Blue Angels: The Bookkeeper

[The Great Dutch Ninja]

Charlie and Chrissy Chase remembered what Karla Lee had told them before their assignment. “There’s nothing like the feeling you get when you complete your first successful mission.” The twin angels knew exactly what she meant.
Granted, it wasn’t the most dangerous task. Several grams of uranium had been lost in transport from the Crystal Creek plant in Florida in route to the Yucca facility. Nothing that could create a fission bomb; the 238 isotope is the main ingredient in depleted uranium. Still, the leftover material could prove dangerous in enemy hands. The search didn’t take long. Charlie and Chrissy found the container on its side, on the shoulder of Interstate 80 in Nevada, near the waste storage plant. The question of blame would be asked by the DOE. For now, the Chase twins were happy to help.
They reentered CIA HQ in their field uniforms. Charlie and Chrissy didn’t expect any trouble while on their search, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared. The twins went through the retinal scans, voice recognition, and x-ray tests before entering the elevator. The high of success still buzzing in their ears, the twins wanted nothing more than to get out of uniform and into civilian clothes.
The Chases reached the second basement floor when the lights went out. The elevator came to a slight crashing halt, jolting Charlie and Chrissy. A few seconds passed before the emergency lights switched on, casting a pale blue glow.
“What happened?” asked Charlie, looking up to the ceiling.
“Generator may have gone,” said Chrissy.
“I don’t think so. Not here. I think we’re…”
Charlie was interrupted when the ceiling panel fell, crashing to the floor with a metallic clang. Before she could react, an arm came down from the roof, grabbed a handful of her waist-length blond hair, and pulled her up. Her tights-covered legs kicked uselessly in the air, and before Chrissy could react and pull her down, the unseen arm lifted Charlie all the way up to the roof of the elevator cabin.
Chrissy looked up to the hole, making sure to keep away from arm’s reach, searching for any sign of her sister. “Charlie? Where are you?”
She got her answer when Charlie fell out of the hole, flipping end over end as she hit the elevator floor. Chrissy knelt down, pressing her fingers against Charlie’s neck while looking upward for any signs of her assailant. Charlie may have been unconscious, but her heartbeat was regular and strong.
The elevator cabin shook slightly, and Chrissy got back to her feet. She was back to a vertical base when a tall figure in black fatigues, ski mask, and night-vision goggles jumped down from the roof. Wasting no time. Chrissy attacked with a roundhouse kick. The man in fatigues was one step ahead, ducking down well in advance. He stood back up and reached for Chrissy, clamping his right hand down deep into her Trapezius muscles, scrambling her nerves. The move immobilized Chrissy, and her stance weakened. The man reached around the falling angel’s waist with his other arm and pulled her in until she was held tightly against him.
“Very sorry about this, beautiful, but you’ll be thanking me later,” he said, gently massaging the angel’s leotard-clad back with his left hand as she drifted into unconsciousness. When Chrissy’s head fell on his shoulders, the man carefully placed her face up on the floor of the elevator. In moments, he iumped up to the hole in the ceiling, lifting himself onto the roof. He grabbed the bag that he had left behind, and continued with his exit strategy.


Archie’s Auto Warehouse sat on the edge of the Mississippi River, on the east side of Sullivan Boulevard. Save for the occasional graffiti artist or teenage couple, the walls saw no business. The machines sat silent, rusting. Tufts of grass poked out through the concrete veneer both inside and on the driveway. The painted sign on the front face continued to fade, now illegible. Hardly anyone remembered Archie’s, not even the scores of people who drove by it every hour. The only thing to recommend the site was the southside view of the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial. The Gateway Arch, the crowning glory of the park, gleamed brilliantly in the night.
All told, it was an excellent place for felons to get together.
Shortly before eight o’clock, Faith-Mari Hopkins and Stacy Delfina surfaced out of the Mississippi. They knew the roads would be monitored. When Karla Lee had given the new partners their assignment, they were already aware of Martine Brevik’s obsession over safety. Land was not the way to sneak up on her. The only option was by water.
They reached dry land on the east face of the lot, quickly taking the oxygen tanks off their wetsuits. As they zipped out of their gear, revealing their dark blue leotards and electric blue tights, Faith-Mari signaled to the roof. Stacy nodded, then removed the grappling hook from her utility belt. One silent firing later, and she was halfway up the aluminum side of the building.
With her feet on the roof of the rear portico, Stacy had a clear view of the top windows. She signaled back to Faith-Mari.
Someone was already inside.
Faith-Mari nodded. She snuck up to the back door and opened the latch without so much as a squeak. She slid her way in, catching a clear glimpse of Martine Brevik as she paced back and forth.
She had first read about Brevik when she did a thesis on international spy strategy in ANGELS training. Martine was a hired gun. Anyone who wanted to know anything about anybody turned to her. As long as the target wasn’t her native Norway, she was more than happy to take the assignment.
She was wearing the same uniform as in every ANGELS picture the agency carried; a bright red leotard with white tights underneath. The body of the leotard carried a blue Scandinavian cross; one blue line with white borders wrapped around her svelte waist, while the other started at her right hip, went upward, over her shoulder, and stopped at her backside, giving her uniform the appearance of the Norwegian flag. Platinum blonde hair, rich and luxurious, bounced along the neckline of her outfit, and her pale blue eyes were arched in worry as she went back and forth.
“Hvor er han?” Martine asked out loud.
Months of studying Brevik gave Faith-Mari a shaky but competent understanding of Norwegian. Martine’s question was no problem to decode: Where is he?
Now was the time to apprehend.
Faith-Mari stepped out from the abandoned machinery and boxes of the warehouse and entered the field of vision. “Martine Brevik, you’re under arrest.”
The look of surprise on the Scandinavian’s face was temporary, giving way to a grin. “Silly little angel. Only friends can call me Martine.” Faith-Mari saw Brevik’s white gloves ball into fists. She knew what was going to happen.
“Nosy little troublemakers like yourself may call me Fjordstorm.” Brevik swung her fist in the air, toward Faith-Mari, and a column of ice blasted out in the direction of the angel. Faith-Mari jumped out of the way as the block brushed by her and crashed through the aluminum of the warehouse. When she got up to her feet, the front door of Archie’s was swinging back into a closed position.
The receiver in her left ear crackled. “Faith, you okay?”
“Yeah, Stacy.” She ran up to the front door. Cautiously, she swung it open without going out herself. Another blast of ice crackled against the hinges, and the door fell over, covered in a sheath of frost.
“She’s running out toward the Memorial,” said Stacy.
“I figured. You stay here in case our mystery guest enters. I’m running her down.”
“Won’t you need backup?”
Faith-Mari began her run toward the Memorial grounds, with Brevik maintaining the lead, a hundred feet ahead. “I think it’ll be better if we keep our eggs in different baskets. We go after Brevik and miss, we got nothing. We get one, and we’re in business. Keep your post.”
“Roger,” said Stacy, and the earpiece crackled as communications ended.
It didn’t take Faith-Mari long to see where Fjordstorm was heading. She was making a beeline for the Arch.
“Great,” she said. “Go to St. Louis, catch the sights.”
She was slowly making ground on Brevik. When the spy ran up to the locked entrance and had to break the glass to get in. she lose most of her ground. She was halfway to the awaiting tram when Faith-Mari tackled her, sending both crashing to the metal floor. Faith-Mari got up first, lifting up the taller Norwegian by the neckline and seat of her leotard and tossing her to the security railing. Fjordstorm balled up her hands, but Faith-Mari grabbed her by the wrists, keeping a full blast from hitting the angel. However, the spy curled her fingers in Faith-Mari’s direction and sprayed a slight web of ice into the face. Finding herself deprived of oxygen, the angel let go of her grip. Fjordstorm gave her a swift kick to the face, knocking her down. She ran into the tram and closed the door well before Faith-Mari recovered. She was well up the 630 feet before her pursuer got into a trailing tram and resumed the chase.
When Martine Brevik got off the tram at the top, she knew she only had a few minutes to plan an escape route. She looked at the trams going down. Not a chance. Other angels would be waiting for her. Time for a plan B.
She looked at the wall of the Arch. The top 330 feet of the Arch are built out of carbon steel and milder rebar. It may take a couple minutes of full blast to weaken the integrity. She went to work.

Faith-Mari got out of her tram at the peak just as Martine kicked the icy patch of carbon steel out. A sudden gust of wind burst into the top of the arch.
“There’s nowhere to go, Brevik,” said Faith-Mari.
Brevik smiled. “There’s always a place to hide.” She blasted a path of ice that gripped to the bottom of the hole. The manmade glacier spilled down at a sixty-degree angle down to the ground. Before Faith-Mari could make a jump for her, Fjordstorm jumped onto the icy path and skidded her way 630 feet to street level.
“Don’t even think of chasing me,” she said under her breath as she stomped on the middle of the path. Cracklines spread across the pathway until the entire iceway collapsed, sending shards of ice downward into the Memorial grounds.
Faith-Mari stumbled to the hole, watching Fjordstorm make a quick break. In seconds, she was out of sight.
Shaking her head, she pressed the front button on her utility belt. “Delfina, did he show up yet?”
“That’s a negative, Faith,” said Stacy.
“Coming to meet you. Target escaped. We’ll wait for her friend to show up.”

They waited until daybreak. No one showed up. Nonetheless, they maintained their post until the earpieces crackled on both of their receivers. Something had happened in Langley.

