. He nodded once, and two men seized her while a third clamped a chloroform-saturated pad over her face; wrenched from sleep, her eyes filled with horror, she had very little time to struggle before losing consciousness. Her limp body was wrapped in a blanket from the bed, and she was carried out of the bedroom. "Amy?" called another female voice. "'Zat you?" The men froze in their tracks, as another young woman slowly came out of another room and into the dimly lit living room. Her arms were extended before her, and she turned in the direction of one of the sentries. The man fired a quick burst from his silenced machine pistol. The woman gasped, and her eyes opened wide as the impact of the bullets threw her back against the wall. She collapsed in a heap on the floor. "You fool!" hissed the leader. "Why did you shoot?" "She was a witness, sir!" came the reply. "Couldn't you see that she's BLIND, you IDIOT?" he angrily declared, his own pistol now drawn. "I should shoot you myself and leave you behind!" Just then a dog, a black Labrador, came from the same room and, paying to attention to the strangers, went directly to the woman's side; he sniffed at her curiously, whimpering. "Stop that dog before he can bark and alert the neighbors!" ordered the leader. Three silenced weapons fired almost simultaneously, each accurately hitting the Labrador. He was tossed back into an ungainly heap, blood forming a pool under him. "We go!" commanded the leader, and headed for the door. The men quickly left the house, leaving things as they had found them, retreating as silently as they had arrived. Pausing at the top of the stairs, the leader signaled his men on the beach, so that the rafts would be uncovered and ready for an immediate getaway. Within seconds, they and their passenger were aboard the fishing boat and moving out to sea. ------------------------- CHAPTER ONE

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WEDNESDAY EARLY AFTERNOON Sometimes, you never know what God has in mind until you get there. There have been times I could understand some of those "mysterious ways" God works in, when filtered through that statement. But today, it just wasn't cutting it. It never does when attending a funeral. It was raining, which made the mood even darker and morbid. A drizzle that came from the east tapped out a staccato beat on the roof of the limousine as we pulled up to the church. It was bad enough that we were here because a life had been ended so abruptly and violently. But the rain made things gloomier, more depressing, as we shuffled quickly inside, hiding beneath umbrellas, dressed in black mourning clothes. The small church was surprisingly full, as many came to pay their final respects. The pastor spoke of the promise of the resurrection and the life beyond this one. He even addressed the condition of the weather, calling the rain 'teardrops from heaven', but it wasn't enough to quell the tone of the day. I tried to be philosophic. I knew that God ordained the days of our lives, and that only He knows their length. I knew that, despite our best intentions and plans, there was nothing we could do to change that. But it wasn't enough to erase the heaviness I felt in my heart. Clark sat next to Pat, comforting her in this time of tragedy, putting aside any caution about the media making any association between himself and his cousin. As he put his arm around her shoulder, she leaned in and cried. We'd been doing a lot of that over the last three weeks, mostly due to what some were calling The Day That Changed America. I didn't know Hiram Baker. He'd been an accountant for Patricia, Inc. for many years, and was a valued employee. When Pat had dissolved the company, she kept a small staff in their old offices -- on the top floor of the north tower of the World Trade Center. September 11, 2001. Just three weeks ago. Twenty-two days. None of the eighteen employees that went to work that morning left alive. The remains of Hiram Baker were discovered on the fourteenth day. He had no family, so Pat herself made the arrangements for his funeral, sparing no expenses. The memorial service wasn't very long. As I said, Hiram didn't have any living relatives, but his friends and surviving co-workers spoke emotionally of his dedication and professionalism. A lot of people were there, showing their support. There was a lot of that since 9/11; even as they were still digging through the rubble of Ground Zero, every victim's funeral was an event, another reminder of what had happened and how much Americans needed to bind together in times of crisis. My heart was stirred at the sight of several American flags, seeing patriotism flared to new heights by the tragedy. The news of the tragedy had reached us as we were driving through Pennsylvania, heading to Vermont to visit to Clark's old friend Johnny Littlejohn. Our first reaction was to change course and help in the recovery efforts. But that was changed when we heard about Flight 93. We were so close, so much that we could see the smoke from the crash. Pulling out all the stops and defying the speed laws, we arrived on

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the scene within an hour of the crash. We helped where we could, but it was apparent that we would find no survivors. Later, we'd hear of the heroism and bravery of the passengers. But as we looked at the devastation in that Pennsylvania field, all we could do was pray. We're still praying. Limousines took us from the funeral to a reception in New Jersey, a time for those who knew Hiram to gather and reflect. The weather was clearing, and the rain had stopped. Among the vehicles in the parking lot was a large RV with the nickname of Nomad, and a semi-trailer truck aptly nicknamed Goliath. Those were ours, which we use to travel across the United States as traveling evangelists. As Dot and I got out of our limousine, I looked over at the RV and said to my wife, "I'll join you in a couple of minutes. I'm going to check messages." She didn't argue with me, but just wrapped her arms around me. I put my arms around her, and we held each other for a few moments, saying nothing. Ever since 9/11, life was no longer something to be taken for granted, and each goodbye now became a moment to be cherished. As I climbed the steps to the living level of our RV, the voice of our sophisticated AI computer system greeted me. "Good afternoon, Perry. You have voice mail. Shall I play it back?" Even though I had come here intending to check messages, my response was fuzzy and half-hearted. "Yes, Myrna." "Perry, it's Mark! Call me back as soon as you get this message -- please!" The critical tone of the message caught my attention. Mark Eidemiller was an old friend and fellow evangelist from Portland, Oregon. He and his wife Karen had built themselves a successful tract ministry in the chaos of Portland Saturday Market. If he felt something was urgent, it was urgent. "Myrna!" I practically shouted. "Callback -- on speaker!" The answer came on the second ring. "Mark speaking!" "Mark, it's Perry! What's up?" "We're in Lincoln City!" he announced. "Somebody broke into Amy's place last night! Amy's missing, and Sunni got shot, bad! We're at the hospital. She's been in surgery for several hours -- we still don't know how bad she is." "Oh, God!" I sighed, feeling the shock of the news. What more could happen, I thought -- what more tragedies? Numbly, I looked up in the direction of the speaker. "We'll be there as soon as we can!" "Good!" "Keep me posted!" I said. "I will!" His voice relaxed a little. "And I know you'll be praying, so I won't bother asking!"

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"Talk t'you later!" I heard the connection end. My head echoed, yelling at me that I needed to tell Clark. "Myrna, does Clark have his cell phone handy?" "Checking," replied the female voice of the computer. A moment later I heard, "Clark speaking!" "Clark, it's Perry! I'm in Nomad! Get up here right away!" I had the door to the RV open, and heard Clark take the steps three at a time. Not even out of breath, he met my eyes and asked, "What is it?" I repeated the details of the conversation with Mark. Clark's expression mirrored his concern. "We must get there immediately!" "I'll see what we can do to charter a plane!" "Charter-schmarter!" suddenly interjected Pat from the bottom of the RV's steps. "My Osprey's less than five miles from here, and we can be there in ... six hours, more or less!" "Are you sure, Pat?" asked Clark, concerned. She reached the top of the steps. "Look, if I stay here, or go back to the island, I'll go crazy! At least let me help, and get my mind onto something constructive for a change!" Clark and I looked at one another, then he said, "Okay, Pat! Perry, let's throw together an overnight bag and meet in front of Goliath in a half hour!" Pat started down the stairs, calling behind her, "I'll call and have 'em prep the Osprey!" ------------------------- Next to preaching the Gospel, Clark and Perry's mission was to help people. However, being mobile, they couldn't always carry with them what was needed for those who needed it. So they established SECOND CHANCES MINISTRY as a central point for their outreach, and brought on Christine Snow as their administrative secretary. Whenever someone called Second Chances Ministry, Christine Snow would make sure things happened. Working on advice and suggestions from Clark and Perry, Christine would refer people to where they could receive help, or supply people with what they needed. And she did it very well. ------------------------- Through Myrna, Clark called The Office as he packed and told Christine the latest news. Her voice reflected her stress, but she still urged him to continue.

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"Pat's offered to take us to Lincoln City in her Osprey, but we'll need a few secure drivers to follow up with the rigs!" Although the tone of her voice reflected her shock, she responded like a professional, "Consider it done! I'll call you if I have any questions!" She paused, then added, "And, Doc, please be careful." "We will. And thanks." And the connection was closed. "Myrna, connect me with Monk!" Monk's high voice greeted him on the fourth ring, "Hiya, Clark! What's up?" He repeated what little they had, checking the time. "Pat's taking us to Lincoln City in her Osprey! We'll be taking off within the hour! Do you want us to pick you up?" "No! Gumball's here! We'll meet you in Lincoln City!" "Since you're closer, you'll probably get there first! We'll see you there!" "Okay! You wanna call Renny and Johnny?" "I'll call Johnny; we're closer to him! You call Renny!" "Gotcha! See you later!" And the call was ended. ------------------------- In their Oklahoma lakeside home, Monk Mayfair walked into the dining room. His wife and firstborn son looked up at him. "What is it, Andrew?" He took a breath. "Somebody busted into Amy's place last night," he started, soberly. "They shot Sunni ... she's in the hospital ... and Amy's missing." Clark "Gumball" Mayfair bolted to his feet as Lea Mayfair raised her hand to her mouth. "Oh my Lord!" "Clark's gonna be heading out within the hour!" announced Monk. "Son?" "I'm on my way!" he replied as he headed for the door. "I'll be ready in fifteen! Dad, grab my bag!" "Sure thing," he called after him as he followed his wife. He grabbed an old flight bag from a closet and tossed it onto the bed. He started grabbing things from a dresser, then had a thought. "Lea, can you pack for me? I gotta call Renny!" "Okay," she answered without hesitation. He returned a few minutes later. "They can't break away right now. He an' Amanda'll catch a flight in th' mornin' and join up with us in Lincoln City." "What about Johnny?" "Clark's calling him."

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"Okay." She closed the lid on a rolling suitcase. "I'm packed. Can you take it out to the pad while I finish yours?" "Sure. Don't forget my Bible." "Got it!" Monk carried the suitcase from the room. ------------------------- The same limousine that transported us to the funeral services now drove us to a small airfield where Pat's V-22 Osprey was waiting. "I called Johnny to see if he wanted to come with us," Clark informed us on the way. "He can't get away, but he'll be thinking of us." We quickly transferred from the limousine to the tilt-rotor aircraft, grabbing our bags from the trunk. As the door was closed and we prepared to take off, I had an odd feeling of déjà vu; we had been here before. Then I remembered. The last time Clark and I had been in this particular Osprey had almost been our LAST time. I grinned as I realized it had been only two years ago. Clark and I had exposed Pat's alter ego Penelope for what it really was, surprising Pat in her headquarters -- back at the World Trade Center, I thought with a shudder. Enraged at Clark, blaming him for all the problems in her life, Pat had shot us both with tranquilizer darts and had us loaded aboard this Osprey for a one-way trip to Caroline Island. What we DIDN'T know was just how God was working behind the scenes. Monk, suspecting that we were going to be walking into a trap, had conspired with Gumball and Dot to replace the Osprey's real pilot and co-pilot. Once we had lifted off, they simply changed course and flew us all to safety. That was also the time that Dot joined Clark and me in our little quest. Now, as I reflected on all the changes since our last little 'plane ride', I looked over at my wife and smiled. "What?" "Hm?" I muttered absently. "You were looking at me with that faraway look in your eyes. What's up?" I smiled. "Just remembering the first time we rode in this jet together." She reached out her hand for mine, and gave it a light squeeze. "I love you," she cooed. "I love you, too."

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------------------------- "Where are we, Son?" "Over Nevada, Mom." "Thanks. I'm going to call ahead and set us up with a rental car." "Hon?" said Monk. "Gumball and I want to check out Amy's place to see if we can pick up any clues." "Okay. I'm going to the hospital. I'll get us two cars." She took a seat next to a communications array. A few minutes later she announced that the reservations had been made. "You better call Nick and let him know we're on our way," Gumball called back. "And when you get to the hospital, ask for Sunni Stevens, not Sunni Bradshaw. After the incident in Pine Corners, Sunni changed her last name." "Thanks. I better give Nick a head's up ..." ------------------------- WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON: Lincoln City A couple of years ago, this area had been a clearing surrounded by trees, of no real value. Now it was a private helipad. The on-call mechanic was local resident Nick Dalton. Sergeant Nicolas Dalton had known Long Tom Roberts in Vietnam. In fact, he had been the one to suggest his hometown of Lincoln City as a place to settle down after the accident that cost Tom his legs. His ears picked up the distinctive whine of the Osprey, and he used his good arm to shield his eyes as he watched the tilt-rotor settle into place. Quickly using his prosthetic left hand to attach the cable to the nose of the Osprey, he towed it off to the side, into one of the sheltered hangar ports. "Welcome to Lincoln City, folks," he greeted as he swung open the hatch. "Your rental cars are waitin' for you." Gumball exchanged salutes with the vet while Monk and Lea dealt with the reps from the car rental company. "What's the scoop, Cap'n?" asked Dalton. "It's Amy, Sarge. She's missing." Dalton muttered a sharp curse. "Anything I can do, Cap'n?" "Not sure what's gonna happen, so just make sure she's ready." "You want me to put 'er back on the pad?"

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He shook his head. "We've got another Osprey a couple o'hours behind us ... friends of ours, okay?" "Gotcha. Red carpet treatment." "Exactly. Carry on, Sarge." "Keep 'em flyin', Cap'n." "Get a move on, boy!" called Monk as he closed the trunk on one of the rentals. "We're loaded an' ready!" Gumball exchanged a final salute with Dalton, then gave his mom a hug and climbed into the second car with his dad. At the end of the access road they turned and headed in opposite directions. ------------------------- CHAPTER TWO Monk and Gumball spotted the police cruiser parked in the driveway, and a ring of yellow CAUTION – CRIME SCENE tape strategically placed around the house to keep curious onlookers at a distance. A few neighbors stood at a distance, talking among themselves, as two people wandered about the scene. One was a uniformed policewoman, and the other was a older plainclothes detective who wore a raincoat reminiscent of the television detective Columbo. Monk parked the car down the street and he and Gumball walked past the onlookers to the plainclothes detective. He didn't look up as they approached him. "You the cop in charge?" asked Monk. "Yeah," he answered, absently writing in his notebook. "What's it to you, bub?" "Bub?" repeated Monk quietly, with a grin. "Look, Dick Tracy, the name's Mayfair ... Monk Mayfair. Mean anything to you?" The man didn't react for a second, but suddenly his eyes grew wide and he slowly looked up into Monk's grinning visage. "THE Monk Mayfair? One of Savage's men?" "One an' the same ... bub." The detective's behavior instantly transformed. "SORRY 'bout that, MISTER Mayfair! I didn't recognize ... I mean, we don't get your kind ... I mean, we're just a little coast town!" Monk interrupted his apology. "It's okay! But now that we have your attention, can we talk?" "Yeah! Sure! How can I help you?" "Let's start off with your name." "Streebeck. Zale Streebeck." "Okay, Zale. Sunni and Amy are friends of ours. We heard Sunni got shot, and rushed down here. So what's the story?"

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The detective consulted his notes. "The mail carrier found Ms. Stevens this morning; he had a package for Ms. Roberts, and nobody answered when he knocked, which was unusual. As he went around back, he spotted Ms. Stevens through a window and found the door unlocked. He verified that she was still alive, then called his supervisor and 911. He performed first aid on her until the paramedics showed up. The guide dog had also been shot; he was dead by the time they were discovered." He looked up from his notes. "Seems like 'persons unknown' cut the power lines into the house, got through the back door, and abducted your friend. From the looks of her bedroom, she put up a struggle, but they knocked her out; you can still smell traces of chloroform in the room. From the looks of where they found Ms. Stevens, she heard the struggle and went to see what was the matter. They shot her and I assume left her for dead." "Any idea who or why?" "Not a clue, Mr. Mayfair." "Can we have a look inside?" "Usually we don't allow it, but I think I can let you in." "How are you equipped for CSI?" he asked. "What kinda equipment do you guys have for investigations like these?" He sighed wearily. "Piddlin' poor, if you ask me. Even with the casino next door, we're still just a coast town. Our crimes aren't the same degree as the big cities. Heck, I'm almost ready to retire myself. Why? You got something in mind?" "As a matter of fact I do. Would you write out something givin' us permission to perform a private investigation? Just to get any legal roadblocks out of the way." "I think I can do that. Gimme a couple of hours to head back to the office." "Can we take a look now? We promise not to touch, just look." Streebeck hesitated. "Only if one of us is with you. That way we don't get our butts chewed out if something happens." "Fair enough. Lead on." The trio walked past the ribbon and through the front door. They made sure not to touch anything as they cautiously went from room to room. Ten minutes later, they were back outside, saying their goodbyes to Streebeck. Monk took a calling card from his wallet and handed it to the detective. "This is my cell number. Gimme a buzz when you've got th' permit. Feel free to use my name." "Sure thing." Monk and Gumball walked back to their car. Climbing in, they compared notes. "Whatever bums did this, they were here for a specifc reason," said Gumball. "Amy told me about an electronics lab that's only accessible by a secret elevator; it wasn't touched. Whoever did this might not have known about it." "Yeah," agreed Monk. "I hate to say it, son, but they were after Amy." Gumball, his jaw clenched, just nodded.

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Monk pulled out his cell phone. "Okay, now it's time to call in the experts." He found a private number on the cell's phone book and dialed it. It was answered on the first ring. "Drake." "Mitch? Monk Mayfair. I need your help ..." A few seconds later, Monk tucked the phone into his pocket. "They'll be here first thing in the morning. In the meantime, son, let's check in at the hospital. Clark should've gotten in by now." ------------------------- "They beat us to it, all right," commented Dot, pointing out the window at Blue Thunder. Pat's pilot was a professional; bringing us down as smoothly as Gumball with barely a bump as we touched down. He let us out in front of the attendant, who waved to us and opened the door. "Gentlemen, ladies -- welcome to Lincoln City. I'm Nick Dalton. Cap'n Mayfair told me you'd be arriving. I was told to take good care of you." Pat spoke to the pilot as the rest transferred to the rental van. "Greg, I think we'll be fine from here. Go on back to the island. You gonna be okay?" The pilot and co-pilot exchanged looks. "Yes, ma'am. Thanks. Would it be all right if we spent a few hours here? After all, it is a long flight home." "Certainly. Enjoy yourselves." We climbed into the rental van. Ten minutes later we were at the hospital. As we climbed out, we heard Monk calling our names. Like an elder gorilla, he loped over to us and met us with hugs. Together, we moved inside the hospital and down the corridors to the Urgency Care section of the Roberts Wing. As we passed the last waiting room before the security doors of Urgency Care, we spotted the rest of our group. Hugs and handshakes were exchanged, and introductions filled in the gaps. After giving Mark and Karen hugs, I took them over to meet Monk, then Pat. Mark's reaction was just as incredulous as it had been when he first met Clark. And Pat took to Karen like a long-lost great-aunt. "Who's that?" asked Mark, pointing. "Didn't he come with you?" "That's my son," Monk replied soberly. "Ever since we left Amy's place, he's been like that. I've tried not to push him into talking about it." Gumball had avoided the introductions with a passing nod and a grunt, and had moved as far away as he could, almost pressed up against the plate-glass windows. "I understand," replied Mark. "Is he a ..." Monk shook his head.

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"We'll keep him in prayer," Mark said in a soft voice. "Monk," asked Pat. "What did you find out at Amy's?" "The cops don't have a clue of whut really went down. We had a chance to walk through the house. The lab hadn't been approached; I doubt the cruds who did this were even aware of it." He looked around at us and the tone of his voice lowered. "Hate to say it, but they wuz after Amy. I talked t'the cop in charge, and he admitted that their CSI isn't what it should be ... so I've called in Mitch Drake. His boys will be here in the morning." Those of us who knew Drake agreed that it was a wise move. I sat down on one of the chairs and started looking around; I figured that, since we may be here a while, I might as well become familiar with what was here. The room was painted in an off-white with a brown trim. The pictures on the wall were Norman Rockwell prints. There were several chairs and couches -- all with the same durable metal frames and no-frills pads seen in similar rooms all across the nation -- alongside matching metal-and-fabricated-woodgrain tables covered with magazines. A television set was mounted from the ceiling in the corner to the left of the door; on mute, it was broadcasting CNN. To the right was a bathroom, next to a water cooler and a vending machine that dispensed peanut butter M&M's. A display rack on the wall next to me had brochures on 'Critical Care: What To Expect'; I took one and began flipping through it. "Anybody open for prayer?" offered up Clark. "Prayer? HA! That's a laugh!" We all turned to the source of the wise crack -- Gumball. He wasn't facing the window now. "Clark! You're a man of action! Can't you think of anything better to do than PRAY? Besides, what good is prayer gonna do? I mean, where was GOD when Amy was .... and when Sunni was SHOT? Heck, where was GOD on 9/11?" There was a growl from Monk's direction, then he moved with surprising agility from one end of the room to the other, grabbing the front of Gumball's shirt in his big hairy fists and pulling him to face him eye-to-eye. His voice was a snarl. "Clark ... Lloyd ... Mayfair ... that ... will ... be ... ENOUGH!" Gumball's arrogance vaporized instantly in the heat of Monk's anger. Then like a solar flare losing its strength, Monk simmered down, released Gumball's shirt and said, "Let's go for a walk!" He turned on his heel and crossed the room to the door. We parted like the Red Sea; Monk's eyes met ours, but nothing was said. Shuffling his feet like a whipped puppy, his eyes directed at the floor, Gumball passed between us and followed his father out the door. Silence filled the waiting room for several seconds, until we figured they were out of hearing range. Then Clark reached out a hand to the person next to him, and spoke the words that we were all thinking: "Let's pray." -------------------------

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Sunset was approaching, and overcast clouds loomed in the sky as they stepped into the parking lot of the medical center. Monk walked slowly and casually, and Gumball came alongside and matched his speed. "I'm sorry," he sighed. "You should be," Monk said nonchalantly. "That was not a wise thing for you to say." He paused. "Let me guess. This is personal. You're in love with Amy. And this is killing you." Gumball nodded. "Does she know how you feel?" "I think so. But I don't have a chance." "Why?" He stopped abruptly and faced his father. "I'm not stupid, Dad! It's because I'm not a Christian!" Monk didn't pick up his son's anger this time. "If ya know it, then why don't'cha make the right decision?" "Because I can't do it if it's not here!" He tapped his chest hard. "I can make all the right moves, make it look good, and still be a hypocrite to myself!" "So what'cha want -- an engraved invitation from the Almighty?" "As a matter of fact, I DO!" He stopped and faced his father, defiantly pointing up to the sky. "If this is what God wants for me, then I want Him to make Himself real to ME, in a way that I can't deny, shrug off, ignore or doubt!" Monk didn't flinch. "You want a fleece." Gumball's eyes narrowed. "Huh?" "Gideon. One of the Judges, in the book by the same name. God personally, by name, tapped him on the shoulder and called him into service. But he wuz a stubborn cuss, and wouldn't take that for an answer. He tested God twice before he wuz convinced. I can show it to ya when we get back to the hospital." "Yeah!" Gumball nodded. "That's it! That's what I'm after!" "Then ask," stated Monk. "Right here, right now! Talk to God! You admit yer doubts straight up, and ask God what'll make you believe. If you're honest wit Him, He'll make good -- in His timing, though, not yours. Okay, son?" Gumball stared at his father, waiting for the serious expression to crack, and the "just kiddin', son!" But it wasn't there, and, inside, he knew it wouldn't be coming. "Okay. Where?" Monk looked around and pointed to a tree in a small park-like setting. "How 'bout over there?" "Good enough."

14


They stood under the wide-branched shelter, and Monk waited for Gumball. After a few moments of hesitating starts, he spoke. "God? I've seen way too much in the last couple'a years not to say you're not there. You've done stuff with my Dad that I never thought could ever happen ... thanks! ... and now you've put Amy in my life." He sighed. "Everybody's on your side but me, it seems. But I need proof -- a sign! Yeah -- a sign! Dad told me about Gideon. I need a fleece, too ... something addressed right to me, that I don't even know, but some way you will show me you are who you say you are. Do this, and I'm yours!" He paused. "Please keep Amy safe, okay? Thanks for listening. Amen." "Amen," echoed Monk. "That was good, son." "Doesn't mean a thing if nobody's listening," Gumball added skeptically. "True," nodded Monk. "But He is. And I know from what little experience I have that God is faithful. He'll give you what you're asking for ... I don't know how or when, but you can take it to the bank that He will." Gumball just nodded. "Now, as much as it kills ya, we just gotta be patient until Drake's team gets done. So we might as well see about settling in. Let's see if there's a motel in the neighborhood," said Monk, looking around. "There! C'mon, let's see what they got!" He quick-stepped towards the structure. Gumball watched him head off, not looking behind him, then the younger Mayfair followed after him. ------------------------- CHAPTER THREE We were still in the waiting room when they returned. Gumball looked better, but his embarrassment over his earlier actions still showed. Everyone was looking at him now, but he didn't run. "Look ... I'm sorry for blowing up like I did. If you didn't know already, I'm kinda ... fond ... of Amy, and this whole thing with her being missing is really screwing me up inside." Lea moved to him first, and he held onto his mother like a child waking from a nightmare. Then others moved in, placing a hand on his arm or his shoulder, and offering words of empathy and encouragement. Monk moved next to me. He had a big smile on his face. "Everything okay?" I asked. He leaned in closer and spoke softly. "Y'know, before I became a Christian, I was a die-hard worry-wart over all my kids, 'specially Gumball and Carrie. It was taking years offa my life, 'specially wondering if they wuz takin' chances like I did when I wuz their age." "But now's different." "Much. Now I can leave 'em at the foot of the cross and know they're in better hands than I can ever do for them." "He's starting to look nervous."

15


"I better do something." Stepping in, Monk interrupted with a tongue-in-cheek, "Okay! Enough of the 'hearts and flowers!' You'll spoil him!" As people moved away, he met his son's eyes and grateful smile. "While we wuz out, we took th' liberty of settin' us up with a buncha rooms at the motel next door, the Sea Mist. Since we don't know how long we're gonna need them, I just set it up on an open reservation. Made 'em real happy, we did!" Then he reached into a small plastic bag and pulled out a handful of room keys which were distributed amongst us. "Are you all with Miss Stevens?" a voice interrupted. We turned to face the man in white. He was about 5'5", in his mid-30s, with sandy brown hair. His accent was definite Louisiana bayou. "Yes!" piped up Karen Eidemiller, slowly moving in the direction of the voice. "I'm the one who authorized the surgery. Her blood family is, well, away; we're the best she's got right now." The man nodded understanding. "I'm Dr. Rochambeau, the chief surgeon for Miss Stevens. First to let you know, it was touch-and-go for awhile, but I think she'll be just fine." He walked over to take a seat on one of a cluster of couches and chairs, and the rest of us gathered near. As he rubbed his eyes, I could see that the surgery must've been very taxing on him. He took a deep breath. "Your friend was very lucky. She suffered half a dozen bullet wounds to her body. I can safely say she's out of danger for the moment, but the next few days will be critical. We've sedated her heavily, placing her into a coma-like state where her body's own healing mechanisms can work freely. We'll be monitoring her carefully." "Doctor, what can you tell us of the extent of her injuries?" asked Clark. He took in another deep breath. Seeing the cross around Clark's neck, he commented, "You can understand. I can safely say that it was a miracle in itself that she even made it here alive." "Explain," asked Clark professionally. "One of the bullets hit her left kidney. Under normal circumstances, someone with a wound like that would bleed to death in a very short time if not attended to. Now, from what I understand, your friend was alone for several hours before she was discovered and brought here." He paused and spoke softly. "But here's the miracle -- the bullet that pierced her kidney didn't pass through, but stopped just inside the epidermal wall. In short, it acted like a plug for its own wound and kept her from bleeding to death." He paused again. "However, there was too much trauma and infection to the kidney for us to save it. We removed the kidney, and we're treating infection in the other one in hopes that we won't lose it as well. As to the rest of her wounds, they weren't life-threatening -- a couple of clean shots through her stomach, one through her shoulder, and a superficial wound that nicked the lobe of her left ear." "Doctor," asked Lea. "Can she have visitors?" "Yeah," added Dot. "We'd like to be with her, even if she can't hear us." The doctor nodded. "I'll have the head nurse talk with you."

16


"Doc?" spoke up Monk. "I've made arrangements to have a private forensics group examine all the evidence in this case -- including the bullets." Dr. Rochambeau nodded. "I will make them ready." After a few more questions, we thanked the doctor for all his effort, and he left us to offer our praises to the One who guided the hands of the good doctor. ------------------------- Within the hour the head nurse, Mrs. Dean, gave us the low-down on visitation. Sunni would go from Recovery to a private room In Critical Care. Visitors would be limited to direct family, and only for a short time. Mrs. Dean didn't seem to want to bend on the rules. So we called in some favors. "Mrs. Briggs?" asked the high voice over the phone. "Kay Briggs." "Yes." "This is Andrew Mayfair, Do you remember me?" Her eyes brightened, and she stepped up from the kitchen table in the middle of dinner. Her husband and children looked at her curiously. "Of course, Mr. Mayfair. What can I do for you?" "Actually, we're in the hospital. A friend of ours, Sunni Stevens, was shot. Dr. Rochambeau operated on her." "Rochambeau ... excellent surgeon. Is your friend going to be all right?" "It’s still touch-and-go. She'll be transferred to Critical Care as soon as she gets out of Recovery." He paused, then made his plea. "There are several of us here, ma'am, and we'd like to visit Sunni. However, there are certain limitations to visitation that we’d like to ... get around." "Hm," she muttered. "Like the last time you were here?" "Yes, ma'am. None of us are blood kin, sorry to say. We were wondering if you could make an exception for us to spend time with her during her recovery." "I see." There was a long pause. "Mr. Mayfair, you have helped us greatly. However, one thing I will stress: this is not just any part of the hospital. It is Critical Care. I will allow only four in her room at any one time, and -- should the patient's condition suddenly get worse -- all bets are off." "Thank you, thank you! Would you speak to Mrs. Dean -- she's right here." Mrs. Briggs laughed. "You were sure, weren't you, Mr. Mayfair?" "Yes, Mrs. Briggs, I was. Here's Mrs. Dean." And he turned the phone over to the head nurse.

