Detailed Descriptions

Jim Franks was startled out of a doze when the door to his "cell" opened. The two guards who had been bringing him his food were standing there and one said in a thick accent, "Come. His Excellency awaits."

"Let me get my shoes on," he groused. He looked up at the guards, and fingered his chin, then tucked in his shirt. "I hope he doesn't mind a couple of days' worth of beard."

"Hurry. His Excellency awaits," the guard repeated, scowling. His partner hefted a gun to show Franks that there was no escaping them.

Franks stood up, shook down his trouser leg, then smiled cockily. "Okay. Let's go."

They took him through the house instead of through the courtyard, but soon enough Franks was back in Alvarez's office and facing the Minister of Security. He was wearing a light beige suit today, and still had the armband on his sleeve. He was also puffing on a cigar, taking his time as he savored it. He did not turn around when Franks was brought in.

"You are probably wondering why you still live, Señor," Alvarez began. "At last, my computer technicians have been able to destroy the termite. Unfortunately, the backup files are also contaminated. So I have lost all of the information collected from various sources on International Rescue."

"I told you, I can get the information from Lucinda Myles. I know her; she wouldn't have destroyed it," Franks said, hoping he didn't sound like he was pleading.

"I am still considering that offer. However, I have another use for you," Alvarez said. He turned and stepped over to his desk. Picking up a small data disk, he handed it to Franks. "A task that will show me if you are fit to live."

Franks took the disk and eyed it with suspicion. "What do you want me to do?"

"This is the transcript of a conversation my secretary had with a lovely young lady earlier today. There is vid of the two of them talking with each other as well as of her entering and leaving the building." Alvarez took a deep puff of his cigar and blew it in Franks's face. "She insists on seeing me personally. I am considering inviting her out here for dinner and perhaps an overnight stay. But I want to know everything about her before I do so." Alvarez smiled, slightly. "The computer has been returned to your room. You were in research and surveillance while with Interpol. You have two hours to discover everything possible about Señorita Alison St. Clair. If I am satisfied with your work, you live. If not, you die." He motioned to the guards. "Take him away."

Franks gave the guards no trouble as they escorted him back to his room. His mind was filled, planning what angles he should take, what sites he could use. He glanced down at the disk, then as he looked up, he realized he was in his room. The computer was there, as had been promised. I could send a shout for help... but no one would be able to pull me out in a mere two hours. I guess I'd better do what the man wants. He slid the disk in, and began to watch the interaction between the woman and Ramirez. While he watched, he wrote down her name: Alison St. Clair. Okay, honey. Let's hope you're easy enough to find.

Two hours later, the guards came for him again. He smiled at them as he took the disk from the drive. Slipping it into his shirt pocket, he put his hands into his trouser pockets and sauntered down to Alvarez's office. This time, Alvarez was actually sitting at his desk, reading a book of some sort. His Excellency put a slim strip of gold in the crease to mark his place, and put the book aside. He did not gesture for Franks to take a seat, but rose from his desk and removed another cigar from the humidor. Clipping off one end, he lit it, and walked to the windows on the opposite side of the room, windows that looked out onto the courtyard.

"What have you discovered about the señorita?"

Franks's smile didn't falter. "I think she's a fake."

Alvarez did not turn. "And why do you think this?"

"I managed to slip into the Prime Minister's database to access her personnel file. From there, I checked her address, her phone, her school records, former employment, tax records, everything I could about her. Her name appears on the school's rolls, but there are no other academic records beyond that. No special awards, no sports records, even though the personnel data indicates there should be. I checked her former employers; two of them have her name in their files, and basic information, but no employee evaluations or other documentation of that sort. Plus, some of the employment dates don't jive. The other records are more detailed... should I go on?"

"What are you trying to say?"

"That this Alison St. Clair is probably a cover, one done in a hurry, too. The basics are covered, but if you dig deeper, you can't always find the expected supporting documentation. I suppose that MI7 or whoever created it missed a few of the finer details."

"They did not foresee an in-depth background check."