****

This was the part of the job that Penelope Drummond hated. Most of the patrons of Edwin R. Serling Public Library were respectful citizens, looking for entertainment, enrichment, knowledge, and fun. Then there were punks like Mark Hyde and Darren Hays. She knew them as early as elementary school, two-thirds of her eighteen years. She knew them still, from Brandywine High School. Football players both. Lettermen both. Bullies both.
“Oh, great,” said Stephen Wodehouse, her fellow librarian. “The Terror Twins are back.”
Sure enough, Hyde and Hays, both clad in their Bulldog letter jackets, Abercrombie and Fitch knock off shirts and jeans, and $150 shoes, walked to the new release section, pulled both shoulders into a stiff-arm position, and brushed all of the books to the floor, causing a cacophony of crashing literature and almanacs.
“Hey, man,” said Stephen, “Knock it off. We got people trying to read here.”
Mark laughed. “Hey, Darren. I think we got the long arm of the law telling us to quit the ruckus.” He reached over the counter and grabbed a handful of Stephen’s plaid shirt. With his other hand, he lifted the librarian’s coke-bottle glasses off the head, and snapped the bridge between his fingers. “Why don’t you settle down.” Mark pointed at Penelope. “Take the dog for a walk.”
Their laughter echoed in the lobby as Odetta Harang, the head of the library, rumbled in. Even though she was long past seventy, with blue-shocked white hair, bifocals, and a full-length periwinkle dress, Miss Harang had the ability to scare even the most fit youngsters.
“All right, I want you two the hell out of my library,” she yelled, yardstick in hand, “Before I wallop your backsides so hard you’ll be making number twos out the front. Now scram!”
When the vandals left, Odetta turned her limitless rage toward her employees. “Where were you when all this was going on?”
“Miss Harang, Stephen told them to cut it out…” began Penelope.
“And didn’t do anything else? Maybe I should get bouncers instead of librarians. Only way I can get some peace around here. Now make your scrawny carcasses useful and pick up this mess!” She marched past them and into her office, where she slammed the door behind her.
Penelope nodded, even though Odetta Harang was nowhere to see it. With her eyes looking straight down, she walked to the books and began ordering them.
“You know they’re wrong, right? They had no right picking on you,” said Stephen as he knelt down beside her, picking up hardcover romances and thrillers.
“Really?” said Penelope. “Look at this.” She held wayward strands of her hair. “I have a head full of frizz. Look at this.” She looked down at her oversized gray sweater and wrinkled black ankle-length skirt. “Oh yeah. I’m a real knockout, Wodehouse.”
Stephen shook his head. “Beauty is subjective, Penelope. The same thing doesn't work for everyone.”
“Believe me,” she said. “If everyone didn’t want the same thing, why are there beauty pageants? Why are their cheerleaders? Why do all the prom queens look the same? Trust me when I tell you this: beauty is as objective as it gets.”

As the two librarians cleaned up, they were unaware of a man with black fatigues, without the conspicuous ski mask and goggles. Looking in all directions before making the dropoff, he tossed a bag, with a single book inside, into the after hours box. Relaxing in the fact that he was not watched, he ran back to his car and drove off. Within the hour, he was out of Wilmington, and out of Delaware.

[superpics4les]

Hey Ninja:

Glad to see more from ya! Two teams of gorgeous ANGELS this time, huh? Great start as always! I can't wait to see what you're up to this time! Be seeing you! 8)

[SGWriter]

Nice start Ninja, glad to see the Angles again

[The Great Dutch Ninja]

As Faith-Mari and Stacy walked down the main corridor of ANGELS HQ, toward the vacant Deputy Director’s Office, the white collars who manned the cubicles zipped by, talking excitedly into their headsets. The air was rife with tension. Conversations turned into heated arguments, and fingers were being pointed in each and every direction.
“What do you think happened, Faith?” asked Stacy.
“I don’t know.” Faith-Mari straightened her glasses out. “I’ve never seen the office this way, not even when we were attacked.”
They entered the DD room, expecting to see Director Lee. They were off by a couple of people.
“A bit more crowded than I expected,” said Faith-Mari.
Director Lee sat at the table that formerly belonged to Carter Roberds and David Whitman. She shook her head. “I know, kid, but we have a real situation here. Now, first things first. We are pulling you off the Brevik file. Nothing to do with your performance, although the city of St. Louis is none too pleased to have a new vent in their prime piece of property.” She sighed. “We had a robbery last night. A robbery, in what is supposed to be the safest place on the planet.”
Karla was flanked by two men, both no more than thirty-five, one on each side. The man on her right wore a light blue three-piece suit and matching tie. His eyes were near pitch, alert, rarely blinking. He stood unmoving, and his freshly shaved head and face cemented the impression of being former military brass. His iron-strong hands were balled into fists at his sides.
“I realize we have this type of introduction far too often, so I hope this will be the last one for quite some time. Agents Hopkins and Delfina, this is Julian Addison. He is your new DD. Came with top recommendations from Army Intel.”
Stacy waved. “Hello.” The new deputy director only nodded, silent.
“Now what you are going to hear stays in this room, girls,” said Karla. “The man on my left is Kyle Van Gaalen, special agent.”
Faith-Mari turned to see a man with a slight twitch, and a look on his pale, sweat-beaded face that suggested a kid who was caught opening presents on Christmas Eve. His nervousness burst through a carefully groomed façade. Despite the sweat, his hair was still at the ready, not a follicle out of place. Piercing green eyes looked through sleep-depraved bags.
“Special agent? FBI?” asked Faith-Mari.
Karla sighed. “No. Special Agent Van Gaalen works for JANUS.”
Stacy shook her head. “For who?”
“I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of us,” said Kyle, speaking in halts, his words almost running together. “However, you may be surprised to know that we work in the same building. We are six floors beneath you, on the ninth-level down.”
Stacy laughed. “There’s no ninth-level basement.”
Lee and Addison looked to each other.
“Well, I should know.” Van Gaalen ran his fingers through his hair, and when he finished, the coiffure swayed back into its original state. “I’ve worked there for the last five years.”
“Now that the pleasantries are done, can we proceed, madam?” asked Addison, still at the ready.
“Of course,” said the director. “Deputy Director, if you please.”
“Thank you.” Addison walked behind Lee and Van Gaalen and took the center of the room, directly in front of the agents. “Last night, we were contacted by JANUS. A prototype has been stolen from their R&D complex on ninth. We have been asked to retrieve the object. Since the thief had to have already acquired information of the HQ floorplans, it is probable that our suspect either has an insider, or is an agent. We need to know who stole it, and once the culprit is captured, why they did it, and for whom they are working.” His hands loosened. “JANUS felt our touch was the way to go. They have more final means.”
“Final?” asked Faith-Mari.
“We are the Joint Assault and Neutralization Units,” said Van Gaalen. “At this point, we would prefer the culprit to be neither assaulted or neutralized.”
“Your dossier will be made available as soon as we take a look at the crime scene this evening,” said Director Lee.
“Well, no day like today, is there?” asked Faith-Mari.
For the first time, Addison smiled. There was a genuine warmth to the grin that neither agent expected. “I couldn’t agree more.”

***

“Penelope? Penelope Drummond? Get your scrawny keister in here right now!”
Penelope cringed at the far-from-dulcet tones of Odetta Harang, echoing from the 800s section of the library. She had been dusting the front desk, alphabetizing books, nothing but the usual busy work. Every other few seconds, her mind drifted off, mostly to thoughts of Stephen. Unlike herself, he didn’t deserve to be locked up in this hellhole of a job. He didn’t need this. He was already set up for a scholarship at Johns Hopkins next year. He didn’t need the money. He didn’t need the harassment from guys like Hays and Hyde. Why did he stay?
“Am I talking Swahili here? Penelope, here! Now!”
Sighing, she walked to the 800s, her head down, running her fingers across the spines of entertainment books.
She turned the corner, and then almost turned away from the glare of Ms. Harang. The wizened face turned upward, right eyebrow raised, scowl carved into the craw. In her clutches, a dusty red book, with Confederate and Union flags intertwined, with The Civil War in large blue letters.
“Now, I know counting isn’t your forte, Penelope. I know thinking isn’t, either. But what number is this?” She pointed at the Dewey decimal number on the spine.
“Nine hundred, Miss Harang,” Penelope said, trying not to look at her boss.
“And what is this aisle?”
“Eight hundred.”
“Well, why don’t you stare putting two synapses together and put this book in the right flipping aisle?” Odetta tossed the book at her, then scampered out of sight.

After putting the book back, Penelope saw Stephen, more fidgety than normal, going through the bin of returns from the front of the library.
“Hey, Wodehouse. How’s the day treating you?”
“About as well as Hays and Hyde,” said Stephen. “Going through the library, and it looks like someone tossed in a book. I don’t think it’s ours. Looks like a diary, if anything. Tried looking for an ID. Nothing. Just some scribblings on the front page. Check it.”
Penelope walked up beside him, accidentally brushing by him as she did so.
“Oh, jeez,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he asked. He grinned, and she could feel her spine melt. “I think you were cured of the cooties a while ago. I’ll live.”
Blushing, Penelope looked down. On each line of the first page, a simple instruction (statement? Video game direction?): “Smith. Move right. Move left. Jump.”
“What do you make of that?” asked Stephen. Penelope couldn’t help but notice he was wringing his hands, although they were perfectly dry.”
She shrugged. “Don’t know.”
Stephen then looked her in the eyes. “Penelope, I know this may be a bit sudden, but I’ve never been one for planning. You know the Winter Dance is next week, and right now I’m going with me, and I don’t find myself to be the best of company, so I was wondering…”
Penelope shook her head. “Please don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
Penelope tried to smile, but couldn’t. She felt that choking sensation in her mouth and throat when the waterworks were threatening to break loose. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I really don’t feel like being a consolation prize. I know Hays and Hyde are creeps, and I know Ms. Harang can be a bit mean, but even the worst sentiments have some truth to them. I mean, I know I’m no Jessica Alba, okay? So please. Don’t.”
Stephen’s smile flattened. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t asking some It Girl, okay? I’m asking Penelope Drummond… because I want to go out with Penelope Drummond. No substitution. No settling. Okay? Just you.”
Penelope backed away. “I can’t. I just can’t. Okay? Just drop it.” She raced out of the library office, hoping to miss the sight of every window along the way.

****

The entourage took the elevator down to level 9. Initially, the cabin was silent, save for Van Gaalen clearing his throat.
“The thief apparently entered this elevator as a means of escape. He attacked the occupants, the Chase twins.” Van Gaalen shook his head.
“Charlie and Chrissy? Are they alright?” asked Faith-Mari.
“Under observation, but they should recover completely,” said Karla.
“The question should be, how did they allow themselves to be taken out? I tend to like two on one odds,” said Addison.
“Could be a fellow Angel, and they never would’ve expected a backstabbing,” said Van Gaalen.
“And it could’ve been someone from JANUS.” The Deputy Director and the Special Agent stared down each other for a moment, before Van Gaalen looked away
“And bickering at each other solves nothing,” said Karla. The elevator stopped, and the doors opened.
The lone corridor, with no branches, was almost blindingly white.
“I think you guys hired the same decorators that made the prison cells for the Woods,” said Faith-Mari.
On guard at the end of the corridor were two JANUS agents, each with an M-16 machine gun in hand.
“And the same tailors,” said Stacy.
The two guards stood tall, the same height. Although one was brunette and the other a strawberry blonde, their normal hairstyles were concealed by their military-style silver Garrison caps. Silver catsuits fit the guards’ bodies like a second skin. Bronze stripes went from the neckhole of the uniform to the wrist, riding down the anterior of the arm. The neck of the catsuit was collared and buttoned, and golden neckties were clipped to the bodice.
“I mean, Director Lee, you can tell me. Did the CIA give a big government contract to DuPont so only Lycra could be used for female operatives?” Stacy lowered her head, chuckling in disbelief.
“Actually, Agent Delfina, the design was made by the director of JANUS himself.”
“And who would that be?” Faith-Mari asked. She looked to Deputy Director Addison, who shook his head, then to Director Lee, who shrugged her shoulders.
The sealed doors of JANUS HQ decompressed, letting out a vacuum-breaking gasp. The doors parted ways, and a dense blanket of fog poured out, almost enveloping the guards.
Through the mist, a shadow emerged. The slight whirr of a motor hung in the air. The shadow grew larger until the wheelchair pierced through the fog. The breathing of the man inside was audible. His body, almost formless under a black sports jacket, shirt, and slacks, remained motionless from the neck down. When his face broke through the mist, with short brown hair, slightly weathered face, and quizzical blue eyes, a scream could be heard bursting through the corridor. Faith-Mari turned, and was surprised to see that the screamer was Karla Lee. The director’s face was twisted by fear, her mouth agape.
“I Am Happy To See You Too, Karla,” said an electronic speech synthesizer, emitting from the wheelchair.
The director tried desperately to get her breath back.
“Nathan?”

