Ghouls with Credentials

“Thank you for your hospitality Dr Cruz. You and your family have a lovely home.” I said as I stood on the threshold. A cool April breeze blew across the plain, and I was glad for my leather jacket.

“Please Dr. Nikos, I keep telling you it's Carlos. And it is I who should thank you. If it weren't for the Coleman Foundation's support for the project, we couldn't begin to dig for at least another five years.”

“All right... Carlos, but only if you call me Athena. And you're the one who deserves the credit. This lost Hohokam pueblo you've discovered should increase our understanding of the Hohokam culture, and perhaps shed some new lights on the histories here.”

“But by starting so soon,” he said, “and with the funding in place, we can afford the security to keep the site clear of the predators who would sacrifice my people's history for profit.”

I nodded. As I had driven west from Santa Fe, I had seen the roadside stands selling replicas and modern pueblo art. But I was also aware of an underground market in relics as well. Not to mention the occasional treasure hunters looking for the lost cities of Cibola.

I stifled a yawn, still not caught up on the time change since flying west, “I'm so sorry Carlos,” I said. “Can we meet tomorrow and finish the paperwork and permits?”

My host chuckled. “Of course, Athena. Sleep well,” He walked me to my rented car and saw me down the road. My head was light from the wine, and the most excellent meal served by Mrs Cruz.

I drove back to the hotel, thinking how fortunate it was to be working with Dr Cruz. A native expert on Pueblo culture, he'd left the university several years ago to develop a new museum in the Sky City pueblo. He was both the curator and historian in residence, but had operated too long on a shoestring budget. Fortunately I'd been able to convince both Virgil and Dr Chatterjee to support this project. As a result of this dig, the Queen City museum would have first access to the exhibits as well as a permanent loan.

I wheeled into the parking lot of the lodge, and picked the way to the cabin. I preferred to stay away from the main buildings when I could, feeling a need for privacy as both White Owl and Athena. And the odd hours I kept at all times made it much easier on other patrons if I didn't stay nearby. I pulled up and found my room key, then stepped into the clean room. I hung my jacket on the rod, then pulled the blinds and stepped into the bathroom. I kicked off my sensible shoes, and unzipped my skirt. I contemplated the shower and decided a shower might shake off my sluggishness from dinner.

I started the water and drew the curtain around me letting the hot water cascade down my shoulders and back. I set the shower head to massage and sagged as the needle like streams pounded my pack and shoulders. I noticed the steam from the shower was excessive, then began to cough.

“What the hell?” I asked, through the billowing steam. I shut the shower down , clawing for the curtain. I staggered to the bathroom door, clasping a towel around me. The steam continued to billow from the shower head, and I realized it was some sort of sleeping gas . I pulled at the bathroom door, desperate to escape, finally succeeding by pulling the door free from the strike plate.

I dropped to my knees and heard the sound of applause. Cocking my head to the left, I saw a man in a dark business suit and a black hood sitting at my desk. Two men, less nattily dressed but still hooded flanked him. They were bigger, muscled, and had their arms crossed in defiance.

“Congratulations, Dr Nikos, I see the stories I've heard of your exquisite beauty and your resourcefulness weren't exaggerated. Monty? You owe me five dollars, as she did make it out of the bathroom. The goon on the left handed the man a bill, then the two of them stepped to me, grabbed me by the arms and dragged my nude form across my room; holding me in front of the hooded man.

“What...what do you want?” I stammered.

“Your expertise in petroglyphs,” said the hooded man. “Your reputation preceded you.”

“There are less dramatic ways to contact me.”

“True, but we need your silence too.” He motioned and Monty pushed me to the floor. I felt a knee in the back and the other pair of hands pulled my hair back and my head up. I felt a thick silk cloth drawn tightly between my lips.

“Nnnph” I mumbled, struggling.

“Now I can't have any of that,” said the man, digging into a black case, next to him. I saw a large syringe and an ampoule of something being attached. “Hold her men!” he said.

I felt the swab, then the prick of the needle entering my thigh. “This is a standard dose, my dear. You'll sleep a while, then we'll need you in the daylight.” I struggled as the men tied my legs and ankles tightly, then crossed my wrists behind my back and bound them equally tight. The drug kicked in though, and while my healing factor would purge it from my system faster than normally, I still had to go through the experience. My eyes drooped, my head slumped and darkness swallowed me.

When the drug wore off, I was in a cramped position, I could feel canvas against my back and rubber against my chest. I could feel us moving too, so I deduced I was in a vehicle, and most likely in the trunk. I also realized I was still nude, a situation I hoped would be rectified soon.