17


------------------------- WEDNESDAY EVENING: Lincoln City We began the first watch. Sunni was still, as was to be expected. Her face was mildly pale, her breathing was slow and regular, and the various bedside monitors beeped, clicked, and chirped softly with musical accompaniment. It tore me up inside to see her like this, that someone trying to make a new life for herself would have it disrupted so violently. Clark sat comfortably in a straight-backed chair, intently watching the monitors, as if he could somehow interpret their other-worldly language. Dot and Karen sat together in the far corner and quietly brought each other up-to-date on current events. "How's Mark taking this ... being a Federal employee and all?" asked Dot. "You mean ... 9/11?" she said in a whisper. She sighed. "Being on the West Coast, we didn't even hear about it until after the second tower had been hit. Mark was at work, and called me to tell me what had happened. About an hour later he called again to tell me that they were sending everybody home ... they feared more attacks.on government facilities. We spent the rest of the day just watching CNN, holding one another ... and praying a lot." "Same here," added Dot. "Since then they've really upped security. Everybody's got to go through searches and metal detectors. Nobody's exempt. It's a pain, but understandable." She paused, and her voice quieted. "But what's really driving us nuts, Dot, is waiting for the other shoe to drop." Dot nodded. "I know what you mean. Before Clark and Perry, I worked security in some of the federal buildings in New York City; don't think that doesn't send a shiver down my spine when I think about it. I've still got friends in security that I think about, and pray for." She paused. "It's easy to worry." She sighed. "But I've just gotta hang on and let God take care of things." "Amen," Karen agreed. As the evening progressed, we took turns reading scripture aloud at Sunni's bedside. Karen softly sang. It brought us closer together, and made us feel we weren't just waiting. Besides, we prayed that something was getting through to Sunni ... ------------------------- Sunni was in a private place, far away but yet close. She remembered the hot punches of the bullets hitting her, and the combined shock to her system caused her to pass out. She couldn't feel anything around her, like she was in one of those sensory deprivation/neutral buoyancy tanks. But she could somehow ... hear? ... the Word of God. She couldn't understand how this was happening, but it didn't matter; this was a good thing, and she found rest in it like being on an overstuffed mattress with a down comforter covering her.

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------------------------- CHAPTER FOUR During the night, medical orderlies came and went, checking on Sunni with almost a hit-and-run methodology -- silently sweeping through, checking vital signs and monitors and fluid levels, making notes on her chart, adjusting where needed, and out they went. The room lights had been dimmed, which hadn't been bad, but it made it easier to fall asleep -- which we did. Clark woke us around 5 am. Karen giggled as we realized what had happened. Clark was amused, but kinder. "The cafeteria should be open by now. Get yourself some breakfast, and check into your room. We'll let you know if anything changes." We were only too happy to oblige, taking Karen with us. They had a decent cafeteria, and, anticipating the rest would show soon, we sat at one of the larger tables. Within a half hour our expectations were realized, with Clark being the last to join us. "Dr. Rochambeau is checking her out," he informed us. "So what's good around here ...?" ------------------------- "Detective Streebeck?" Looking up from his coffee, Zale Streebeck quickly sized up the man. He was a tall black man in his 50's. Active military background, considering his stance and regulation crewcut. The brown leather trench coat and expensive shades were a nice touch ... very slick. "Yeah? And you are --?" With one hand the black man casually took off the sunglasses, while his other hand reached into the trench coat and brought out a leather ID wallet. Flipping it open, he revealed credentials from the National Security Agency. "Mitchell Drake. Monk sent me." NSA? thought Streebeck. That takes some kinda clout. Wonder what Mayfair's connection is to this guy? "Hm. I was expecting someone. But I didn't expect NSA." Mitch put the ID away. "Monk's a friend. So's the girl that was abducted." "Which makes it personal," finished Streebeck with an understanding nod. He retrieved an envelope from his desk and passed it over. "I believe this is what you're here for," he said. "Thank you. Excuse me." He pulled a cell phone from a pocket of the trench coat, pressed a single button and waited, then said one word: "Proceed." He hung up without waiting for the reply. Very slick, thought Streebeck. Drake extended a hand. "We appreciate your help," he said. "We should be done by this evening." "Take your time. My card's in there if you need to contact me. I hope you can get to the bottom of this."

19


Drake put the shades back on. "We will," he said without reservation. The two men shook hands again, and Drake left the station. ------------------------- The doctor stopped by briefly to give us an update. We offered him breakfast, but he politely declined. "Sunni made it through the night fine, but we're going to continue keeping her under sedation for a few days." As he left, Pat said, "Lea and I were comparing notes this morning, and we're both in one accord about having someone try to contact Sunni's parents and let them know what's happened. We know she's not on the best of terms with them, but maybe that can change if they know she's been hurt." "Funny you should say that," added Karen. "Dot and I were considering the same thing. It's risky, but it might just be the thing to bridge the gap between them. If anything, it'll give us an opportunity to minister to them." The voices around the table were supportive and encouraging. Mark escorted Karen into a small courtyard, where reception on her cell phone was better. As she called the rest of us took a moment out from breakfast to pray in one accord. When she returned, she reported, "The parents are out of the country. I passed on a message to the housekeeper, and she said she'd do her best to get a message to them." She paused. "Funny thing is, when I mentioned Sunni's name, the housekeeper seemed to perk up. Y'know, I remember Sunni commenting that she thought she had a closer relationship with the servants than with her own parents. It's sad." "Looks like we've got our work cut out for us," commented Monk. "I'm gonna head back to the room for some intercessin'. Anybody wanna join me?" "Later," I said. "Right now Dot and I are gonna catch up on sleep." "Same here," added Clark. "Get me up in three hours unless something urgent comes up." In the end, Monk, Lea, Mark, and Karen went to Monk's room. Pat chose to sit with Sunni. And Clark, Dot, and I headed for our rooms. ------------------------- Drake walked through the front door of the house. His people were already hard at work, examining the scene closely inside and out. He approached a young woman. "Louise?" She glanced in his direction and offered a professional smile. "Hey, Mitch. Well, so far, this situation doesn't look good. It wasn't an ordinary kidnapping. We've already found signs of multiple suspects ... six, to be exact." "A strike team?" asked Drake, surprised.

20


"Could very well be." Drake let out a low whistle. "Thanks. Keep at it. I'm going to visit the hospital." ------------------------- "Excuse me," asked Drake, poking his head into the hospital room. "I'm here to see Miss Stevens. How is she?" The elderly woman sitting next to the bed turned at his voice and smiled. "Mr. Drake, how good to see you again!" Drake's eyebrows furrowed. "Have we met?" The woman stood, slightly puzzled. Then she understood. "That IS true ... the last time we met I looked about 40 years younger. Need another clue, handsome?" With a slight tilt of his head, the black man understood. "Ms. Savage?" Pat opened her arms before her with a slight flourish. "Ta da! But let's drop the formal titles, okay? Call me Pat." "Pat," echoed Drake. "How is she?" "She made it through the night okay. She's heavily sedated so that her natural healing abilities can work unabated. Apparently it was touch-and-go through the surgery. So what have YOU found?" "Not much; they've just started. However I can say that it wasn't an ordinary abduction. At least six people were involved." "Six?" repeated Pat. "Professionals?" "It seems so. We'll know more later. I just stopped by to touch bases with Clark and the others. Where are they?" "Clark, Perry, and Dot had the first shift last night, so they're catching up on sleep. Others are in a prayer circle over at Monk's motel room. Which leaves little ol' me." Drake nodded. "No need to disturb them, then. I was just dropping by." They stood a moment, silently looking at the figure in the bed. Then Drake suddenly remembered something. "Oh, yes! Jill wanted me to tell you hi if I saw you!" Pat's face brightened. "Jill ... Jill Woodward? How is she?" "She's fine." "Last I remembered, you two were seeing one another. Is that true?" Drake hesitated briefly, looking for words. "We ... were, but it's over, I'm afraid. My fault. I'm much too businesslike to have a social life. But we're still good friends."

21


There followed an uncomfortable silence in the room, finally interrupted by Drake. "Well, I better get back to the crime scene. You'll let everybody know I was here?" "Sure." Drake started backing out. "See you later, Pat." "Sure thing, Mitch." Drake left the room. Pat walked back over to the chair next to the bed and sat down. She released a sigh and said, "That is a very handsome man, Sunni. But he's packing a lotta weight on his shoulders. I thought he an' Jill would hit it off, but I didn't see this comin' ... I suppose I should've. I've been there, Sunni. I've been where he's at." She paused, lowered her head slightly, and redirected her voice. "God, please take care of him." ------------------------- "Pat?" said a familiar voice from the open door. Her face beamed. "Renny!" She rushed over to Renny and Amanda, surprising them both as she wrapped her arms around them. They had matching wheeled suitcases and shoulder totes. Pat helped them set the luggage aside. Renny interpreted for his hearing-impaired wife, as Pat explained what had happened thus far. "Has there been a ransom demand?" asked Renny. "Not that we know of. Besides, ransom doesn't make sense. Who would they contact, and why would they assume anyone would have enough money to pay for a ransom?" Renny shook his head. "Dunno. Maybe it's not money they're after." "Again, who would they contact if they did wanted ransom?" "Good point." Renny paused. "Let's look at it another way. If ransom wasn't the reason for kidnapping her, then what was? What would be the advantage in kidnapping her? What would make her special to a kidnapper, and not Sunni?" "That's easy: electronics. She's her father's daughter, after all. If they knew about Long Tom, they could assume she knows as much as he did." "Yeah, but who'd risk kidnapping charges just to use her electronics skills?" "Again, I don't know. We've got a special team going over the crime scene. As soon as we get anything, you'll know with the rest of us." She reached into a pocket and brought out a room key. Handing it to Renny, she said, "We've reserved some rooms at the Sea Mist next door. This one's yours." "Great," thanked Renny, turning over the key with the numbered plastic tag. "We saw the motel when we were driving in; we'll check in and get something to eat. Think we'll get together this afternoon to brainstorm?"

22


"Knowing Clark, it's a sure thing. Gimme your cell number just in case." He wrote down the number. Then, after another hug, the couple left. Pat returned to Sunni's side and looked at her expressionless face. "We'll get 'em, kid! Don't give up!" ------------------------- CHAPTER FIVE By the afternoon we were all awake and -- for the most part -- refreshed. We met up with Renny and Amanda, and caught a late lunch. As Pat had suspected, the brainstorming began in the cafeteria. "John, you do have an excellent point," said Clark, addressing Renny by his 'new' name. "I'd been wondering that as well. Many people are as adept as Amy in electronics. Why single her out?" "If their motive had been ransom, wouldn't they also have taken Sunni?" I offered. "Good point. They were single-mindedly bent on kidnapping Amy for her electronics abilities." "They're desperate," stated Mark Eidemiller. "They're professionals, but they're desperate." "Desperate people make mistakes," observed Monk. "Well, once we get the report from Drake, we'll see just how desperate they were," concluded Pat. Clark's cell phone buzzed for attention. He answered it. "Clark? Mitch." "Yes, Mitch." "Just letting you know that it looks like we're done going through the Roberts house. Give me until tomorrow afternoon before you let anyone in, though, just in case we need to come back for something." "Sure thing. What can you tell me?" "Well, there were six people involved in the abduction. They came in by sea in rubber rafts. They broke in using a sophisticated electronics device. They knew where they were going. Where they originated from we have yet to discern. We've set up a mobile facility in Salem; you can contact me there." "How soon?" "I'll call you at ... 9:00 tonight and let you know where we stand. That okay?" "Yes. We'll be waiting." "Later," finished Drake, and hung up. As Clark put away the cell phone, everybody was excitedly waiting for his next words.

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"So wadda'he tell ya?" asked Monk. "They've concluded their examination of the house, and are moving on to the laboratory. He will call me at nine tonight to tell me where they stand." "Have they determined anything yet?" asked Pat. He nodded. "As he told you, Pat, there were six people involved in the abduction. They came in by sea using rubber rafts, and used a sophisticated electronics device to bypass the security system. That's not much, I'm afraid. But it is something." Questions began springing up around the table. "Why would they need Amy's electronics skills if they had access to a gadget that bypassed the security system?" "They came in by sea. Foreigners?" "Six people? Sounds like a Special Ops mission." "Are they sure there was nothing missing from the lab?" Clark held up a hand, and everybody quieted down. "We've all got questions. Why don't we write them out and present them to Mitch as soon as possible." Everybody agreed with the plan, and we spent the rest of the time discussing among ourselves. ------------------------- Her name was Brenda. And she was troubled. As she stood at the rail of the balcony, looking out over the moonlit beauty of the Caribbean, something else was on her mind. A man approached from behind. She heard him, then felt his hands lightly rest on her shoulders. "You couldn't sleep?" he said softly. She slowly shook her head. "No. I had a nightmare." "What was it about?" he probed, concerned. She hesitated. "My ... daughter." The man's attitude took a 180 as he snorted disgustedly. "It's probably something you ate," he abruptly dismissed. "Let it go." He kissed her on the top of the head and walked back into the room. Brenda, however, couldn't shrug off so easily the feelings she had. She tried to justify them as her husband had suggested, which seemed to work. After a few minutes she returned to bed. But she made a mental note to call home in the morning and check for messages. -------------------------

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Most of us were hovering near Clark when Mitch's call came in. After he hung up, he announced, "They're still working on things, but they have determined quite a bit from what they found in and around the house. He suggested we find a secure place for a meeting tomorrow morning, and he'll brief us all at that time." "Why can't he tell us now?" asked Gumball impatiently. "He's not ready yet," Clark repeated, giving the pilot a sympathetic look. "All right. I'll get us the meeting place." "Thank you." ------------------------- CHAPTER SIX They called it a room. But, regardless of what they thought, it was still her prison. It was a ten-by-ten foot box with no windows and a heavy locked door. A metal frame bolted to the wall and an old mattress constituted her bed. A wooden table was also bolted to the wall. The only piece of movable furniture was a plain wooden chair next to the table. Above her, behind a metal housing, was a single 60-watt bulb; she couldn't get to it, nor could she control when she'd be plunged into darkness or blinded by sudden illumination. And then, of course, there were the sanitary aspects to her cell. There was no toilet; a five-gallon plastic bucket was emptied and returned while she was in the lab. A plastic gallon jug of water was all they gave her for cleaning and drinking. Well, at least they were nice enough to provide a rag in lieu of toilet paper, she thought sarcastically. She didn't know what day it was, let alone what time it was; she figured she'd been here for a couple of days, going by the number of meals she'd been given. The food consisted of mostly rice, yams, breads, and some vegetables. They weren't the best looking or smelling; at times they were still dirty or rotting in spots. But she sensed it was the best they had -- and it was palatable. So she ate it to keep up he strength, praying that she would keep from getting sick. She looked down at the shackles around her ankles and couldn't hold back a grin. These were her 'reward' for punching out four guards during her attempt at escaping. She had padded the shackles in order to lessen the discomfort, but they had succeeded in making escape impossible. Besides, she couldn't leave here without Sunni. The man in charge, the one they called The General, had told her that Sunni was also somewhere in the area. "As long as you do what I say," he'd threatened her. "Your blind friend will remain safe and well-cared-for. It's up to you." Swine. Dirty, rotten swine. She hated him. But she behaved. Several times a day she was blindfolded and escorted by a pair of silent armed guards to an electronics laboratory. Inside the lab was The Project, a transmitting device of sorts. The General was explicit in his instructions, and visited her often to check on her progress.

25


Not knowing what would happen to them once she finished, she subtly stalled and stretched the work out -- hoping someone was on their way to rescue them. As she sat down on the cot, her hands disappeared in the arms of the clothes they'd given her. They were military style, greens and blacks, and were far from clean. But she had to admit, they were better than the nightgown she had arrived in. In the silence, she fought another wave of despair and sadness by turning it outward into intercessory prayer. She prayed for Sunni, that she would know God's peace through this ordeal. She prayed for a swift rescue, knowing without a doubt that the others would be moving heaven and earth to find them Especially Gumball. She thought back on how they had met. It started in the Valley of the Vanished, when they fought side-by-side against the paramilitary force that had taken over the land. After the fighting ... there was that urgent call on her walkie-talkie. She sped to the palace, only to see the dying form of Queen Monja, with the same symptoms that her father had. So soon after her father's death, this had been too much for her, and she ran. She couldn't take seeing another person die as her father had. Gumball had followed her, finding her crying at the base of a tree. He was kind and sympathetic, letting her cry on his chest, and addressing her as 'little sister'. She smiled. After they went their separate ways, he continued to keep in touch with her via phone calls, email, and the occasional visit. She'd never had a 'boyfriend', and his concern and affection stirred feelings within her for him. But she knew that there would always be a gap in their lives as long as he wasn't a Christian. So she prayed a lot for him. She paused in her memories to do just that. And to remind herself that they would be free soon. It was just a matter of time. ------------------------- The motel where we were staying, like so many others along the coast, contained a meeting room to draw conventioneers and others looking for a quiet place with a view of the ocean to retreat to. Their names were mostly associated with the Pacific Northwest, and ours was no different. Taking some time away from sitting with Sunni, we gathered in the Salmon Room, which had been prepped and readied by. Drake's people. They had routinely scoured the room for surveillance devices, then one crew hooked up some high-tech box that provided a passive electronic countermeasure field around us while a second crew connected a sub-notebook computer to a giant-sized flat-screen display monitor next to the wall. They moved out, and we moved in. Monk brought in a selection of doughnuts, and we picked our places around a large rectangular table formed from three smaller tables. Around the tables we sat: Clark, Pat,

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Dot, myself, Mark, Karen, Amanda, Renny, Gumball, Lea, and Monk. Drake sat making conversation with Clark, then stood at the fourth side of the table. We all gave him our attention. "Okay," said Drake. "Here's what my forensics people have come up with from what they found at the crime scene." He read from a stapled report. "Six individuals were involved in the actual incident -- Negroid, male, more than likely mercenaries, recently in or around Africa. They came in from the sea in rubber rafts and climbed the steps from the beach. They used an electronic device to disable the security system, then quickly and expertly busted the lock on the side door and went inside. They didn't wander about, but went right to Amy's room. Even though she put up a struggle, they overpowered and chloroformed her. Then they wrapped her up in a blanket and started to leave when Sunni surprised them." He paused. "She probably heard the noise and, suspecting nothing, went to check it out. After they shot her, they killed the service dog to keep him from barking. Hurriedly, they left the house the way they came, returned to the beach, and took the rafts back out to a waiting ship." He paused while we all looked at one another and absorbed his words. "Okay, Sherlock," quipped Monk. "Now do you mind telling us HOW your folks came up with those conclusions?" Drake returned to the document. "Glad you asked, Monk," he grinned. "Well, we found five sets of individual prints made by combat boots outside the house in the dirt and on the carpeting inside the house. DNA from a strand of hair found in Amy's room, and three sets of fingerprints found inside the house have been matched to three men -- all Negroid -- with criminal records in Africa. Two of those men have active links to terrorist activity, also in Africa. Cloth fibers were found -- cotton, dyed black in the manner of night commando clothing. Other evidence points to these men having recently been in Africa. The bullets used were 9mm; those used on Sunni came from an African copy of an Israeli Uzi, and the ones used on the dog came from a Glock automatic. We found insects in the carpets that are not indigenous to this area, but are indigenous to Africa. We also found animal hairs indigenous to Africa. We haven't been able to pinpoint exactly where, though." Mark Eidemiller suddenly spoke up. "I might be able to help you there. I work for the Department of the Interior, and the Fish and Wildlife Service has a forensics lab in Ashland that's the best in the U.S." Mitch nodded. "I've heard about it. Do you have a contact?" "I think so. I'll call around after we're done." Mitch returned to the report. "There were signs of expert breaking-and-entering. They didn't wander around the house, but went right to where Amy was sleeping. The patterns of bootprints found were limited to just the bedchamber area. They knew right where to go; they may have had an associate who had been able to provide them with the information. Even though Amy probably struggled, they overpowered her and used chloroform to knock her out. There were hairs and fibers found on the floor; presumably, one of the kidnappers wore a wool cap that fell off. The hat left fibers and hairs when it was retrieved. Traces of chloroform were found in the room. Her blanket and bedclothes were missing, yet no clothes had been taken, so they took her with what she had on. "Sunni must've surprised them. Since Sunni's body was found in the hallway and not in her room, it's most likely that she heard something out of the ordinary and wandered out to see what was the matter. She never suspected something out of the ordinary, since she didn't bring anything to protect herself with.

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Her dog was found nearby, but without harness or leash; so he must've followed her, and they shot him thinking the dog would attract attention by barking. "Several things suggest that they left in a hurry. They hadn't been wearing gloves, yet didn't wipe down the place of incriminating prints. That's a mistake made by amateurs, and these men didn't strike me as amateurs. They also left behind the device they used to disable the security system. And we knew they used rubber rafts because they left trails in the sand leading to the water." Renny asked, "Drake! You said they left an electronic device behind. Can I see it?" Drake handed a small paper envelope to his left, where it was passed down to Renny. Removing the device from the envelope, he turned it over and examined it with a critical eye. "That little device is quite special," commented Drake. "Very few people are capable of providing it." "Mateo," said Renny without looking up. Drake was surprised. "Why, yes, Anton Mateo is in that group. You know him?" "During my years on the run. The last I knew, he operated out of the Club Indermill out of Johannesburg." "Just a moment." He tapped a few keys on the sub-notebook; within a minute the response came back. He diverted it to the large-screen display and narrated the procession of pictures which followed: "Anton Thelonious Mateo. Born August 16, 1956, Cape Town, South Africa. Parents --" Drake pressed a key to skip ahead. "Mateo is known to deal primarily with low end terrorists like George Pakaris and Umberto Kananga, and organizations like Green Ram Two and Frankenstein Warpdrive. His supply capabilities range from conventional weapons, ammunition, explosives, electronics, and vehicles. His base of operations is Johannesburg, and is known to frequent the Club Indermill." The biography continued for several more minutes, but we'd heard what we wanted. And -- unfortunately -- more. "Wait just a minute!" said Gumball. "Are you saying that terrorists have Amy?" Drake nodded soberly, and the fear level in the room instantly raised several degrees. "Oh God!" several voices groaned, including mine. This was a development we never expected, and it was now tied in to world affairs. President Bush had just sent troops into Afghanistan -- northeast of Africa, but still in the same global neighborhood -- and the thought that Amy might be anywhere near there was very disconcerting. "Regardless of this new information," declared Clark. "Our goal is unchanged: we must rescue Amy." "Yeah," added Gumball with an evil grin. "It just means we get to dish out some payback before it's over!" "NO!" exclaimed Clark, taking us by surprise. "There will be no intentional taking of life! Only in the case of self-defense will lethal force be considered!"

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Gumball shot to his feet, rage contorting his face. "Self-defense? Okay, buster, I'll give you self-defense! THEY ATTACKED US FIRST -- two jets on the Towers, one on the Pentagon, and God-knows where Flight 93 would've ended up! They're STILL counting the bodies in New York! I say THAT'S cause for some serious vengance!" Clark was silent. He couldn't deny Gumball's outrage ... none of us could. Emotions had been rubbed raw since the attacks, and it was safe to assume that all of us had done some spiritual wrestling over the issue of vengeance versus the love of Jesus. Finally, Mark Eidemiller spoke up. "Clark ... Mr. Mayfair ... don't let the real enemy win a victory here!" He paused. "Mr. Drake? Where do we go from here?" "Well, assuming that Anton Mateo is our next link." said Drake, ready with the answer. "He needs to be interrogated ... covertly." With the attention away from their dispute, Clark and Gumball eased back and let the matter slide. Gumball settled down into his chair. "Verity-3," said Monk, picking up on Drake's thought. "It's new, but it'll do the job. We can be in and out in fifteen minutes." "You volunteering?" Drake said, slightly tongue-in-cheek, trying to inject some humor to dissipate the tension. "In a heartbeat!" the simian chemist declared, more serious than not. "But I'd probably be made long before I got close enough to use it." "Me, too," added Renny. "I'm in," said Gumball tonelessly. "I will go," added Clark, equally emotionless. "We're in, too," I said, squeezing Dot's hand under the table. We looked around the table. No one else spoke up. Many subtly shook their heads. "Good," concluded Drake. "We can get you equipped and outfitted in three hours. Just say when." "The sooner the better," said Gumball. Clark looked at us and offered, "Would an hour be soon enough?" I turned to Dot, and she nodded, "Sure. What'll we need?" Drake said, "Nothing, unless it's personal. You'll be supplied with all you need." Clark told Drake, "We'll meet back here." "I'll be ready," he acknowledged.

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The meeting was over. ------------------------- "You volunteered us rather quickly, didn't you?" Dot said as I closed our room door behind me. "What's on your mind?" I stood there a moment and put my hands in my pockets. "I'm really not sure. I just know it was just the right thing to do." She pursed her lips. "Okay." I wasn't quite done. "Besides, I -- I need to be there for Clark. Don't ask me why." "I know why. Ever since that day back at the Mission, you've had a spiritual connection with him. I can see it -- that's why I don't feel jealous about your relationship." She came over to me and put her arms around my neck. "We're in this together." I smiled and we kissed. ------------------------- A half hour after the meeting, Mark Eidemiller handed Mitch Drake a piece of paper. "His name is Darrell Hegdahl, and he'll be expecting your call. He told me that, depending on how rare the animal, they could have something for you in a few hours." Mitch shook his hand. "Excellent!" ------------------------- CHAPTER SEVEN Right on time, we gathered back in the Salmon Room. We each had our carry-on bags with personal items. Clark suggested coming together for a word of prayer. Gumball maintained a distance from the rest of us, but didn't try to stop us. It was significant that, ever since 9/11, people who hadn't previously were now more open to recognize the existence of God -- even if it was out of fear -- and the phrase "God Bless America" was more popular than ever. We formed a circle, joined hands, and Clark offered a simple prayer for our protection, Sunni's recovery, and Amy's safety. Once finished, hugs were passed around, and we departed in Drake's car. En route, he informed us that our codename would be Fathom -- we'd be Team Fathom -- and that we'd be taking a Jet Ranger helicopter to San Diego for preparation. A Gulfstream executive jet would then transport us to Johannesburg. In addition to being very fast, it would maintain our cover story. "Gumball, can you fly the Gulfstream?" asked Drake. "Me?" he responded, shaken from his darker mood. "Yeah. Yeah, I can."

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------------------------- FRIDAY: Lincoln City Pat, Lea, and Karen shuffled into the waiting room while Sunni was being attended to by several nurses. "It's like watching a pit stop at Indianapolis," observed Lea, letting out a tired sigh. The others laughed along with her. Pat leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. After a few moments, Lea leaned in and whispered, "So what're you thinking about?" She opened her eyes. She looked drained. "Yesterday we buried a friend of mine. He had been one of my staff that had been in the North Tower." Karen did a double-take, "You-you worked in the Towers?" "Uh huh," she nodded. "Up until a few months ago. It was my East Coast headquarters. I had ... hundreds working for me there. Then things changed, I dissolved my company, and all my employees were scattered elsewhere. Only a handful ... no, it was twenty-three ... remained in the North Tower office." She let out a sigh. "Oh, God, I wish I'd never let them stay there! If I had insisted that they move into a different building to work from, they'd still be alive today." Lea put a hand on Pat's arm. "You didn't know ... nobody knew. You thought it was safe. And it was. Look at how many were spared because you dissolved the company and moved them elsewhere." She paused. "Including you." "Yeah. Don't think I haven't thought about that, too. Thank you, Lord." "Amen," the other two women sighed. ------------------------- Monk Mayfair and Mark Eidemiller stood outside the hospital. Although it was still a couple of hours before sunset, the little porch next to the cafeteria had a good view of the ocean. "God is good," said Mark. "That He is," agreed Monk. Silence. "I liked the way you handled yourself at the meeting, when you came between Clark and my boy." "Somebody had to," he shrugged it off. "I don't fault him his feelings. Ever since 9/11, everybody's been on edge in one way or another." "Tell me about it. I work in a federal office building."

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"Yeah." He paused. "Y'know, I lived through Pearl Harbor. We knew exactly who was responsible: the Japanese. The next day, thousands of men joined th' military. Now, we got one group in a big country of innocent people. How d'ya fight something like that?" "I don't know. But I'm sure we'll see." ------------------------- "So let's change the subject," said Karen. "Pat, what's your story?" "Story?" "Testimony. Witness. I'm assuming you're a Christian, right?" "Yes." "Then you have a story that tells, in a nutshell, what you were like before, how you became a Christian, and what God's changed since that." "Yeah, okay." She paused to think. "You want the whole life story, or just the last few years?" "Whatever's easiest. And don't dwell on the bad stuff -- remember, the old things have passed away; you're a new creature now." She smiled. "You've got a lotta insight, girl. All right ... I guess my big downhill slide began in 1950 when Clark vanished. The bonehead didn't tell anyone what he was up to, so we were left clueless when he couldn't be found. Then, right on top of that, came the fiasco with the Crime College ... and the Senate Hearings ... and the breakup of the team ... and so on and so on. In a nutshell, we were in a boat in the midst of a Force 10 hurricane and without a captain. Chaos doesn't begin to describe it. "Monk and I tried our best to fight the good fight while Ham took care of the administrative part of Doc's empire. Then, while fighting the bad guys, I lost an eye. I took it hard. But Monk was there for me ... and I began to depend on him." She looked over at Lea; their eyes met and they shared a smile. "Monk's a good man; even then, through his gruff exterior, he was an honorable man. However, I got pregnant." "You what?" exclaimed Karen. "Lea?" "It's okay, dear," comforted Lea. "I've known for some time." "Okay," breathed Karen. "Go ahead." "Like I said, I got pregnant. Now, back then, abortions weren't impossible, but they were socially unacceptable. Either way, an abortion was out of the question for me. So I left the U.S. for Greece, and stayed in exile until the baby was born. I'd made arrangements to turn the child over for adoption, and did -- to Monk and Lea." "Carrie?" "Yes. They raised her as their own." Karen slowly shook her head. "This is sounding like a soap opera."

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They all laughed. "It does, doesn't it?" said Pat. "What happened next?" "Well, things continued to go downhill for me. Clark's name had been disgraced -- and, as his cousin, so was mine. My chain of beauty parlors in the U.S. went kaput overnight. I had nothing. So I returned to Greece, using what funds I had left to buy a small island." "Caroline Island -- oh my God!" "Named after the child I had given up," finished Pat. "I was old. I was alone. And I hated myself for what I had done. So I turned the hatred outward, and blamed the only one who couldn't defend himself." "Clark," finished Karen. "Clark," echoed Pat. "It was the only way I could keep my sanity at the time. After a while, public opinion softened, and I was working up the cosmetics ladder with my company Patricia, Inc. You heard of it?" "Who hasn't? Your daughter was a media goldmine." "Uh huh. Yeah. Well, here's the secret: there was no daughter. It was me." Karen's jaw dropped. "Cosmetic surgery?" "Youth drug." "No way!" "Trust me, dear," interjected Lea. "It's true." "Okay ... keep going." "I had the means to regain my youth, but I didn't want to share the secret. So I invented a daughter. Penelope made the public appearances while everyone believed Pat was a recluse on Caroline Island. It was a perfect plan ... so I wanted to believe." "What happened?" "Clark came back. He'd seen through my deception and he and Perry had come to my offices in the North Tower to privately expose me. It wasn't a good moment. In that one, single moment, the hatred of decades focused like a laser beam at Clark, and I lost it! After a verbal barrage that would've melted steel, I shot them both with tranquilizer darts and ordered that they be loaded aboard my Osprey. My intent was to fly them to my island and ... actually, I'd rather not say what I wanted to do to them." She smiled. "But my plans were interrupted. Gumball and Dot stole my Osprey right out from under my nose." "Thank God," sighed Karen.