****


The lights had gone out at the Edwin Serling library, but Penelope Drummond remained. She had told Odetta Harang that she had more books to file, more microfiche to return. Despite the lady’s disdain, Penelope hoped she would make her boss happy. Instead, she got a reprimand about how those tasks should’ve been done earlier.
But she didn’t stay for the tasks. She stayed because of the book.
She kept reading the first page, the only one with writing.
“Smith. Move right. Move left. Jump.”
“What is that?” she asked.
She closed the book and looked at the black covering. She never had the opportunity while Stephen had it. On the front cover was a large pink handprint.
“Wonder what brand of book this is,” she said. Curious, she placed the palm of her hand down on the front. Her slender fingers were much smaller than those on the cover, and her palm still left pink surface area around the perimeter.
“Too big to be mine,” she said.
Penelope then felt a warm sensation coming from the center of the cover, right in the innards of her lifelines. She tried to take her hand off of the book, only to discover, to her amazement, that she couldn’t. It felt like the skin of her hand was merging with the book cover. The pink outline shrank on the front until the outline matched her. Electric sparks began to envelope her hand.
She screamed for someone, anyone, not even caring if it was Odetta Harang to the rescue. But no one did.
The electric blue field covered her arm, buzzing and sparking as it crept up to the elbow. And then, as suddenly as the ordeal began, the field dissipated. Her hand was released from the cover, and Penelope collapsed to the ground.
Slowly, she rose up to the table, holding her arm as she got up. The book landed on the surface, front cover down.
Write in it, she heard a voice, dark, low, not entirely her own, whisper.
“But what?”
Anything, it said.
Penelope shook her head wildly. “No. No, I won’t. This is craziness.”
And getting shocked by a book isn’t? asked the voice. You’ll trip and fall if you can’t see your way out of here. Write in the book.
Exhaling slowly, Penelope turned the book over. Flipping to the second page, and with a standard yellow pencil in her hand, she wrote, “Lights on.”
As if on cue, the halogens glowed, a faint electric purr breaking the silence.
Do it again, said the voice.
With the pencil, she wrote, “Doors open.”
She barely dotted the period when the moving doors slid open.
Now do something meaningful, said the voice.
Penelope chuckled, which frightened her slightly. The laughter didn’t quite sound like her own.
Then, with a bitter cackle, she wrote, “Make Odetta Harang’s life a living Hell.”
That’s the spirit, said the voice.

[superpics4les]

Ninja:

I've got the distinct feeling that this is gonna be really good! Be looking forward to more of The Bookkeeper! Fer sher! :-D See you soon? 8)

[SGWriter]

Hmm interiguing, I wonder who the mystery man is and why Karla is shocked to see him... nice update Ninja!

[The Great Dutch Ninja]

Again, thanks. Hope all continues to go well. Looking forward to the next installment of Tales of the Cat, and to your new one as well, pz.

****

Kyle Van Gaalen let out an embarrassed giggle. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I should’ve realized that some of you may have already met.” He cleared his throat. “But I need to introduce everyone else. The director of JANUS, Nathaniel Quist.”
The man in the wheelchair moved forward. “Pleased To Meet You, Mr. Addison. Miss Hopkins. Miss Delfina,” said the electronic voice.
Karla shook her head, her pupils still dilated. “You died. You were dead.”
“Someday, Karla, That Will Be True. But Not Quite Yet.”
Faith-Mari turned to her director. “How do you know him?”
“If I May,” said Quist. “Miss Lee And I Graduated In The Same Class. She Always Was The Studious One. Never The One To Make Mistakes. Remember The Nickname We Gave You In Training?”
A slight tear trickled down Karla’s face. “God,” she said.
Quist’s lips turned slightly upward, as best an impersonation of a smile as he could give. “Soon After Graduation, We Went To The Director Of The Agency. We Had Task Forces Based On Intelligence, Power, Psychology. But We Wanted To Create A Force Built Upon One Of Mankind’s Most Potent Weapons: Beauty. Our Goal Was To Combine The Tactics Of Our Colleagues And Mold Them To Perfection. After All, The Same Holds True In A Bar, Or The Most Heavily Guarded Facility: Beauty Is Everywhere…”
“…A welcome guest,” finished Karla. “Von Goethe said that. Now I know it’s you, Nathan: you never gave credit where it’s due.”
Quist’s smile disappeared. “Your Words Are Razors To My Wounded Heart. And Yes, Shakespeare. Titus Andronicus.” He maneuvered the wheelchair back into the fog. Van Gaalen ushered the guests into the JANUS HQ.
“As A Result, ANGELS Was Born,” Quist continued. “I Wish I Could’ve Seen My First Child Grow, But Some Things Aren’t Meant To Be. I Was Assigned To Kiev To Locate And Destroy A Laboratory Know To Be Creating An Aerosolized Form Of Superoxide Dismutase. Unfortunately, In The Process Of Doing So, I Was Exposed To A High Amount.”
“ALS,” said Faith-Mari. “The SOD1 must’ve reacted to your cytoplasm.”
“Smart Girl,” said Quist, stopping to make sure the group kept up with him. “Imagine The Effects Of Lou Gehrig’s Disease Taking Place Over Minutes As Opposed To Months. I Was Evacuated Out Of The Warehouse By My Team Members. We Had To Make The Russians Believe The Perpetrator Did Not Make It Out, And No Information Had Been Retrieved.”
“So the Agency holds a funeral for you,” said Karla. “For the last nineteen years, while I thought you were dead…”
“I Have Been Busy,” said Quist. “JANUS Is The Most Covert Operation In The World. Most People In The Building Above Us Don’t Know We Exist.”
Karla’s knuckles turned white. Her teeth bit down on the lip, drawing a tiny drop of blood. “Did you even care about, or give a clue to me that you were somewhere out there?” Her breathing echoes slightly in the connection room between the outside corridor and JANUS HQ. No one asked why; ANGELS went through the same antiseptic spray getting off the elevator.
“It Was A State Secret,” said Quist. “Our Security Is Bigger Than Both Of Us. Besides, Would You Have Felt Comfortable Looking At This For The Rest of Your Life? The Man You Wanted Never Came Back.”
“That was my decision, not yours,” said Karla.
“We Can All Be Professional And Cool About Tragedy Until It Happens To Us,” said Quist. “Meanwhile, I Created The Most Lethal Task Force In The World. Ladies And Gentlemen, Welcome To JANUS.”
The antiseptic chamber opened, and the ANGELS committee took in their first glimpse. There was action everywhere; large, flat television screens flickered from one map to another, showing areas no more than a block wide, red infrared scanners picking up human forms. Arrows onscreen would click on walking passersby on the map. A click opened a computer window, and information appeared on the side: Name, DOB, Occupation. Men dressed in the same formal style as Van Gaalen helmed the computer desks that corresponded with the massive screens.
“So much for privacy,” said Stacy.
“And this doesn’t violate any laws?” asked Addison.
Quist stopped his wheelchair. An electronic laugh, cold and impersonal, broke out. Van Gaalen followed suit, his laughter more humane but equally displeasing to the ear.
“Laws,” said Quist. “How Precious.”
The blare of an engine burst through the room. Faith-Mari and Stacy ducked down as a JANUS agent, clad in her shiny silver catsuit and Garrison cap, zipped through in the air on a rocket pack.
“Incredible,” said Addison.
“We plan to be on the forefront for every military advancement of the next century,” said Van Gaalen. “Rocket packs may be all Disney flicks and James Bond fantasies to middle America, but here it’s a matter of strict training. It’s no picnic being admitted into JANUS, but it’s nothing compared to being a rocket specialist. Only 5% pass the training program. Those who don’t are relegated back to infantry.”
“You mean…” began Stacy.
“Yes,” said Quist. “If They Ain’t Cutting, Then I Put Them On Foot Patrol.”
“Can we please get to the subject?” asked Karla.
“Of Course, God,” said Quist. “This Way, To The Science Department.”
The half-dozen marched to the scene of the crime. On the way there, two JANUS agents saluted their chief. As the group went by, Faith-Mari overheard the couple say something about “ANGELS” and how “the ones who’re on the leash,” followed by some desultory chuckles. With a scowl on her face, she put her undivided attention to the department in front of her.
“First things first,” she said. “What was stolen?”
Van Gaalen stopped, looking at his boss. Ever so slightly, Quist nodded.
“Well,” Van Gaalen started. “What we lost was codenamed Operation Scripture. We had made significant progress in ESP, particularly in regards to moving inanimate objects. It also had preliminary success against living targets as well. Eleven inches long, four inches wide, one inch thick. Black, identification scan on the front.” The door to the Science Department opened, revealing an array of microscopes, Bunsen burners, and boxes of chemicals. A pedestal, with a broken glass box on its top surface, and itself surrounded by a shattered Plexiglas box, stood in the corner.
“So what is it?” asked Stacy.
Van Gaalen sighed. “It’s a book, Agent Delfina.”