The car came to a stop and I went into my act of being unconscious. I felt two sets of none-to-gentle hands pawing at me, lifting me out of the car and carrying me in tandem. I was placed on a cot, and with the sounds of the night, and the wind through canvas, I gathered we were in a campsite somewhere. As no one seemed interested in talking to me or removing my gag; I decided to listen.

“Guard her, don't let her out of sight. She's far more clever than she looks and could still get free. Ferd, you take the first shift,Monty the second. We'll get her up before dawn so we can hit the mesa as the sun rises.



Someone threw a blanket over me, so I was able to grab some sleep during the night. Obviously, they weren't planning on killing me--they would have done that back at the hotel. The boss' words sounded ominous. I hoped I wasn't in for a day of nude hiking. I made myself as comfortable as I could, fully aware I could break free; but I decided to unravel a bit more of this mystery.

I felt a rough hand on my shoulder after a few hours. The blindfold and the sleep had disoriented me even more, but I sat up. I felt something cold and sharp against my wrists, then a flick and the ropes fell away. I reached for my gag and blindfold, pulling them from my face.

Both of the goon squad were leering in front of me, though one of them held a shopping bag. He dropped it at my feet.

"Get dressed," I heard. "And be quick, the boss wants to see you before it gets too bright. We'll be right outside." He pulled at the other one's sleeve. "C'mon Marty," he added.

Curiously, I opened the bag and found some of my own clothes inside. I slipped into a bra and panties, then pulled on a pair of comfortable jeans. The blouse looked like it would have been more useful at the mall than the desert, but beggars can't be choosers my mother always said. I found some thick socks and my hiking boots though, and I laced them on carefully. At the bottom of the bag were my glasses, and while I don't need them, they're a useful device for keeping people from figuring out I'm White Owl. I slipped the wire frames over my ears and frowned.

"All right Athena, lets go face this," I said to myself.

I stepped to the flap of the tent, and smiled at Ferd. I couldn't see through his hood, but I saw him nod slightly and he pointed at another tent across from "mine." I could see a lantern glowing inside, so I crossed over and said, "Hello?"

"Come in Dr Nikos," I heard a muffled voice say. I stepped inside and noticed the well dressed man had changed to something more appropriate to the desert. He still had a hood over his head though, so I still couldn't make out his features.

"Please make yourself comfortable," he said, pointing at a camp table with two smaller chairs. "Coffee?" he held up a coffeepot and I nodded, deciding to be gracious.

"You have the better of me sir," I said. "How should I address you?"

He chuckled, as if remembering an old joke, and said, "You may call me el Conquistador. While it's not my name, my family earned that title a long time ago."

I shook my head, and took a sip of the bitter, percolated coffee he gave me. "It's not Starbucks," I said.

"No, but it will keep you awake and alert." He pulled a camp stool next to mine and said, "What do you know of Cibola?"

I struggled to keep from laughing. "The County?" I replied. "Not much. If you mean the legend, then I know we're allegedly in the wrong part of New Mexico. It's closer to the Zuni pueblo, I believe."

"It's not a legend, Dr Nikos, it's real!" he said.

"With all due respect, el Conquistador, Father Marcos de Niza very likely lied in order to protect his position with the viceroy. It wouldn't be the first time a priest made up a story. As a result, Coronado followed up on that lie and enslaved the Pueblo people when they couldn't produce the gold."

El Conquistador waved his hand dismissively. "Fah, I care nothing for the Spanish lies. And before you remind me about the Zuni never locating Cibola, let me remind you that many have died for smaller secrets and conspiracies. If Cibola was a sacred place, then it makes sense no one would have divulged that information. But there is another source."

He paused and then said, "Have you heard of Estabanico? He was a Moor, an educated man and a slave. He had gone with Father Marco, and disappeared on the journey--perhaps to find his freedom. But it was he who translated the legends first, with his gift for languages."

"But if he disappeared, how could he leave a record?" I asked.

"He didn't disappear. He escaped from the Spanish. He made his way to Alto California, where my family took him in. He left his writings sealed in a wall that weren't unsealed until we began remodeling in the eighties. But the dry walls kept the documents safe. "

El Conquistador pulled an ancient leather scroll case from under his bed and I cringed, realizing the age of the case. It was in battered, but useable condition, and the parchments he pulled from it were equally worn.

He unrolled the parchment, then placed weights on the corners to hold it flat on the table. I could make out markings in Spanish and a flowing Arabic script as well.

"It certainly is old." I remarked. "The age looks about 16th century. And here, in this corner, I see a signature in Arabic that says Estabanico."