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Pat nodded and smiled to herself. "I can agree with you now, but back then I was a dangerous you-know-what. I wouldn't settle for less than my cousin's head on a silver platter. However, God had other things in mind." She paused a moment, trying to organize her thoughts. "How do I put this? Karen, were you aware of the problems my company had awhile back?" "Sure," she replied. "There was a group called Apex ... a feminist group, I think; they were against the exploitation of women. They blew up some of your salons, wrecked some of your buildings, and then they kidnapped ... your ... daughter!" Her eyes went wide. "Holy cow! They kidnapped you?" "Well, yes and no," answered Pat. "Do you know about the Valley of the Vanished?" Karen nodded. "Perry brought us in to pray for them, then filled us in after it was all over. Hidden land, Mayan descendants, lotsa gold ... that cover it?" Pat smiled. "Yes, yes it does. Well, getting back to the story, I traveled to the Valley for two reasons: to get a share of the gold so I could rebuild my company, and to lure Clark into a trap. And it would've worked, too, if it hadn't been for the fact that I was followed by Apex, and became the trapped instead of the trapper." She chuckled. "The two most ironic things about this was that the one who pointed Apex in my direction was my closest assistant and the man who shared my bed ... and that it was Clark who came to rescue me." Karen nodded. "Amazing." "Gets better. Without going into details, I had been responsible for the death of Queen Monja, and -- when the Valley was once more in the hands of the Mayans -- I was put on trial. All my clout on the outside meant nothing. I was sentenced to death, to be killed on a sacrificial altar." She hesitated, and her voice cracked. "It was Clark who stepped forward. He offered to take ... my place. Something inside me broke wide open. I remembering crying out to the judge -- the new King, the son of the Queen -- and pleading for him to take my life instead of Clark's. He stopped everything and went off side to decide my fate. He ... he set me free." The tears were filling her eyes as she remembered the details. "Then I knew! God had shown me my own heart, and my fate ... then He showed me what it truly meant to be forgiven, to be pulled from the hands of death, and to be given a second chance. "The woman in charge of Apex, Jill, had also been used by the same creep who been using me, and he'd taken over my company while I was gone. He used my own desception against me, and told the world that Penelope had been kidnaped be Apex, that Pat was on the island in hiding, and that he was in charge. The slimeball implicated Apex, naming Jill as the ringleader, and put her on the 10 Most Wanted list. "He thought it had it all. But he didn't count on me and Jill comparing notes, finding out that we'd both be sleeping with the same man." "Oh, boy," exclaimed Karen. "We teamed up and took my company back from th' creep. I was back on top again, but to do what? The world still thought Penelope was a hostage, and I couldn't show my face without questions being asked. And I knew I had to make changes in the life that had been returned to me. So, with the help and immense patience of Carrie and Lea, they led me to the Lord and helped me with the changes. The rest is as you see, and it's far from over."

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She paused. "How was that?" "You might have to work around some of the details due to secrecy, but I think it's incredible!" She sighed. "What a story!" ------------------------- CHAPTER EIGHT SATURDAY: Johannesburg, South Africa Our Gulfstream executive jet carried additional fuel to accommodate the twelve-hour flight from San Diego to Johannesburg. In keeping with our cover, we took a suite at a downtown five-star hotel, and tried to get as much rest as we could in anticipation of the evening's activities. I called Pat. "How's Sunni doing?" "No change. Karen's with her now. Amanda's joined us, but Renny's been distant ever since the meeting. If he keeps like this I might see about trackin' him down and talking to him." She paused. "Amanda's the quiet type ... you know, subdued. She's been doing a lot of watching, observing. She's got quick eyes. It's a good thing I know some sign. Either way, she's been very gracious in spite of my rustiness. We're looking into what the hospital can provide with regards to an interpreter." "Good." "You guys all set?" "We will be." The tone of her voice softened. "I wish I was there with you." "It'll be a cakewalk. God willing we'll get what we're looking for tonight, and be heading home tomorrow." "I hope so. We'll be praying for you." "'Don't leave home without it,'" I quoted from the old American Express commercials. "Talk to you later" "Be careful." "We will. Bye." She disconnected from her end, and I hoped I was right. ------------------------- "Hey, Streebeck?" "Monk! What'cha come up with?"

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"Can we talk private?" Streebeck looked around. "Yeah ... sure. C'mon!" They stepped into a side room. "This is as private as we got. Th' lawyers talk to their clients here, so we can't lissen in. What's up?" Monk took out what looked like an ordinary pen and set it on the table. Then he sat and looked across at the detective. "Zale, I'm gonna tell ya a few things that might startle ya. But I need ya to keep'em quiet." He paused. "Trust me, we got it all under control." Streebeck frowned. "Now y'got me worried. What is it?" "Here's wut they figured. It looks like six men in rubber rafts came ashore, made their way to Amy's house, and broke in. They kidnapped Amy, but they weren't expecting Sunni. She surprised them and they shot her and left her to die. We don't know who did it, but ... there might be connections to terrorists. We've got a team lookin' into that as we speak." Streebeck's mouth had been slack through most of what Monk had said. His first vocal response was unprintable. "You'll keep this quiet?" asked Monk. "It would cause a panic if I didn't!" Streebeck blurted in response. "Drake in on this?" "Indirectly. I'm askin' you also to back off on your investigation. We'll take care of it." The two mens' eyes met. "I'll put it down that Ms. Roberts was taken out of the country against her will by 'person or persons unknown', the Feds have been notified, and they've taken over the case. Works for you?" "Couldn't have done better myself." He put out a hairy hand, and the two men shook. "I owe you one, Streebeck." Zale smiled. "I'll think about it, Monk." ------------------------- SATURDAY LATE EVENING: Johannesburg, South Africa Cue the John Barry music. "The name's Liston ... Perry Liston." The music from inside was slow and cool, and, I had to admit, so were we. I wore a white jacket and shirt, black slacks, tie, and shoes. Holding onto my arm was Dot, in a black gown that had a little more exposure than I would've preferred my wife to display. Oh, well. And Clark and Gumball? They were dressed in matching black suits with shoulder-holstered weapons, doing a very-believable performance as bodyguards.

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The Club Indermill reminded me of the place in Casablanca -- low-tech and nostalgic. It was isolated in a neighborhood that seemed to close up at sunset, and with streets too narrow for cars; we left the limo a few blocks away and walked to the club. The weather was still, and a steady stream of instrumental jazz drew us into the club. As we expected, we were the center of attention. We noticed the source of the music, a jazz quartet off to one side, and I saw a look of appreciation on Clark's face. We located a table. I moved in like I was in charge, which I was supposed to be, and sat with my back to the wall. Next to me sat my lady, Dot. And my trusty bodyguards sat forward, on either side, alert. "Okay, now that we've got everybody's attention," said Gumball aside. "Is Mateo here?" "I don't see him," said Clark, looking around slowly. "I'll inquire at the bar." Walking over to the bar, Clark took note of the number of patrons watching him, and inwardly smiled at the thrill of the subterfuge, the masquerade, which he hadn't done since infiltrating Pat's organization to expose her 'Penelope' persona. He stood at the bar for a moment, while the bartender finished with another customer. "Yessir, what can I get you?" "How well stocked is your wine cellar?" "Quite. Is there anything in particular you're interested in?" Clark quoted a vintage he knew to be special and rare, and thus would be very expensive. The bartender's expression gave away his recognition and importance of the vintage. "I believe we have that, sir," he replied with a straight face. "Will that be all?" "My employer is looking for an associate of his: Anton Mateo." He slipped two bills of local currency, the high denomination easily recognized by the bartender, across the bar. "Do you know him?" The bartender was cool, as he placed his hand over the exposed bills and drew them back. "He frequently comes here. He should be here tonight." "Excellent," Clark smiled. "If you'd be so kind as to direct him to our table, we'd be so grateful." He turned over his other hand to show another four bills of the same denomination. "Yes, sir! Shall I deliver the wine to your table?" "Yes, thank you." And as calmly as he had come, he walked back to our table. "It's just a matter of time, now," he reported. The wine was delivered. Clark sampled it dutifully, then poured a half-glass each for Dot and me. Although I'm not fond of wine, I sipped and made appreciative comments. The wine had no effect on us, due to some pills we'd taken before leaving the limo; they effectively counteracted the alcohol in our stomachs. -------------------------

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Two hours later, our man arrived. He looked just like his pictures in the file, as we watched him walk through to the bar. He was cautious, subtly reading the room as he moved. "Contact," Gumball said under his breath, as the bartender pointed him in our direction. He walked over and said, "Max said you have an interest in me. I don't know you; you're not from around here." I played it cool. "Quite right. But I believe we can help one another. Please." I gestured to an empty chair, and he reluctantly sat. "You're a busy man, so I won't waste your time," I stated, then nodded to Clark. He placed the electronic security 'key' on the table in front of Mateo. "You recently supplied this to some friends of mine. They interest me. I would like more -- many more. Is it familiar?" He picked it up and examined it. "It's from my stock." I smiled. "Excellent." In one smooth movement, Gumball removed a thin cigarette case from a pocket and slid it across the table to in front of Mateo. "Cigarette?" asked Gumball. An instant later, Clark's hand darted out, holding an old Zippo lighter. When the lighter was under Mateo's face, there was a faint hiss, and the information dealer's expression turned from annoyance to one of frozen surprise. Gumball opened the cigarette case, exposing a digital recorder, and pressed a button, activating an amber LED. "Go!" "Mr. Mateo," asked Clark swiftly, now in a piercing bass monotone. "Have you recently sold many of these devices?" "No." Mateo's voice was also a monotone. "Actually, only one this month." "Who did you sell it to?" "General Umberto Kananga." That cinched it, I thought as I met Dot's eyes. Kananga had Amy! "Where can we find this Kananga?" continued Clark. "Central Africa." "Where in Central Africa?" asked Gumball. "I've never been to his base. An operative picks up the goods." "What is the operative's name?"

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"I only know him as Hector." Clark continued the questions for another couple of minutes. There was no hesitation on the part of Mateo, the Verity-3 working effectively on the merchant. Finally, Clark reported, "Okay, that's it!" "Let's go!" said Gumball eagerly, starting to rise from the booth. "Go ahead! I'm going to give him a post-hypnotic suggestion that we never met." One of the nicer side-benefits of the truth drug was the capability to plant instructions with the subject. "And offer my thanks to the bartender." I nodded, and Dot and I headed with Gumball for the exit. We did our best not to rush. We stood outside the club for a couple of minutes before Clark appeared. "Let's go," he directed, and we started walking in the direction of our limousine. ------------------------- CHAPTER NINE Looking back on things, it probably wasn't the best idea to pick that street to put between us and our limo. We were unaware that It had a reputation of having a high crime rate, and only the foolish dared venture through it after dark. When we saw the two boys in their late teens fall quietly in line a block behind us, we suspected there was trouble ahead. "Be ready in case there is an ambush," cautioned Clark. As we rounded the next corner, our suspicions were realized. Counting the two behind us, there were eleven in all, and their clothing reminded me of a similar instance back in San Francisco. They were a shabby group, in their late teens; most of them were armed with sticks, chains, or knives, but at least three of them carried guns. One boy stood ahead of the group. He wore lots of leather, and looked like an ad for a Western shop. Jacket and jeans, boots and hat, all were leather. There was an empty holster openly displayed on his hip. The matching revolver was currently leveled in our direction. "Good evenin', folks!" he said in a mock-Western drawl. "This here's a stickup. Why don't you gents lose the hardware -- nice ... an' ... easy!" Without hesitation, Clark and Gumball carefully reached with two fingers into their jackets and extracted the guns from their shoulder holsters. With exaggerated caution, they placed them on the ground. "Nudge 'em over here," ordered the leader. Clark and Gumball pushed the guns across the distance with their toes; two of the gang scrambled forward and retrieved them, backing up while clutching the guns to their chests.

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I lowered my right arm, and the back of Dot's hand brushed against mine. I flexed my forearm, feeling a cylindrical object drop into my cupped palm. With an easy twist of the wrist, the cylinder was transferred into Dot's hand. Another subtle movement, and I'd palmed another of the cylinders. "Now hand over your valuables," continued the cowboy wanna-be. Clark stood tall and straightened his jacket. At first it seemed that he hadn't heard the leader. Then he looked straight at him and nonchalantly said, "No." The leader's face mirrored first surprise, then amusement. He laughed as he addressed the rest of his gang. "The big galloot thinks this is negotiable!" He turned towards us. "If you haven't noticed, we've gotcha outnumbered an' outgunned!" "Outgunned?" responded Clark, holding his arms out with the palms facing up. "I don't think so. Those are smart guns -- they respond only to their owners ... that's us. Don't believe me? Check 'em out." Then he gave them a smile. The would-be cowboy heard the curses of those behind him as they found themselves unable to use our weapons, and his eyes narrowed in hatred. "All right, old man! Give us your cash NOW or I'll blow your head off with MY gun!" Clark took a half step towards the gang, his arms still ahead of him in a gesture of peace. "Don't listen to him. Leave here now while you can." This caused an uneasy stirring within the ranks, as they tried to make out what this big bronze man was up to. They didn't notice the subtle movement of Gumball's arms, or the cylinders that silently dropped into his hands. Sensing his gang's unity falling apart, the leader started waving his gun and cursing. "Look, man! I don't know what you're pulling, but you've got to three to gimme your money, or I'm gonna drop you! ONE!" Clark didn't move. "Minus one," he said quietly, indicating that we were to make our move on two. I met Dot's eyes, and she nodded slightly. "TWO!" said the cowboy. Clark triggered the holdouts up his arms, and objects the size and shape of pagers suddenly appeared in his big hands. He pressed their triggers simultaneously, and the result was dramatic. The youth gang before us was instantly seized by a wave of vertigo that caused them to yowl in pain and weave like drunken men. "Here, guys," I said. "Catch!" And we lobbed the cylinders to the youths behind us. In a move that they would regret later, the two boys caught the cylinders, suspecting nothing from the innocent-looking battery-sized anesthetic gas grenades. About a heartbeat ahead of us, Gumball had rolled two more identical cylinders into the midst of the gang ahead of us.

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Then, as if having been issued a silent command, all of us held our breath and mentally counted down from sixty. The youth gang had never anticipated the hypersonic barrage. Reflexively, their hands had reached for their ears in a vain attempt to block the source of the vertigo. Maintaining a grip on their weapons was not really important at that moment. Then, a few seconds later, the sound didn't even matter to them, as they felt an overwhelming desire for sleep. One by one, they were like children in pre-school, assuming the 'afternoon nap' position. At the end of sixty seconds, when the anesthetic gas had finished its job, the four of us were the only ones standing. "You gotta love it," commented Dot with a grin. "Yep," I agreed, in a Western drawl. Clark and Gumball took a quick look through the group, making sure the youths were unhurt, and retrieving their smart guns. Liberating the gang of their own weapons, their guns were quickly rendered harmless and all the weapons were deposited in a nearby trashcan. One final look around, and we continued to the limo. Within an hour, we were once more aboard the Gulfstream and heading home. ------------------------- Amy was crying. It was dark. Very dark. Even the light in the hallway had been extinguished. It made her depression even more acute. No! she thought, gritting her teeth and balling up her fists. NO! she thought. This is what they want me to do! They want to break down my defenses, make me easier to control! But I won't let them get away with it! I know who the real enemy is, and I will not let him break me! Scriptures flooded her mind. 'Greater is He who is in me than he who is in the world!' 'No weapon formed against me shall prosper!' 'In this world you will have troubles but I have overcome the world!' 'When I am afraid, I will trust in Thee!' 'God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble -- therefore I will not fear.' She felt a renewed strength. Looking up at the ceiling, she was suddenly reminded of the microphone she had spotted behind the metal grating over the light. Amateurs, she had commented to herself at the time. It hadn't been hard to spot the mic, and know they were listening to her. That's why she kept her personal prayers silent. "HEY THERE!" she yelled. "I know you can hear me, so why don't I give you something substantial to listen to! 'For God so loved the world, that He gave his one and only Son, that whoever should believe in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.' That's where it all starts, guys! It's 'cause of Jesus Christ that any of us have a snowball's chance in hell of getting to heaven! Who is Jesus Christ? I'm glad you asked. Let's start with His birth ..." ------------------------- SUNDAY: Lincoln City

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Mark and Karen visited a local church for morning services, then had lunch at a familiar restaurant. After a few final minutes with those remaining at the hospital, Mark headed back to Portland to resume work on Monday. Team Fathom returned to Lincoln City the same way they had left, via a Jet Ranger helicopter. Unfortunately, they arrived at the hospital a mere half hour after Mark had left. Team Fathom had already given the information about Kananga to Drake, so he was ready for the second meeting by mid-afternoon. ------------------------- Once more, we gathered in the Salmon Room. Everyone was present except Mark Eidemiller; he had left Karen in our care and had returned to Portland. At the head of the table, Drake brought up a file; on the display was a picture of a black man. Renny's wife Amanda was trying to get her husband's attention, pointing at the screen, but he finally silenced her in a flurry of sign language. "This is Umberto Kananga," identified Drake. "His given name is unknown. At some time early in his life he took the name Kananga, after the character in the James Bond novel. His rank of General is self-adopted; he holds no such official rank in any known military. "Mateo's file identified Kananga as a low-end terrorist. But he is a terrorist, nonetheless. He's responsible for at least sixteen acts of terrorism, including the bombing in Cameroon which killed twenty-five people, and a fire in Zambia that killed eight schoolchildren." There were assorted murmurs and expressions of shock around the tables. If such a monster was involved with Amy's kidnapping, I thought with a shudder, then quickly prayed for her safety. "Kananga's base is, as Mateo pointed out, somewhere in Central Africa. But since that area encompasses several thousand square miles, we're talking a big haystack to find this needle." "What about Mateo?" asked Monk. "He said an operative picked up the stuff. Why couldn't we watch him and see who he contacts? Surely you guys could track 'im from there." "Mateo identified him as Hector; no telling if that's a given name or a code name. I've got men working on locating him, but it's a longshot at best." Clark voiced the question that was on all our minds: "Do you think Kananga is planning something against America?" "Anything's possible," answered Drake soberly. "Kananga's a terrorist. Despite the fact that he's not made any moves against the U.S. in the past, he's still a real threat -- more so in light of these latest developments." "What did you find out from the Forensics Lab in Ashland?" asked Karen. The question was perfectly timed. Drake looked back at the computer, talking as he keyed up the information. "Yes, thank you! The bugs found at Miss Roberts' house were confirmed as having originated in Central Africa, and the animal hairs came from a rare variation of the Colubus monkey. The Colubus is a popular species of monkey from Africa, but the Blue-Striped is rare ... really rare, bordering

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on endangered. There are only three areas in Africa where the Blue-Striped Colubus can be found." He activated a map display, and used the computer to circle the areas. "Here, near the country of Togo ... here, near Lake Tanganyika ... and here, at the foot of Mount Kilimanjaro." He paused. "You are planning a rescue mission, I assume?" "That's a silly question," blurted Monk. "Of course we are!" And all of us agreed. Drake raised a hand and nodded. "I thought so, but I just wanted to make sure before continuing." He returned to the computer. "If you would allow me, here is what I propose. Since time is of the essence, those comprising the rescue team will return with me to Florida as soon as possible. You will be equipped and ready to leave within 24 hours. The first leg of your flight will take you from Florida to Togo, where you will check on the first site. Should you need to, you'll cover the locations in Lake Tanganyika and Mount Kilimanjaro the following day. We have a place in Cameroon, codenamed Turner Base, that will be at your disposal as a way station, providing fuel, food, rest ... and, should you need it, they can supply troops and machines." "Good," said Clark, standing. "As for our mission objectives, primary is to locate Kananga's base, get in, get Amy, and get out." "We also need t'find out what he's up to," added Monk. "If he snatched Amy to use her for some terrorist plot against the U.S., we need to find out what it is, then stop him ... permanently." Drake added, "I will supply you with a targeting laser -- once you get Miss Roberts out, just 'paint' the base with the laser and we'll send a smart bomb right to his doorstep." There were nods and other words of agreement from around the table. Then Drake suddenly felt eyes burning into his shoulder. Turning towards Clark's face of flint, their eyes met. "... IF we can do so without loss of life," he answered the silent rebuke. "Satisfied?" Clark nodded once, and Drake returned to the discussion. "Okay, then. We'll need suggestions for non-lethal weapons. We have the AA gas and the mercy bullets; I think we can come up with variations on that. And I'll put my crew to work on other avenues." "So ... who's goin'?" said Monk, raising his hand. Gumball raised his hand, as did Clark, Renny and me. I looked over at Dot; her eyes met mine, but her hands were flat on the table. I was confused, but she just smiled at me. Of all those around the tables, things were split right down the gender line -- the men were going, the women were staying. "Very well," concluded Drake, checking his watch. "Shall we meet back here at, say, ten o'clock?" Everyone expressed their agreement, and we separated. ------------------------- CHAPTER TEN

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Dot and I said nothing until the door to our motel room closed. Then I turned around and said one word: "Why?" "For the same reason that you chose to be at Clark's side in that last mission." She smiled. "You know I'd love to be at your side, especially if danger is involved. And I'm a little uncomfortable having you in danger without me. But there's a battle going on here, too. And as much as I love Amy, I feel ... compelled to stay here and support Sunni. D'ya see what I'm trying to say?" "I do. Y'know, it'll be the first time we've been separated since before we got married?" She walked over and kissed me. "Let's not make it a habit. And the fact that you're going off with the boys to do battle doesn't give you the right to be reckless -- got that?" She grinned. "Awwww," I moaned, tongue-in-cheek. "You're no fun." As we hugged, I saw Drake and Renny walking together across the parking lot, talking. ------------------- As I packed a few things, the realization of this moment became very clear. Although it hadn't been the first time I'd fought beside Clark, the fact that Kananga was a terrorist made the battle ahead more frightening. I tried to look at it intellectually. The most important fact was that we were in God's hands, and He would see us through. We were all in good physical condition, despite the advanced ages of some of my fellow fighters. And it was a given that Drake would provide us with the best protection on the planet. What with the satellite cell phones, we wouldn't even be totally out of touch. It would be dangerous, but it wouldn't be a suicide mission. ------------------------- Since we men -- all husbands except Clark and Gumball -- were leaving the women, each of the couples set aside a private time where we could be alone in our motel rooms. For Dot and me, we held each other for a long time in our room, talking and praying, comforting one another. I tried to find suitably-noble words of assurance and strength, but they just wouldn't come. In the end, I just looked into my wife's brown eyes and whispered, "I love you." ------------------------- We gathered together in the waiting room of the hospital -- surprisingly vacant at that hour -- and had one last group prayer. Without saying a word, all of us moved into a circle and joined hands. Even Gumball, Renny, and Amanda. Clark led. My eyes closed, I moved to put my arm around Dot, and she put hers around me. Opening my eyes after we all said, "Amen," I grinned. Many of us were standing with our arms around the one next to us, in an extended group hug. We hugged one another, giving our goodbyes, and moved out one-by-one from the waiting room to the van that would take us to the Osprey. As I hugged Pat, she looked at me and said, "If I were a few years

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younger, I'd be joining you. But I'm not, so I won't." Her voice lowered and our eyes met. "Keep an eye out for Clark, willya? Don't let him do anything stupid, okay?" I nodded. "I will." A few more steps, and I hugged Lea. "Keep an eye out for Andy and my son, willya?" she asked. "And WHEN they do something stupid, try to keep them from getting too hurt." I smiled. "I'll do my best." Dot and I walked outside, then I gave her a final kiss and a hug and joined the rest in the van. Nobody was very talkative during the flight, and we made an attempt to get some sleep. ------------------------- TUESDAY: Somewhere in the Florida Everglades When we finally arrived on the familiar helipad that mysteriously rose out of the Everglades, morning had arrived. Covered by the translucent dome, we descended under the waters to where Drake welcomed us and transported us to a staging area within the expansive underground complex. Five long tables arranged in a pentagon were in the center of the room. On each table was a backpack and various gear for camping. Drake explained. "I've set you up with the basics needs for surviving in the jungle -- food, water, first aid, etc. Some of this you won't find in your local REI, because it's state-of-the-art. Also, Clark, you'll find that some of them are based on your own inventions." He paused, then clarified. "When my father and I were buying up a lot of the items auctioned from your old headquarters, we found several technical papers there -- including stuff on food and water supplements. The results are before you." "Excellent!" boomed Clark. "We could've used those in Pine Corners!" Drake walked over to some tables at the edge of the wall; as he did, lights came on overhead and illuminated rows of weapons and other armaments. "Since you don't have time to be trained with new weapons, I'm arming you with ones you currently use ... with a few variations. The superfirers are excellent for short- and mid-range firing, but they lose ballistic integrity beyond a couple hundred yards. So we have these --" He held up a short rifle. "-- which fire a different design of mercy bullet. These LR shells peel away after 200 yards, and the inner bullet is streamlined. They've been test-fired at 1500 yards with 85% accuracy. Add the sniper scope, and you are set." He hesitated, then remembered something. "Speaking of scopes -- each of you have a special set of binoculars." Monk picked his up and looked through it. "It's got a range finder," he said with approval. Then he picked a spot and touched one of the buttons on the top. A moment later he observed with a start, "Blazes! I can read the small print as clear as if I wuz holdin' it in my hands!" Drake explained. "The optics are computer-enhanced to give a clear image even at two miles. You also have the capability of transmitting images and information to storage units which will be on your belts, and to your computer. Bottom-line, it'll provide you immediate reconnaissance information on the fly." We all whistled our amazement.

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"Now, back to the weapons for a moment. We've been able to put your AA gas into various containers, all of which are here for your use." He gestured to the other tables. "Over there are bladed instruments, communications, miscellaneous electronics, and explosives. Help yourselves, gentlemen, and I'll be right here if you have any questions." And like the good host he was, he moved aside to allow us to run free in this high tech toyland. ------------------------- "Good evening, gentlemen. My name's Carol Thome. I'm the head of R&D here. I'm here to show you the outfits you will be wearing. Since you're going into hostile territory, you need to be protected against every eventuality. This outfit will give you the best chance of accomplishing that. The designation is PDX-1290, but we just call it the WetSuit. It's a jumpsuit, not unlike what you used in Central America. Functionally, however, it's a thousand percent better. Overall, the suit is constructed of flexible Paradox, and therefore is impossible to cut by normal methods like thorns, claws or animal bite. However, there is a second level to its effectiveness. When you release the contents of this small canister into the suit through this valve, Paradox foam will fill pockets within the suit, forming plates of body armor over vital organs. These are comparable to the best body armor available, yet far lighter in weight. The advantage is obvious, in that you'll be able to move freely while keeping fully protected. Then, when you're done needing the armor, you simply open this valve, and the Paradox is exposed to the air, vaporizing into a harmless gas within a couple of minutes. You will each be provided with three canisters of Paradox foam. Allow me to demonstrate. Jeff?" A man approached from one side wearing the familiar jumpsuit. He turned professionally to show everyone what the suit looked like, and then he attached the canister to the valve. Within 90 seconds the pockets had filled, and the wetsuit looked more like what a SWAT team would be wearing on the job. As he prepared, Carol was looking over a couple of firearms on an access rack, a pistol and a submachine gun. Jeff moved until he stood in front of a tall king-sized mattress placed on end; he looked behind him to make sure it was close enough, then stood straight and faced Carol. She illustrated the effectiveness of the pistol against a target at the end of the room. Then, without emotion, she turned it on Jeff and fired twice. The force of the impacts moved him back a little, but that seemed to be the extent of it. She smiled and held up the pistol. Then she repeated the demonstration with the submachine gun, first cutting a target in half at the waistline, then trying to do the same to Jeff. The bullets threw him back violently against the pad, but he didn't fall, he moved about to show that he was unharmed. "With the facemask and the helmet -- formed with the Paradox foam -- all vital organs are fully protected against just about anything that's thrown against you. In other words, don't try to stop artillery, and you'll be fine!" She smiled. We were impressed. ------------------------- After lunch, I returned to my quarters and called Dot using one of the secure lines within the complex. "How's Sunni?" I asked. "Improving slowly. They've still got her under sedation."