Odetta Harang turned over in her bed, seemingly for the hundredth time that night. She took Tylenol before getting ready for the night, but it wasn’t doing a bit of good. Her head had been ringing since shortly after close. She felt her heartbeat in the back of her eyes, her breathing felt like the result of her lungs benching weights, and her bones felt brittle, crackling under the skin.
When I go back to the store, I’m asking for a refund, she thought. I thought this stuff was supposed to help. I imagine this is what it feels like to live in Hell.
Downstairs, she heard the front door open.
“Hey, you,” she yelled. “You’re stepping in the wrong house! I got a shotgun here, and I’m not afraid to use it.”
Odetta wasn’t bluffing. She grabbed the Remington from under her bed, grimacing as she bent down. Bullets already inside, she stepped to the staircase, where footsteps creaked against the ancient wood of her Colonial home.
“You best be turning away, unless you want to breath out of a dozen new holes!” Odetta pulled the pump-action handle. She didn’t need to; there was no used cartridge to be expelled. However, she hoped the identifiable clack of the pump-action would make the advancing person think twice. It didn’t; after a few seconds of silence, and what sounded like the scribbling of a pen frantically writing on paper, the steps continued.
She could see the head bobbing up. It was a girl’s, and Odetta recognized her almost as soon as she saw the shadow of pigtails lightly bouncing up and down with each step.
With the switch in reach, Odetta turned on the lights.
“Drummond? That you?”
She didn’t have to ask; she already knew. The formerly frizzled hair turned arrow-straight, pigtails pouring onto champagne shoulders. A sleeveless neon green leotard, shimmering in the new light, left as little to the imagination as Penelope’s library wardrobe gave as much. Opaque red tights accentuated her legs. The black letters PD, overlapping each other, were printed in Old English-style calligraphy on the chest. Red elbow-length gloves gripped the big black book that Stephen Wodehouse reported as a lost item that afternoon.
“You were expecting someone else?” asked Penelope, taking off her coke-bottle glasses, tossing them onto the bed.
“I expect some peace and quiet at this hour. Now get out of the house, before I do something you’ll regret.”
“But don’t you want to know why I stopped by?” Penelope took slow, methodical steps toward Odetta, leg crossing over leg.
“You stay where you are, child. I will use this.”
“But I want to thank you for your months of kindness and generosity.” She was twelve feet from the barrel of the Remington, ten.
“I said enough!” Odetta pulled the trigger. The barrel of the Remington exploded, sending shards of metal in all directions. Penelope continued her advance, amazingly unscarred by the flying debris. Bits of barrel scratched and embedded Odetta. Slight scratches of red showed through her white nightdress. She screamed for the first time in her life.
“Tsk, tsk,” said Penelope. “Perhaps I should read the latest words from my new diary. I think you’ll find them relevant. Odetta opened fire, only to have the shotgun misfire. Thankfully, no one else was hurt. I wrote it coming up the stairs.”
Odetta backed into the wall of her room, hitting the second-story window.
“And I think you’ll like this, too, Miss Harang. Then a strong gust up wind whooshed up the stairs, blowing into Odetta full on. The force sent her through the window, sending her careening to the cement walkway below. Not very colorful, but succinct and to the point.”
“Penelope, don’t.”
The girl in green frowned. “Don’t ever call me that ugly name again. The name is Penny Dreadful, and like the 900s section, you are History.” With emphasis, she stabbed the period at the end of her sentence. As if on cue, a vortex of wind blew up the stairs. Penny stood at the center of the floor, unmoved and steady in the blast. However, the gusts blew the window behind Odetta wide open, and the head librarian reacted as though she had been sucked out by explosive decompression. With a sick thud, she bounced off the roof of the entrance portico, and then landed, face up, on the walkway leading up to the house.
Penny allowed herself a brief second to look down at her work. She put down the book on the windowsill long enough to slap her gloved hands together, as though she had finished a choir.
One down, two to go, the unknown voice in her head whispered. And now, for some fun and games.


“That’s not possible,” said Addison when Van Gaalen finished describing Operation Scripture. “That’s not just ESP. That’s having a first-rate God complex.”
“Well, I don’t think we’ve achieved deity status just yet,” said Van Gaalen. “Yes, we can move objects just by directions from the book. We could even create temporal and wind changes with moderate success. But we can’t use it psychologically on living targets. Anything we do to them is on a purely physical plane, and of course they can fight back against the force of the book.”
“What do you want the girls to do? Find the book?” asked Karla.
“We want our property back.” Van Gaalen coughed. “Bring back the book, and bring the perp. Cut and dry.”
“What will you do with the book?”
“We will place it under top security.”
“That worked so well the first time around,” said Stacy.
Faith-Mari nodded. “If it were up to me, that thing wouldn’t exist at all.”
“We Just Want It In The Right Hands Again,” said Quist, swiveling around to face the angel.
“I don’t think anyone’s hands are right for it,” said Faith-Mari. “But we’ll find the book.” Faith-Mari, Stacy, and Addison nodded to Director Lee, then walked toward the exit.
As the remaining personnel left the Science Department, a silver-clad redheaded JANUS agent bowed before her boss. As she walked by, Karla watched Quist’s eyes, studiously gazing the agent’s backside.
“You always had a dirty mind, Nathan,” she said. “I’m guessing you designed the uniforms for JANUS, too?”
“When You Are In My Condition, You Make Whatever Happiness You Can.” Quist motored forward, past Karla. Not to be ignored, she stepped in his path.
“I know you think you did the right thing. Maybe you did. But doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.” Karla bit her lip harder, trying to keep the rush in. “I loved you, Nathan.”
Quist remained silent for a second. “First Time You’ve Said That. Two Decades Too Late, Kid.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know everything you do here, but we still play by the rules. And we’ll get your book. Just don’t be surprised if you don’t get it back.” She marched out.
Quist watched her leave, his face a perfect mask for any longing, anger, or sadness.
“Sir?” asked Van Gaalen.
The JANUS director turned to face his subordinate. “Have You Ever Read Poe?”
“No, sir. Not much for the classics.”
“You Should. He Wrote A Story Called The Purloined Letter. A Thief Has Stolen An Important Paper, Intending To Blackmail His Enemy. When Confronted, The Thief Hides The Letter. Do You Know How He Kept It Away From The Detectives?”
“No, sir. Afraid I don’t.”
“He Left It In A Mailbox, In Plain Sight. The Letter Was Disguised. As A Letter. Are You Catching My Drift?”
“I believe so, sir,” said Van Gaalen, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“Check Every Bookstore, Every Library, Every Goodwill. Anyplace That Sells Or Deals In Books.”
“Sir, that could be anywhere. There must be tens of thousands of bookstores in the US. And that’s if the book is still in America.”
The little half-grin returned. “True. It Could Be Anywhere. Until The Homing Trigger Is Set Off."
Van Gaalen shrugged. "Someone would need to try to access the book first."
"Looks Like They Made An Attempt While You Were With Our Colleagues. Wilmington, Delaware. I Wanted To Know If Our New Friends Could Be Trusted Before Saying Anything. Now I Know.”
“I will be there by daybreak.”
“See That You Get The Book. Better In Our Hands Than In The Angels. And They Have No Need To Know Where You’re Going.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Van Gaalen bowed, and made a beeline for the elevator.

Martine Brevik looked behind her, to her right, to her left. She felt a continuing tidal wave of paranoia since the Angels almost busted her in St. Louis. She moved from building to building, always on the move. Stay still, and they would be sure to catch her. At her first opportunity, she moved to a payphone on the outskirts of the city. Breaking into the change collector, she removed fifty cents from the phone and replaced the quarters into the coin slot.
She didn’t have to wait for the second ring. “Go.”
“Where were you? You left me alone. I was almost arrested. Now they’re looking for me.”
“Calm yourself,” said the voice on the other end. “The prize has been won. It’s been safely deposited. Give me another day, and you’ll have it. And then you’ll earned your keep.”
“One more day. Then I walk. I don’t need any more harassment in my life. It’s bad enough being shooed out of Norway. I will not tolerate being chased to yet another continent.”
“You just do as you’re told. Tomorrow, at this time, at Philadelphia International. I don’t care how you get there. I don’t see you in 24 hours, and I’ll find me another patsy who likes money more than you.” Static buzzed on the other end.
Martine caught her breath. How was she going to travel 900 miles in a day, especially when the airports would be swarming with security, cops, and who knows how many people waiting for her?
She reached into her knapsack. With a flip of the lid, she opened her clamshell cell phone. She dialed, and her new contact answered.
“I need a ride,” she said without so much as a hello.

[superpics4les]

Another great update, Ninja! I thought the old biddie would get her just desserts and she certainly did! :twisted: Love the name Penny Dreadful! The Angels will have their hands full with her and their Norwegian nemesis! Look forward to more of this one! Nice Job! 8)

PS - Hope you like the conclusion, Ninja! :-D

[SGWriter]

Nice addition to the story Ninja! Loved the interplay between Karla and Quist.

[The Great Dutch Ninja]

The Forty Acres neighborhood of Wilmington stood silent in the deepest hours of night, with only the occasional passing car making noise. The new upscale restaurants and stores had been closed for hours, the sidewalks free of pedestrians, and the light poles only enhanced the feeling of loneliness.
Penny Dreadful walked down Dupont Street, strutting, confident. She felt as though she had been set free after a lifetime of imprisonment. She could tell the bullies of the world to back off. She wasn’t done with that task yet; the others would have to wait for the morning. This was going to be fun.
She found Stephen Wodehouse’s house (or, more accurately, his parents’ house) with little difficulty. She stood outside, checking herself. Pigtails perfectly arched, gloves stretched on, tights run-free, seat of her leotard adjusted to cover what needed covering.
“Time to make amends,” she said under her breath.
She checked around the perimeter of the colonial, looking through window after window. She was relieved to find him, lost in sleep, on the first floor. Silently, she stepped in through the open window. As she made her way to the bed, she chuckled at how easy it was to get to Stephen. No one leaves open their windows at the Hilltop, least of all anyone in the Drummond family. They had been robbed too many times to chance it.
“You rich folk sure take security for granted,” she whispered.
To her surprise, the slight statement rustled Stephen out of his slumber. With a slight groan, he shook the weight of sleep out of his system. The figure that knelt before him stunned him into continued silence.
“Like what you see?” asked Penny.
Stephen stared, slackjawed.
“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?”
He shook the shock out. “Wow. And this is the part of the dream where my mom shakes me and tells me it’s time for school, right?”
Penny giggled. She moved herself forward, straddling Stephen. She placed a gloved hand over his chest. She could easily feel the acceleration of his heart through the cotton of his white T-shirt.
“No, baby,” she said. “This is when I stop playing hard to get, and when I stop pitying myself. Penelope Drummond is dead. This is the new hotness.” She ran her fingers through her tied-up hair until she pulled on her pigtails. “Tell me I’m better than everyone else, Stephen.”
Stephen nodded. “You know I’ve been trying to tell you that since forever.”
She smiled, and the voraciousness and mischievousness of it almost made Stephen shy away. But she refused to let him go. She kissed him full on the lips, sucking the air straight out of his lungs. With her left hand, she guided his right arm around her waist. She grinned with satisfaction when she felt Stephen shiver at the touch of her leotard-covered side. He was hers.
“Don’t you worry, babe,” she said. “Penelope Drummond is no more. I’ll take care of you now.” She leaned in to kiss him again, but Stephen backed away. The warm shivers went away.
“Sorry, but that’s just weird, Penelope,” he said. “You want to get more confident, carry a swagger, and that’s fine. But the whole point was that I like you. You didn’t need to change. This whole Penelope Drummond is dead thing is warped. I want Penelope. I don’t want her to die. I want to see her happy. And right now… I don’t see her in you.”
The only sound was the nearly-still breath exhaling out of Penny’s lithe body.
“I want you to go. I hope you get this whole new you under control…”
“Yeah, whatever,” said Penny. “Your loss, babe.” She jumped out of the window moments before Stephen’s parents opened the door, only to find their son doing a spotless impression of unconsciousness.