"In my estimation, no, they didn't. At least, not the kind that I can do."

"Excellent." Alvarez continued to smoke his cigar. "Now, how to deal with..."

"There's more."

Alvarez spun around, his face impassive, but his eyes full of both anger and surprise. He motioned to one of the guards, "Paulo."

Franks stumbled back as the larger of the two guards backhanded him across the face. He fell to the floor, fingering his jaw, and looking up at Alvarez with fury.

"Do not interrupt me again!" Alvarez ordered, punctuating his words with a finger speared in Franks's direction. Then he turned back to the window.

The mercenary glanced from Alvarez to each of his caretakers in turn, then levered himself off the floor. Wiping off the blood from the corner of his mouth, he squared his shoulders and buried his ego. "I... apologize for my rudeness. It will not happen again."

"See that it does not," the minister commented. "Now, tell me what else you have found."

'The car. The vid picked up a corner of the car she got into. It's a Rolls Royce, a custom model with six wheels. I started to look into it. No more than fifteen of that model were made. I would have looked into it further, but I ran out of time. Oh, one more thing. She has a chauffeur. You can see his feet as he opens the door for her."

That got the minister's attention. He turned back to Franks again, a calculating look in his eyes. "A chauffeur? How fascinating."

"Yeah. My question is: how does a public servant, even one who works for the Prime Minister of England, afford a custom Rolls Royce and a chauffeur?"

Alvarez walked slowly up to Franks, passed him by, then sat down behind his desk. Franks turned and approached.

"Is there more?"

"Not that I could dig up in the time allotted."

Alvarez smiled slightly, gazing off into the distance, seemingly oblivious to Franks, the guards, even the window, as he murmured, "So, our Señorita St. Clair is a cipher. Not quite what she seems to be." Turning to Franks, he said, "You have done well. You will live. I will pay you half of your original fee and I am still considering your offer about the Myles woman. Paulo, Pablo! Show Señor Franks back to his room, and return to him the things that were confiscated... with the exception of his gun. You are in my favor, Señor. You may have the run of the house and as much of the cay as you wish. And, you must join me for dinner. After all, I will be having a guest."

Scott looked up into the azure sky as the familiar silhouette of the mail plane zoomed over the pool, circling the island one last time before making its approach to the landing strip at the bottom of the cliff. He went back to his magazine, Aeronautics Today, scrolling down the page of his data pad and reading the article about his latest jet design. There was a picture of him standing next to the LT-1, and he gazed fondly at the sleek lines of the jet, designed not for the businessman in a hurry, but for the family on the go. He had seen the glut in luxurious SSTs destined for the corporate market, and decided to go in a different direction, designing a plane that was fast enough to get where you wanted to go in record time, but with the amenities necessary for keeping a sizeable family occupied while you got there.

The balance of size, speed, and power had been a tricky one, but he had managed it. Of course, once he had, a pragmatic Virgil had pointed out that few families of this day and age had more than two children, and that the cost of the jet would be prohibitive for those families who could really use it. Not to mention that, although piloting had become a skill almost as essential as driving in some parts of the world, it wasn't a universally required one... yet. Points that the less-than-flattering article reiterated, though it grudgingly gave him points for his innovation in pursuing the market and in the balance he had achieved. They projected that the jet might become the darling of sports stars or small musical groups. Truth to tell, he didn't care. He hadn't really designed it for the market; he'd designed it for his family.

"Scott!" Jeff's shout filtered down to the pool area from the balcony.

Getting up, Scott turned to face the house and his father. "Yes, sir?"

"Tin-Tin needs some help down at the airstrip. Please go give her a hand."

"Sure, Dad," the oldest son replied. He saved the article, tucked the data pad under an arm, and trotted over to the garage. It was concealed to some extent, not to keep it secret but to help it blend in with the beauty of the island and of the villa's setting. A hovercar sat waiting, ready for use at the touch of a button. Dropping his data pad on the passenger seat, Scott powered the hovercraft up, eased it out of the storage area, and whizzed down the packed pumice path that would bring him to the airstrip and the beach.