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"How's everyone doing?" "As well as can be expected," she answered with a tone that said that she was not in a place where she could speak freely. "Can you get away?" "Sure. Hang on." I heard her stand, excusing herself from the rest of the group. There was the sound of the door opening and closing, and footsteps down a hall. Finally Dot came back on the line. "Okay, we're alone. It's good to hear your voice." "Same here. Everybody's holding up?" "Amanda's ... shaky. The hospital provided her with an interpreter, but this whole situation seems to be disorienting to her. We've tried to talk with her, but it's not easy. Karen's been a good example, though. Her faith is strong." "Good. I'm glad. I'll do my best to keep in touch." "You take care, okay?" "I will. We're going to be inoculated against a host of local ailments. You know how much I love needles ... oh, joy," I said dryly. Dot giggled at my humor. "Okay. Keep in touch." We closed things with prayer, and I let her go. ------------------------- CHAPTER ELEVEN WEDNESDAY MORNING We left Florida early, with Clark and Gumball taking turns at the wheel of the Osprey. Considering the load we were carrying, it wasn't surprising that our airspeed had slowed considerably, with a greater-than-normal drain on our fuel. But Mitch Drake, bless his heart, had taken that into consideration, and provided us with a floating gas station. In the middle of the ocean, we rendezvoused with an oil tanker flying neutral registration flags. As soon as we gave the signal that we were within range, we were guided in for a landing. Almost as soon as we touched down, Drake's men moved in with the professionalism of an Indianapolis pit crew, giving the tilt-wing a once-over while we climbed out, stretched and used the facilities. Within fifteen minutes we were in the air and back on course. "Very slick," commented Gumball as he sipped from a large coffee. We all agreed. -------------------------

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Several hours later, we touched down at Turner Base. A half-hour later we took off again to check out our first objective in Togo. The GPS performed well, and our first passing run began from the southern coast at Lome, right up the center of the narrow country straight into the northern plains. We intently watched the wildlife below, looking for anything out of place. Metal detectors and other sensory apparatus scanned in hopes of catching anything hiding beneath the surface, as we made several passes across the country. After a couple of hours, we knew this was a dry well. So, exhausted and slightly frustrated, we returned to Turner Base for the night. I called Dot to inform our support crew of our progress. I couldn't hide my disappointment. "Hang in there, hon," she comforted, chewing on a bite of her late breakfast; I had to remind myself that there was eleven hours difference between us. "That's only the first one. You'll find her tomorrow." "Keep telling me that," I sighed. "I don't know how Clark and Gumball hung in there, flying mile after mile after mile. I mean, I could feel the tension radiating offa them both up there." "They're professionals; they probably never felt it. You go get some sleep, okay? I'll talk to you in the morning ... YOUR morning, my evening." I smiled in spite of my fatigue. "Gotcha. Love you." We prayed briefly, then I headed to bed. ------------------------- THURSDAY LATE MORNING: Cameroon, Central Africa "Well, this morning's been a bust!" groused Gumball loudly. "Nothing! Nothing! Nothing!" As we swung northwest toward the last of our target sites, Monk switched places with Clark, flopping into the co-pilot's seat. "Don't give up hope, son!" comforted Monk. "We'll find her. We'll find her." Gumball grunted, "What if she's not here, either?" "Then we don't stop looking until we find her," Monk said, his voice steady and deliberate. Gumball simply grunted and kept his mind on course. ------------------------- Mount Kilimanjaro loomed ahead. It had been growing larger for the last ten minutes of our flight, but now it took up most of the windshield. "Wait a moment ... I know this area," said Clark suddenly, as he looked out the front windshield. "Renny, Monk -- do you recall the Land of Long Juju?" We all moved up to the cockpit. "Huh? Well, watta ya know?" commented Monk, looking over Clark's shoulder. "It's been awhile, but yeah ... that's it, allright!"

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"Holy cow!" agreed Renny. "I remember this place. I was workin' on a railroad or somethin', and we got involved in a power struggle between the two villages!" Monk continued, "Yeah ... sure ... I remember the bad guys had planes and bombs and tanks and stuff, and all the good guys had were spears and knives. Until we got there, o'course." He grinned wide. "We showed them the true meaning of 'gorilla' warfare -- I can say that now, 'cause Ham's not around to razz me!" Clark allowed the others to make their observations, then explained: "It's called -- was called -- the Land of Long Juju. It held a great secret, a treasure that we only saw in part. Once our mission was done, we told our ... biographer ... to falsify or exaggerate certain details, in order to keep people from following our tracks and plundering that treasure." "Like he did about the silphium," I added. "Exactly! And I thought -- we thought -- that we'd never see the Land of Long Juju again. Obviously I was wrong." We circled around and came in over the valley, while we trained our optics through the dense brush below. "So where are the people?" I asked. "Gone, it seems." There was a sadness in his voice. "I wonder what could've done that to a people so devoted to their homeland?" "Could they have moved to the other valley, over on the other side?" asked Renny. "Possibly," mused Clark. "There was certainly enough land, although I can't imagine why they would choose to do so. Gumball, take us around to the other side; let's see what's there." "Gotcha!" We flew around the mountain and approached the opposite valley. "Blazes!" exclaimed Monk. "Look! There's an air base down there now -- but look at it! That crater's gotta be a mile wide!" Sure enough, there were the ruins of what had been a military air base in the middle of the wide valley. A giant bomb crater obscured runways and buildings, the damage radiating outward like spokes of a wheel. What had not been obliterated in the blast leaned outward at an angle, damaged beyond use. Streaks of green criss-crossed the area, from foliage that had taken back the land. "It's a wreck!" summarized Gumball dismally. "There's no one down there! I'm movin' on!" "No ... not just yet," said Clark ominously, drawing out his binoculars. "Bring us around, and switch on the sensors, please!" Gumball started to argue, but changed his mind. "Okay," he mumbled. "I think it's a waste of fuel, but ..."

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We circled the area, passing again and again over the ruins while we monitored the sensor readings and confirmed the obvious with our binoculars. Even I wondered if Clark was barking up the wrong tree, when he suddenly pointed downward and ordered, "Take us over the center of the base and hover at 500 feet!" Obeying the orders simply by the tone of Clark's voice, Gumball expertly maneuvered us into position. Changing the angle on the turboprops, we hovered. As Clark looked over the area with the binoculars, Gumball eyed the Osprey's control panel. Suddenly, his eyes went wide and he exclaimed with a sharp profanity. "MISSILE LOCK! HOLD ON!" As we scrambled for our seats, Gumball sent the Osprey straight up as fast as he could manage, then pivoted the turboprops and threw us into a sharp banking climb. The deck tilted to starboard, and we fought the increased gee forces. I reached my seat and fumbled with the belt, completing the move an instant before we heard the blast and felt the Osprey go out of control. As we turned every which-way, any cargo that hadn't been tied down became something to be avoided. I heard exclamations of pain from Monk and Renny, and I put my arms up in time to take the impact of a box that seemingly came out of nowhere; I grunted at the pain, and pushed the box aside. I could hear Gumball yelling and cursing at the airplane, and pictured him and Clark at the controls, fighting for mastery. We shifted back and forth for several seconds, and I saw Mount Kilimanjaro vanish under us as we put distance between the seemingly-deserted base and us. "I CAN'T KEEP US UP!" yelled Gumball from the cockpit. "I'M GOING TO TRY TO FIND A LANDING SPOT!" Clark said something I couldn't make out. We descended on the other side of the mountain. The Osprey shuddered and dipped from the turbulence and failing engines. I looked out the window and saw nothing but a wide green expanse of jungle. It grew nearer. ------------------------- AFTER MIDNIGHT: Lincoln City Lea Mayfair woke to frantic pounding on her room door. Quickly grabbing her robe, she called out, "Who's there!" "It's Karen!" came the response. "Please, let me in!" Lea opened the door and practically caught the blind woman as she burst into the room. "What is it?" Lea quickly asked, fearing the worst. "Is it Sunni?" Karen was breathing rapidly. "No! No! We need to pray! They're in trouble!" Lea was confused. "Who's in trouble!" "The men! God just showed me they're in danger! We need to pray for them, now!" The look on Karen's face told Lea that she meant every word. "Let me get Dot!" She went over to the room wall and pounded three times, quickly and distinctly. Seconds later there came a knock at the door. Lea opened it. Dot, her face flushed, clad only in a pair of flowered pajamas, rushed inside.

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"What?" she exclaimed. Karen repeated, "God just showed me the men are in danger! We need to pray for them, NOW!" Dot didn't hesitate. "Okay!" The three women grabbed hands and bowed their heads. Without hesitating, Karen started praying aloud. "Dear God! We ask You in Jesus' name, right now, to put Your arms of safety about the men, to have Your mighty angels hold them up in this time of need ... " ------------------------- "We're not gonna make it," Renny said to no one in particular. "This is it, isn't it?" "DON'T TALK LIKE THAT!" defended Monk. "My boy's flyin' this crate, and Clark's with 'im!" Then there was a pause, and the tone of Monk's voice changed. "But what if it wuz th' end? What would happen 't you?" "What ARE you talking about?" exclaimed Renny. "Do I have'ta sing ya a chorus of 'Nearer My God To Thee', ya bonehead?" Monk whipped back. "I'm talking eternity, Renny! Everybody on this crate knows where we'll end up if we bite the big one -- except for you two!" He grunted as he deflected a piece of loose cargo. "Face it -- we've all played Russian Roulette with Fate and come up smilin'! But you can't dodge the bullet forever!" We shifted to the left, and the tone of Monk's voice quieted with gruff compassion. "Renny, I'm beggin' ya, ya need Jesus in your life now! Please! Don't put it off!" "I -- I don't know," he stammered, fear strong in his voice. "Oh God!" exclaimed Gumball. "THERE'S NO PLACE TO LAND! I'M GONNA HAVE TO BRING US DOWN IN TH' JUNGLE!" "You hear that?" addressed Monk. "No guarantees! Whadda ya say?" "Okay, okay," Renny sighed. "You're right! What do I gotta do?" "We pray! Just repeat after me, and speak up when you feel th' need to!" The two men moved their heads closer and bowed as they prayed. From where I sat, I couldn't hear them, but I supported the effort nonetheless. And, despite our situation, I smiled. ------------------------- Back at the base, things weren't as deserted as they appeared. An olive-skinned man in his late 20's held the still-warm missile launcher at his side when he was approached by another man. They both wore dirty green camo uniforms, and the shoulder rank of the second man identified him as a lieutenant. "KALEED! YOU IDIOT!" he yelled in a Middle Eastern dialect. "What have you done? You know how important it is to maintain secrecy of this base!"

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Kaleed came to attention immediately. "YES I understand the importance of secrecy SIR! The plane was an American military plane -- a V-22 Osprey -- SIR!" The lieutenant paused. "Were there any American military markings on the craft?" "NO SIR! No markings! The V-22 Osprey is not a civilian aircraft -- it might have been American CIA!" He paused. "SIR!" Kaleed had a good point. The lieutenant softened the tone of his voice. "You have acted well! Take a squad and a vehicle and locate the downed aircraft. Make sure there are no survivors. And bring back anything that could be used by us!" Kaleed and the lieutenant exchanged salutes, then the soldier trotted off to carry out the order. ------------------------- "What's that over there?" asked Clark sharply, pointing. Gumball looked, and then turned the wheel in that direction. "I'LL TAKE IT" he yelled, not aware of his volume. "RIGHT NOW IT'S THE ONLY GAME IN TOWN!" We finished the turn just as the turboprops gave up the ghost. Gumball swore under his breath. "That's it! Now we're a glider -- and a poor one at that!" Clark yelled back, "WE'RE GOING DOWN! BRACE FOR IMPACT!" Then he turned to Gumball and said, "Sure you don't want to pray?" "NO!" he barked back, hands trying to hold the aircraft steady. Clark prayed silently. The Osprey scraped and bumped along the top of the foliage, leaving a wake of green behind the speeding craft. Then it dipped suddenly, forcing the trees roughly aside. The screeching sound was intense around us, and we waited uncertainly for the next moment, hoping it wouldn't be our last. For moments that seemed to stretch into minutes we traveled like a steel juggernaut. The large windshield cracked and split as Clark and Gumball protected their faces with their arms. Their eyes closed reflexively, not wanting to see what they couldn't avoid. Then, suddenly, their movement slowed, and the Osprey came to a stop. Clark and Gumball opened their eyes, only to see an open gulf before them. "Oh my God!" exclaimed Gumball in horror. "We're on the edge of a cliff!" "Can we shift some of the cargo?" calmly suggested Clark. "We can sure try!" exclaimed Gumball in reply. ------------------------- Gumball yelled back at us, explaining the critical situation. Carefully unstrapping ourselves from our seats, we stood and started moving around the compartment. We froze instantly with every shudder under

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our feet, waiting like statues until it passed. Then, following Gumball's instructions from the cockpit, we started moving some of the cargo that had scattered during our wild ride. We began shifting again. Immediately we stopped moving, waiting as each instant passed. Waitng for the shifting to stop. But it didn't. We kept shifting -- but it was different this time, as we heard Gumball yell, "WE'RE GOING BACKWARDS!" We all heard his excited breathing. "This is IMPOSSIBLE!" I found myself smiling and whispering under my breath, "With God, nothing is impossible. Thank you!" We watched intently as the Osprey slowly moved out of danger. As soon as we had cleared the edge of the cliff, Gumball and Clark joined us. "This is impossible," repeated Gumball. "You said that already," replied Monk. "But you can see for yourself, it IS happening! Blazes!" I looked at Clark. "You said this area used to be inhabited. Could the natives have spotted us, and they're pulling us back?" Clark paused. "Anything's possible. I didn't see anyone as we were coming in, though. And it would take dozens of strong men to move us, let alone at this speed." He was right. I noticed that we were moving at a speed greater than a walk. I didn't have a clue. Several seconds later, we stopped. The tail of the Osprey lowered to the ground with a crunch of foliage. Clark rushed to the door and forcefully threw it open. Looking in the direction we had been going, he saw no one. No natives, no vehicles. It was as if an unseen force had moved us. Then he spotted the man. It was a white man, which was unusual in itself, with a deep tan to the skin that was visible. He was wearing jeans and a bush vest. He'd been near the tail section of the Osprey, and was now walking away through the flattened underbrush. Clark's mouth had dropped in surprise. Then, with a flash of insight, he called out as loud as he could, "HUGO!" The man hesitated, then he started moving faster, towards the concealment of the jungle. Clark took a gamble. "HUGO! HUGO DANNER! IT'S CLARK -- CLARK SAVAGE!" This time the man stopped. His head angled to one side, then he slowly turned around to face the open doorway. As they faced one another, the man spoke in a barely audible voice, "Doc?" "Yes, Hugo, it's me!" he yelled back, his sharp hearing picking up the sound. Then he stepped down to the ground and started treading jungle as fast as he could.

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The other man was not very old, in his 40's, with dark wavy hair. The vest hid some of his muscled torso, but not his arms. He didn't move from his spot for a moment, but then started taking steps towards Clark. With looks of surprise and shock, their hands came together in a clasp with a force just shy of the striking of twin anvils. For a moment more, the two men examined one another with jaws agape and eyes wide. "Is that really you, Clark? Great Scott! You don't look a day older than I last saw you!" "Suspended animation," he replied with a smile. "But look at you -- they said you were fried by a bolt of lightning!" "Healing factor," he clarified. "I was in a coma for fourteen months!" They heard the yelling from the downed plane, and turned to see everybody running in their direction. "They're friends, Hugo," Clark reassured him. "Man, are we glad you came along!" yelled Gumball, stopping and looking about. "How did you pull us out? Winch? Where's your truck?" "Uh, no, Gumball," replied Clark with a grin. "Hugo pulled us out with his bare hands." We all froze. "W-what?" sputtered Monk. "Let me introduce you," said Clark. "This is Hugo Danner. Hugo, you probably recognize Monk Mayfair and Renny Renwick. This is Perry Liston. And this is Monk's son -- call him Gumball." We exchanged handshakes and greetings. He had a strong grip, but there was a familiar inner compassion surrounding him. "You said that HE pulled the plane back, out of danger?" Gumball asked again, looking at Clark. "I am strong," replied Hugo with a grin. He raised his arm and made a muscle that actually made Gumball gasp. "Whoa," he squeaked. "So, just out of curiosity, why ARE you here?" asked Clark. "Surely you're not just 'in the neighborhood'?" Hugo smiled. "Have you seen the air base on the other side of the mountain?" "Yes." "It's supposed to be deserted. But it's not. There's activity going on there." "Activity?" Gumball interrupted. "What kind of activity? When?" Hugo patiently continued. "Well, about a week ago, I saw some helicopters ... two of them, plus a few men in military uniforms that didn't match anything I know. They landed inside the fence, towed the helicopters inside one of the hangars, and then disappeared."

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"Was there a woman with them?" probed Gumball eagerly. "Unconscious, perhaps?" "A woman?" He paused to think. "Nooooo, not that I ... wait a minute ... they were carrying someone with them. I wasn't able to get a good look, though." "It's got to be her! It's got to be her!" "All I know is they went into one of the shacks, and didn't come out. I suspect they have a base underground." "She's here!" Gumball repeated to himself, elated. "Have you seen much activity on the surface?" asked Clark. He shook his head. "No. In fact, if it hadn't been for that chance encounter with the helicopters, I'd still think the base was deserted." "Okay, then," said Monk. "So they've dug 'emselves in like rats. How do we flush 'em out?" "We'll need to know more about the base," stated Clark. "What are its limits, where are the entrances to the surface ..." "Excuse me!" interrupted Hugo. "You were shot down, correct?" "Yes," answered Gumball. "A ground-to-air missile." "Then let me remind you, whoever did that might just be sending someone here to make sure there were no survivors." Clark reacted with surprise; he'd been second-guessed. "Good point! Thank you, Hugo! Okay, we can take advantage of this. Perry, let's check and see if the Verity-3 survived the crash. Hugo, we're going to need your strength. Monk -- you, Gumball, and Renny find a place to hide, and let us know when they get close. I saw the box with the transceivers near the door -- we'll distribute them first." "Ambush the ambushers, huh?" grinned Monk, looking at Renny. "Just like old times," replied the big-fisted man. Clark nodded. "We'll knock them out before they can communicate back to the base, then interrogate them with the Verity-3 if it made it. Perry, let's go!" We scattered. Clark and I returned to the Osprey. Considering what it had gone through, I was surprised that the inside had survived so well. Finding some flashlights to help our search, we found what we were looking for and passed them around. The next part was the waiting. ------------------------- CAPTER TWELVE

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"Heads up," whispered Monk over the transceiver. "It's ... showtime! We've got one vehicle ... looks like an old World War II APC. I count ten men, repeat ten. Two in the front seat: driver and passenger with binoculars. Keep yer heads down! One man standing in the back, operatin' a heavy machine gun; looks like they were expecting opposition, all right. And seven men sitting in the back. They're uniformed, but dressed more like mercenaries than yer average joe. An' by the looks of their weapons, they were expectin' a lot more than just us." "Roger, Monk," replied Clark softly. "Good! That's to our advantage! Okay, everybody, here's what we do. As soon as they're within range, let's start picking them off with the mercy bullets!" We acknowledged the orders and picked our targets. With Dot's help, I had been practicing my sharpshooting, and, with the enhanced targeting systems of these weapons, I couldn't miss. Through my optic system I saw the soldiers reach the area where we had been. They left the vehicle on extreme alert, crouching low and looking about for any sign of opposition. The man in the truck with the heavy machine gun panned slowly back and forth, covering the other soldiers. The two in the front stood taller, as leaders, their handguns out and at the ready. Then, without warning, one of the soldiers in the middle went down. Everybody immediately dropped into a crouch, guns eagerly searching for the source of the shot. The man in the truck heard a bird and fired a burst from the machine gun in that direction. Monk released a profanity, then apologized. "Sorry 'bout that! Blazes, but that was close!" I had one of the soldiers in my sights, and squeezed the trigger. I was surprised at how mild the recoil was. When I looked again to the group, my target was down, and several more around him were likewise. We could hear the yelling of orders from the one we assumed was in control, then he was dropped. The soldiers fired back, but their shots were wild, and we quickly felled them with our mercy bullets. Within a minute, it was over. We stepped out from behind our cover. The soldiers' weapons were taken off to one side while Clark outlined the plan. "We'll bring them out of the effects of the mercy bullets, one at a time starting with the one in charge. We'll use the Verity-3 to interrogate them, then send them home believing that they have accomplished their mission." "Sounds good," commented Renny. "Should we plant trackers on them?" He shook his head. "If they were found, it could tip our hand." He paused. "Perry, will you get the information together?" "Sure," I said, removing a microcassette recorder from a padded leg pocket. Clark brought the leader to a state of hazy consciousness, then asked him his name, rank, and serial number. There was no answer. A moment later, Clark spoke again, this time in a foreign language. The soldier replied in the same language. Clark nodded and said, "As I suspected." Then he translated what the man had said. For the next few minutes, Clark interrogated the soldier, getting information and relaying it for the tape recorder. When he was finished, the man woodenly got up, put on his cap and holstered his weapon, and walked mechanically to take his seat within the vehicle. Meanwhile, Clark was working on the next in line. One by one, the soldiers spilled their guts, then quietly took their places back in the truck.

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Clark explained to us as the truck slowly drove away, "I told them that the Osprey was in flames by the time they reached it. They killed the few wounded survivors from the crash and threw their bodies to the piranha in the river, and they found no weapons among the survivors; they will assume the weapons burned in the plane." "They'll be looking for smoke, then," said Hugo. "I'll clear an area and build a bonfire." "I'll help you," added Renny, and they walked away. Monk whispered something to me, then moved off to one side. I looked over at Gumball and asked, "I need some help finding the notebooks. Wanna give me a hand?" "Sure," he agreed, and we headed off into the jungle. Monk watched as Gumball and Perry vanished. Then he swiftly walked over to Clark. "Doc!" he whispered excitedly. "Yes ...?" "When we wuz goin' down, I took one last shot at bringin' Renny to Jesus -- and he took it! Right before we crashed, he prayed. Does that count?" "I don't know, brother. I suppose it counts as much as any other prayer ... if his heart truly meant it, then we shall see." He paused. "I was unable to persuade your son, however. I'm sorry." He put a hairy hand on Clark's shoulder. "It's okay, Doc. I mean, it wuz by the grace of God that Hugo was there to save us all. So God isn't finished with my boy just yet." "Amen. Come, let's check the area for a place to set up camp." ------------------------- As Gumball and I went through the Osprey, we heard the crash of trees being ripped from the ground and used to clear an area. When we did, Gumball and I looked at one another. "He did say he was strong," Gumball said. "Very strong," I replied. Stepping outside, we saw the billowing smoke of the fire, and hoped it was high enough to be seen on the other side of the mountain. ------------------------- A hard decision had to be made. Monk had been looking up at the mountain when he wondered, "What if they send one of the helicopters over the area? They're going to expect flaming wreckage." "How much flaming wreckage?" asked Gumball suspiciously.

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"Enough to convince them that it was an airplane," said Clark. "You tell me." After giving him some time alone to make the decision, he joined the rest of us. He didn't look happy. "I don't appreciate this one bit. But I understand why it needs to be done." He paused, then jerked his head in the direction of the plane. "Okay. Let's empty it out." With Hugo doing the lion's share of carrying, the cargo aboard the Osprey was moved to the campsite and covered with camouflaging. Then, as we watched with gaping mouths, he carried the airplane back along the skid tracks to the edge of the cliff, set it down, and placed the debris around it to make it appear as if it had never been towed back. Finally he moved the bonfire itself to the Osprey, and placed it within the airplane. We all watched Gumball. I could relate to how he was feeling at this moment; I had to watch the first car I ever owned go to the junkyard and become a compressed metal cube. Monk put a hand on his son's shoulder. "It's okay," he comforted. "Hey, it performed like a champ, and got us here before giving out." Gumball nodded, took a deep breath, and said, "Yeah, it did." ------------------------- Kaleed reported back to the lieutenant, who reported to Kananga. "The detail has returned," he said, standing at attention. "The aircraft was afire when they arrived. There was nothing to bring back. What survivors they found were killed and tossed to the piranhas. Do you want me to send another squad?" The black man behind the desk slowly shook his head. "No. Was the craft military? Were the survivors military?" "He did not say." "Ask him. And if they were military, why didn't he return with their dog tags? Dismissed." The lieutenant saluted, pivoted, and walked from the office, closing the door behind him. Kananga turned in his chair and pondered this interesting development. Why would a military aircraft be flying over us, especially at this time, he thought? Could it be nothing more than a coincidence? Or maybe it was the CIA? Either way, this is a bad omen. I cannot afford to wait any longer! I must strike soon! "Endgame is at hand!" he said. He rose from his desk, holstering his automatic and checking his appearance in the mirror on the other side of the door. Then he left his office and walked to the laboratory where the girl was working. He ignored the look of distain she gave him as he entered. "Miss Roberts," he said sweetly. "How are you coming?" She turned away from him. "As well as possible. I should be done in a couple of days, General," she reported. "How is my friend Sunni?" "She is well. She misses you," he lied. "Work quickly. The sooner you complete, the sooner you will be released."

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She turned to face him. "General, can you tell me what's happening on the outside, with the rest of the world?" Without expression, he shook his head. "No, I'm sorry I can't. You will hurry. I will return soon." And he left the room without another word. The door closed. Amy mouthed with a sneer, "Swine." ------------------------- In the clearing, under the natural coverage overhead, we set up camp. Our cargo was under the camouflaging nearby. Upon examination, several pieces had to be discarded as damaged. They were carried to the Osprey site, then Gumball personally set them on fire in order to make the scene complete. For him, it was a time of emotional closure. Off to one side, Clark had a notebook computer tied into a folding satellite dish. He adjusted the headset and established the connection with Mitch Drake in Florida. "Mother Goose to Briar Patch. Do you copy?" The answer came within moments. "I copy, Mother Goose! My God, are you all right? We lost track of you two hours ago! I was afraid you'd gone down!" "We did go down, Mitch. Surface-to-air missile hit us, forced us down. But first things first: transmitting our location ... now!" He tapped a key on the computer. Five seconds later, Mitch replied, "Okay, got 'em. So Kilimanjaro was the winner, huh?" "Yes. Check the coordinates with a reference to 'Land of Long Juju'; you might find it interesting." "All ... right," acknowledged Drake. "We were on the other side of the mountain, checking out a supposedly-abandoned air base, when someone below fired a ground-to-air missile at us. We avoided a direct hit, but were forced to crash land. Thank God, none of us were injured, and our cargo sustained only minor damage. However, we will be needing a ride home when we're done here." He grinned at the dry humor. "You'll have it!" Drake's voice was hard. "Who shot at you?" "Kananga's troops. Can you check on the air base?" "Sure! Hang on a second." Clark heard the sound of computer keys clicking in the background, and Drake mumbling, "Hm ... yes ... whoa ... interesting!" After a pause, he came back on the line. "Okay, Clark ... it used to belong to the Tanzanian Air Force, but there was an accident back in 1995 ... a fully-armed fighter jet accidentally exploded on the main runway ... seventy dead, thirty-two injured, and the damage too much to be repaired ... they closed it down in 1996. How certain are you that Kananga is using it?" "After we were shot down, a squad was sent to finish us off. But we anticipated their move and ambushed them. We interrogating them with the Verity-3 and sent them back thinking they had succeeded in their mission."

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"Have you verified that Amy is there?" "We haven't seen her face-to-face yet, but all other evidence points to her being here. In the morning we'll get in closer. We will need help in surveying the air base, however." "Turner carries remote sensor drones. Are you capable of painting the target?" "Yes." "Then we'll be waiting for the signal. Y'all take care, okay?" "You, too. Talk to you later." ------------------------- I walked away from the campsite. Checking the signal on the satellite cell, I dialed Dot. She must've seen my name on her Caller ID. "Perry!" "Hi, hon!" I greeted, smiling. "Well, you were right ... I am speaking to you from the base of Mount Kilimanjaro. I really wish you could see this, hon -- the view's amazing!" "I can imagine. Did you find Amy?" "She's close. There's a deserted air base on the other side of the mountain that's being used by Kananga. We’re pretty sure she's there; we'll know more after we recon in the morning ... our morning. How's Sunni?" "They're planning to bring her out of sedation tomorrow. And we finally heard from Sunni's family! Her mother called this morning. Get this: it looks like God's been working on her since the message was left with them. She told us she had been having dreams about Sunni -- sound familiar?" "Uh huh," I agreed, understanding. "Karen talked to her. She's reluctant, but I think she's coming. Needless to say, keep her in prayer that she'll be able to make it." "You got it!" We talked for a few more minutes. I chose not to disclose the fact that the Osprey was history; they had enough to be concerned about. And, after all, we were okay, so this was a detail that would wait until we were all together again. God willing, that would be soon. ------------------------- CHAPTER THIRTEEN THURSDAY EVENING: Mount Kilimajaro, Central Africa Sunset came to Kilimanjaro.

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Hugo was very helpful in setting up camp. Single-handedly he carved out a campfire pit and placed large rocks around it for us to sit on. I couldn't help be amazed at this man, and tried remembering where I had heard of him before. Finally it occurred to me, and I joined him and Gumball next to the fire. "There was a book," I said. "A science fiction book named Gladiator." "Ah, yes." Hugo looked at me with an amused smile. "My biography." "Biography?" I blurted. "But that was a fictional story!" The smile grew wider. "That was how it was intended to appear." "Never heard of it," commented Gumball. "What was it about?" "Essentially, it was about me. Now, you have to realize, this occurred many, many years ago, with my father. He was a scientist, in what would now be called genetic research. After experimenting on a pet kitten -- giving it the strength and ferocity of a full-grown lion -- he then proceeded to experiment on my own mother while she was pregnant with me." "Oh, man," groaned Gumball empathetically. "The result was a superhuman child." The tone of his voice lowered. "Can you imagine going through life as a superman among mortals? Regardless of what comic books may portray, it is not an easy life." "If I remember right, the book was rather grim." I commented. "Was it all true?" "Yes," Hugo replied. "Including ... the football player?" Hugo's face grew hard, but he nodded. "Yes." I saw Gumball's confusion. "Do you mind?" I asked Hugo. "No. It has been a long, long time." I turned back to Gumball. "When he was playing college football, he accidentally killed a rival player. If I remember correctly, you exiled yourself. You were looking for your purpose in life ... why you were allowed to live, and why you were the way you were. It was a time of self-discovery. But you kept running into problem after problem, never finding real peace. In the end you tried to challenge God Himself, and got struck by a massive bolt of lightning. The book said you were dead, but you're obviously not. So what happened from there?" Hugo continued the narrative. "I read the book sometime after Mr. Wylie wrote it, and saw that he had included the lightning striking me. However, he'd written the ending of the book with me having been killed. In a sense, he wasn't far from the truth. I'd been struck by lightning, and my body had been burned beyond recognition ... so it appeared. My nervous system had been fried, and I was completely paralyzed. For all intents and purposes I WAS dead, and if I had been left alone, I would have died of starvation. But I was found by a couple of missionaries, Edgar and Olivia Harris. Olivia had a medical background, and she was able to detect the faint signs of life within me. They took me to the village where they lived, and

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nursed me back to health. In time, my own healing properties kicked in and took care of the burns and internal damage." "Did you say ... missionaries?" I grinned. "Yes. Christian missionaries." "So what are you doing here now?" asked Clark, joining in on the conversation. "For the longest time I struggled with finding where I fit in the grand scheme of things. I tried different occupations ... even thought I could use my strength to intimidate politicians and direct the world my way -- as if I knew what 'my way' was. I'd thought about becoming a crimefighter and adventurer like Clark. I even met privately with Clark -- many, many years ago." He smiled at Clark. "However, it was Edgar and Olivia who steered me along the right path. They confirmed what I had always suspected, that I was here for a reason, and it was just a matter of time and seeking God before I knew just what that would be." He stood and continued. "My mother was what you might call a God-fearing woman; very firm in her beliefs, devoted to her church, and tolerating my unbelieving father. My father was devoted to science -- that was his god -- and he tolerated mother's religion. Unfortunately, I took after my father, which hindered me through most of my life. I couldn't see what God had in mind for me because I believed I was the highest power around, due to my strength and physical greatness. "So I stood on the mountain -- looked full into the power of the storm -- and dared God to step out and fight!" He stood there as he probably did then, feet planted on the ground, his left fist raised high in defiance. Then he lowered his fist and stated, "And God blasted me on the spot with a lightning bolt that was seen fifty miles away ... just to show me who was in charge." A couple of us, including Danner, groaned mildly at the unintentional pun. He continued. "And then God brought someone to me who was patient with me, and could show me who God is. I had read the Bible as part of my education; but, as you are aware of, reading it and having it living inside of you are two far different things." Clark was smiling strangely, which caught Hugo's eye. "What is it, Clark?" "I went through the same thing when I got out of suspended animation. It wasn't until I heard Perry preaching the gospel that I realized that I had been going in all the wrong directions. I'm a Christian now, Hugo. Perry and I are traveling evangelists." Danner gave off with a great grin. "That's wonderful!" "What happened to the Harris'?" I asked. "They died in 1982. Malaria. I wasn't able to get them help in time. Before Edgar died he charged me with the protection of the people in this land, and spreading the Gospel." His tone softened as he sat. "I'm mostly a wanderer in these parts, content to quietly, secretly help others until God has something better for me. And I'm sure you'll agree that my being here was quite ... providential."