These were the settings where Faith-Mari Hopkins thanked the deity in charge that ANGELS carried alternate attire. The usual Lycra bonanza wouldn’t do at PHL, where almost 30 million passengers walk the terminals each year.
“I think we’re being set up,” Stacy said as the pair walked through the crowds, decked out in their powder blue business jackets and skirts.
“Wish I was intuitive like that when I was your age.” Faith-Mari thought about the near-bungle in Boston, which must have been... what Five years ago? Ten?
Stacy laughed. “Your age? Miss Hopkins, you’re a year older than me. I may not be an ace in math, but I know 21 – 20 = 1.”
Faith-Mari stopped. She scratched her head, doing the quick math. Wow, she thought. The kid was right. Boy, this job ages you.
“We’re not going to give the book back to Quist, are we?” Stacy asked.
Faith-Mari shrugged. “I don’t know, squirt. Perhaps, if he asks politely enough.”
They checked with the security detail of the airport. Dulles didn’t have any books on file, nor did Baltimore-Washington. Director Lee told them the book would’ve set off the alarms if the thief tried to carry it out by plane. The story in Philadelphia was no different. No items detained or found that matched the description.
The two angels spent lunch at the Le Petit Bistro in Concourse C, a necessary recharge for the afternoon search.
“What’s next?” asked Stacy.
“Newark, then LaGuardia and JFK,” said Faith-Mari. “But those are among the best airport guards in the country. I think whoever stole the book knows that, but we were told to be thorough. It may be draining work, but it’s necessary. If our thief stole it for foreign purposes, they’re going to need to get it out of the country, and as soon as possible. Since that would leave out driving across the border, that leaves the ports and planes.”
“And if they get out?” Behind the brave veneer and wild brunette hair, Faith-Mari could see fear crackling across her understudy’s face.
“I don’t know,” she said.
Faces moved in and out of focus as Faith-Mari sipped her Kona coffee. Every now and then, she’d see a familiar pair of eyes, a set of lips vaguely like something buried deep in the psyche. And then, a full face came into view. She knew it, but she couldn’t believe it.
“Stacy, is that Deputy Director Addison?” she asked.
The younger Angel did a quick turnaround, careful not to attract attention. Indeed, across the concourse, in and out of visibility through the crowd, was Julian, marching in a beeline toward the arrivals area.
“What’s he doing here?” asked Stacy.
“Heck if I know,” said Faith-Mari. They watched him, in and out, for the next few minutes, careful not to stare. Addison stood at the ready, still as a mountain. He made his move as he nodded to someone in front of him. Faith-Mari followed his line of sight, to a woman who hid her face from the light. But Faith-Mari recognized the body language, the platinum blond sheath of hair that flowed down her trenchcoat, the white tights that were in plain sight…
“Fjordstorm?” she said. “Stacy, don’t react when you see her.”
Stacy didn’t, but Faith-Mari noticed her eyes widen.
“What are they doing together?” Stacy asked.
They watched as Martine Brevik and Julian Addison shook hands. The Deputy Director escorted her out, holding her by the arm as he moved through the crowd.
“Delfina, you chase them,” said Faith-Mari. “I want to know what they’re doing and where they’re going. You follow them like you’re the paparazzi and they’re Hollywood royalty, you got it?”
“But what if I…”
“Just put your training to use, and they won’t see a thing. Now go.”
Stacy nodded, got up from the table, and took pursuit.
Alone at the Le Petit, Faith-Mari removed a cell phone from her jacket pocket. “Director Lee, please.”

“When will you have the book?” asked Addison.
Martine tightened the sash on her trenchcoat. “Tonight. All we need to do is pick it up. It is, as you Yankees say, cut and dry.”
“Good,” said Addison. “I hear this one is quite the read. Let’s pick it up”
The Norwegian grabbed his arm. She could feel the musculature underneath the suit jacket. “Patience. We have time. The book isn’t going anywhere.”
They exited the terminal and headed for the parking garage, unaware of Stacy’s hawkish gaze as she continued surveillance.

Kyle Van Gaalen drove as fast as his government-issued Chevy Cavalier would allow. Intel at JANUS tracked down a lead in the case. An elderly woman had been admitted to Saint Francis Hospital after being found on the walkway to her house. Shattered like glass during Mazel Tov, but still alive. It was what had been reported by the newspaper that caught his attention. They were on the lookout for a girl with a black book with a handprint on the front. Within minutes, he was in Saint Francis. It wasn’t his first time extracting information from a survivor, so he knew the script by heart. Yes, he was poor Odetta’s son, and he was worried to death about her, and if you could leave us alone to have some family time for a few minutes.
Needless to say, Odetta Harang was surprised to see a stranger in her room after the nurses had left. “Who are you?”
“Sorry to bother you, Miss Harang, but I am with Federal Law Enforcement. We feel you may have been the victim of stolen sensitive materials. I noticed in the News Journal that you said a girl with a book is responsible.”
“Yes,” said Odetta, coughing with every few words she could muster. “She kept writing in that book, and all of a sudden Hell decided to break loose in my house. It was that good for nothing Drummond girl.”
“I’m sorry,” said Van Gaalen. “Drummond?”
“Yeah, Penelope.” Odetta went on a fit of coughing and hawking, and Van Gaalen silently prayed that he’d get more information before the old bag passed on.
“Do you know where I can find her?”
“No, can’t say I can,” said Odetta. “All I can tell you is she was dressed up like a five-cent hooker. No modesty or mystery at all. I swear, with what girls are wearing today, you can tell where to put a catheter without so much as a how do you do.”
Van Gaalen remained stone-faced. “You must tell me where she is.”
“She works for me, but I never got her address. We need help so bad we’d take it off the streets if need be.”
Van Gaalen knelt down so he could see her face to face. “Where does she work?”
Odetta looked into his eyes, and saw something that made her blood freeze up like January.
“Tell me!” Van Gaalen gripped onto the side rails of the cot.
The old lady gulped. “Edwin Serling Public Library, over on Oceanfront Drive, near Forty Acres. You can’t miss it.”
For the first and last time in the visit, the agent grinned. “Thank you, m’am. We’ll find her, and we’ll bring her to justice.” He nodded politely, then exited the room.
As he walked down the main corridor, he passed a young nurse, no more than twenty-five, with honey-blonde hair down to the shoulder blades, straight as a razor.
“Lindsey, we’ve got a name, we’ve got a place,” he said. “After you’re done playing nurse’s aide, suit up. Time to bring this to a close.”
“No problem, chief,” she said.
He took a quick look at the girl’s toned snow white arms exiting the short sleeves of her outfit, then down to her legs, with bright white hosiery that looked like her legs were poured into them.
“Knock it out of the park, kiddo,” he said, giving her a slight pat on the backside as he walked out.


Lindsey O’Riordan walked into Odetta Harang’s room with an empty tray, cursing Special Agent Van Gaalen under her breath. She didn’t sign up to become a JANUS agent just so lechers could put their mitts on her. If it was a target, sure; might give them one last moment of joy before they took up their new job as worm food. But not people like Van Gaalen. Not people she couldn’t kill. She was so livid she thought she felt her blue eyes turning red.
“Hey, miss, are you going to stand in the entrance all day? I don’t need another visit. Another nurse came in half an hour ago.”
Lindsey slapped on as professional and placid grin as she could. “Be right there, Miss Harang.” She walked to the door and closed it shut.
“Why did you close the door? What are you…”
Odetta Harang was silenced when Lindsey placed her pointer fingers firmly on the patient’s temples, right at the pressure points. When struck, the victim can be knocked unconscious instantly, as in the practices of Kyusho jitsu.
Lindsey had no means of letting it go at unconsciousness.
With continued pressure, she felt the point give way. It took less than a minute for the collapse to take place, and the skin that covered the temple sank in, almost to the first knuckle.
Smiling, Lindsey left her victim and the tray in the room. Being careful to close the door behind, she calmly walked to the elevator. On the way in, she noticed the attention she received from some of the men in the cabin. Some people would feel uncomfortable, exploited. Lindsey smiled.
Even if you knew what I just did, she thought, you’d still want me anyway.

[superpics4les]

Ninja:

Very, very, nice!! Loved the update! Looking forward to more spies & suspense! 8)

[SGWriter]

Nice update Ninja, the plot thickens..... Like the multiple factions working against each other.

[The Great Dutch Ninja]

Some of the new characters in The Bookkeeper. Chapter Five should be on sometime overnight.