Juan, their regular mailman, was unloading several long, flat parcels from the cargo hold of his puddle jumper. They were of an awkward size and Tin-Tin was having trouble fitting them onto the back of the small ATV she had brought down. Scott jumped out and gave Juan a jaunty salute.

"Hey there, Scott!" the short, smiling, sun-bronzed man called. "I guess you're here to lend this lovely lady a hand, eh?"

"Yes, I am."

"Good!" Tin-Tin called. "Come over here!" Scott approached and she bade him, "Hold out your arms."

Scott did so, holding them out as brackets while Tin-Tin piled box upon box upon box into his grasp. He was amazed at how light most of them were. Once she had piled them up to the level of his nose, she sent him over to the hovercar to unload his burden. When he returned, she stacked the rest of the boxes in his arms and sent him on his way. As he dropped them onto the back seat of the hover car, he and the other two were startled by the opening of the small hangar door that was built into the cliff. This doorway was used primarily for the smaller aircraft in the family fleet, allowing them access to the cavern beyond. It was as much camouflage as the cliff face itself, giving a reason for the airstrip to be positioned where it was and answering any potential questions about hangar facilities on an island that could only be reached by air or sea.

The door rumbled open only a few feet, and Brains ducked beneath its edge to approach the mail plane. It slid back down behind him, closing with a soft thud.

"Just the man I needed to see!" Juan exclaimed. "I have an express parcel that needs to be signed for by you and you alone. I'll even need a thumbprint for this one!"

"Ah!" Brains said, rubbing his hands together. "I-I've been, uh, w-waiting for this!" He signed the data pad that Juan held out, and pressed his thumb to a small square on it. "T-There you go."

"And here it is," Juan said. He pulled out a plastic cube, made from one of the more indestructible polymers available from the packaging industry. With a swipe of a computer wand, he uploaded Brains's scanned thumbprint, then downloaded it to the lock on the cube. "All set." He turned to Scott. "Just a minute and I'll get you your regular mail."

Scott laughed. "As if this wasn't enough!"

Juan chuckled, and pulled out a small pile of envelopes, many of them addressed to Eleanor, and some larger ones addressed to Jeff. Even with much of the world's commerce done over the Internet, there were still some legal documents that needed actual and not virtual signatures.

"Okay, folks! I think that's it," Juan said as he slammed his cargo hatch closed. "Have fun, Tin-Tin! See you all again tomorrow!" Scott and the others said their goodbyes as he hopped into his plane, turned it around, then taxied down the airstrip and back out over the sea.

"So, what's in the boxes, Tin-Tin?" Scott asked. Brains had put his cube carefully into the back of the hovercar and offered to take the ATV up to the villa for Tin-Tin, an offer she accepted.

Tin-Tin smiled widely. "Penelon."

"Really? So soon?" He hazarded a quick glance back at the stack of boxes. "So much?"

"Yes. Penelope had him send a variety of fabrics to her and she had them shipped on to me. Did you know that Penelon can mimic almost any type of cloth? Even leather! I'm going to experiment with the fabric once I have some designs down. Then we can see what parts of the new uniform will work." She turned to look back at the cube. "I wonder what Brains got that required so many security precautions?"

"I don't know, but whatever it is, I'm sure he'll tell us."

"Thank you all for coming to this meeting," Lady Penelope began, looking around at her fellow International Rescue agents. She was ensconced in a comfortable wingchair in Renée Baptiste's living room. To her right was Parker, and beside him sat Peter Riordan. Next to Peter sat a large blonde named Brigitte Andersen. Her long, plaited hair was sun-streaked and her skin was well-tanned; in form, she could have passed for one of the Valkyrie. She was a member of Unity City's firefighting force and knew the city as well as Peter did. Beside her, as if to contrast the two women, sat the dark and petite Renée Baptiste, and at Renée's side sat pale, dark haired Dr. Viktor Solokov, MD, a recent arrival from the Ukraine who practiced medicine in one of Unity City's hospitals. His security clearance gave him access to many of the important dignitaries that worked in or visited the World Government capital.