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"And how!" agreed Gumball enthusiastically. "When we were peeking over the edge of that cliff I thought we were gonners! Thanks for being there." "My pleasure," he replied. ------------------------- CHAPTER FOURTEEN THURSDAY: Somewhere In The Caribbean Brenda was preparing an overnight bag when her husband walked into the bedroom. "Going somewhere?" he asked. She looked back at him and told him the story she had rehearsed. "Yes. Since you're going to be fishing today, I thought I'd have Alonzo fly me around to some of the little villages, do some antique shopping, maybe even spend the night if it gets too late. Is that all right?" "I suppose it is," he reluctantly replied. She came over to him and kissed him. "I'll be okay," she reassured him, hoping it was convincing. "I promise to keep in touch." He nodded. "All right. I'll miss you." She tried to sound aloof. "You'll be fishing. I rather doubt that you'll miss me that much." She kissed him again. A half-hour later, Brenda waved to him from their private helicopter as the pilot, Alonzo, lifted them into the air. Philip smiled back at her until the chopper turned and leaned into the wind. Then his expression morphed into grim as he stood there until the helicopter became a speck in the distance. ------------------------- FRIDAY MORNING: Lincoln City Brenda got out of the rental car and looked at the front of the hospital. She matched the address on the piece of paper to that on the building. Before she went in, however, she looked around. She had an odd feeling ever since arriving in the States, and wanted to be sure it wasn't her imagination. Confirming she hadn't been followed, she walked into the hospital, and up to the Admittance desk. "I'm looking for my daughter ... Sunni Bradshaw," she said. The brunette behind the counter checked the listings. "Bradshaw, you said?" "Yes." She shook her head. "I'm sorry; we don't have a Bradshaw here." The woman looked puzzled. Then she remembered something. "What about a Sunni Stevens -- Sunni with an 'i'?"

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The woman checked again, and returned with a smile. "Yes, here she is. Critical Care Unit." She gave directions on how to get there. "Thank you very much," the woman returned, and headed down the hall. She found the room number; she smiled with relief at seeing the name written on the whiteboard next to the room, and she pushed open the door. Her ears heard the light, steady beeping, and she turned to face the form in the bed that was hooked up to monitors and intravenous support. A wave of emotion arose in her, and a small, choked sob came from deep within her. A hand rested on her arm, causing her to jump. "I'm sorry," the person behind the hand apologized. "You must be Brenda." She turned. The woman next to her was older, with a kindly face and beautiful silky-white hair. Another woman -- younger, with short brown hair -- walked over to join them. "I'm Lea ... Lea Mayfair. This is my granddaughter, Dot Liston. I'm so glad you were able to come!" "T-thank you," she replied. "I'll get Karen and the others," said Dot, retreating. Brenda looked over at the bed. "How is she?" "Improving. Her doctor said she's well enough to take off of the heavy sedation, probably today." "What happened?" "Some men broke into the house where she's living. The other woman was kidnapped, and Sunni was injured as they were escaping." Brenda held back the tears, and changed the subject. "Sunni had a guide dog. What ... " Lea's eyes lowered. "The dog was killed." "Oh my!" Just then several women entered the room with Lea's granddaughter. They were introduced, but Brenda forgot their names in the excitement of the moment. One familiar young woman came close to her. "Do you remember me -- Karen Eidemiller? Sunni and I went to school together. I was the one who talked to you the other day?" Her eyes grew wide. "Karen! You've grown." "It has been a while, Mrs. Bradshaw!" "Please ... all of you ... call me Brenda."

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Lea touched her arm. "Brenda, why don't we shift over to the waiting room, before the floor nurse catches us with too many people in here." Brenda nodded, and they all filed out of the room. ------------------------- FRIDAY MORNING: Mount KIlimanjaro As morning came, we suited up for recon. But we didn't have a suit for Hugo. "That's all right," he shrugged. "What I can do is keep in contact with you, and position myself on the mountain where I can see you. Should things get ugly, I can be there instantly." He responded to our disbelieving looks with a confident grin. "I can show you, if you like." "Yeah," replied Gumball. "I'd like." Hugo looked up, got into a crouch, and sprang into the air. We all watched as he vanished from sight. A minute later we caught sight of him again, as he dropped like a rock, landing on his feet with a slight rumble under our feet. Standing before us, he wasn't even winded. As he boomed a spontaneous laugh at our expressions, I knew that we had just witnessed something impossible, but I couldn't deny it had happened. "Okay, I'm sold," conceded Gumball. "This is how I was able to get to you so quickly yesterday," he explained. "I had been on the side of the mountain when I saw your aircraft attacked. I leapt from the mountain to the valley and caught up with you." We used All-Terrain Vehicles, powered by silent fuel cells, to transport us within a half mile of the base. We dared not take them any farther, for fear that we would've increased our chances of being spotted. Hiding the ATV's, we slowly approached the fence wearing Ghillie suits over our Paradox WetSuits. The base didn't look very different than it had from the air, but it was large ... very large. Containment would be impossible, covering all sides in case they chose to leave with Amy. I recognized the bodies of Blue-Striped Colubus monkeys within the fence; this was how the hairs of the rare animals got on the soldiers' uniforms. The poor creatures had been used for target practice. Scattered across the base, among the wrecked buildings, were disguised sentry posts. The soldiers had told us that under the base was a web of tunnels connecting underground bunkers. The sentry posts were to their advantage, but they were also to ours; if they could enter the underground complex that way, so could we. "Guys," said Clark to get our attention. "Look to the hangar on the right -- extreme magnification." I shifted my focus. The hangar was leaning away from the crater, its walls cracked and pitted. Yet, as I closed in, the damage seemed less three-dimensional and more two-dimensional. "Holy cow! The damage is painted on!" quietly exclaimed Renny.

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"This is what I saw from the air; that's what made me first suspect that this base was not as abandoned as it appeared." "I found a spot to set up the laser," reported Monk. "Proceed," confirmed Clark. As we continued making our way around the perimeter of the base, we heard the faint whirr from above. Only with the high-powered optics were we able to spot the remotely-piloted drone craft. There were no indications on the ground that the sentries had heard it. After making a series of passes, it headed away as quietly it had arrived. "Okay," Clark spoke softly. "Let's head back to the ATV's, nice and easy. Monk, retrieve the laser." "Roger," Monk replied. We cautiously made our way back the way we came, and were soon heading back for the other side of the mountain. Several hours later, we were sifting through the mounds of information we had received, and now knew all about the air base. The ground-penetrating radar had painted us a clear picture of the bunkers and tunnels, and heat-imaging sensors counted between eighty and a hundred warm bodies gathered in groups underground. With this information, we conferenced with Drake and began formulating our plan of attack. ------------------------- CHAPTER FIFTEEN FRIDAY EVENING: Lincoln City The man grumbled and cursed all the way from the car rental office. "We've had a lot of rentals in the past few days," he repeated mockingly. He despised compact cars. But he needed transportation, so he had no choice. He parked the compact in the first spot he saw, and walked determinedly into the building and up to the Admissions desk. "My wife is here, and I want to know where she is!" he demanded boldly. The admissions clerk, a middle-aged lady named Carol, politely replied, "Certainly, sir. What is her name?" "Brenda Bradshaw." Carol checked a clipboard, then typed the name into the internal database. "I'm sorry, sir. There's no one here by that name. When was she brought in?" "Sometime in the last twelve hours." She returned briefly to her list. "I'm sorry, sir, but we don't have any record of a patient named Bradshaw. Why --"

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"She's not a patient, you idiot! She's probably visiting someone!" Carol paused a moment, recovering from the insult and retreating into Customer Assistance mode. "Well, then, sir, perhaps I can page her ..." "Yes -- no!" he barked, changing his mind in mid-thought. "No! I'll find her myself!" And he moved swiftly down the hallway. The woman sighed, "Here we go again." Then she snatched up the phone. "Security, this is Carol in Admissions. We've got a live one loose on the main floor ... white male, mid-40s, medium height and build, dressed in sports jacket and slacks. Says he's looking for his wife who's not -- repeat, not -- a patient. No, he doesn't appear to be armed, but he is angry and may be dangerous. Should I call the police? All right. Thanks." She hung up. Then she looked over at the little card with the emergency numbers, and waited for the other shoe to drop. ----------------------------- Since her arrival, the ladies had taken Brenda in as a friend. It was very comforting. She hadn't intended to stay more than just the day, but this estimation was changing. Now she wanted to be next to her daughter, and the other women did everything they could to help her. She looked over at Lea and -- oh, what was her name? Pat! Yes, Pat. -- and smiled as they talked softly to one another. They all heard the disturbance in the hallway, but Brenda's heart leaped into her throat and her breathing stopped in a gasping, "Oh, no!" Then, before either of them could ask her what the matter was, she was out of the room. Ahead, just beyond the door into Critical Care, two guards were restraining her husband by the arms. She couldn't hear what the guards were saying due to his ranting. "Philip! What are you doing here?" she asked as she approached, not realizing her sudden boldness. All three turned towards her. "AHA! There you are!" exclaimed Philip. He tried to move towards her, but the guards tightened their grips on his arms and kept him from moving. "Ma'am," addressed one of the guards. "You know this man?" "Yes," she defended. "He's my husband!" "He's causing a disturbance, ma'am! We've been instructed to escort him out of the hospital if he doesn't cooperate!" "I'm not going anywhere until I find out who she's been with!" argued Philip while still struggling with the uniformed men. Brenda pleaded. "Philip! Don't fight them! You've found me!" Then she looked at the guards. "If he stops fighting, will you let him stay with me?"

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They looked at Philip. "Will you agree to cooperate, sir?" Philip tried twisting away once, then hesitated and let his arms go limp in resignation. He nodded. The guards looked at one another, then released his arms. One guard looked at Philip and threatened, "If we get one call -- one call -- on you, you'll be outta here in a heartbeat! Do I make myself clear ... sir?" "Yes," he replied with contempt as he straightened his jacket. Then he slowly walked over to Brenda. "Uh," said the guard. "If you two are gonna talk, why don't you take it outside of Critical Care?" "Yes, thank you," replied Brenda. "There's a waiting room just outside, dear. Let's go there." She didn't wait for his response, but started walking for the door. Philip followed her a moment later, and the guards brought up the rear. The waiting room was empty save for them, and the guards moved along once they saw that things were diffusing. "Philip," asked Brenda, the look in her eyes intense. "Why are you here?" Philip shot back, "To find out who you're messing around with behind my back!" "Huh? You said that before. Whatever gave you the idea I was involved with anyone else?" "Then what ARE you doing here," he asked point-blank. "if not to meet with another man?" She hesitated. Then she meekly replied, "I'm here to see Sunni ... she's here ... she was shot." Philip wasn't fazed. "So? What do we care about her?" "She's my daughter, Philip," she defended. "I can’t ignore her any more." Just then, Lea walked into the waiting room. "Brenda, dear, are you all right?" "Yes ... I am." "Who are you?" asked Philip coldly. "Lea Mayfair," she identified herself. "And you ...?" "Philip Bradshaw." Her eyes brightened. "You must be Sunni's father!" "STEP-father!" he shot back bitterly. Lea read the emphasis. "Stepfather. Have you come here to see Sunni?" "Of COURSE not, you idiot! Why would I want to see that blind girl?" Lea felt the hackles begin to rise on the back of her neck, and prayed hard that she wouldn't do anything to destroy a potential witness. She sighed with relief when the others came into the waiting room.

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"They're changing her, so they shooed us out," reported Pat. "Who's this?" "Sunni's STEPfather, Philip Bradshaw," answered Lea with exaggerated emphasis. Karen Eidemiller stepped forward. "Mr. Bradshaw, I don't know if you remember me. Sunni and I went to school together a long time ago." "Oh, yes. The religious nut," he shrugged. Pat spoke up, "Bradshaw, are you a rude, insensitive butthead by nature, or did you have to go to school for it?" Philip stared back. "Look, lady, I don't have to put up with this! Sunni is none of our concern! Brenda, we're leaving!" And he started to head for the waiting room door. Brenda didn't move. "Why don't you want your wife to see her own daughter?" pleaded Karen. Philip looked at her and snorted. "Y'know, you people really make me SICK! You're always complainin' about your rights! LOOK, the government pays you for just living -- out of MY taxes, I might add! And when you want a job, it's just handed to you on a silver platter -- even when there's a COMPLETE person who can do it better than you!" His fists were balled up. "You're all a bunch of cripples who don't know their place isn't with us NORMAL people!" Everyone was so shocked at Philip's scathing words that no one dared interrupt him. Amanda's interpreter dutifully and accurately relayed his words to her as she stood three feet off to Philip's left side. The interpreter saw the reaction on the deaf woman face, but wasn't able to prevent her response. With a speed beyond her age, Amanda swept her right foot out and connected with the back of Philip's left calf. Suddenly knocked off balance, he dropped to his knees with a grunt. Sensing this wasn't over, Dot reached out and pulled Karen out of the way. "What?" Karen urgently asked. Dot moved close to Karen's head and explained softly, "Amanda just dropped Philip with a rather-well-done sweeping kick!" She didn't attempt to conceal the glee in her voice. "All right!" exclaimed Karen in the same tone. With everyone looking at Amanda, the deaf woman furiously signed to her interpreter. "Nobody speaks like that to me or to my friends! Apologize now!" Philip ignored the interpretation, and started to stand. But before he could get to his feet, Amanda's right arm swung like a golf club, and her open hand smashed into the left side of Philip's face so hard that he was sent sprawling to the floor in a sickening heap. She signed again. "In Romania I learned street fighting! Do not force me to show you what else I can do! Now you WILL apologize!"

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Brenda was now at her husband's side. He wasn't moving, and there was a growing pool of blood under his face on the floor where he'd landed. Lea slipped out from the waiting room, returning a moment later with the floor nurse. She took a look at the scene and asked, "What happened?" Amanda boldly signed to the interpreter. "I hit him! He was insulting me and my friends, and I could not take it any more!" She defiantly crossed her arms over her chest, standing like a prizefighter. One of the security guards from earlier arrived at the waiting room. He scanned the scene, then asked, "He started it, right?" Several heads nodded. Brenda was silent, her expression one of shocked disbelief. The nurse was kneeling next to Philip, checking vital signs. The guard addressed her, "Is he out?" "Yes," she replied professionally. "Get a team here, stat!" A few moments later, several medical personnel wheeled a gurney into the waiting room and lowered it next to the injured Philip. As they surrounded him, everybody backed up to give them room, including a still-stunned Brenda. Philip was carefully rolled onto it, and secured. The gurney was raised and locked into position, and they quickly moved out. The guard escorted Brenda out of the room, leaving the rest of the women. "She's going to need someone to talk to," Karen spoke up. "I'll go," volunteered Pat. "We'll cover," reassured Lea. Pat left the waiting room. ------------------------- CHAPTER SIXTEEN Philip was in one of the examination bays in ER. Brenda was at his side, and the guard that had accompanied them was standing outside. Another guard approached him. "You look like you could use a break," he said with a smile. "Go ahead; I'll cover it." "Thanks--" said the other guard, reading the man's nametag. "--Angelo." Angelo put a hand on the other man's shoulder as he passed. Pat arrived a few seconds later. She pointed at the bay. "Philip Bradshaw?" "Yes, ma'am," answered the guard. The two stood for a couple of minutes, until the floor doctor arrived. He disappeared into the bay, and Brenda came out shortly after. She took a couple of steps towards Pat, but said nothing.

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"Wanna talk?" asked Pat. Brenda didn't know what to say. Suddenly, the guard said, "I'll be right here, ma'am. I'll come and get you if anything comes up." His warm smile was hard to resist. Brenda nodded. "Thank you." The two women walked to the cafeteria, got two cups of coffee, and found an isolated booth. Pat began with an off-the-wall approach. "Have you ever had a makeover?" Brenda did a double-take. "Huh?" "Just curious. Have you ever had a makeover?" "On this?" She indicated her red and pockmarked face. "Usually they scream and run." Pat didn't react to the put-down as expected. "Really? Why?" Brenda spat, "Look at me!" Pat pursed her lips. "I am. I've seen worse." Brenda laughed bitterly. "I don't think we've been formally introduced. My name is Patricia Savage. Until recently, I was the head of -- " "-- Patricia, Inc.?" Brenda blurted, nearly spilling her coffee. Pat smiled. "I have had some experience with makeovers, Brenda. And I think I can help you." Brenda's jaw dropped as she stared at Pat. "You're -- famous!" She shrugged it off. "In some circles. But right now I'm just Pat." Brenda was dumbfounded. "W-why would you want to help me?" "Because I want to, that's all. Has your face always been this pockmarked?" She nodded. "Acne. High school was a nightmare for me. The only way boys would associate with me is if I were ..." Her voice trailed off. "And that's how you got pregnant with Sunni." "And Stephen." "I can relate. I got pregnant out of wedlock, also, back when it was shameful even to mention such a thing. I gave birth to a daughter. And I gave her up for adoption." "You did? Oh, wow." Pat shifted the topic back to Brenda. "Is that how you and Philip met?"

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She looked away. "Sorta. He was the first one who actually loved me for me. I don't know why, but he didn't get turned off by my looks. I did all that I could to keep him ... I didn't want to lose what I'd waited all my life for." She paused. "He-he really is a good man ... a good husband. But now I'm starting to see what happened. He's always been jealous of Sunni, and the attention I would give to her. He talked me into getting Elise, the nanny ... then, later, talked me into sending Sunni away to school. And I didn't defy him ... didn't resist him. I didn't want to give Philip up." Tears started streaking down her face as she stared into her coffee cup. "I was a single mother of two -- including one child who was blind." She looked up and at Pat. "Have you ever had to take care of a disabled child? It's not easy. You have to give in ways you never imagined. Philip was kind to me and Stephen. He cared for us ... he cared for me. I think he tried getting along with Sunni, but there was always something between them. He was a good provider. He didn't ask for much. I couldn't turn him away just because he didn't get along well with Sunni. Can you understand?" Pat nodded. "Brenda. I'm not asking you to give up Philip. He's got problems, and he needs to deal with them. Let's just take it one minute at a time, okay?" She reached out and placed an easy hand on Brenda's arm. "And realize, you've got friends here." ------------------------- The doctor's initial examination hadn't turned up any serious damage, but he ordered a couple of head x-rays just to be on the safe side. The guard, Angelo, accompanied Philip from stop to stop, never complaining, always smiling. While the doctor left the exam bay, Angelo stepped in and put a hand on the bed's railing. Philip's attitude hadn't changed; he was still a sourpuss. "You'll be fine," the guard said, smiling that same smile that was getting on Philip's nerves. "No broken bones." "How do you know?" Philip replied snidely. "Call it an educated guess." The two men looked at one another. Then the guard held out a hand. "The name's Angelo ... Angelo Morales. Those who know me call me Angel." Philip didn't take the hand, so he retracted it. "I hear that you got blind-sided by a deaf woman." He laughed at his own joke. "Sorry. Guess that wasn't called for." Philip turned his head away. "No, it wasn't." "I also heard it was 'cause you said some things that were against the handicapped -- dissed the disabled, so to speak." This time he didn't laugh at the pun. Philip scoffed. "So what? They can't take it when somebody's not pouring sympathy on 'em? Welcome to the real world." Angelo let off a low whistle. "Wooo -- ain't you got a chip! So when did you get your tail burned off?" Philip was silent. His tone lowered. "Look, pal, you're gonna be here a bit while we get the results, so you might as well put it to some use. Or are you chicken?"

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Philip's eyes flared. "Look, PAL, nobody calls Philip Bradshaw a chicken! You wanna know how it started? I'll tell you! I built up a company from the ground up, piece-by-piece, man-by-man. I had the best! But then the government stepped in and told me I didn't have enough minorities and handicapped! I told them I had the best for my company and I didn't need anymore. They put an injunction on my company, brought me to a halt, saying I was in violation of the Equal Opportunity Act and the Americans With Disabilities Act! They FORCED me to let half of my crew go -- all of them good men in their field -- and hire minorities and handicapped people to fill their jobs! And I'll tell you, things were NEVER the same after that!" "Still got the company?" Philip nodded. "Has there been any growth since then?" "A bit. But it was only after I had shelled out a million three to bring things up to standards! And it's not as good as it could've been if THEY hadn't gotten involved!" He turned his face away from Angelo. Morales took a seat on the plastic chair next to the bed. "Okay. I'll agree, you've probably got a right to sing the blues. But, pal, that doesn't justify that heavy a hatred for people who's only crime is that they're different. Could it be that your daughter --" "STEP-daughter!" he snapped back, teeth clenched. Angelo reeled back in the chair in reaction to the verbal broadside. "Whoa, did I hit a nerve or what? Mr. Bradshaw, your problem's not the past, but the here and now! Why DO you hate your stepdaughter so?" Philip went silent again. "Yeah. Put those walls up," observed Angelo. "Don't let 'em see you sweat. Well, lemme take a guess. You fell in love with her momma, but the daughter reminded you of those you left behind. And, since it takes more out of the parents to meet the needs of a disabled child, the momma didn't always have enough time for you. You tried to be strong -- even married her -- but that gnawing in the pit of your stomach never left. Am I getting close, Mr. Bradshaw?" Philip remained silent, facing away from the guard. "Are you happy?" "I was before this," he muttered. The guard smiled and let out a brief chuckle. Then he slowly spoke three words that hit the other man like a freight train: "Genetic ... macular ... degeneration." Philip gasped and sat bolt upright on the bed, the sudden movement causing him to grimace in pain. "HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?" he exclaimed between gritted teeth. "Brenda doesn't even know that!" Angelo shrugged it off without a trace of humor. "Does it matter? It's true, isn't it?" Philip didn't speak for several seconds. When he did speak, it was low, barely more than a whisper. "My grandfather had it; he was blind by the time he was 50. I started noticing it about fifteen years ago, but

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didn't make the connection until about five years after that. I'm secretly seeing a specialist in New Zealand; Brenda believes I'm on safari. He confirmed it, and he's trying to treat it, but it's gotten worse since last year." He paused, then whispered. "I don't want to be helpless." Angelo spoke softly, his voice filled with compassion. "Do you truly believe that losing your sight will make you less than a man?" Philip answered by releasing a deep sigh. "Let me change the subject for a moment, Mr. Bradshaw. When you were starting your business, did you ever say to yourself, 'This is impossible, I can't do it'?" Philip took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "A couple of times. But I didn't let it stop me." "Then why should you let this stop you? If you don't put your pride aside, you'll become as handicapped as you believe you will." He paused to let that sink in. "But it doesn't have to be that way. You'd be surprised at what your 'helpless' stepdaughter has accomplished ... and I'm not just talking about living on her own. Give her a chance." Angelo could see that Philip was actually considering his words. "Mr. Bradshaw ... mi amigo ... you are a heartbeat away from being thrown out of here because of your attitude. You need to do some serious apologizing if you want to keep from being arrested." Philip was silent, but he was digesting all that the guard had said. Then he whispered, "Maybe you're right." He looked into the guard's face. "But I've been so ... bad. Will they accept my apology -- will Brenda?" Morales grinned broadly. "You look like a risk-taker to me, Mr. Bradshaw. If you love her, you'll take the risk. If she loves you, she'll accept the apology." Philip nodded slowly. "Okay." ------------------------- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN SATURDAY EARLY MORNING: Kilimanjaro Renny moved quietly out of the camp, taking nothing with him but an automatic pistol. He could hear stirring from Gumball's tent and stopped moving until it had passed. You are restless, my friend, he thought. All this keeps you from sleep. I am sorry. Once he was far enough away that even Clark's sharp ears couldn't pick him up, he picked up the pace towards the neighboring valley. It took longer than he had expected, but he finally reached the barbed-wire fence surrounding the air base. Using a branch to hold down the barbed wire, he climbed over and headed to one of the roads that crisscrossed the base. It was pitted and cracked, but he followed it towards the center. When he was a couple hundred yards from some of the structures they had identified as sentry posts, he began waving his arms over his head and yelling. "KANANGA! WHERE ARE YA, YA OL' BONEHEAD?" He waited a moment then yelled his message again.

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He froze in place at the sound of a machine gun bolt being pulled back. Moving his arms out to his side and carefully dropping the pistol, he turned to see two soldiers behind him, leveling their weapons at him. "'Bout time you got here," he commented with a sneer. "Take me to Kananga." ------------------------- His clothing bundled up in his arms, Renny was escorted to an office. A familiar voice greeted him from behind a high-backed leather chair. "Renny, my old friend! How good to see you again! How many years has it been?" "I lost count, Bert." He dropped his clothes into a wooden chair and started putting them on. "Sorry to wake you up this way, but it was the only way I could get your attention." "I see." Kananga motioned to the guards standing behind Renny. They backed out of the room and closed the door behind them. "It's not that I'm not pleased to see you once again, my old friend, but ... just what ARE you doing out here?" He buttoned his shirt while looking over at the black man. "You kidnapped the daughter of a good friend of mine, Bert. I'm here to make sure she's returned safe and sound." He emphasized the last three words. "Ah, yes -- the Roberts woman. But how did you know it was me?" Renny sat down and laced his boots. "I'll admit, Bert, you were good. Too good. Amy was kidnapped, but there was no ransom demand. That didn't make sense. So I got to thinking ... what would make Amy so special to someone that they would want her for something other than ransom? And that's when I remembered your last visit, and the 'project' you talked about. If I remember correctly, you wanted me to recommend someone with a high degree of electronics ability. I referred you to Long Tom Roberts. I assume he turned you down?" "Very good, Renny!" the black man laughed with a clap of his hands. "Yes, indeed, he did turn down my offer! Later, after exhausting all other avenues at my disposal, I tried Mr. Roberts again, only to discover that he had passed away ... leaving a daughter. Assuming that the daughter might be a silicon chip off the old block, so to speak, I checked her out ... and found her to be just as talented as I suspected. Due to ... time constraints ... I couldn't afford subtly, so I sent my men to get her and bring her here -- where she is my guest." He paused, and his tone turned ugly. "Now MY question: how did you find me here?" Renny pulled the cuffs of his jeans down over the tops of his boots. "Mateo." Kananga's eyes opened wide with surprise. "Anton Mateo?" "The one who provides your ammunition. Your men left shell casings that were traced back to him." Kananga said defiantly, "It cannot be! Anton is loyal to me!" Renny remained cool. "We both know every man has his price. I found his. He was only too happy to tell me all he knew."

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"I can't believe it! Anton sold out?" Renny gave Kananga a sympathetic look. "Sorry, Bert. Anyway, he pointed me in this direction." He stood before Kananga's desk and planted the palms of his big hands on the edge. "But it was YOU, 'old friend', who showed me exactly where you were hiding! You shot us down, remember? If it hadn't been for that, we would've flown right over this place and never made the connection!" Kananga's mouth closed tightly, and he and Renny stared at each other for several seconds. Then his mouth opened. "What are you doing here?" Renny repeated, "Like I said, I'm here to make sure Amy Roberts gets home in one piece. As a personal debt to the memory of her father." He paused. "Oh, and by the way -- I'd like to have a talk with the one who shot up the blind woman. Just give me ten minutes ... and a locked room." Kananga guffawed and pointed an index finger at him. "Now THAT'S the Renny I remember! Y'know, I may just give you that chance!" He reached into a desk drawer and came out with a bottle of clear liquid and a couple of shot glasses. He filled the glasses and pushed one towards Renny. The big man sat in the chair, took the glass, and lifted it. "To old comrades," toasted Kananga. The two men tapped glasses, then drank. Slightly out of breath from the alcohol's sting, Kananga continued to question Renny, "My men said there were no survivors from the plane crash." Renny absently stared into his glass. "They didn't look close enough." "So there are more out there?" He lowered his head sadly. "Were. They're all dead." He lifted his head. "I hid when your men came 'cause I didn't know if they'd shoot first and ask questions later. When they didn't come back, I decided to come here." "How many more were with you?" persisted Kananga. Renny paused. "Five." "Who provided the men and the Osprey?" Renny lifted his glass and moved it from side to side. "Not so fast ... my turn. What is this 'project' of yours that's so flippin' important that you have to kidnap somebody to complete it?" Kananga examined Renny for a few seconds, then said quite soberly, "To bring the United States of America to its knees." Renny's eyes narrowed, and he said slowly, "Uh ... yeah." Kananga snorted with contempt, declaring, "You Americans see yourselves as a superior people! But let one thing break down your comfort zone, and watch you crumble. Osama Bin Laden was so limited in his attack. He struck on a single morning of a single day, and yet see what it did to the powerful U.S. of A!" He stood and paced around the room like a prosecuting attorney. "Listen closely, Renny. Consider what

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things would be like if every day was like 9/11. Random strikes, hours or even days apart. Your people wouldn't even have a chance to catch their breath before another attack struck! The strongest wall will crumble under the force of a million blows." He paused and looked straight at Renny. "And the cry of solidarity from a leader is never heard when fear rules the heart!" "So you're planning a prolonged attack on the United States," he summarized, holding back the horror. "Yes, my old friend! Like Bin Laden, my attacks will come from within your borders. But I have far more at my disposal than mere airplanes!" He paused dramatically. "You've sailed, Renny. You know how the currents work, that someone with the right knowledge of the currents can place an object in one place and know exactly where that object will end up?" He paused as Renny nodded. "Over the last year, I have released over a hundred buoyant containers, each about the size of a football, and each containing a wonderful little ... surprise." His smile was chilling. "Some contain bubonic plague virus, or anthrax spores, or nerve toxins, or any number of deadly surprises I got from my good neighbor Sadaam. They've been floating out there on the currents, finding their own target, just waiting for me to trigger the detonator that will 'let loose the dogs of war'. Where would they be? Who knows? A packet of seaweed under a dock at the New York shipyards? A sewer drain near a school? The San Diego Naval Yards? It does not matter! Once I trigger my detonator, the world will see chaos like it has never seen before!" Kananga laughed, and Renny felt a chill down his back. He was on a roll. "Your government will go absolutely MAD trying to keep their eye on every stray package in the water. And, in the end, the 'powerful' United States of America will be brought to its knees, unable to keep its own people from rioting in panic and fear! Your own people will finish what I will start!" Renny nodded. "So how does Amy figure in this?" He smiled. "Technical support." Renny knew he wouldn't get any more out of him. "I suppose the word 'diabolical' comes to mind." He grinned to make it look as if he were joking. "Bert, have you ever considered therapy?" Kananga joined in the joke with a laugh. Renny tried again. "But why kidnap Amy? Don'cha got electronics people in Africa?" "Of course! But due to a few ... setbacks ... I found myself in need of someone in a hurry. And I remembered the talents of Miss Roberts. So I forced the issue. She is safe, my friend." Renny nodded. "Can I see her? "In time," Kananga said calmly. "However, now that you ARE here, what do you have in mind?" "Well, after what you've told me, I don't think you're going to let me leave any time soon, Bert. So my immediate concern is that Amy is okay, then that my wife will be safe back in the States." He paused. "What do YOU have in mind?" Kananga stared him straight in the eye. "Work for me. I know what you can do. We can bring your wife. She'll understand once my plans are in motion."