Thanks for reading,

Liam

[The Great Dutch Ninja]

Sunday mornings were silent at Edwin Serling Library. The doors were locked to the public, but that didn’t mean the help had the day off. There were books to reorganize, to put back in the right spots, returns that needed replacement on the shelves, floors that needed vacuuming and the free day to stay clean, restrooms that needed cleaning. And that was page one of the things to do.
Stephen Wodehouse first noticed something wrong when he drove into the parking lot. There were no other cars. If anything, Odetta Harang’s gray Mercury Grand Marquis would be parked in the handicapped spot. Penelope’s red Huffy ten-speed was also absent. For that, he sighed with relief.
He wasn’t going to lie to himself. He was initially overwhelmed by her eagerness, her confidence, even by the newly found seductress she found within herself. But when she started muttering that gibberish, he knew she wasn’t right in the head. He wanted nothing more than to get through to her, to let her know that she was a cutie on both the inside and out. But if she excised the inside, the only thing left would be the shell. And that wouldn’t be enough.
With his Geo parked in front, Stephen reached in his pocket for the keys. He opened the glass doors when he saw a Chevrolet Cavalier pull up beside his car. Even through the slight tint, he could make out the driver’s slicked black hair and tired eyes. The two passengers, both female, both wearing military-style caps, sat unmoving in the back.
The driver got out of his car, his eyes locked on Stephen. “Hello, there.”
“Sorry, mister, but the library’s closed today. If you have any returns, you can drop them in the bin.” Stephen hoped the man would walk away, get back in the car, and run. Something didn’t seem quite right.
“It’s all right, son. I’m not much one for books. But I am looking for a particular title.” He flipped out a badge from his wallet. “Special Agent Van Gaalen, with the U. S. government.”
Stephen relaxed somewhat, although he wondered why Uncle Sam would want to visit a public library. “What can I do to help?”
“Very simple, really,” said the agent, a slight grin on his face. “We lost a book that is very important to us, and we got word that it was accidentally dropped off here. Ms. Harang confirmed it for us.”
“Is she okay?” Even if she was half-demented and mean as a rodeo bull, Stephen still felt a modicum of concern for his employer.
“Oh, she’ll be all right.” Van Gaalen took out a pair of sunglasses from his jacket pocket and put them on. Stephen wondered why he would wait until now to put them on. Maybe the man wasn’t trying to keep things out, but trying to keep something from being seen.
“We met her in the hospital,” continued Van Gaalen. “She had a run-in with one of her employees. You know Penelope Drummond?”
Stephen’s jaw dropped. “Yeah. We usually work the same shift. She’s supposed to be helping me clean up.” Even without the sunglasses on, he could see those eyes light up.
“Great. You don’t mind if we wait here until she shows up, do you?”
A loud ringing broke the stillness of the morning. Van Gaalen looked at the source of the buzzing, which was in Stephen’s shirt pocket.
“You gonna get that?” he asked.
With a nod, the librarian reached in and flipped open the clamshell cell phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, hot stuff.”
Stephen winced. Van Gaalen looked over to the two passengers in his car and nodded.
“Where are you?” asked Stephen.
“I’m in Forty Acres right now. You know, on Gilpin and Scott? Did you know Darren Hays and Mark Hyde?”
“Of course I know those punks, but what are you doing there?”
“Well, I got it from a good source that they bicycle their way to the basketball courts nearby. They use this intersection every Sunday morning. Too bad they won’t make it to the courts today.”
Stephen felt his blood stop in his veins. “Why’s that?”
“Because they’re going to get run over in about ten minutes. A car’s going to have trouble steering, and it’s going to mow them down. Snap their spines like a Slim Jim. And it’s all because I wrote it. We won’t have to put up with them anymore, Stevie. Isn’t that great?”
“No, that’s not great. Look, I have no love for those guys. We’d get everything done here if they didn’t vandalize things, but it’s nothing to kill people over.”
A silence settled in for seconds, and for a bit he thought she had hung up. “Hello?”
“I don’t get you, Wodehouse. I do everything I can to be what you want, and you back away. I tell you I can solve our problems, and you back away. Are you a coward?”
“No,” he said, gritting his teeth.
“Then shape up. I’d hate to write something about you.” The line went dead.
Stephen slowly slid his cell phone back into his pocket. Maybe she was right; maybe Penelope was dead. Maybe he had been fooling himself. He should’ve left her alone, not pressured her yesterday in the library. Just left her alone.
“What did she say, chief?” asked Van Gaalen.
Stephen looked back to him and shook his head. “It wasn’t her.”
Van Gaalen laughed softly under his breath. “It’s not smart to hold info on the authorities, son. This is national security. This is about your security. Now what did she say?”
The librarian sighed. “She’s on Gilpin and Scott, over in the Forty Acres neighborhood.”
That reptilian grin returned. “All I needed to know.”
Stephen didn’t notice the agent’s hand until it was up to his neck with the syringe inches away. He tried to move away, but he yelped as the point punctured his neck. He felt something enter his bloodstream, and then he was out like he had never slept in his life.
Van Gaalen caught the falling body and carried it back to the Geo. After dumping Stephen in the backseat, he turned to the two JANUS agents, decked out in their silver catsuits and gold ties.
“I’ll drive his car. I’ll leave it somewhere isolated. You two, make it look like he was kidnapped. Make it look like a struggle. Toss everything in the library if you have to.” He slammed the car door shut.
“One other thing. It’s unlikely to happen, but there is a chance that you will be visited by two women. Their names are Faith-Mari Hopkins and Stacy Delfina. They will say they work for us, but they are turncoats. If they persist, neutralize them.”
“Yes, sir,” said the platinum blonde agent, bowing slightly.
Van Gaalen fished the car keys out of Stephen’s pocket and hit the ignition. He was out of the parking lot by the time the JANUS agents threw a rock into the doors, shattering the glass.

Come on, thought Penny Dreadful. They’ve got to show up sometime.
She cradled the book in her hand, pen gripped in her right hand. Every few seconds, she peered over the corner.
Somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind, she regretted threatening Stephen. A small part of her thought he wasn’t at fault. He was just a confused boy months from finishing high school, just like her. No amount of money can buy wisdom, or experience.
But he wanted me, she argued.
Her internal monologue rang so loud in her head that she almost missed Darren Hays and Mark Hyde cycling on Gilpin. But she saw them, a few hundred yards up the road. More than enough time to write.
Two young boys rode up the street. Unknown to them, the pickup truck parked nearby turned on by itself, almost as if by magic. The purr of the Dodge Ram engine coming to life, directly across the street, made her smile.
Then the gear mysteriously moved back, from Park to Drive. It turned out of the cafeteria parking lot, and aimed directly for the two boys. They were so busy talking to each other to notice 350 horsepower directly in front of them. She happily punched in the period.
She could hear Mark and Darren arguing over the college football scores from the night before. She waited until their frames were hidden from view by the huge pickup. The loud roar of the Ram snapped them out of their conversation. She could hear Mark yell that no one was driving the car. But they were too late to avoid the collision.
She saw the two boys fly over the front cab of the pickup, over the flatbed, and onto the road. Then, to her surprise, groans from the two as they tried, unsuccessfully, to rise.
“That should’ve done it,” she said. Scrambling for the next page, she continued scribbling.
Pulling a perfect 180…
She heard the Ram spin around.
The Ram made its second charge.
The sound of squealing tires filled the air. She saw a man run out of the cafeteria, yelling about how that was his truck, apparently oblivious to the two boys who had just been hit.
And then, the boys were unfortunately…
She didn’t see the man who tackled her down until he spun her around on the floor. Groaning, she saw a man who looked like he was gripped by insomnia. Half-open green eyes. Slicked back hair. She watched upside-down as passersby helped the two boys off the road.
"No!" she screamed.
“Miss Drummond, I assume,” he said. He pulled the syringe out and stuck the needle in her neck. As she fell under the weight of sleep, she heard the man say, “You’re a pretty little thing. Shame to waste you.”

Faith-Mari Hopkins sighed as she entered Wilmington. She patted herself on the back for calling Director Lee. Karla had been keeping tabs on her former beau’s operation (“I’d think he’d be disappointed if I wasn’t,” Karla said), and apparently Van Gaalen had taken a company jet to New Castle Airport, just south of the city.
“They know something, and they’re hiding it from us,” said Karla. “Makes me wonder why we were called on it in the first place. But they asked for help. Let’s give it to them, whether they want it or not.”
She heard about the murder of Odetta Harang from the radio as she entered the state. With the help of the ANGELS database, she found out her address and her place of employment. Since the library was closer, that would be her first stop.
She figured Serling would be closed for the day, so she might have to do some secret snooping. She stopped on the way to switch into her field uniform.
For a moment, she looked down at her figure, all draped in dark blue Lycra and electric blue nylon. It reflected the sunlight with stunning brightness.
Who thought it was a good idea to go snooping in the brightest colors and shiniest fabrics possible? Then she remembered the answer. Quist did. She shook her head as she drove toward the library.
She couldn’t say she was shocked to see the two JANUS agents there; it was fairly obvious JANUS was hiding something. But she was puzzled as to why they were causing so much destruction. The front sign dripped with paint, the door panels smashed, bookshelves inside overturned.
“What are you doing?” she asked as she got out. “Did you find the book?”
The two agents looked at each other, then to her. “Who wants to know?”
Faith-Mari took out her badge from one of the pouches of her utility belt. “The ANGELS department of the CIA.”
The platinum blonde swiped the badge and looked it over. She handed it over to her partner, who snatched it with her right, olive-skinned hand, her midnight black, curled hair swaying in the light breeze.
“Is there a problem?” asked the angel.
“You are Faith-Mari Hopkins?” The platinum blonde’s quizzical expression was too skeptical. Something was wrong.
“That’s what it says on the badge,” said Faith-Mari.
“And are you alone?” asked the dark-haired JANUS agent.
“Why’s that important?”
The two JANUS agents began to walk toward the angel, with malicious intent etched on their faces. As she backtracked, Faith-Mari sized up the situation. Two-on-one. Both girls were athletic; their catsuits betrayed the fact that they hadn’t missed too many gym dates. Both were her height. And JANUS had no qualms about termination.
“Great way to spend a Sunday morning,” said Faith-Mari, and she pounced on the platinum blonde, knocking her over. She got in a couple of quick hits before the dark-haired agent pulled her off, holding her in a full-nelson. The platinum blonde struggled onto her feet. She reached up to her face, dabbing at the slight trickle of blood that ran down her nostril. She looked back at Faith-Mari. Scowling, she ran up to the angel and slugged her across the face. She then turned the punishment downward, hitting Faith-Mari with a fist to the middle.
“A real pity I’m going to have to bruise up that pretty figure of yours, cupcake,” said the platinum blonde.
“Yeah,” wheezed Faith-Mari. “Not looking forward to it. But I am looking forward to this.” Using her legs, she jumped up and headscissored the blonde while still trapped in the full-nelson. She unlocked the hold long enough to bring the heel of her foot down on the blonde’s head, sending her crashing down.
Jumping down from the blonde’s shoulders, Faith-Mari kicked the shin of the dark-haired JANUS agent, causing her to release the hold. The angel grabbed a handful of her foe’s long hair and ran toward the entrance. With one hand full of hair and the other full of the seat of the agent’s catsuit, she tossed her through th remains of the front door. The metal frames of the automatic doors collapsed with the toss, crashing into the lobby. Faith-Mari checked her. The raven-haired beauty was out cold. One down, one to go.
The platinum blonde, recovered from the prior injuries, tackled Faith-Mari, pushing her back into the front counter, sending a fresh wave of pain from the small of her back. Spinning the angel around, the JANUS agent lifted Faith-Mari up onto the counter, yanking her legs up onto the surface by the tights. Grabbing Faith by her short yellow locks, the agent bounced her head off the counter once, twice. She then flipped her prey around.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” she said. Her hands twisted into claws, all the better to emphasize the sharpness of her nails, the agent pressed all ten fingers into Faith-Mari’s middle, digging deep into her leotard. With each new increase in pressure, the angel screamed out.
“Music to my ears,” said the JANUS agent.
Faith-Mari looked for anything to help. Barely within reach was an Encyclopedia Britannica volume. With increasingly loud screams, she grabbed the book with her right hand, even as he left tried to pull the knife-like nails out. With desperate force, she swung the book down, clocking the blonde in the head.
Sliding herself off the table, she used the book to its full potential, smacking her opponent in the head from every angle, downward, across the force, from below. Dropping the heavy tome, she executed a pitch-perfect spin kick, sending the JANUS agent sprawling into a bookshelf. The heavy wooden case wobbled back and forth, and finally forward, crushing the blonde agent underneath, with only her head and shoulders peering out from the damage.
Faith-Mari knelt down. “Who put you up to this? Was it Quist? I swear, I’ll leave you here for the staff to find on Monday morning. By then, you may be dead. You may have broken ribs, a collapsed lung. You tell me what I want, and I’ll consider lifting this off you.”
The blonde agent coughed. She barely wheezed out, “Van Gaalen. Please get this off.”
Faith-Mari reached for the corner, and with as much energy as she could muster after a brawl, lifted the bookshelf off. As soon as she turned the shelf over, the blonde agent crawled out and bit Faith-Mari on the arm. With little trouble, the angel shook her off.
“Wrong answer. And now, here’s your lovely parting gift,” said Faith-Mari. She lifted up the agent by the tie and added a stiff right hook, crumpling her foe to the floor.
Stumbling out of the library, Faith-Mari fell into the seat of her blue Accord. Hitting the speed dial button, she found Karla Lee. “Director Lee, they’re here. And they want me dead.”