Penelope gazed at each operative again. They were almost strangers, despite all covertly working for the same organization. Each of them knew a member of the Tracy family, or had been vouched for by Brains or Tin-Tin. But they didn't all necessarily know her, nor she them. This made Lady Penelope feel a bit nervous; after all, she would be entrusting her life and safety to these strangers as they went on with this plan.

Taking a deep breath, she started to outline the situation. "As you know, there is a rumor, a strong but unconfirmed rumor, that someone in the World Government is plotting to blackmail our covert employer. It has been discovered that Interpol was part of this, collecting information that could be used in this plot. The collected information fell, providentially, into friendly hands, and now our commander is aware of it. The person who received the information created a decoy, an item for which she was attacked. The trail of the decoy led here, to Unity City, and through the stellar work of Agent 53, the people who have the decoy have been traced to the Minister of Security."

She paused, and took a sip of the tea that Renée had provided. "I am currently undercover, working to confirm the whereabouts of both the decoy and one of the people who took it, and to discover, if I can, exactly what this blackmail threat consists of and who may be behind it. I have been invited to the Minister of Security's home, situated on his private cay in the Exumas, and will be traveling there tomorrow evening with his secretary, Mr. Ramirez. What I need from each of you is back up. I cannot take my chauffeur, for obvious reasons, so I shall be quite at their mercy if I do not have someone upon whom I can call should I get into trouble. I expect that someone to be you. Not all of you at once, certainly, but as many as we feel can handle the situation. Parker?"

Parker stood and cleared his throat. He pointed a remote at the tiny projection device that sat on Renée's coffee table and a holographic image appeared in mid-air. It was a map of the long stretch of small islands and cays known as the Exumas.

"Wiv infermation provided by our 'h'aye in th' sky' as t'were, we have co-or-din-ates of th' Minister's cay." The image picked out one of the small islands, the third from the end nearest New Providence, and enlarged that spot of land, showing the island in a sharp, three-dimensional picture that rotated. The green of the tropical forest and the point of the mountain that made up the islet were visible. Then an area on the cay was circled, and the image again zoomed in. Now buildings could be seen. " 'Is h'Excellency 'as several buildings makin' h'up h'a compound of sorts." As Parker began to name the structures, colored dots appeared to mark them. "This 'ere h'appears t' be h'a generatin' plant, whayle h'over 'ere is th' main 'ouse. H'Accordin' t' our sources, this h'over 'ere is h'a barracks of some kaynd, providin' 'ousing fer h'a number of guards. Th' plan h'is t' take 'er Ladyship's car and go..."

"Her Ladyship's car?" asked Brigitte a puzzled frown wrinkling up her smooth face.

Penelope stepped in. "My car has many special features, hydrofoil capability being one of them."

"Oh!" replied a surprised Brigitte. "I look forward to seeing this... car."

"H'An see h'it ye shall," Parker said with a grim smile. "H'As Ay wuz sayin', a small par-tay, dressed in black, would take 'Er Ladyship's car an'... sail out t' 'ere at nayte," another colored dot, this one pink, settled in the waters of the lagoon not far from the house, "where we can wait fer 'Er Ladyship an' listen in h'on th' con-ver-sashun. H'If 'er Ladyship h'is in h'any danger, then we can move in an' come t' 'er rescue." He stopped to look around the room. "H'Any questions?"

There was a sudden silence, then Viktor hesitantly asked, "How many people will the car hold?"

"H'A max-i-mum of fayve," Parker explained.

Renée shook her head. "I am too old for this. I will stay behind and monitor communications, and see to it that if you need extra help, you will have it."

Parker nodded. Peter raised his hand. "Will we have any protective garments? Kevlar or that sort of thing?"

"Yus. Kevlar vests," was the reply. "But ye'll 'ave t' provide yer h'own black clothes."

"Will... will we be using guns?" Viktor asked apprehensively. As all eyes turned to him, he motioned with his hands. "I hate guns."