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Renny leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. He stared at Kananga for several seconds, deep in thought. Then he asked, "Nothing can stop you, Bert?" "Nothing. Even if I were discovered, and this base blown to smithereens, my plans would still continue." His expression was one of total confidence. "Uh huh. Okay, Bert, looks like I don't have much of a choice." He stood and extended a meaty hand. "I'm in." The two men shook hands. "Trust me, Renny. You'll see it was the right thing to do." "I hope so. One question, Bert. Do I hafta call you General?" Kananga smiled. "Only around my men. It's a matter of maintaining respect, you know." And the two men laughed. ------------------------- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN SATURDAY MORNING: Kilimanjaro "HE'S GONE! RENNY'S GONE!" My yells drew everyone to the door of Renny's tent. "I hadn't seen him in camp, so I went to check on him. His sleeping bag hasn't been slept in! And I found this on top of it." I held a small aluminum box in my open palms. Attached to the box with a rubber band was a folded note. In Renny's handwriting were two words: PLAY ME. Inside the aluminum box was a device similar to a portable DVD player. As we all gathered around, Clark switched it on and pressed PLAY. The screen lit up with Renny's face. "Hi, guys! Sorry to do things this way, but ... I tried to rehearse what I had to say, but ... I finally just decided to be up front with it." He took a deep breath. "It's my fault that Amy was kidnapped." "WHAT?" exploded Gumball. Monk shushed him. "Lissen!" ------------------------- Inwardly, Gumball cursed his father. I hate it when he treats me like a ten-year-old, he thought. I knew that Renwick wasn't to be trusted ... him and that Russian wife of his! They're probably both spies. When I get my hands on him ... -------------------------

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"Way back when," continued Renny, "during the years when I was on the run, I became involved with a freedom-fighter and expatriate named Bertram Kananga -- the same Kananga that's now a terrorist." He paused; his expression said that there was no love for Kananga. "For three years we fought in brush wars together across Africa and the Middle East. One evening, while we were ... celebrating a victory by consuming some 'liberated' alcohol, I ... told Kananga who I really was." This was hard for him to admit, as he looked away from the camera. "Years later, Kananga visited me and Amanda in Oberlin. This was before you guys found me, and I didn't know Kananga was ... who he was. Anyhow, he told me about a 'project' he was working on which needed the expertise of an electrical wizard. Obviously, I pointed him in the direction of Long Tom. "I figure Tom turned him down, but he saw Amy's abilities ... and came after her." He swallowed, and his expression turned resolute. "Anyway ... if it hadn't been for me, Kananga wouldn't have known about Amy. So I'm going to do what I can to get her out. By the time you watch this, I'll have shown up on Kananga's doorstep. My intent is that, hopefully, he'll recognize me and take me in. ------------------------- Yeah, sure! He probably told them about us in advance, told them where to find Amy! Now he's telling them where WE are! They're probably on their way right now! Gotta get my gun! ------------------------- Nobody noticed Gumball quietly moving away from the group as the video continued. "I'm making this to let you know what I'm doing and why. Also, I know you'd tie me up before letting me go if you knew what I was up to." "He's got that right," growled Monk. "Before we left Drake's, I had him hide some bugs and stuff on me. He said they'll never find 'em; I sure hope he's right. Anyhow, don't blame Drake, okay? I swore him to secrecy. Once I'm in -- one way or another -- these things will transmit voice and picture, and hopefully you'll be able to figure out what Kananga's up to, and how to get in here and get us out. I know I'm takin' a long shot, but ... I gotta do it." He looked out from the screen, and his voice cracked with emotion. "Monk? Thanks." He took a deep breath. "I'm not afraid. If I don't make it ... well, I'll tell Tom hi from y'all. And you'll take care of Mandy for me." The image flickered as Renny paused the recorder. He looked more composed when he returned. "Drake said this thing'll receive information in packets sent at regular intervals. There's a light of sorts that'll come on when it's received a packet -- look for it. That's it. Keep me in prayer. Bye." The screen went dark. Gumball returned to the group in time to see the video end. "I've witnessed Renny pull off some really boneheaded antics in my life," commented Monk as he turned away. He threw up his ape-like arms. "But THIS is just plain looney! BLAZES!"

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"Nonetheless," responded Clark calmly. "He has done it. Since we can't change it, we must respect his intent and use the information to the fullest in freeing them both and defeating Kananga." "So when do we go?" I inquired. "When the time comes." Clark paused. "Until then, we wait ... and we pray. " "PRAY? HAVE YOU GONE INSANE?" We all turned to face Gumball. His countenance was filled with rage, and the guns in his hands were conventional -- and deadly -- automatics. "WE'VE GOTTA DO SOMETHING! That traitor's probably leading the terrorists here right now! This isn't the time to pray, it's the time to ACT!" His eyes narrowed, and the guns rose defensively. "But then again, maybe there's more than one traitor in our midst ..." He raised his guns and fired. Hugo moved first, placing his body between Gumball and the rest of us. Twin shots rang out, but Danner proved to be as bulletproof as his story had made him out to be. While Gumball looked dumbly at the gun that didn't accomplish what he had wanted it to do, Monk jumped him from the side; the guns were wrenched from his hands, and he was thrown ungainly to the ground. Standing above him, like an enraged bull gorilla, was his father. His eyes were full of anger, his lips were drawn back to reveal gritted teeth, and his fists were balled up like mallets. "My GOD, son, what were you THINKING?" he bellowed. "And don't you DARE badmouth Renny and Doc! Both of them were fightin' tougher turds than Kananga before you were even BORN!" In frenzied terror, Gumball scrambled back and got to his feet, blindly sprinting into the jungle. Monk started to run after him, but Hugo's cabled arm jerked him to a halt. He turned to fight his way free, but was paralyzed by the mirror of peace that was Hugo's countenance. "Monk, let him go! He'll be okay!" he said sharply. "He's got to work this out on his own!" "BUT --" Monk tried to argue. Clark was now at his side. "Hugo's right! We'll go after him in a few minutes! You know as well as I do, God's not going to let him get very far!" Nobody moved. Monk's breathing was shallow. Then his arms slackened in resignation. I joined the group and put a hand on his hairy shoulder. Monk glanced around at each of us. Then, his breath raspy, he asked, "Can we pray?" ------------------------- Gumball stopped running after a few minutes. Nobody had followed him. He couldn't see where the camp was. He wasn't concerned whether or not he was lost. He wasn't concerned about anything right now. How dare they try to stop me, he thought. Well, I'm not gonna let them stop me again! I'll get back into camp and get my guns! Then I'll storm Kananga's base myself and free Amy! But I need to catch my breath ...

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He had stepped into a clearing. He looked up and saw the mountain -- and was unable to hold back a gasp. "Wow," he muttered, awed at the majesty of Kilimanjaro. Suddenly his vision went blurry, as if a cloud had descended over his head. His hands went up to his eyes as he felt a wave of dizziness hit him. He felt like panicking, but held back. He bent over and took several deep breaths. As the panic subsided, and the wave of nausea passed, he uncovered his eyes and opened them. He didn't notice the subtle changes in his surroundings, but he could've sworn that the trees looked like men. He closed his eyes again and took another deep breath. When he opened his eyes, things were still fuzzy, but improving. He could make out a few more details now, but didn't believe what he was seeing. And as he was able to focus on his surroundings, he blinked and doubted his own sanity. He was in a windowless room, far from the foot of Mount Kilimanjaro. How he had been transported there was a mystery, but he couldn't deny his eyes. This can't be real, he thought. I'm dreaming! Either that, or it's something in the air giving me hallucinations. Yeah, that's it ... some jungle gas causing me to see things. Okay. However, in his heart, he didn't believe his arguments. He heard a noise behind him, and spun to see that he wasn't alone anymore. Several men had entered the room, but they treated him as if he wasn't there. Their attention was focused on one of their own. Speaking in an animated Middle Eastern dialect that made no sense to Gumball, they surrounded the hapless individual while another man locked the door. Then, suddenly, their gibberish evaporated, and he understood their dispute. "No! No! NO!" the man in the middle argued. "Unless I can put my fingers into the holes in his hands, I will not believe it!" "But, Thomas --" another man started to say. "But NOTHING, Matthew! YOU claim to have seen the Master alive! That was one week ago! Where has he been since? WHERE? I will need more than YOUR word before I believe! I NEED PROOF!" Been there, reflected Gumball. Just then the air itself changed. Gumball felt it; so did the other men. A couple of them pointed to something beyond Gumball's right shoulder. Swinging around, he saw a man he hadn't seen before. He was dressed in the same fashion as the others, but he was not like them. "Peace be unto you," he said. "Peace be unto you," echoed the others reverently -- except Thomas, who was silent. As Gumball wondered how the newcomer had gotten past the locked door, he moved across the room and straight towards Thomas. The other men stepped away from him like a crowd of Hollywood fans parting before a superstar.

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Thomas didn't look so good. His previously-cocky attitude had been shattered, and he looked like he was on the brink of an anxiety attack. Standing before him and meeting him eye-to-eye, the newcomer stretched out his arms before him. "Here are my hands, Thomas," he gently offered. "Put your fingers in the holes. Reach out your hand and put it in the hole in my side as well. Do not doubt, but believe." Time stopped as if frozen in liquid nitrogen. Thomas' eyes were on the outstretched hands, but he couldn't do what he had wanted to do. Instead, in the next heartbeat, with tears streaming down his face, he fell to his knees with such a force that all felt the vibration of the impact on the floor. With his face to the ground and his arms wrapped around the newcomer's feet, Thomas tearfully declared, "My Lord, and my God!" At that moment it finally got through to Gumball, as he said under his breath, "It's Jesus!" His mouth snapped closed as he watched the risen Savior reach down and help Thomas back to his feet. "Thomas," he lovingly addressed the disciple. "You believe because you have seen. But more blessed are those who do not see and yet still believe." Gumball's own words from his reluctant prayer now echoed in his head, drowning out the sounds around him. His heartbeat and his breathing had tripled. He closed his eyes and covered his ears. "Clark. Clark Mayfair." The sound of Gumball's own name pierced the cacophony of noise in his head, and instantly silenced it. His eyes opened, and he was once more next to Kilimanjaro. Jungle grass was beneath his feet, and he looked up to see the familiar mountain. But he wasn't alone. Before him was the man who had faced Thomas. He held out his arms, and Gumball could clearly see the holes where the nails had been driven. He was not there for anyone else; he was there for ... him. "Clark Mayfair," he called him by name. "Gumball." His voice was soft, and his smile had a warmth to it he'd never seen before this. It erased his anxiety. "You asked me for a sign, Clark," he said calmly. "Will this suffice?" Gumball's eyes stared dumbly at the crucified hands, then wandered up to the face, with its smiling mouth and eyes. The eyes. "Oh my God," he whispered. He didn't just see love in those eyes -- he experienced it. It was pure like a mountain steam ... unselfish ... it wasn't a vision or hallucination ... on the contrary, it was more real than anything he'd ever known. And at the same moment, he saw his own impurity. It was a reality check on his own soul that broke him like nothing else could. His eyes filled with tears. Dropping to the soft jungle floor, feeling the weight of the world on his back, Gumball repeatedly sobbed, "My God! I'm so sorry!"

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"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened," he heard somewhere in the back of his head. "And I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." And Gumball came. ------------------------- CHAPTER NINETEEN At the edge of camp, Monk sat on a rock and looked into the jungle. "I hope You know what You're doing, Lord," he whispered under his breath. "I shoulda gone after him an hour ago, but ... no. He's in Your hands. Take care of him." He bowed his head and continued praying silently. His head jerked up at the crunch of branches. "GUYS!" he yelled, as he ran into the jungle. ------------------------- Gumball was leaning on Monk's shoulder when the rest of us caught up to him. The pilot looked drained and weary, like he'd gone through the wringer. He turned his head and squeaked out the words, "I got my answer." Monk wasn't really paying attention to him, so it took a moment for the words to sink in and register. When they did, his eyes opened wide and his face broke into a great big grin. Hugo picked up Gumball as easily as a grown man lifting a baby, and he carried him back to camp. The rest of us followed. I saw the tears flowing freely from Monk's eyes, and knew why. ------------------------- SATURDAY MORNING: Lincoln City "Now, I ask that you all remain quiet while she becomes acclimated to her surroundings," instructed Dr. Rochambeau. "It's normal to be disoriented under these circumstances. Remember, the last thing she experienced was when she was shot several days ago. I will introduce things to her slowly, as she is able to accept them. I will do the same with you. Questions?" This time, the room was full. Closer to the bed was Dot and Karen, while Philip and Brenda Bradshaw held one another and watched from the back. There was a marked difference in Philip since earlier; his face was starting to bruise due to Amanda's attack, but his attitude had made a one-eighty that amazed even his wife. He had apologized to everyone, leaving no one out. Everyone else stood or sat in anticipation. Dr. Rochambeau administered the solution to bring Sunni out into the IV tube. It didn't take more than a few seconds for the solution to work. Sunni stirred a little, and moaned. "Sunni. Can you hear me?" he asked. She moaned again, but it was in response to his question.

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He repeated the question a few times before she said her first words. "Ow." Many of us smiled. "Sunni, my name is Dr. Rochambeau. You are in the hospital in Lincoln City. You were badly injured, but now you've improved. Can you hear me? Do you understand me?" "Uhhh ... yeah. Wha' happened to me?" "You were shot," he replied, his voice level and calm. "Wha--?" She started to move in the bed, but stopped when the pain hit her. "Owww! How bad was I?" "I'm sorry to say, you've lost a kidney. Other than that, your injuries were not life-threatening." She took a deep breath. "Wow. Is Amy here? Amy?" "Now don't excite yourself, Sunni. Amy's not here. I'm not sure where she is right now." The tone of Sunni's voice turned cold. "There's a problem." The room went quiet. But not quiet enough for Sunni's sharp hearing. "It sounds like a wind tunnel in here." The assorted giggles were a dead giveaway, and she knew it. "Who's here? I can hear at least six of you!" Karen stepped forward, touched her arm, and lightly slapped it. "Three minutes, and the ornery comes out," she chided tongue-in-cheek. "Karen, you're here?" she said, surprised. Then her tone went serious again. "Karen, talk to me -- what's happened?" Karen rested a comforting hand on her friend's arm and boldly opened up. "Somebody broke into your place a few days ago. They shot you and kidnapped Amy. Clark, Perry, Monk, Renny, and Gumball are on a rescue mission. I'm here with the ladies -- for YOU. You've been out for three days, healing. We've been taking turns watching and praying for you." She paused. "That's a lot to take in at one sitting, and you've gotta have questions. But for right now, though, you need to rest. Otherwise they're gonna put you out again to shut you up. Got it?" Sunni giggled. "Okay, Karen. Thanks." She smiled. Dr. Rochambeau identified himself again. "She's right. You need rest now." The room started to empty. As Dot and Karen turned to leave, Sunni called, "Karen?" "Yes, I'm here." Sunni's tone was tense. "I thought I heard my mother's voice. Are ... are they here?" Karen hesitated only an instant. "Yes."

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Sunni's expression and the tone of her voice hardened. "I don't want them near me!" she hissed. "But they're not the same," said Dot. "They've --" "I ... don't ... want ... them ... NEAR ... me!" she repeated slowly, anger rising in her voice. "Okay, okay!" said Karen. "We'll send them away. Now take it easy, otherwise they're gonna have to put you out again!" Sunni's response was silence and a slow, even breathing. "You want some company?" asked Dot. "There's a lot of ladies out there who've been praying for you. Monk's wife Lea, Renny's wife Amanda, even Pat Savage." Sunni momentarily perked up. "Clark's cousin's here?" "Uh huh," affirmed Karen. She paused. "Later, okay?" Dot and Karen said goodbye and walked out of the room. They held their comments until they were beyond the door to Critical Care. "Crap!" swore Karen under her breath. "I was afraid this would happen!" "Don't beat yourself up for it," reassured Dot. "You've done your best." They arrived at the waiting room; all eyes turned towards them. "It didn't go well, did it?" asked Pat. Dot shook her head sadly, then looked over at Philip and Brenda and met their eyes. "She heard you in the room. She ... doesn't want to have anything to do with either of you." "Us?" asked Brenda. "You weren't aware of how she felt towards you?" added Lea, moving near. They shook their heads naively. Pat stepped behind them and said sympathetically, "I hate to break it to you, but Sunni's attitude towards you two seems to just as bad -- if not worse -- than yours towards her, Philip." "Oh my God!" gasped Brenda at the revelation. "It's my fault," groaned Philip. Pat nodded. "No disagreement here. But you finally realized it and are trying to turn it around. Suggestion: you two lay low and relax; the rest of us will give her some time to heal, and work on HER attitude. Agreed?"

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"Best idea," said Lea, nodding. "Yes," added Dot and Karen. Philip and Brenda looked at one another, then nodded. Lea handed them a room key. "Why don't you head over to the Sea Mist and relax. Take a nap if you can, maybe have something to eat?" "We CAN afford our own hotel room," commented Philip. "We don't want to put you out." "It's not putting us out," said Pat, taking the key from Lea and putting it in Philip's hand. She smiled. "Now scoot! We'll call you if things change." They looked at us once more before taking each other's hand and leaving the waiting room. ------------------------- "Not exactly the Mediterranean," commented Philip. "Why did it have to come to this before I finally realized what kind of a ... " He couldn't say the word he wanted to use. " ... I have been all these years. Can you ever forgive me, Brenda?" She came over to him and faced him. "You showed me love when no one else would. You took me in, and my children, as your own ... more or less. You didn't have to, but you did. That's the man I married. And that's still the man I love. You have problems; we all do. We will work through them, as we've worked through all the other problems we've had. True?" "True." He kissed her. "I love you." "And I love you." ------------------------- SATURDAY AFTERNOON: Kilimanjaro There was a knock on the laboratory door. Amy didn't look up from soldering a circuitry pattern. The door was unlocked and opened, and General Kananga stepped in. "And how are we progressing, Miss Roberts?" he asked in a cheerful tone. She didn't look up. "I'm getting there," she replied. "Shouldn't be long." "I am soooo glad to hear that," he beamed as he paced the floor near the door. "By the way, Miss Roberts ... I believe we have an acquaintance of yours on this base. Does the name Renwick mean anything to you?" Amy looked up, and her breath stilled. "Renny!" "Ah, you do know him! Good, good!" Kananga smiled thinly. "As a matter of fact, I know him as well."

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Amy looked puzzled. "You?" "However, I know him as Major Renwick. We've been friends for many years." He paused. "I'm afraid he was part of a failed attempt to free you from this place." "Failed?" Amy echoed dimly. Kananga didn't seem to notice her change of tone. "The aircraft they came in was shot down by my troops. Renny was, unfortunately, the only survivor. Early this morning he wandered onto my base. We'll be working together." Amy stood stiffly, holding back her fears. "You said there were others. Who-who were they?" His expression was apathetic. "I'm sorry, I don't believe I got their names. Is it important to you?" Inside, she felt deflated. She shook her head slowly. "No. No, it's not." Kananga smiled broadly. "Well, then. I'll see about getting you and Major Renwick together ... say, two hours, in your quarters? In the meantime, please don't let me stop your work." He turned towards the door, but stopped just short of it. "Miss Roberts. If you promise me that you'll not do anything foolish -- like trying to escape? -- I'll have those uncomfortable shackles of yours removed. What do you say?" "Yes," she replied without hesitation. "I promise! Please!" Kananga beamed. "Good, good! You will find that much more is accomplished through cooperation!" He left the room. The bolt locked behind him. Amy turned back to the incomplete soldering, but she wasn't really able to concentrate. So much Kananga had said. Renny was here? The thought thrilled her, but she was confused at the revelation that he had worked with Kananga before. Then came the wave of fear. Who else was aboard the plane? She pictured the faces of her friends, of her loved ones. Gumball, were you flying? Did you...? Are you...? She couldn't finish it. She couldn't make herself believe that any of them could be ... gone. Her mind went back to Renny. Had Kananga told her the truth? Had Renny worked with him before? Could something have happened to him that made him side with Kananga again? It was too much for her senses. Her eyes closed tightly and she dropped to her knees. "God, I don't know what's happened. Only you know the truth. I've got to trust you with this situation ... with their lives. Please ... " She couldn't voice what was going on in her heart. She started to cry, letting her grief and confusion out. After ... she didn't know how long ... she opened her eyes. The anxiety was gone. Only peace remained. "The peace that passes understanding," she whispered, smiling. "Okay. I'm okay." Amy stood, her legs still a little shaky. She stretched them as she looked over at the soldering. Then, picking up the instruments, she leaned in and continued. ------------------------- Two hours later, Amy was in her quarters again. The door unlocked without preamble, and Renny was allowed inside. She rushed into his open arms, and they held onto one another for several seconds.

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When they separated, Amy anxiously asked, "What's going on here?" Renny put a finger to his lips as he looked around the room. He took her hand and went over to the table. In the dust he wrote the word BUG with a question mark after it. Amy nodded and pointed to the bug in the light fixture. Renny nodded back and said, "I'm so glad you're okay. How's Kananga been treating you?" She shook her head. "I've seen better." She looked up at him and her voice turned soberly serious. "He told me you were part of a failed rescue mission. What happened?" Renny wrote in the dust LIED TO HIM. EVERYBODY'S OKAY. RESCUE SOON. As he did, he said, "Yes. I was the only one who got out alive. It was horrible." Amy sighed in relief and gave him another hug. For the microphone, she said, "Kananga said you two were friends. Is this true?" "Many years ago," he replied, adding the sign for 'past', making it clear that it was a long, long time ago. "Are you good friends?" "Kananga's been misjudged. I can see that now. He just wants the best for his people." He mimed putting a finger down his throat and gagging. Amy smiled. "Everything's going to be all right. Just finish what General Kananga has for you." Amy asked, "What about Sunni? Have you seen her?" Renny's eyebrows furled. Then he said, "No. I haven't." He wrote SUNNI NOT HERE. SHOT IN LINCOLN CITY. SAFE IN HOSPITAL. Amy's expression went from surprise to anger. Renny held up a hand and cautioned DON'T LET ON. BE READY. Reluctantly, she nodded. The fury slowly left her eyes. They talked for a few more minutes, writing their messages back and forth in the dust until their ears caught the guard unlocking the door. Sweeping the dust off the table quickly, they turned to see the guard beckon Renny to leave. "I'll try to visit soon," Renny told Amy as they hugged a final time. Then he was gone, and the door was locked behind him. Amy dropped to her knees again, but this time it was to thank God. -------------------------

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CHAPTER TWENTY SATURDAY MID-MORNING: Lincoln City Karen put a hand on Dot's arm. "I'm going to talk to Sunni." "I'll go with you." Karen shook her head. "No. I've got to go in alone. I've known her longer than anyone here. She knows I care about her. And -- face it -- she'll accept things from me that she won't from anyone else." Dot leaned in close. "You're not going to do anything rash, are you ... y'know, something that's going to require more surgery?" Karen grinned. "No. Just keep me covered, okay? Lead on." Dot escorted Karen to the room and let her go in. She approached the bed and identified herself. "We need to talk." Sunni hesitated before saying, "I know. It's about my ... parents." "Uh huh. You know I love you. And you know that, if you argue with me, I'll have you sedated." Her response was a negative grunt. "First, I've got to tell you something. I'm the one who called your parents." "You WHAT?" she exclaimed. "You don't know just how bad off you were. You were critically injured ... the doctor said you should've died before you reached the hospital. During surgery, we didn't have a clue as to how you were doing. There was a lot of touch-and-go, and we feared the worst while praying for the best." She paused. "God got you through it, and put it on many of our hearts to contact your folks ... including me. I know you guys aren't on the best of terms, but she's still your mother! Anyhow, I made the call and left a message with the housekeeper, who passed it over to your family. Your mother showed up yesterday, and your stepfather a few hours after that." She suddenly chuckled. "Remind me some time to give you a full account of the last twenty-four hours ... you'll love it! Suffice it to say that the last few days have been somewhat eventful." "But they don't care!" argued Sunni. "I disagree. I've seen changes in your stepfather's attitude which I can say has GOT to be God working on him! You'd be amazed!" "Doubt it." "Look, Sunni. I can't force you to listen to them. But I can tell you this ... just by the evidence, I can say that God has put this 'reunion' together. I don't know what the reason is, but God does. We both know the truth -- what God wants, God gets ... one way or another. Why make things difficult?" She paused and took a deep breath. "Consider talking to them, please? Give 'em a chance." Sunni responded with another grunt.

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"You are one stubborn blind girl," grunted Karen. "Face it, you'll never be a family like the Waltons. But why don't you cut 'em some slack. Open up a dialog. Agree to a truce." Sunni paused. "I'll think about it." "That's all I ask, kiddo. I'm gonna let you get some rest now." She was backing out of the room when suddenly Sunni asked her to wait. "Before you go ... nobody's talked about it ... where's Sequoia?" Karen moved back to the bed and put a hand on Sunni's arm. "He was shot when you were shot. He didn't make it." Sunni took a deep breath. "Thanks. I'd like to be alone now." Her voice cracked. Karen left the room, quietly closing the door behind her. Sunni paused a moment, her chest feeling heavy, then started crying. ------------------------- SATURDAY EVENING: Kilimanjaro The team reviewed the packet of information sent via Renny's transmitter. It showed Kananga's terrorist plot and Renny's apparent cooperation. It would've been convincing if it hadn't been for the earlier message. Clark forwarded the information to Drake in Florida. "We must stop him. He can't be allowed to transmit the signal out of there." Clark agreed. "Can you jam the signal?" "Yes! I've got just the thing. They're drones that look and act similar enough to birds that it would take a close examination to tell them from the real thing. They'll fly from Turner to your location, enter into a random flight pattern high over the base, and flood the air with jamming signals. One detail, though -- you and I will have to be on a special frequency outside of the jamming signals. Odds are astronomical that Kananga's signal would match ours." "Excellent! We'll modify our plans accordingly, and radio you in a hour if we have any additional needs." "I'm also going to order a strike force to back you up. They'll be at Camp Turner waiting for your signal." "Very well. Clark out." "Drake out." ------------------------- SATURDAY OVERNIGHT: Kilimanjaro

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It was well after midnight when we spotted the drones flying in formation. Through the amplified optics, Drake's claim was true; they did look as good as the real thing. But there was something following. Reporting it to Clark, he explained, "Those are the extra items I requested from Mitch. I'll get it." We watched the drone's parachute open, and Clark jogged into the jungle with a flashlight in hand. A few minutes later he dragged the winged messenger and its canopy into the camp and we opened it. Several items elicited enthusiastic laughter and comments, while others were a mystery. Then we went to bed. We would need our rest for tomorrow. ------------------------- SATURDAY EVENING: Lincoln City Karen leaned in towards Pat and whispered, "Do you feel the tension in here as strong as I do?" "Like the room's filled with jello," she whispered back, and they shared a chuckle. "Okay, let's get this over with, you two," groused Sunni from the bed. "Let 'em in." Pat went to the door and opened it. Karen was there on Sunni's behalf, and Pat on Brenda's behalf. The others were most assuredly involved in serious intercessory prayer. Philip and Brenda Bradshaw walked in and approached Sunni's bedside. "Sunni, it's me ... it's mom," said Brenda, placing a hand on her daughter's arm. "Are you okay?" She pulled her arm back. "I'm alive," she replied coldly. "Your obligation is over." "Sunni," said Philip hesitatingly. "I was wrong about you. I wanted to say ... I'm sorry." "So?" she answered sarcastically. "Do you think that one lame apology can make up for years of being treated like I was dead?" "We didn't know you felt this way about us," said Brenda. "That's a laugh!" Sunni snapped back. "You had no reason to make Elise my nanny except that you didn't want to be my mother! Then you sent me away to schools while you traveled the world! You thought that your trust fund would replace needing a family in my life! You couldn't take the responsibility of taking care of a BLIND girl, so you pushed me away onto others -- over and over and over again!" She paused. "Now you want me to believe that a stupid apology from you is going to erase all the CRAP you've given me, Philip? If you do, you're more blind than I am!" "YOU LITTLE BRAT!" Philip suddenly exploded. "We gave you everything money could buy, and this is how you repay us? Your so-called friends call us with this cock-and-bull story about you being near death! Well, little girl, you don't look anywhere near death!" Sunni let go a scathing curse at Philip, who fired back with some choice profanities of his own. Brenda was mute, almost in shock at the scene between the two people she loved most. Deep down, Pat and Karen had expected something happening today, but this display of spontaneous combustion had taken

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them by surprise. By the time they started to move in to intercede, another man burst into the room and interrupted. "WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?" he shouted, getting everyone's attention. "This is Critical Care, not the Jerry Springer Show! We can hear you all the way down the hall! Now ... HUSH!" The room became silent immediately. The man straightened up to his full height and pulled down the shirt of his security uniform. His eyes shifted to take everything in, and a grin broke on his face. "Good. Thank you. Now can you hold things down to a dull roar?" he said, trying to interject a little levity into the situation. It didn't work. "Okay, so much for the stand-up comedy." He looked around. "My name is Morales ... Angelo Morales; I'm with Security." He turned to Philip. "Mr. Bradshaw, weren't you going to apologize?" "I tried, but this little hard-headed BRAT thinks that I should get down on my knees and kiss her --" "Ah, ah, ah!" Angelo warned sharply, holding up an index finger. "There will be none of that!" "Why should I forgive them for what they did to me?" Sunni bellowed. Angelo turned in her direction. "And you -- cool your jets!" Amazingly, Sunni became silent. Pat and Karen started moving towards the scene, but he held up a hand and said, "Hold on, ladies, let me try." They backed off, and Pat said softly, "Go for it." "Okay. Let's all take it easy here." He paused. "Sunni, Mr. Bradshaw and I have already talked. He realizes that he's screwed up, and that his attitude had a lot to do with splitting you all up. Now, it's not easy for a man with as much pride as your stepfather has to admit when he's wrong, to go from 'top-of-the-heap' to 'Humble Howard' in this short a time, so we're asking you to give him some latitude. "And your mother has gone through quite a lot in the last 24 hours -- has anyone told you about what's happened?" Everybody shook their heads. "No? Okay, that'll be next thing on the agenda. Anyhow, where was I? Oh, yeah -- your mother. Suffice it to say that she came here secretly, knowing your stepfather -- at that time -- wouldn't have approved of it. She dared it all to be here at your side. Realize that, Sunni, this has all been for you." He paused. "These two people are here -- are still here -- because of you. They care. If they didn't care, they would've been long gone before this. They are here. They also are realizing in rather-painful terms that they have screwed things up with regards to you. They are here to repent to you. They are here asking that you forgive them, Sunni." "Why should I?" growled Sunni. "Matthew 6, verses 14 and 15," he replied simply. "You remember what that says?" Sunni grunted. Angelo quoted, "'If you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.'" He paused. "Got the

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idea? Right now they have a better grasp on repentance than you do ... and you know the author of repentance, but they don't." "How do you --?" Sunni exclaimed. "It doesn't matter, does it?" the man shrugged it off. "What matters is that you have been forgiven. And, in turn, you must forgive. Is it easy? No. Is it necessary? Most definitely, yes. Now, Sunni, search your heart and answer yourself, what is the right thing to do?" The entire room became surrounded in silence. Even though many wanted to say something in that moment, they couldn't, as if the sound had been dampened. Sunni sat in the bed, thinking, searching, battling ... and then the tears started flowing. A moment later, quietly, her breaking voice said, "Mom ... dad ... I'm s-sorry." She started sobbing, and Philip and Brenda came to her side, touching her, kissing her head, hugging her. Their tearfully voiced repentances blended together into a beautiful chorus to those who had ears to hear it. Angelo motioned to Pat and Karen to draw near, and they did as he backed away. His grin was even greater than before. The tears flowed from all in the room, as the sounds of reconciliation echoed. But suddenly there came a new sound: a grunt coming from Sunni as her teeth clenched and her body tensed. Philip and Brenda moved away a little to give her room. Sunni gasped, and her body tensed again. Finally, her entire body arched violently in the bed as she released a high-pitched scream of pain -- then went totally limp. Pat ran for help. ------------------------- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE SUNDAY MORNING: Kilimanjaro Dawn arrived. In the valley, close yet still out of detection range, five men ready for war gathered in a circle to commune one last time together with their Maker. Clark opened, thanking God for bringing them here and asking protection on them all. Monk picked up the thought, expressing his appreciation for Hugo's appearance, Renny and Gumball's salvation, and their protection. Hugo praised God for his intervention and guidance. I directed things outward, asking for Sunni's healing, and asking that God would do a mighty work in her and her family. Gumball brought up the rear, feeling compelled to say something even though he admitted to being nervous; he prayed for Amy's safety, then added Renny's name, and made a promise to make things right by her. Clark finished things after a moment of silence with an acknowledgement of God's power. It was impressive. But it wasn't over yet. For several moments we stayed there, eyes closed, simply basking in the shekinah glory of God. Then Clark opened his mouth and began to sing. His bass tones were soft yet full of emotion.