[superpics4les]

Ninja:

This is just getting gooder and gooder!! Bad english, I know but I'm loving this!! Looking forward to more of this one, as with all your stories!! 8)

[The Great Dutch Ninja]

Philadelphia International Airport’s Concourse G stood deserted. The construction crew had left for the night, and no airplanes would be taxiing to any of its gates for the next two years. Currently, there was nothing more than an aisle and most of the main floor. No podiums, no television sets, no main windows. Only the seats for the waiting area had been set in place, along with cardboard boxes filled with tools and parts.
“Not exactly where I’d be looking for the book,” said Deputy Director Addison, glancing around. He knew better than to trust Martine Brevik. You don’t trust a thief with a penny, much less your life. He looked around the ill-lit concourse. He couldn’t see anyone else. Then again, there were so many shadows, and so much darkness, so many good hiding spots behind the seats.
“Well, this is where you’ll get it,” said Fjordstorm, trenchcoat still tightly tied around her waist. “And in just a few minutes, we’ll be parting ways. You have the payment we agreed on?”
“Do you take me for someone who stiffs a partner?” He grabbed the manila envelope out of his coat pocket. He took the $100,000 out of his car when they had gone to the parking garage. He tossed it with force, almost sending it over Fjordstorm’s head. She raised her arm to make the catch, then opened the envelope and counted the cash. She looked up.
“Not bad. Down to the penny.”
“Yeah, and now I’d like something for my purchase. You tell me where the book is. Now.”
Fjordstorm smiled. “Why, it’s right behind you.”
Addison turned around. Standing in front of him, with a grin so wide it could eat an alligator whole, was Kyle Van Gaalen.
“What are you doing here?”
“Tying up loose ends. And silencing spies.” The gun in his right hand pressed against Addison’s ribs. Without hesitation, Van Gaalen pulled the trigger.
The force knocked the deputy director back a couple of steps. Staggering backward, Addison fell into a stack of boxes, sending them toppling over him.
“Nobody likes a snoop,” said Van Gaalen. He walked back to the seat that he hid behind, revealing a knapsack. “Here’s the book.”
To his surprise, Fjordstorm moved backward, and something in her trenchcoat pointed forward, right at him.
Van Gaalen smiled. “Now, now, kitten. It’s not the time to get all crazy.”
“I think the time is perfect.” Fjordstorm untied her trenchcoat, revealing the Lady Derringer in her hand. “Back off.”
As the special agent stepped away, she checked the knapsack. No tricks there; the book was the only thing inside. “So you needed a patsy, a fall girl? I’ll let you in on a slight change of plans. We’re going to fill up that private plane of yours, and we’re going to take a trip. We’re going home, thousands of miles away from the ANGELS and your friends. And just so we’re clear…” She tossed the backpack at Van Gaalen. “You get to keep it. Until we get to Bergen, no deal. No patsy. No fall girl. Do we have an understanding?”
Van Gaalen nodded, the smile long since twisted into a frown. “Yeah.”
The pair walked out of the concourse, unaware that they were being spied on in the last row of seats.

Faith-Mari Hopkins and Director Lee marched down the hallway, walking through the entrance of JANUS HQ. They pretended to ignore the agents at the door, but kept part of their attention toward them. If the reception here was as cold as in Wilmington, then it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared.
They found Director Quist at the command center, with a honey-colored JANUS agent behind him. When notified of their arrival, he turned his wheelchair to face them.
“Have You Found My Book Yet?” he asked.
“No,” said Director Lee. “But we’re more than a bit curious why we weren’t told about Wilmington, and even more perplexed as to why my agent was jumped by two of yours.”
The confusion was clear in his eyes. “I Don’t Know Why We Would Attack You. That Would Be Counterproductive, Don’t You Think?” He turned slightly, to Faith-Mari. “My Dear, I Did Not Authorize My Agents To Lay A Finger On You.”
“And what about Wilmington? It was through a stroke of luck our guys were able to figure out where the book had gone.”
Quist’s eyes looked to his right. “Agent O’Riordan, Will You Excuse Us?”
The honey-blonde agent frowned, but nodded and made her exit.
The glare returned to the ANGELS director and her agent. “Because If We Were Able To Keep It Within The Organization, All The Better. I Think Special Agent Van Gaalen Overdid It By Taking Three Agents With Him. That’s Why I Called Back Agent O’Riordan. Her Services Toward Finding The Book Would To Better Use Here, In Tracking.”
Faith-Mari walked up to the director, placing her hands on the sidebars of his wheelchair. “You know what? I think Van Gaalen overdid it when he ordered his foot patrol to take me out at the library. A little over the top, don’t you think?”
“What?”
The ringing of the phone broke the chill. Director Lee took out the videophone from her jacket pocket. “Go, Agent Delfina.”
Director Lee walked around as she listened. Over the course of the conversation, she slowed down to a halt. “Hold on a second, Agent. Let me hook you into the speakerphone so everyone can hear this.” She plugged in the phone into the main touchtone system.
“Everyone, please listen,” said Stacy. “Special Agent Van Gaalen is a traitor. He just shot Deputy Director Addison, and now he has the book. And he’s with Martine Brevik. They’re flying into Bergen. I’m guessing that’s Norway, since Martine sais she’s going home. They’re making the dropoff there. They just left…”
A couple of seconds of silence. Then:
“Back off… get away… no, no… aaaahhhh!”
Then there was the beeping of a broken connection.
“Miss Hopkins, Despite What Has Happened Today, Would You Be Good Enough To Retrieve My Book? I Know It Isn’t ANGEL Procedure, But You Have The Green Light To Neutralize Van Gaalen If Necessary.”
Faith-Mari nodded. “I’ll get it back. But if they leave the airport in Bergen, they’ll be mighty hard to catch.”
“I’ll Keep You Posted,” said Quist. “The Book Leaves A GPS Signal When It’s Used. If They Write, I’ll Let You Know Where They Are.”
“Great,” said Faith-Mari. “I’ll need one more thing. Where do you keep the jetpacks?”
“I’d Advise Against That,” said Quist. “Only Five Percent Of JANUS Agents Pass That Test. And That Takes Months.”
“Good thing I’m a quick study,” said Faith-Mari. “Besides, I’m only looking for something to cushion my fall when I jump out.”
Director Lee blinked. “Jump out?”

“I don’t see what you couldn’t have wasted her when you found her,” said Van Gaalen as his private plane cleared land and flew over the Atlantic. “We already have one guy tagged on you. What’s one more?”
“Because if you guys would give me 100 grand for a book, the price for one of your precious little lovelies must be really steep.”
“She’s not one of mine,” said Van Gaalen. “And you’re getting greedy, and you’re leaving more open ends. Remember, I only pull this deal with you if I’ve got a clean trail.”
“I know the rules already. No need to repeat yourself,” said Brevik.
“Good,” said Van Gaalen. “Now take the controls. I’ve got something to figure out.”
He walked to the back of the plane, where Penelope Dreadful, Stephen Wodehouse, and Stacy Delfina were all tied up to the seat, their hands and feet bound in rope. Van Gaalen walked to Penelope’s seat, and carefully put a pen in her left hand.
“I know you don’t have a lot of room with which to write, but I want to see what you did to make this work. That handprint was an electronic lock. I was told it was failsafe. It wasn’t failsafe. How did you break it?”
The shock of abduction had broken the new personality the book had given her. Now she Penelope Drummond again, a timid high-school senior in an outfit that she consider three shades too outlandish. Tears ran down her face, and her hands shook.
“I don’t know,” she said in mid-sob. Van Gaalen slapped her.
“Wrong answer. How did you break it?”
“I don’t know.” Another slap.
“Wrong answer,” said Van Gaalen through gritted teeth.
“Leave her alone, man. She doesn’t know anything.” Stephen strained against the ropes, but to little effect.
“As soon as she tells me how she broke into the book, I’ll let all of you go.”
“You’re going to kill us anyway. Don’t you think we know that?” Penelope sank into a series of sobs, inconsolable.
Van Gaalen picked up the book from the table in front of the three captives. He placed his hand on the print on the front of the cover. No reaction.
Using his own pen, he wrote, speaking as he did so. “An unfortunate accident on a plane over the Atlantic. The pilot and her partner were safe, but their companions, tied to their chairs, spontaneously combusted. The end was quick, but far from painless.” He dotted the period, and waited for the results. The three captives looked on in terror, looking at each other. The temperature didn’t change a degree.
“Damn,” said Van Gaalen. “Looks like I don’t have the Midas touch. But don’t worry. We’ll figure it out soon enough."