"Then perhaps you should stay with the car, Agent 112, should there be any need for a landing party," Lady Penelope said softly. "If there is such a circumstance, we would require... for lack of a better term.. a 'getaway driver'."

The other operatives smiled or chuckled, even Parker weighed in with his heavy, "Heh, heh, heh." Viktor smiled, and nodded his head. "I can do that."

"Good man. In answer to your question, yes, International Rescue standard pistols will be issued. I would tell you to bring your own ordnance, but we must minimize the risk of being discovered. As IR agents, your lives could be in jeopardy should you be traced back to some stray bullet." Penelope gazed at each agent in turn. "If you are not versed in marksmanship, either with pistols or rifles, please tell me now."

Brigitte cleared her throat. "I am much more comfortable with rifles than with pistols, Lady Penelope."

"Noted, and thank you, Agent 87, for your honesty. Parker will be sure that you have the ordnance you are most familiar with."

"When does this all go down?" Peter asked.

"I am to meet Mr. Ramirez at 1730 hours to be flown by helijet to the cay. You will meet with Parker at these coordinates at 1800 hours. It is a secluded cove where driving a car into the sea should not be noticed."

The operatives chuckled again, and made note of the rendezvous point. Penelope put up a finger. "You must not reach the waters around cay until it is fully dark. Then the car will be less likely to be detected. Approach the cay only if necessary; I have a feeling that this Minister of Security takes his own security very seriously."

"Pray fer clouds," Parker said quietly. "H'A full moon'll bollix h'everythin'."

"Right." Penelope paused. "Any other questions?"

Peter put up a finger. "What will you do if the bastard who killed the two people at the warehouse is there?"

Penelope sat quietly for a minute as the other watched her expectantly. Then she looked Peter in the eye. "I will first notify our commander. Then, I shall follow his orders. It may mean abducting the man from the Minister's home and delivering him to the police. We shall see."

"I'll be happy to help you with that job," Peter said fervently. "I'll not soon forget the bodies I found."

The London agent sighed. "Again, any other questions?" There was a general shaking of heads. "Then take your timing from Parker. I will see you all upon my safe return from the Minister's home... if not sooner."

Piers Donovan sighed as he packed his briefcase. It had been a long couple of days for him and his people. The computer techs had finally isolated the termite that was eating its way through any data on International Rescue, but not before it had managed to write itself onto the backup files and now those files were just as corrupted. The officer whose name and password were the portal to the invasion was now on desk duty pending an Internal Affairs investigation. Donovan had a suspicion that the inquiry would turn up nothing and that the officer, Watts, would be cleared. He wanted very much to talk to Lucinda Myles, not only about Anthony Cho, but about some other information that had come to his attention involving a downed plane that she had been piloting. But to speak to her, he had to find her. And finding her was proving difficult.

He had finally telephoned Tracy Industries' New York headquarters, hoping to speak to their founder and CEO. But the people who he spoke to there told him that Mr. Tracy was not in the office, and would not give out a personal number, not even to the head of Interpol. The very nice office assistant did say she would forward any message he cared to leave, and he left one, asking Mr. Tracy to return his call. So now he was waiting on two calls, one from Jefferson Tracy and one from his officers in Singapore, who were going to question Tony Cho.

The vidphone rang, and Donovan muttered a vague curse. His secretary had gone home hours before, so he was stuck either answering the phone himself, or letting his service take care of it. Thinking it might be Jefferson Tracy, he decided to pick up the receiver.

"Donovan, Interpol. Who is calling?"

The officer on the other end was startled to hear his ultimate boss pick up the phone. "Uh, Mr. Donovan, this is Chu Wong from the Singapore branch. You asked for a team to question Tony Cho. I'm on that team."

Donovan sat down. "Nice to hear from you, Wong. What news do you have?"

Officer Wong squirmed. "Bad news, I'm afraid." He looked down at the body of the twenty-something man sprawled out on the floor of the high-priced flat. The hole in the man's forehead was very clear amidst the strands of long black hair splayed out over the blood-soaked carpet. "Tony Cho is dead. He's been murdered."