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"Oh Lord my God, When I, in awesome wonder, Consider all the worlds thy hands have made ..." I saw it coming, and joined in with my tenor voice, like taking an on-ramp onto a freeway. "I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder, Thy power throughout the universe displayed ..." Monk pulled in next with a surprisingly-good soprano: "Then sings my soul, My Savior God to thee, How great Thou art! How great Thou art!" Hugo and Gumball made our quintet complete, as we grew in strength and momentum with every note. "Then sings my soul, My Savior God to thee, How great Thou art! HOW GREAT THOU ART!" ------------------------- Amy's eyes burst open, and she sat bolt upright in her bed. They're here! she thought with elation. They're coming! And her tears of joy flowed. ------------------------- The first rays of daylight touched the deserted air base. And with it came the music. Everyone on the base, regardless of where they were at the time, heard it in their heads. And no amount of stuffing in their ears could mute the words: "Oh beautiful for spacious skies, For amber waves of grain, For purple mountains majesty, Above the fruited plains. AMERICA, AMERICA! God shed His grace on thee. And crown thy good with brotherhood, From sea to shining sea!"

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The music came from a multitude of voices, as if it was a heavenly choir. It came from nowhere and from everywhere. The reactions were immediate, as many soldiers -- panicked and unable to halt nor locate the noise -- ran about the base in utter chaos. ------------------------- Renny had been billeted with a group of soldiers, and they all heard the music at the same time. He watched as they tried to hold their ears, saw the panic in their eyes, heard their voices trying to explain what was happening to them. Renny went along with them, making it appear that he was as puzzled as they were. Inside, though, he was thinking, "All right! It's showtime!" Men scrambled in all directions, trying to flee the music that was an encouragement to Renny. He pretended to follow their lead, going through the base to Amy's room. A key hung on a nail next to the door by the light switch; he flipped on the switch, unlocked the door, and dove inside when the coast was clear. "Amy, it's me!" he announced softly. Amy had her hands over her eyes. Renny realized why and apologized for the sudden brightness. She slowly uncovered her eyes; she was smiling. "It's okay. Are they here?" "They're on their way! Quick, I need your help!" he exclaimed, quickly pulling off his shirt. He turned his back to Amy and said, "There's a layer of artificial skin on my back! Find it and peel it off!" Amy's fingers swiftly found the edge of the plastic skin and slowly pulled down. Renny urged her to hurry, and the sudden ripping motion caused his face to contort in a painful grimace. "That's for the lights, right?" he asked through clenched teeth. "Uh huh," she acknowledged with a grin. On the inside of the rubberlike sheet were several flat electronic components. Familiar with the items, Amy assembled two transceivers, and put one in her ear. Renny handed her another electronic item. "Put this in your other ear," he instructed. "It'll cancel the effects of the machine." She quickly complied, just as the song was finishing. "Lone Ranger to Mother Goose," Renny said. "Mother Goose, you out there?" "This is Mother Goose," answered Clark. "Good to hear your voice, but consider yourself busted. Do you have Tonto?" "Alive and well and on the party line!" "Excellent! Brace yourselves for phase two!" "Gotcha," replied Renny.

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"We'll be ready!" added Amy. Then aside to Renny, she asked, "What's phase two?" "You'll see. Just don't remove the earplugs." He headed for the door. "I can't be seen here. I'll keep in touch." "Okay," she acknowledged. He disappeared through the door, and Amy felt renewed. ------------------------- The music stopped, but the silence was even more unnerving. Soldiers had scrambled throughout the underground base, finding their posts aboveground, and waited for the approach of the enemy. But their excitement was muted. Instead there was an overall feeling of foreboding, as if they were being watched by some invisible assassin. Many of those trained soldiers behaved more like rookies, nervously looking over their shoulders and making sure their weapons were functional. Some felt a strange feeling in the pit of their stomachs. Sweat formed on their foreheads, and their hands twitched. They found it difficult to maintain their composure, but pride kept them from admitting it to their comrades. Then they heard The Voice. Like the music, it came from both nowhere and everywhere. It was deep and almost vibrated as it spoke to them in their own language. "TO YOU WHO HAVE EARS TO HEAR, LET HIM HEAR!" The voice spoke patiently, as a parent would address a child. "I AM THE LORD GOD ALMIGHTY! YOU WHO HAVE DISHONORED MY NAME, BE WARNED! FLEE FROM HERE! FOR I WILL SEND MY ANGELS AND DESTROY THIS PLACE WITH MINE ANGER! NONE WHO REMAIN SHALL LIVE! ALL WHO PERISH HERE WILL NOT BE WITH ME IN PARADISE! TO YOU WHO HAVE EARS TO HEAR, LET HIM HEAR AND OBEY!" Then there was silence again. The underground base was in chaos. The ethereal voice had hit Kananga's men hard, and many of them were taking the hint by dropping their weapons where they were and fleeing the base. Others, gritting their teeth against the uneasiness they felt, stood their ground and waited for orders. Kananga was in a large office. Maps of the area were posted along the walls, and several aides rushed around with information. Frantic voices suddenly came from the radio's extension speaker: "Intruder alert! This is Post Five! There is someone just inside the fence! One man, wearing the robes of a holy man! He's not doing anything -- just standing there! Request instructions!" "This is Post Two! There is another one here, dressed in robes, just standing there! Request instructions, please!"

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One-by-one, each post reported in. There were five figures, each equidistant around his base. None of them moved towards the base, but just stood there. Their faces were unseen, and their hands were together in the folds of their sleeves. Kananga waited for the next move, for the strangers to begin moving forward, or for the appearance of a larger force. But it didn't happen. And that made Kananga suspicious. "I do not believe the voice was of God," he hissed to himself. "It's a trick of the Americans! It must be!" Minutes passed, and there was still nothing ... no roar of airplanes, no rumble of tanks, nothing. The pressure was too much for one of Kananga's aides, as he suddenly let out a scream and started to run from the room. Without hesitation, Kananga drew his pistol and shot the man in the back; he pitched forward and fell dead. "Get him out of here! I will have no deserters!" he growled. Then he turned to the soldier at the radio. "I have had enough! Open fire! KILL THEM ALL!" ------------------------- At the northern corner, Perry waited patiently. His weapons were behind him to protect them from the imminent frontal assault. There had been little talk between the five of them. It was encouraging to hear Amy's voice, knowing that she was well. It was also encouraging to see that Clark's 'voice of God' routine had achieved its desired effect, sending soldiers running in fear. That lessened the odds, at least. And, hopefully, phase two would knock things down even further. "Brace yourselves, men," Clark suddenly cautioned. Perry could see rifles being raised into firing positions. A moment later he saw the muzzle flashes and cracks from several automatic weapons. The bullets slammed into him in several places. It staggered him, but they didn't penetrate the Paradox body armor. "Report," said Clark a few moments later. Everybody had been shot at, but there had been no damage. "There's definitely gonna be some bruises there in the morning, but I'm not hurt." Then he paraphrased Isaiah 54:17: "Bullets or fiery darts, no weapon shall prevail against us." There was a chorus of amens in response. ------------------------- The reports were coming all over the base. Filled with frustration, they told of shooting repeatedly on the strange intruders. Vital areas had been struck, and they staggered from the impacts, but they did not go down. Kananga listened, fighting frustration and fear from within him. He tried to maintain discipline and order among his troops, but he didn't know if it was getting through. Just then, the speaker crackled. "This is Post Four! The intruder is moving -- repeat, the intruder is moving!" In the next few moments, the rest of the posts echoed his alert. The radio operator turned to Kananga. "Your orders, sir?"

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"Orders?" he repeated angrily. "You idiot! What do you think my orders are? We fight! They are only five, and we are many! They have shown no weapons, nor support! We will overpower them by sheer numbers, fighting hand-to-hand if we must!" The operator relayed the orders. Kananga stood there. He didn't dare sit down, for fear he would collapse with sudden fatigue. He was sweating, and did not want to admit his fear -- he would die first! He cursed the empty liquor bottle in his desk. As much as he had tried to convince his troops otherwise, he had to consider the slim possibility that this mysterious enemy could overrun this base and ... capture him? No, he vowed. He would never be defeated, not before setting off his weapon. The girl. She needed to finish the transmitter. He couldn't break away from the command center. He looked around, and then beckoned to a tall, olive-skinned man. "Akmed! I need you to take the Roberts woman to the laboratory! Tell her that she must finish working on the transmitter immediately, with all possible speed!" "It will be done, sir!" saluted Akmed, then turned and left the room. ------------------------- Renny was standing near the door to the command center when he overheard Kananga ordering Akmed to Amy's room. He turned away as the soldier rushed past him, then found a niche and switched to a private frequency on the transceiver. "Amy?" "Yes." "You're going to have company, real soon. Kananga's sent someone to take you to the lab and force you to finish his transmitter. How close are you?" "Not far. I've been stalling." "Okay. Don't stall this time ... go ahead and finish it. It won't matter, anyway. Clark knows all about Kananga's plans by now; I figure if they're making their move now, they've got the transmitter-angle covered." "Renny, I took out the plugs for a moment while I was waiting, and I felt very strange. It was like a wave of fear shot through me. What's going on?" "That's phase two. They're transmitting a hypersonic signal that goes straight into the skull. It was Drake's idea; he said they use it near airports to scare away birds without causing serious harm. Everybody who's not wearing these plugs are going nuts right about now ... ain't it somethin'?" "Yeah -- wait! Somebody's here!" There was a pause. Her voice sounded convincingly scared. "What's going on! What's going on! Where are you taking me?" "Good girl," said Renny. "Keep up the act! I'll see you soon!"

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------------------------- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO "Hugo, are you ready?" "Yes, Clark!" "Good! Everybody ready?" The reports came from all around the base. "Okay, then," said Clark. "Hugo -- show 'em our colors!" ------------------------- Hugo reached for the front of his robes and pulled. The fabric came away from his body as it had been made of tissue paper, revealing a black tee-shirt with the message DON'T MESS WITH THE U.S. in large, bold white letters. In his other hand was a metal cylinder about six inches wide and three feet long, angled towards the ground. He lifted the cylinder over his head, holding it with both hands like a sword. He triggered the mechanism and the cylinder began to move. It became longer, telescoping four ... five ... six times its length. Then something began to unfurl from within, growing and expanding. Anyone who could see the microfabric could not mistake the red, white, and blue of the American flag. Within seconds it had grown impossibly large, waving in the wind like a sail with the strength of Hugo's mighty muscles keeping it at bay. For a moment, all movement stopped. Everyone who COULD see it WAS seeing it, and those who could see where it was coming from watched in shock and amazement, realizing that a lone man was holding it aloft. "Can you see it?" asked Hugo through the transceiver. His voice wasn't even strained. Everybody could. ------------------------- From Kananga's command center, he could hardly believe what was happening. The reports were amazing. Someone tried to move towards the exit. Kananga pointed his automatic at him and said coldly, "No." The man backed up to his former position. Over the speaker came the reports: "This is impossible! No mortal can do what this man is doing! He must be a demon -- no, an angel -- YES! It is an angel on the side of the Americans! We are doomed!" "AYIIIIIEEE!! LOOK! Where the bullets have ripped away the cloth, there is not flesh, but metal!"

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"We are fighting robots!" someone wailed. "They are not human!" said another panicked voice. "Run! Run for your lives!" ------------------------- "Okay, everybody! Let's --" started Clark, then remembered something that made him change what he intended to say. "-- let's roll!" ------------------------- Hugo put the end of the flagpole against the concrete at his feet, and triggered a shaped explosive charge that would anchor it deep; when he was certain it would not fall, he let go of it and started walking in the direction of the soldiers. Running up to an overturned, burned out hulk of a jeep, he lifted it easily with one hand. Then, a scowl on his face, he ran straight for the closest group of soldiers, swinging the jeep as easily as an ordinary man could swing a baseball bat. The reaction from the soldiers was predictable. Many of them were overcome by fear and ran in the opposite direction, screaming something Hugo couldn't understand. Others tried shooting with shaking hands, but their bullets were ineffective against Hugo's steel-like skin. A few daring fools even tried rushing him with knives or bare-handed; they were brushed aside effortlessly. ------------------------- I pulled hard on the front of my robe, and the velcro strips separated, exposing the black armored WetSuit with matching face mask. The suit had done magnificently, keeping the bullets from doing more than just causing a few bruises. I tossed the robe aside and raised my twin superfirers high. "FOR SUNNI!" I yelled, then ran towards the few soldiers who remained. The combination of a special heat-sensing autofirer function with my own improved marksmanship skills made quick work of the opposition, and I located the steps leading underground. Leading the way with a handful of battery size gas grenades, I descended. ------------------------- Monk let out another bellowing growl and grabbed one of the soldiers by the uniform, swinging him face-first into the nearest wall. He crumpled to the ground. With a satisfied grin beneath his mask, Monk turned the superfirer on the others who stood nearby, mowing them down with mercy bullets. ------------------------- Renny ran into the command center. The look on the terrorist's face confirmed that he'd definitely had a dose of his own medicine. He grabbed Renny by the collar and shoved the automatic into his face. "YOU BROUGHT THIS ON!" he screamed. "These are Americans!" "NO, BERT, NO!" Renny yelled back, breathing rapidly. "I don't know what's going on! I'm scared, too! We've got to get out of here!" "NO! Not before I set off the transmitter!"

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"Is it ready?" "The girl is finishing it up now! Let us go!" He turned to the radio operator. "Abandon the base!" Leaving the command center, they rushed through the corridors to the laboratory. Amy was furiously working behind a panel; Akmed stood near the door, his pistol drawn. "Is it done?" yelled Kananga. "Just a few more minutes," called Amy excitedly. "I'm on the final panel." "You will finish!" "Two minutes! Two minutes! I don't want to make a mistake!" "If you do, you will die!" Renny put out a hand and grabbed Kananga's wrist. "No! You won't kill her!" "Very well!" the terrorist conceded. Amy scrambled out from behind the panel. "Done!" Holstering his gun, Kananga went over to the master operations panel of the transmitter. Removing a key from a cord around his neck, he inserted it into a slot and turned it. A panel slid aside, revealing a dial, two toggle switches, and an ominous red button. He adjusted the dial, flipped the two toggles simultaneously, then pressed the button. As the button glowed red, he took a deep breath and laughed. "HA! It is completed! Now there's nothing they can do! The United States is finished!" "Okay, great!" said Renny, feigning anxiety. "Now let's get the heck outta here!" "Yes! I have a helicopter in one of the hangars!" The four of them left the laboratory. ------------------------- "This is Clark! They're heading for the hangars! Don't stop 'em! Withdraw, circle 'round, and we'll head 'im off!" ------------------------- Kananga, Renny, Amy, and Akmed came out of the underground tunnel. Amy had to shield her eyes from the sudden exposure to the morning sun. Kananga took her arm and began to pull her along. They reached the hangar, and Akmed pulled open the door. Inside was a Huey UH-1B helicopter with side-mounted machine guns. Kananga barked orders. "Renny, start 'er up! Akmed, open the roof!" He turned to Amy. "Do not move! We are taking you with us, to safety!"

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Akmed rushed over to the wall. He pushed up one lever on a circuitry panel to switch on the power, then pulled down a lever next to it to start the roof-opening mechanism. He returned to the group. Kananga gloated. "Well, Renny, my old friend, we will soon be away from here and safe!" "I don't think so, Bert," Renny said calmly. For a moment, Kananga was confused. "What do you mean? Why aren't you starting the helicopter?" He heard a flapping sound and turned. Before he saw the men he saw the flag, huge and moving gently with a passing breeze. His eyes followed the flagpole down to the man holding it at his side ... the one with the ripped-but-readable DON'T MESS WITH THE U.S. shirt. Then he saw the rest of them, four dressed in black armored combat outfits. Their faces were uncovered, and their expressions were sober. Akmed leveled his pistol at the group. But before he could fire, a massive fist smashed into the back of his head, and he went down like a sack of potatoes. Kananga looked at Renny. He was unusually calm. "So you did betray me, my old friend." "I was once your friend, Bert. But that was before you turned into a cold-blooded murderer. Now I'm here to see that you face justice." "Justice?" he laughed. "There IS no justice! And now that my plan is in motion, it doesn't matter what happens to me!" And with one swift move, he cleared the distance between himself and Amy and used her as a shield; his gun was pointed at her head. "Now back off, or she dies!" he threatened. "I don't think so," said Gumball, holding a strange box in his hands. "Your firing pin's been burned off." Kananga's eyes darted from person to person. They started to move towards him. He pulled the trigger on his pistol. Click! Click! Feeling a sudden wave of anxiety, he shoved Amy hard in the direction of the five and took off in the opposite direction -- towards the door at the back of the hangar. Everybody moved for Amy at the same time, but Gumball reached her first. He held her close, while the rest looked to the escaping Kananga. Renny's hand stopped them. "NO!" he growled. "He's MINE!" Then he was off. ------------------------- Gumball and Amy held onto one another as Renny ran off in pursuit. "Thank God you're okay," he breathed a sigh of relief. "I love you." "I love you, too," she responded, then suddenly looked up at him. "Thank ... God?" "Yes," he smiled down at her. "Yesterday. He finally got through to me." She could see the truth of his statement in his eyes, felt the truth of it in her spirit. She couldn't say anything, but just put her head on his chest and started crying.

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"Amy, honey," Gumball said, surprised at her reaction. "Are you okay?" "Yes," she replied, her voice cracking. "I'm very okay." ------------------------- The back door of the hangar opened onto a patch of dense jungle foliage. Renny looked around and saw movement to his right. Wishing he'd had a machete, he pushed through. Seconds later, he was in a clearing. He wasn't alone. With the ferocity of a panther, Kananga launched himself at Renny, hitting him high and causing them both to tumble to the ground. Not giving an inch, the terrorist scrambled to his knees and began punching Renny's head and body. Quickly flexing, he flipped Kananga off, then got to his feet as Kananga swung his legs in an attempt to knock him back to the ground. Renny jumped up and clear of the sweep, but was caught unprepared for the return swing. He toppled backwards and landed flat on his back, the air knocked from his lungs. Renny heard Kananga pick up a heavy rock; it didn't take an Einstein to figure what he was going to do with it. He was breathing heavily with exertion. "This is where we part company permanently -- old friend!" As Renny braced himself weakly, he heard a screeching sound, followed by Kananga's painful scream and the distant thud of the rock hitting the ground. Finally he heard footsteps running away from him. The cobwebs quickly cleared after that, and Renny tried to see where Kananga vanished. ------------------------- Kananga hadn't seen the Blue-Striped Colubus monkey sitting in the nearby tree, nor saw it leap onto his head until it was too late. Clawed, bleeding, and half-blinded, he found a cache of concussion grenades, and moved towards the entrance of the hangar. When he was close enough to the invaders, he began throwing. The explosions knocked the black-armored interlopers down long enough for Kananga to slip into the hangar and the escape helicopter. He knew the roof was open, and the helicopter fueled and ready, so all he needed to do was rise. He started up the helicopter, then pushed the throttle and began to lift off the ground. He allowed himself a smile of satisfaction, knowing that victory was his. In the next instant, though, Kananga realized his victory had been lost. He caught a glimpse of red, white, and blue above him, and knew the source of his defeat. Draped over the opening in the roof was that amazingly-huge American flag. Unable to stop his ascent in time, Kananga flew straight into the flag, instantly smothering the blades and tangling around the rotor. The helicopter dropped like a kite caught in the branches of a tree. It landed on its side, the blades still turning, breaking into pieces and scattering like shrapnel. ------------------------- We'd been caught by surprise.

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The Paradox suits had taken the brunt of the concussion. Hugo had been tossed into the air by a grenade landing at his feet. Gumball immediately pivoted at the sight of the grenade heading for him, putting his own body between Amy and the blast. By the time we had recovered and had looked inside the hangar, it was too late. The Huey had already become tangled in the flag -- a very ironic sight -- and had fallen to the concrete hangar floor. One piece of the shattering tail rotor had flown towards some fuel drums, ripping into them and sending gasoline everywhere. Then we saw sparks coming from inside the Huey. Kananga, stunned and injured from the crash, was trapped inside the cockpit. Clark and Hugo suddenly bolted into the hangar to rescue him, but were thrown back by a flash and a roar of thunder. We were all thrown back to the ground by the explosion. "Ohhhh ... not again," I mumbled, feeling sore all over. I got to my feet and looked around. Monk was groaning; I walked over to him and offered him a hand. He accepted it and got to his feet. "Thanks," he said. "I am too old for these." Then we spotted Clark and Hugo; they were flat on their backs near the hangar doors. Ignoring our own aches and pains, we rushed to their sides to make sure they were okay. They stirred at our touch. "Thank God," I sighed. "Amen," answered Hugo, his eyes still closed. Gumball and Amy joined us, and we broke out the medic kit. Clark took out an electronic signal beacon and switched it on. Renny limped around the hangar, looked inside, and shook his head. Monk came to his side. "Kananga?" asked Renny. "Uh huh," replied Monk. "Let's get you over here and patched up." "No argument from me." Suddenly Monk punched Renny in the arm. He cried, "Hey! What was that for?" "For takin' off in the middle of the night, ya dope!" Gumball stood nearby, his rifle at the ready, looking for anyone who might be left of Kananga's army. I carefully treated Amy's cuts and scrapes. "Renny told me Sunni was shot. How is she?" "The last time I talked to Dot at the hospital, she was okay. Her folks were there." "Sunni's parents? Oh, wow! I'm really surprised at that." "They've been praying a lot for you, too." "They?"

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"Dot, Lea, Pat, Karen Eidemiller, and Amanda. They've all been at the hospital through this." She lowered her head, took a deep breath, and the emotions took over. She started to cry, and I reached out to offer her a shoulder; she didn't hold back. I looked up at Gumball, who had noticed us, and gave him an "It's okay" smile. "That explosion was far more than the helicopter could produce," commented Clark, rubbing some blue gel on some sore muscles. "Could he have taken the rest of the grenades into the helicopter?" Hugo asked. "One might have gone off in the fall." "Perhaps," agreed Clark. "Such a tragedy." Clark's satellite cell beeped for attention. He answered it. "Yes, Mitch. Mission accomplished. Amy is safe, Kananga is dead. His troops are scattered. Did the signal get out? Good. Yes, go ahead. Thank you." He set the phone down. "Mitch is sending a follow-up team, and a helicopter to transport us and our equipment out of here." "Can we call home?" Amy asked me. "Not right now," I replied. "It's the middle of the night for them --they're probably all sleeping." ------------------------- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE SATURDAY EVENING: Lincoln City Doctor Rochambeau didn't look pleased when he stepped into the waiting room. Everyone jumped to their feet to intercept him. "It's not good," he announced to all of us. "Her other kidney has failed. She's on life-support right now. However, considering the state of the rest of her body, this could be potentially life-threatening. If she doesn't get a kidney soon, her other systems may start breaking down." He turned to Philip and Brenda. "You are her parents; you're the best hope she has for a matching kidney." Philip lowered his head, "I can't. I'm her stepfather." Brenda nodded, "I can. What do I have to do?" "Follow me." They left the waiting room. All but Pat moved back to their seats and resumed praying. She walked over to Philip and put a hand on his shoulder; he raised his head and she looked into his pained eyes. "It's okay, Philip," she comforted. "We all know that if you could, you would." He nodded weakly. She directed him back to a seat. "You ever prayed before?" she asked. "No. We've ... not been very religious."

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"That's okay, neither are we. Let me explain, first, about whom it is that we're praying to. May I?" He nodded. ------------------------- Brenda and the doctor returned to the waiting room about twenty minutes later. Their expressions said it all. "I didn't match," explained Brenda. There was a pause, then Karen jumped up and said, "Then try me -- test me!" Dot joined her, and Lea, and Pat, and everyone else in the room. Even Amanda boldly stepped forward and offered herself. The doctor was overwhelmed by the outpouring. "Very well. You first," he replied, moving in to take Karen's hand. They left the room. Everyone returned to their seats. Outside, in the hallway, a man carrying a well-used brown teddy bear in his hand walked past the doorway. A moment later, he backed up and, a shocked expression on his face, and exclaimed, "MOM? DAD?" Brenda looked up first. "Stephen? What are you doing here?" "I'd like to know the same thing about you!" "This is Sunni's brother?" asked Amanda through the interpreter. "Sunni's here?" exclaimed Stephen. "Where is she?" "She's in bad shape," said Lea. "Son, how'd you get here?" asked Brenda, concerned. "There was nobody at the front desk. I started wandering, but then a security guard stopped me. He asked who I was here to see, and I told him. He pointed me here." "Did you ask for Sunni Bradshaw?" "Uh ... yeah!" Brenda was confused. "But she's checked in under the name Stevens," she said, almost in a whisper. Pat suddenly moved towards the front and asked, "The security guard. Latino, big grin, goes by the name of Angelo?" Stephen's eyes lit up. "Yeah, that's him! Why do you ask?" She turned around and started walking away. "Oh ... nothing!"

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"So you got Karen's message?" asked Dot. He nodded sadly. "I did, but I threw it away." "Then how did you get here?" asked Brenda. "You'll never believe me," he replied with a half-smile. "Try us," said Lea. "We'll believe you." He came into the waiting room and took a seat. "Well, it started with the bad dreams. They started the night after I threw away the message. It was the strangest thing ... they were all about Sunni. Then I had to get a couple of things from the family storage area, and that's where I found this teddy bear. I was looking through a box of stuff when another box caught my eye. It was labeled SUNNI'S BABY TOYS. For no reason in particular I started to look through it. I remembered Sunni playing with some of them. Then I picked up the teddy bear -- you remember, mom, this was her favorite. And I just didn't have the heart to put it back, so I took it with me. I started thinking about Sunni, how she was when she was a baby, and ... and I started having feelings for her that I hadn't had in years. I missed her." He paused. "That night I started seeing this place, even though I've never been here before. And I felt compelled to come here. I tried to ignore it, but couldn't. So here I am. You probably think I'm crazy." "On the contrary," said Lea. "It makes perfect sense." "You said Sunni's here. Is she okay?" "No, she's not. She lost one kidney, and is about to lose the other. She needs a transplant right away!" Stephen looked down at the teddy bear, and straightened up. "Then I know why I'm here," he said without hesitation. "Who do I talk to?" "I'll get him," said Dot, and quickly disappeared from the room. Doctor Rochambeau came into the room literally running. "You're a blood relative?" "I'm her brother!" he boldly affirmed. "Come with me!" They left the room. There was a momentary squeal of delight from Karen, in the hallway, and everyone could picture her ambushing him with a big hug as he came through. Then when the nurse finished bringing her into the room, all she could say was, "Thank you, Lord!" ------------------------- SUNDAY MID-MORNING: Kilimanjaro Hugo had set up a makeshift pen out of scrap metal found in the area, and then started rounding up Kananga's troops. Most of them didn't offer any resistance, and those who did found that resistance was truly futile. Renny, Gumball, and Amy covered the prisoners while we waited for Drake's follow-up team to arrive.