[superpics4les]

Nice update Ninja! I sense a very suspenseful conclusion coming! I can hardly wait! Keep 'em coming! 8)

[The Great Dutch Ninja]

“Do you have a track on them?” asked Faith-Mari as the CIA jet touched the Norwegian border.
“The Last Contact Was Made South Of The Airport, In The Inner Areas Of The Hardangerfjord.”
“Hardanger-what?” asked Lindsey O’Riordan, strapping on her jetpack to the back of her catsuit.
“Hardangerfjord,” said Quist over the line, back at JANUS HQ. “It’s One Of The Largest Fjords In The World.”
“Great,” said Faith-Mari. “Brevik’s homecourt.”
“I’m afraid so,” said Director Lee, standing next to her former beau in Langley. “Now, Faith, you know my rules on killing. I don’t like it, and I’d rather my girls didn’t. But this isn’t just a threat to national security, but to global security. Bring it back at all costs. If Van Gaalen or Brevik, or anyone else tries to stop you…” Silence fell over the line for a second. Faith-Mari tapped the headphone. “Director Lee?”
“Just bring it back,” said Lee, and the line went dead.
Faith-Mari took off the headset, then walked to her JANUS escort. She wrapped her hand around Lindsey’s gold tie and slowly let it slip through her fingers. “Last time I saw pretty young things like you strutting their stuff in this cute little get-up, I had to stomp some sense into them.”
Lindsey grabbed Faith-Mari by the wrist. “We’re on the same side now. I’d be thankful for that.”
As the two CIA agents stared each other down, the captain of the plane turned on the public address system. “Thirty seconds from drop point. Thirty seconds. All jumpers prepare to disembark. We thank you for flying Covert Air.”
The side door opened at seven thousand feet. Faith-Mari and Lindsey stood their ground as the decompression ushered itself in with a cold blast of Scandinavian air.
Lindsey turned to Faith-Mari, her long hair blowing in the maelstrom-like gusts. “See you on the ground, angel.” And she jumped out of the plane.
Faith-Mari shook her head. “Someday, I’ll remind myself that I shouldn’t jump out of planes.” And she followed, jetpack tied snugly against her field uniform.

“So, we’re leaving them here?” asked Fjordstorm, her footsteps crunching in the snow. The three hostages were all on their knees, sunk an inch deep in the white blanket, only feet from the edge of a sheer ninety-degree cliff. Stacy and Penelope, far from dressed for a wintry experience in their leotards and tights, shivered slightly with each new gust of wind.
“One shot each, and it’s done,” said Van Gaalen. “I’ll do it, but I hope you don’t mind me using your gun. If you’re taking credit for the book, you shouldn’t mind taking credit for three more bodies.”
Fjordstorm laughed. She walked behind her partner in crime. “Please. I have a life sentence against me in six countries. I don’t mind.”
Van Gaalen smiled. “Good.” And with his own gun, he spun around to meet Fjordstorm and fired once. The bullet pierced her heart, such a perfect hit that there was no bloodstain. Her eyes stayed open just long enough to register the betrayal, and then she fell back into the snow.
Van Gaalen’s trigger hand shook, and he dropped the gun. “I’m so sorry, Director Quist. I found the girl who took our book. She tried to sell it to that mercenary, Brevik. I got them both, but they shot a hostage, and they took out one of the Blue Angels. Yes, Agent Delfina. And they… destroyed the book before I could save it.” His eyes welled up, and a single tear rolled down his face. “I’m so sorry, sir.” The whimpering mouth turned upward. “Like it. It’s what I call acting. I am sorry I have to waste you all, but it’s a small price to pay to save the world.” He aimed the gun at Stacy’s head. “You first. You’re the most dangerous of the lot.” He clicked the hammer back when he heard the jet-like roar, coming closer. He looked up in time to see Faith-Mari Hopkins rocket toward him, legs outstretched in a kick. With the power of her vehicle behind her, her feet went full in below the throat, kicking him back. His gun went flying over the edge, plummeting three thousand feet to the ice below.
Faith-Mari landed as she unclipped the seat belt to her jetpack. She ran to Stacy, removing the gag from her mouth. “You okay?” The rookie nodded. Faith-Mari began to untie the knots behind Stacy’s back. She was close to getting the ropes loosened when she heard her partner yell, “Faith-Mari, look out!”
The angel looked back and caught the full weight of the book on the cheek. Van Gaalen unleashed another swing, and the book smacked Faith-Mari in the side of the head, knocking her down. As she started to fall, Van Gaalen grabbed at her utility belt, holding a grip on the belt and the waist of her leotard, keeping her upright. With his free hand, he reached around, and the blow to the back of the head dimmed her lights. He released his grip on the utility belt, and Faith-Mari’s limp body collapsed into the snow, inches away from the cliff.
Without letup, Van Gaalen straddled the angel and pressed the book down against her windpipe. He looked to the three hostages, their arms and legs still tied down. He then kept his focus on his prey. “I don’t want to do this, cutie. Really, I don’t. But you keep getting in the way. And I can’t let you take the book back to Quist. I was saving you, you idiots. No one should have the book. Not us, and certainly not our enemies.”
Faith-Mari was checkmated. Her vision began to blur as the air was cut off from her body. Her arms were pinned down by Van Gaalen’s knees, and his weight was too great to spin over. She was almost unconscious when she heard the report of a gunshot. She then felt the effects when she felt a drop, then two fall on her cheek. Opening her eyes, she saw a widening red blossom on Van Gaalen’s jacket. He watched the wound grow. “No,” he said softly. He got up with great effort, and peered to his back. Behind a rocky cover stood Lindsey O’Riordan, her eye obscured by the scope of her sniper rifle.
“No!” he screamed.
“And this is for goosing me, punk,” Lindsey said as the second shot fired. The bullet caught him between the eyes, and Faith-Mari felt his weight go dead. The body fell off her and over the side. She spun around, coughing as Van Gaalen fell down the full chasm.
Getting to her vertical base, catching her breath, Faith-Mari saw Lindsey move in and retrieve the book. For a moment, Faith-Mari considered chasing her for the book. But it was the property of JANUS, and now they have it back. She nodded to the young agent. “Thanks for the save.”
The JANUS agent returned the gesture and dialed to Langley. “Director Quist, we got it.” Together Faith-Mari and Lindsey began untying the former captives.

Nathaniel Quist wanted to smile. He almost had his dream torn away from him. And for what? Money? Power? He didn’t know, and now that Kyle Van Gaalen and Martine Brevik were dead, he didn’t care. When the door opened, he rolled his way to the entrance.
Lindsey O’Riordan placed the book on his unfeeling lap.
“Here you go, sir,” said the JANUS agent.
“Thank You, Darling. Van Gaalen. What An Idiot He Was.” Quist spun a 180 and moved further into JANUS HQ. “Is The Processor Ready Yet?”
“Give it another day or so, sir, and you won’t need a pen to make the device work. You will be the device.”
“Terrific,” Quist said. He entered the Science Department and rolled to the back. “You Know How Long I’ve Been Trapped In This Hell?”
“Almost twenty years, sir,” said O’Riordan.
“And Only A Few Days More,” said Quist.
O’Riordan dialed in the seven digit code for the door in the back of the lab.
The vaccum-sealed entrance popped open. Beyond it was a glowing, grey metal monster, hanging down from the ceiling, several times as large as a man. It’s round shape whittled down to a gun-like barrel, aiming down to the ground.
“Place The Book In The Scanner,” said Quist.
The JANUS agent walked to the ground-based computer that connected to the metal barrel. The upper face of the computer had an opening with the same size and shape as the book. Lindsey placed the book in, and the computer lit up. The electric infrastructure of the handprint glowed from the inside, increasing in power until the whole hand beamed pink.
“So far, so good.”
“Excellent,” said Quist. “We Will Test It On Wednesday. I Will Be The Test Subject.”
“Sir, I don’t think that would be safe. There could be problems. You saw what happened with the Drummond girl.”
“And I No Longer Care.” Quist rolled away. “I Expect One Of Two Results Wednesday. I Will Walk Out, Or My Body Will Be Carried Out.” And he rolled out of the Science Department, leaving Lindsey behind.

“But why did it work with me? Why did it change my personality?” asked Penelope Drummond, back in her more conservative garb, a light-colored buttoned shirt and shapeless ankle-length skirt. Her porcelain right hand squeezed the left hand of Stephen Wodehouse, who sat next to her.
“We don’t know. A misfire, perhaps,” said Director Lee, with Faith-Mari and Stacy flanking her desk at ANGELS HQ. “All we can say is thank goodness that it’s back at headquarters. Too many people have been affected. You lost your boss, and we almost lost our Deputy Director, and who knows when Julian Addison will recover. Now, do you know the seriousness of this incident? We can’t have word one of it get out. You do understand this, right?”
“Oh, absolutely,” said Stephen. “I’m just glad to get it done with the breath still left in me. Thank you very much for saving our lives.”
Faith-Mari smiled. “I did what I could.”
The Chase twins waited outside to escort the two civilians back out of Langley.
“They’ll have the enchepaloscan set for the time frame inside the elevator. Everything will be wiped out,” said Lee. “They won’t be able to say anything even if they wanted to. You can’t even trust the good guys these days.”
Stacy sighed. “And speaking of which, can we trust JANUS?”
“I don’t know,” said Director Lee as she rose out of her chair.
“I know Van Gaalen was crazy,” said Faith-Mari. “Even so, what if he was right. What if no one should have it?”
“What if no one should have it?” asked Lee. “What if no one should have nuclear weapons, or ironclads, or iron weapons, or crossbows? Agent Hopkins, when one power get these weapons, you can bet that another power isn’t far behind. When everyone has this, I think we can be assured that no one will.” She exited the office with her two protégés in tow.
The mood almost crushed the three agents inside. Outside, gunpowder-colored clouds began to crowd the sky, and the clean blue façade blew away to the west.


****

Blue Angels created by Mighty Hypnotic

Based in part on characters created by pzgr6

Written by Liam Venture (a. k. a. The Great Dutch Ninja)

Blue Angels: The Bookkeeper

Starring Faith-Mari Hopkins
Stacy Delfina
Penelope Drummond
Kyle Van Gaalen

Co-Starring Julian Addison
Martine Brevik
Stephen Wodehouse
Odetta Harang
Lindsey O’Riordan
And Karla Lee
And introducing Nathaniel Quist

(if it pleases the board)

The Angels will return in Blue Angels: Rise of Oblivion

[superpics4les]

Great job, as usual Ninja! I eagerly look forward to Rise of Oblivion! See you then! 8)

[SGWriter]

Excellent Stroy Ninja! Look foward to your next story :-D