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When they finally did arrive, they did so in style. We heard the flapping of the helicopters a full minute before they arrived. It was very impressive, with almost a dozen combat helicopters swinging around Mount Kilimanjaro and quickly getting into position to deploy troops. Some of the troops burst into action before their helicopters even touched down, while others dropped from rappelling lines tossed over the side. In either case, the area was quickly overrun with armed soldiers, flooding into the base and the land around the base. One helicopter landed near us. Several soldiers took over for Gumball and Amy, allowing them to move off side. Monk and I were talking when they arrived. Two soldiers approached Clark. One of them, a short-haired blonde woman, removed her helmet and tucked it under her right arm. "Mr. Dent?" she addressed Clark. He had been sitting on the ground. He now stood and nodded. "Yes." She saluted. "Captain Jennifer Grimm, sir! We're here on orders from Mr. Drake! Do any of you require medical assistance?" He shook his head. "Thank you, Captain, but I think we have things under control." "Very good, sir! The equipment at your base camp is being loaded aboard a cargo helicopter. Do you require anything from it before they leave?" "Where will they be taking it?" asked Gumball, overhearing and approaching. "Turner Base, sir!" she answered without hesitation. Clark paused. "Give us a few minutes to think about it, Captain. Let us know before they leave." "Very good, sir! My men are rounding up the rest of the terrorist force, sir! Rest assured, they will all be found!" The tone of her voice suggested a personal interest in the matter. ------------------------- Clark, Renny, and Amy were looking through papers and other documents in Kananga's office. There was more to his scheme than just the transmitter, and they were determined to find it. "Here we go," said Renny. "The old baboon had a satellite." "Has," corrected Amy. "Has. According to this, the signal sent from here would trigger a mechanism that, in turn, would send out random signals on a daily basis. Each signal would set off one of his little 'packages' until they were all gone." "And by that time, the United States would have destroyed itself from within through rioting," concluded Clark. "It might have worked."

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"It still can!" exclaimed Amy. "He had a backup plan! In case he didn't send a coded reset signal within a year of it being placed into orbit, the satellite would assume Kananga was dead or captured, and transmit ALL of the signals at one time!" "Holy cow! No wonder he was so confident! Who knows how long that satellite's been up there?" "There may still be time, if we can get this information to Mitch! Gather these up!" They put the papers in a briefcase, and returned to the surface. "Captain Grimm!" yelled Clark. She fast-walked over to them. "Yes, sir!" "We have some papers that need to get to Mr. Drake as soon as possible!" "Turner Base has a scanner!" "Excellent!" Clark handed her the briefcase; his expression was rock-hard. "I can't emphasize enough the gravity of this matter. If the plans in here are allowed to continue, 9/11 will look like a holiday. Do you understand?" Her eyes went wide. "SIR, YES, SIR!" She got onto the radio and barked orders. Three minutes later, a helicopter lifted off with Grimm's lieutenant and the briefcase. "They'll have the scanner ready when he arrives, sir!" Clark was just finishing a cell call to Mitch Drake. "Very good, Captain Grimm. Mr. Drake will be waiting for the information!" "I'm going to make sure the transmitter is disabled," informed Amy. "Since I'm the one who got it working, I'm the best one to do this." "I'll go with you," added Gumball. They took the underground tunnel to the laboratory. Gumball watched as she carefully removed critical components of the transmitter. As she set the pieces aside, Gumball came over to her and wrapped his arms around her. She let out a sigh and leaned against him. He kissed the top of her head. She looked up at him. Their eyes met, then they came together in a passionate kiss that could've come with its own sonic boom, holding on to one another so tight their fingers started to ache. When they finally couldn't hold the embrace any longer, and just stood there in one another's arms, Gumball said softly, "I love you, Amy." "I love you, too," she replied. "I was so afraid I'd lost you," he admitted. "It was driving me crazy!" "Me, too. Kananga had told me a story about a rescue attempt that had failed ... everybody but Renny had been killed. I was so afraid that you had been killed!" "We're both okay now. And I don't ever want to let you go. When this is over, let's get married." Her eyes went wide with surprise as she looked up at him.

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------------------------- Hugo was talking with Clark. "Well, I think it's time for me to move on. It's been glorious working with you and your friends." "I wish you wouldn't. But God is using you here and I can't stop that. Before you go, though, I have something for you. Let me get it ..." A couple of minutes later, Clark handed Hugo a wrapped bundle. "It's a satellite cell phone with a long-lasting lithium battery. It's in a waterproof pouch. My number is already programmed into the speed dial. In case you need me or I need you." Hugo took the package with a smile. "Your backpack is at the camp site. I also had them leave behind the food we brought ... just in case." "'The workman is worthy of his hire,'" he quoted with a grin. "Thank you. I'm glad you're a Christian, Clark." "Same here." They shook hands. "God bless you, Hugo." "And you, Clark." ------------------------- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR EARLY SUNDAY MORNING: Lincoln City As the cobwebs cleared around Sunni's brain, and her senses started feeding her information, she remembered the pain in her body. She moaned belatedly at the ache in her side. She remembered the doctor checking her out, telling her something unbelievable about having had a kidney transplant. It was all still a bit fuzzy to her. Just then her hand brushed up against a furry object at her side. She put her hand on it and recognized it as a stuffed teddy bear. But there was an odd ... familiarity? ... to it. She picked it up. Shocked, she said, "No ... it can't be! Geoffrey?" She examined the bear with her hands, not wanting to believe the impossible. She sniffed the bear. "They've given you a bath, haven't they? Yes. Well, sure ... you've been packed away for a long time, and you probably had a lot of germs on you. Can't have that in a hospital, can we? No." She realized she was crying. "There were times I wish I'd had you with me, but I was afraid Sequoia would get ahold of you. But now ... " She held the teddy bear against her chest and wept. ------------------------- SUNDAY AFTERNOON: Kilimanjaro

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It was the eye of the storm. Captain Grimm's troops had been quite efficient and thorough in rounding up all of Kananga's soldiers, loading them all aboard several Chinook helicopters, escorted by all but one of the remaining assault choppers. That one was ours -- and we weren't leaving until we were absolutely certain that we'd done all we could on this end to stop Kananga's scheme. As I walked around the base, I regretted not having brought a camera. I was amazed at the sight of the grand mountain next to us, and wish I could take this vision home. Home? I suddenly remembered that I hadn't let them know at home of our victory. I pulled the satellite cell phone from my leg pocket and dialed it. I was expecting it to ring several times before being picked up, but Dot picked it up on the second ring. "Hi, hon." Her voice didn't sound as tired as I expected it to be. "How's it going?" "It's all over." I felt a certain finality in saying that. "Amy's safe, and Kananga's dead." Dot didn't reply immediately. When she did speak, her voice cracked with emotion. "Thank you, Lord!" I could hear her turning away from the phone. Excitedly, she relayed the information to those around her. In response, there was a chorus of excited praises to God; it was encouraging. After a few seconds, she turned back to the phone. "Is she there? Can we talk to her?" "No. Actually, I'm standing in the middle of that air base I told you about. We stopped Kananga from setting off his weapon, but there was more. We're sticking around just in case we're needed here. As soon as we get the word, we'll head out." "How about the rest of you?' "We're okay. Bruised up a bit, but no worse the wear." "What happened?" "We assaulted the air base at dawn. You remember the Paradox wetsuits we wore in the Valley? Well, they improved on them, put more protection in vital areas, and that's what we wore. We all took a lot of hits, but nothing penetrated. It's going to hurt in the morning, though." "Okay. I'm glad you're all okay." "Yeah, we are. I'll give you the full story when we get home. It's all very dramatic, really." "I might have competition for you. It's been a bit dramatic around here, also." "What's the headlines?"

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"Well, I told you that Sunni's mom and stepfather arrived, didn't I? Well, they reconciled things, finally, but then Sunni's other kidney went out on her. She needed an immediate transplant, but there wasn't anyone amongst us who matched her. Well, then Sunni's brother shows up completely out of nowhere -- is God good or what? -- and tells us how he's been having dreams of Sunni. Anyway, he volunteers on the spot to give Sunni one of his kidneys." "Whoa. Did he make it?" "Barely. The transplant went off without a hitch, and both of them are recovering." "Thank God!" "And that's just the headlines." "I'm looking forward to hearing all about it." I paused. "Hold on; Renny's waving at me. This could be it. Love you, hon." "Love you, too. Keep me posted, okay?" "Gotcha. Bye." "PERRY!" Renny called when he got a little closer. "WHAT?" "WE'RE HEADING HOME!" Even with the soreness throughout my body, I ran all the way to the helicopter. "Drake found a flaw in his satellite system," explained Clark. "According to him, quote -- that orbiting detonator will be scrap metal within 24 hours -- unquote. Our job's done here. Good work." We were airborne within fifteen minutes, waving goodbye to Mount Kilimanjaro, the Land of Long Juju, and -- standing on the mountain's peak, his pack on his back and his arms raised high -- our friend and brother Hugo Danner. We rode back to Turner Base in silence. It was over, and we'd won. Now the soreness and fatigue was catching up. I was drained. I felt like the marionette who'd had his strings cut. And, observing the faces of my companions, I wasn't alone. Then we arrived at the base and everything changed. News of our battle -- and our victory -- with Kananga had preceded us. We were heroes. Everyone at Turner Base who could be there when our helicopter touched down was there -- waving American flags, clapping and cheering. As we climbed down, we were practically mobbed -- shaking our hands, slapping us on the backs, giving us high-fives, and giving us hugs.

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It was beyond anything I could've imagined, and all I could do was praise God and wish Hugo could be here. From that point on we got the royal treatment. We were treated to a hot shower, a change of clothes, and a decent meal. For Amy, the shower was the second-best thing that had happened to her since this whole monstrous episode started, and she lingered with it until her skin was wrinkled and all the hot water was gone. Nobody blamed her. ------------------------- Courtesy of Mitch Drake, our trip home was an extremely first-class one. A Sikorsky S76 VIP helicopter flew us in style to one of the airports in Cameroon, where we transferred to a Boeing 727-100W executive jet. Since the jet was equipped to accommodate 23 passengers in luxury, we could -- and did -- spread out. I found a stateroom to my liking, and slept through most of the trip back to the States. Monk and Renny took advantage of the well-stocked galley, while Clark found a solitary space for prayer, meditation, and sleep. Gumball and Amy had been sitting and talking on one of the jet's couches, but they soon succumbed to fatigue and fell asleep in each other's arms. Hours later, at Portland International Airport, we transferred to a Jet Ranger helicopter, and headed west. Despite crossing over all those time zones, going back in time by several hours, our fatigue had been replaced by eagerness to see our loved ones, as the miles blurred below us. Then, when at last we cleared the hills and beheld the sight of the Oregon Coast, it was very difficult for any of us to hold back the emotions. We were home. All of us. ------------------------- SUNDAY EVENING: Lincoln City Pat Savage was quietly flipping through the pages of a magazine when her ears caught the faint sound of the room door opening. Turning, she practically leapt from her chair to intercept Amy. As they hugged, she looked over Pat's shoulder at the hospital bed, and her breathing became shallow. "She's sleeping," whispered Pat. "C'mon." They came over to the bedside, and Amy looked down at her friend and roommate. As her senses took it all in, waves of emotion rolled over her -- anger at those who caused this, then sadness and guilt as she blamed herself, that she'd not had better security, or wishing she'd have fought back when they grabbed her. Her eyes burned with her tears, and she gripped the rail of the bed with a shaking hand as she lamented. "Will you stop shaking the bed," a voice slurred. "I'm trying to sleep." Taken suddenly off-guard, Amy laughed in spite of herself. Sunni came full awake. "Amy? Amy?" Her arms reached up for her friend. Amy's hands reached down and they made contact, gripping each other's forearms, moving close to hug one another. And the tears flowed freely.

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Pat quietly backed out into the hall. A few moments later the door opened again, and several friends and relatives poked their heads in to quietly share in the reunion. It was wonderful. ------------------------- Back in the waiting room, Dot and I held one another close. Then she got this mischievous look in her eyes and asked, "Okay ... so how much trouble DID you get into?" "What makes you think I got into trouble?" I replied, trying to stay straight-faced. Her eyes narrowed. "That clinches it. You WERE in danger, weren't you?" I paused. "Nothing God couldn't get us out of." "That bad?" "It ... had its moments. Actually, things went quite well." "Tell me about it." "Not here. Walk with me." Holding hands, we headed down the corridor. "Did you ever read a science fiction story by the name of 'Gladiator' ... ?" ------------------------- "Excuse me. Are you Mr. Dent?" Clark turned to face the couple. "Yes, I am." "We're Philip and Brenda Bradshaw." He offered his hand. "We're Sunni's parents. Pat -- uh, Ms. Savage -- told us what you all did. Is it true that you actually went on a combat mission to rescue our daughter's roommate?" Clark nodded, "And to bring those who did this to justice." Philip's jaw dropped. "I am very impressed, sir. Until a short while ago, I-I didn't know just how close of a relationship our daughter had with Amy. I-I can't thank you enough." "It's nothing," he shrugged. "However, I do have to caution you, this mission was secret. We would appreciate it if it remained that way." He nodded. "Absolutely. You have my word. And if there's any way I can help, please don't hesitate in asking." He offered his hand. Clark shook it. "Thank you."

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They moved aside, and Pat moved in. She wrapped an arm around his muscled waist and gave him a gentle hug. "So how did it go?" she asked. "It was ... memorable," he replied with a smile. "We had some unique help." Then he looked down at her and said one word: "Danner." Pat didn't understand at first. Then, suddenly, her eyes began to open wider and wider and she whispered, "Hugo?" Clark smiled. She did a double-take and stammered, "B-But I thought he'd been killed years ago! Are you telling me he's alive?" Clark responded with another smile and a glint in his eyes that answered her question. "Well, what do you know," she responded with a grin. Clark leaned in and added, "It gets better. Let's walk." She agreed. "Not too fast now, cuz. Remember, I'm a frail old lady." She offered him a playful elbow in the ribs. "I'll ... try to pace myself," he replied dryly. ------------------------- In the corridor, away from the action, Karen Eidemiller pulled out her cell phone. "Hi, hon! Yeah, everything's okay! Actually, they're terrific! Everybody's back! They got in about an hour ago! Amen." She paused. "Uh, not sure. I'd like to stick around for another week, if that's okay with you. Great, thanks! I miss you, too." She paused again. "While I'm here, can I do some shopping? Well, I was thinking about the Factory Outlet Stores ... and Parlor Bears." She laughed. "Okay, I won't go alone! Love you, too. Call you tonight. Love you. Bye." She hung up. ------------------------- Gumball was getting big hugs from his mother. "Oh, Praise the Lord," wept Lea. "I am SO happy! I've been praying for you for so long, dear!" "But it paid off, too." Gumball kissed the top of his mother's head. "It wasn't easy for me ... but I wouldn't have had it any other way." Monk put his hands on their shoulders. "It looks like Amy's not going to be leavin' Sunni's side for awhile. Why don't we get somethin' to eat, an' we'll tell ya all about it." Lea moved between Monk and Gumball. "My two favorite men," she smiled, linking her arms with theirs. And together they walked down the corridor. -------------------------

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Renny's expression was shocked. "You did WHAT?" he exclaimed. Without need of the interpreter, Amanda's hands dramatically communicated her encounter with Philip Bradshaw. "You could've gotten arrested for that!" he signed back. She motioned for him to calm down, then slowly explained how things got out of control, how she had reacted to Philip's scathing statements, then telling Renny of the outcome to the story, explaining how Philip had apologized to them all. Renny took it all in, shaking his head in occasional amazement. Then he nodded his understanding. "I probably would have done the same thing under the circumstances. I'm glad it turned out all right." He held his wife close. "How did it go?" she asked, referring to the mission. "Did they tell you Kananga is dead?" She nodded. "I'll tell you all about it ... later ... but there's something I want to talk to you about now." "Is it something I've done?" she asked shyly. He smiled. "No." He directed them to a couch in the near-empty waiting room. He paused, then signed, "What would you say if I told you I became a Christian ... ?" ------------------------- CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE WEDNESDAY: Lincoln City "Excuse me?" Carol, the middle-aged admissions clerk, looked up. For a moment the look in her eyes reflected the dislike she had for the familiar man. "Mr. Bradshaw, isn't it?" "Yes. I wanted to make sure I had a chance to speak to you before my kids checked out." "Oh, really?" She was starting to get suspicious. He nodded. "I just wanted to apologize for my attitude when I first showed up. I was a Grade-A butthead, and I'm sorry." She looked at the man for a few moments, then smiled and said, "Accepted." "I also wanted to personally thank Angelo for all his help. He really helped put things into perspective. " "Angelo?"

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"Yes. Angelo Morales. He's one of your security guards." She looked puzzled. "I know just about everybody that works here, but that name doesn't sound familiar. Lemme check." As Philip looked on, the woman made a couple of calls. However, it was evident from her face that the results were negative. Philip was becoming more confused by the minute. "I'm really sorry, Mr. Bradshaw," Carol tried to apologize. "I called Security, and I called Human Resources, and I'm afraid there's nobody by the name of Angelo Morales that works anywhere in the hospital." Meanwhile, Pat and Karen were walking past when they overheard the altercation. They moved within range, but not where Philip could see them. Philip got defensive. "That's impossible! He helped me when I was waiting for the doctor! He intervened when we were ... getting into it in Sunni's room! He pointed the way for my son Stephen when he arrived! Surely he's been seen around here? Latino ... big annoying grin ... he said that everybody called him Angel." Karen suddenly gasped, and leaned in to whisper, "Oh, wow! Could it be ...?" Pat added, "You don't think he was a ...?" "Think about it. Hebrews 13:2 - 'Don't forget to show love unto strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.' It all adds up! Wow!" "What are you two talking about?" asked Philip, discovering them. "Philip, I think we may have an answer to your missing man," said Pat. "Well, what is it?" he sighed, exasperated. She grabbed his arm and tugged. "Let's go down to the cafeteria and talk. You might find our solution a bit off-the-wall, but we ask you to trust us. Have I ever steered you wrong?" He shook his head and went with them. ------------------------- Clark was putting his suitcase down on his bed when the satellite cell rang. "Hello, Mitch," he answered without hesitation. "Clark. Are you somewhere we can speak privately?" Clark smiled to himself, and sat on the bed. "Yes. What can I do for you?" "I think you know what I'm talking about. You've left out a few details in your debriefing, and I 'd like to fill in those gaps ... if you please."

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"Details?" asked Clark naively. "Clark, you know I'm lousy at begging, but I've got to know. Your plane crashed. You were hanging over the edge of a cliff. Then the next thing you tell me is that you're back on solid ground. You had help. Who?" "All right," Clark conceded. "Check out the reference Gladiator." "That's it?" "That's it. You check it out and call me back when you're ready." "You do love a mystery, don't you, Clark?" "Just check it out," he gently persisted. "I'll talk to you later." He hung up, placed the phone on the side table, and chuckled to himself. ------------------------- CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX ONE WEEK LATER: Lincoln City I had to admit, whenever we would visit Lincoln City, a guilty pleasure of ours was to have lunch at Fathoms. The food was excellent, surpassed only by the commanding view of the coastline from twelve floors above it. This time, however, we weren't dining alone; Mark and Karen Eidemiller were our honored guests. Mark had come from Portland to get Karen, and so we summarized things for his benefit as they savored the Pan-Fried Garlic Shrimp and matching Garlic Mashed Potatoes. "Well, Sunni's family is now complete. It took a lot, but things might just work out now. As soon as they're well enough to be moved, Sunni and Stephen will go back to the family home in North Carolina to finish their recuperation. Sunni told us she'll get a new guide dog eventually, but only after she gets past Sequoia's death." "Where's Clark?" asked Mark. "He's with Pat. She wanted to show him the progress with Caroline Island, so he went with her." I grinned. "He also wanted to visit Bonnie." "How are things going with them? Do you think there's any hope for the two of them?" "I don't know," replied Perry. "It would be nice, but I don't think he's ready for it." I took a bite of food and continued. "Let's see ... Monk, Lea, Renny, and Amanda headed home once we were sure Sunni was well on the road to recovery." "How did Amanda take to Renny becoming a Christian?" "Not sure. They've kept pretty quiet about it."

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"And what's the story with this Angelo person?" "Ah, yes ... the mysterious 'Angelo Morales' ... we never saw him again after that night. And to a lot of people it'll always be a mystery. But to the rest of us ... well, God is good." "Amen," we echoed. "Let's see," I continued. "Oh, yes! Gumball has vowed that he will get another Osprey. He says the name BLUE THUNDER II has a certain ring to it. "The wedding plans are on, but no date has been announced. And before you say it, Mark, both of you are invited. It's sure to be a blast!" "Thank you," replied Mark with a grin. "This should make up for not inviting us to YOUR wedding. How's Amy doing now that she's got that house to herself?" "Well, as expected, she's a little uncertain about being there alone. So Gumball is keeping her company. And it gives them some time to be together." I looked past them. "Speaking of which, I think that's them." Mark turned around and looked where I was pointing, at two figures on the beach ... ------------------------- "It was right here," Amy said, examining the section of beach in proximity to her house high above them. "Their rafts landed right where we're standing ... and they took those stairs to my house." She pointed to the steps leading up the seawall, then, suddenly feeling a chill, wrapped her arms around herself. "Hey, it's over," Gumball comforted, wrapping his arms around her from behind and gently kissing the top of her head. He guided them around to face the ocean. Her voice drifted. "Is it really over? Bin Laden's still on the loose. Sadaam Hussein's got enough poison out there to kill half the world. And who knows how many other Kananga wannabees are out there, looking to be next in the headlines." "True, true," he soothed. "Not long ago, President Bush said something like 'Bin Laden can run, but he can't hide'. Well, having tried to run from God, I know there's truth in that." They looked out at the breaking waves, Amy still wrapped up in Gumball's arms. "One of these days, Bin Laden, Hussein, and all of those goons will stand before God ... and they'll know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they never could hide from justice." She looked up at him and said with a grin, "When did you become philosophic?" He continued to look outward as he replied, "In the jungle." Then he suddenly moved his arms down to tickle her. She quickly pulled away from him and started sprinting down the beach, with him in playful pursuit. ------------------------- EPILOGUE SEVERAL MONTHS LATER: Somewhere in Oregon

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Since President Theodore Roosevelt designated Florida's Pelican Island as the first wildlife refuge on March 14, 1903 to protect egrets, herons, and other birds from market hunters who killed these birds by the thousands to satisfy turn-of-the-century fashion demands, the National Wildlife Refuge System has grown to include 538 refuges and wetland management districts encompassing 94 million acres. Today, there is at least one wildlife refuge in each of the 50 states, and one within an hour's drive of most major U.S. cities. Roosevelt once said, "The conservation of natural resources is the fundamental problem. Unless we solve that problem, it will avail us little to solve all others. We are not building this country for a day; it is to last through the ages." ------------------------- Our small boat hummed quietly along the narrow tributary, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, although we were less than forty miles from Portland, Oregon. On either side of us, the banks were covered with flora and fauna, along with the occasional waterfowl. Overall, it was an extremely beautiful and peaceful place: the relative silence was only occasionally interrupted by the chortle of a native bird or other fowl, or the distant wailing moan of a train. "You are sure this is the area?" I asked, although I had a peace about us being there. I knew this would be the end of a years-long search, and I was honored to be part of the group. "Yes," replied Clark with confidence, standing at the front of the boat like Washington crossing the Delaware. "I recognize some of these land forms." He suddenly pointed ahead of us. "There! Take us in!" I guided the little motorboat towards the shore. Ahead I could see a structure, which looked worse the closer we got. From the information we'd gotten from the manager of this National Wildlife Refuge, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service owned the overall land, but it was routine for parcels to be bought up by private parties. The tract ahead was owned by a hunting club, and encompassed several acres of land on this Refuge. Although it seemed bizarre for game hunters to pursue their sport on a game preserve, theirs was a necessary factor in keeping species populations manageable. Overpopulation was sometimes as crucial as underpopulation, and the hunters helped keep things ‘within the lines'. Besides, the Refuge Manager confided to me, the revenue from the hunting club helped maintain the Refuge, so everyone profited. Access to the hunting club and adjacent land was this lonely tributary, a private back door. But as we got closer, it was evident that the hunting ‘lodge' was in dire need of maintenance. The paint was peeled, a couple of windows were broken, and there was obvious weather damage. One of the NO TRESPASSING signs had lost a top nail, and hung upside-down on the post holding up the roof overhang. The grass surrounding the structure was over a foot high, adding to the conclusion that this place hadn't been used in some time. We tapped the shore and Clark bounded onto the land. I tossed him the line, and he buried the piton-like anchor deep into the ground. Taking the rope, he gently pulled us in until we were as close aground as we could get. Reaching out a hand, Clark helped Johnny out of the boat; the elderly professor was a little shaky stepping onto the uneven land, but soon was on solid footing and moved ahead as Clark reached out for me. I handed him our two backpacks, then took his hand to assist me. The land was soft, but not excessively so. There was a layer of heavy gravel defining the trail and makeshift road leading deeper into the parcel. The Refuge Manager had told us that the members of the

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hunting club would come in by boat, then transfer to trucks or all-terrain vehicles and drive inland to their hunting blinds. By the look of things, these trails hadn't been traveled in months, if not years. We looked into the structure that served as a hunting lodge. I took out a camcorder and filmed all around the building, trying to get as much detail as possible for later examination. At one point I caught Clark and Johnny poking around, and I smiled as I saw the elderly archaeologist examining every niche of the building with all the wide-eyed fascination of a child at Christmas, investigating wrapped presents, trying to discern every iota of knowledge. I used all the visual tools at my command: zooming in close on objects, using both external floodlight and night-shot illumination to capture images that could be digitally dissected later. Johnny called me over and had me focus in on a particular detail on a wall. An hour later, with several items of particular interest loaded aboard the boat in sealed bags, we took a break then started walking along the dirt-and-gravel road leading deeper into the area. I was a bit tired, but I found strength in the exhilaration shown in the elderly Professor Littlejohn. Although he appeared to be physically on his last leg, he seemed to have the strength and stamina of one a third his age. I couldn't help smile as I saw him in action, side-by-side with Clark, investigating a mystery. We traveled along the road, climbing over a small dike, and proceeding deeper into the trees and undergrowth. Clark's and Johnny's eyes were constantly scanning the area, like human sensors registering every detail and instantly comparing them to their combined intellect. Hanging back where I wouldn't get in the way, I documented the entire event with the camcorder, knowing that Dot would be disappointed if I didn't. The morning sun was coming overhead when we reached our destination. Clark observed softly, "This is the place. I recognize the plant life." Then he walked over to a hillside, running his fingers across it as if to mind-meld with it. A sound came from his direction, a trilling that both Johnny and I were surprised to hear. "You've found it?" asked Johnny. "Close ... very close ...," said Clark, almost in a whisper. I dared not blink as I kept the camcorder trained on him. He moved to the side, then down on his hands and knees. He reached out a hand, and Johnny placed a field shovel into it; no words were exchanged, but the two men were of one mind. With a fierce effort, Clark dug into the grass and dirt alongside the hill, until he suddenly broke through the covering. Johnny had placed a high-intensity lantern nearby, and Clark took it to see into the darkness. Then, with a laugh that exploded and echoed around us and momentarily startled the two of us, Clark found what he had been searching for. "YES! THANK YOU, LORD!" he boomed to the heavens. Clark's excitement was spreading outward. I could feel tears forming in my eyes. I moved in to get a better view, and had to duck to avoid flying dirt as Clark furiously expanded the opening. After a few moments, he suddenly disappeared into the darkness. I switched the camera to night vision mode and zoomed in through the opening. I could see dirt walls, and some sort of machinery. "Is this it, Doc?" asked Johnny, wanting to be absolutely certain. "Yes, brother!" came the echo from within. "It's as I remembered. Perry, hand me the camcorder!"

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I quickly checked the battery level and minutes of videotape remaining; there was a half hour left either way. I moved in close and passed the camcorder through. "Doc," called Johnny eagerly. "Is it safe for us to enter?" "Give me a few minutes, then I'll help you down," he replied. Ten minutes later, Clark had set up several camp lanterns inside the cavern, and then assisted Johnny through the opening and inside. "Well, I'll be superamalgamated," was his first words, bringing a smile to my lips. Then I followed through. It was only a few feet to the floor of the cavern, and I looked around as I brushed dirt from my jeans. "Wow," I said, amazed, as Clark handed the camcorder back to me. I changed the videotape cassette and the battery, and continued recording. Both men poured over the machinery and the cavern it was contained in, with the same meticulous passion for detail that I'd seen back at the hunting lodge. Although the machinery was rusted from exposure to the elements, there were many details that were clearly visible. Johnny moved in close to the device, examining it first with the naked eye, then with an electronic gadget that looked like a Star Trek tricorder. His comments were simple exclamations of wonder: "Fascinating!" "Interesting!" "Amazing!" and "I'll be superamalgamated!" ------------------------- After an hour I climbed to the surface and contacted Dot via the satellite cell phone. I gave her the good news, and a summary of the excitement: "They're like kids at Christmas, hon!" "Are you going to try and bring the hibernation chamber back for study?" "Not sure. If we can't, we'll probably tag it and see if Mitch can transport it to where his experts can take it apart. It's up to Clark and Johnny." "Okay. Keep in touch. Love you." "Love you, too. Talk to you later." And we broke the connection. THE END ------------------------- TO OUR READERS: as always, we invite any suggestions and/or ideas you would have for future adventures. We can be reached by email at [email protected] . ------------------------- DEDICATION AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: There's a quote from M*A*S*H that went, "God heals the patient; the doctor just collects the fee." I am humbled by what God has done and continues to do through THE BRONZE SAGA.

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TO MY WIFE AND CO-WRITER, KAREN -- I couldn't have done it without her: her input, her proofreading talent, and her patience. TO ALL OF OUR READERS -- PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE -- you are the reason we keep writing. We especially wish to acknowledge those of you who have downloaded our stories from MEMOWARE (www.memoware.com). Seeing the growth just in 2003 has been a constant amazement and a true blessing. Keep it going! Mark Eidemiller -- December 27, 2003

Documents

THE ABDUCTION OF AMY ROBERTS - e-z.netskylab/Bronze Saga/Adobe Acrobat/Bronze Saga 4-The Abduction Of Amy...The Bronze Saga #4: THE ABDUCTION OF AMY ROBERTS The leader issued a silent