"Excellent Dr Nikos! I knew I was right in selecting you."

"Selecting me for what?" I asked.

"You'll see in about four hours," said El Conquistador. "But you may gain a clue, if you look here." He pointed to a mesa on the map. The words beneath it said, "Point the way to Cibola."

I adjusted my glasses, and scowled. The maps of the sixteenth century weren't noted for cartographic accuracy, so aside from being in New Mexico, I had no real knowledge of where we were.

"Why should I help you?" I asked.

"Because if you don't I will kill you here, and no one will ever find you. But if you do, you'll go down with Howard Carter and Henry Jones as one of the premiere archaeologists of all time. Think of it Dr Nikos--a chance to prove the legend accurate!"

I considered my options and nodded. "All right, I'm in. It seems I have no choice."



As soon as I said I was in, I held my hand out to agree to the arrangement. To my surprise El Conquistador took my hand in his, then I felt the cold metal of a handcuff tightening around my wrist.

“What's this?” I said. “I agreed to work with you.”

The second cuff snapped tight against my wrist and I jerked at it. El Conquistador had used a standard police issue handcuff, similar to the ones in Queen City. I knew I had a cuff key in my purse and also in my tool belt; neither of which was with me. Still, with my enhanced strength, I knew I could shatter the chain holding the bracelets together with a minimum of effort.

“You're still far too resourceful Dr Nikos,” said El Conquistador. I've read Randal Courtney's account of your escape from the slave traders while you were in Egypt. And your own account of the ruined temple of Thoth from two years earlier. You may be a phenomenal archaeologist, but your a pretty cunning little tomb raider as well,

I cringed at that apt description. Despite all the hard science and historical data we were able to uncover, it appeared that Lady Lara Croft was still the golden ideal for women in archeology.

“Look,” I said. “I'm not going to be much use to you with handcuffs. How can I climb? I can't even carry a canteen or a backpack.”

“There won't be any need for that, yet,”said El Conquistador. “Its just an easy hike to where we're going first. He helped me to my feet, and with a hand on my shoulder, steered me from his tent to the center of the camp.

“Is everything ready?” he asked Ferd.

“Yes el Conquistador, he replied. I noticed both the men were carrying packs and lanterns, even though the sun was just coming up. I looked around, then felt myself being turned. To the north el Conquistador pointed out a large mesa.

“That is Walker's Table,” he replied, offhandedly. Its reputed to be haunted, but its also marked on Estebanico's map. That's where I made my discovery, and you'll soon see the reason I needed you.

Ferd led the way, I followed in the second spot, and El Conquistador and Marty brought up the rear. I sensed the nervousness and excitement as we trudged down an old and long discarded trail. The path wound through scrub, and desert, and I sensed the gentle rise as we drew near to Walker's Table.

The base of the mesa was long, with several crevasses, some shallow, some very deep. We stopped in front of one of them long enough for the fluorescent lanterns to be lit. El Conquistador took the point, and with his hiking staff, he grabbed my cuffed wrists and dragged me into the cavern behind him.

Unerringly, he led the way deep into the mesa; and I followed, putting my feet where his had stepped.

“Stay close, Dr Nikos,” he said. “The Hohokam weren't as devious as some, but they protected their secrets well.” The path narrowed, then came to point where we had to crawl on hands and knees to squeeze through a small opening.
But it opened onto a vast gallery, free of any stalactites. I could see smoke smudges on the walls, but also a shaft of sunlight from high above. This room alone was an archaeological treasure and I drank it in with a heady feeling.

“This isn't Cibola, is it?” I asked in a hushed tone.

“No, this was a hiding place; a fortress where many hid during the conquests. But much of the gold WAS hidden here at one point, I have no doubt,” said el Conquistador. “Your job is to find out where it went.” He aimed a lantern at a point on the wall and I saw several petroglyphs carved there.

“You know, glyphs aren't writing,” I said tentatively.

“No, you're right,” said El Conquistador. “But they are communications. A record of some sort. For instance, that one tells of a successful buffalo hunt. And there...a raid on another pueblo, where many were killed. But those,” he said, returning the light to the wall in front of me, “show Spaniards, and the quest for gold. Those are relevant.”

I felt a clipboard with a sketchbook and a pencil being shoved into my hands. Breathlessly I began sketching, my brain trying to make sense of the story being told. I soon found that I could read the glyphs, almost like writing; and I attributed this to the wisdom of Athena.

"You're right about one thing, el Conquistador," I said, hesitatingly. "This was a hiding place. According to these records, many women and children were hidden here while their men went to become slaves or to die. But many warriors also were here. "

I pointed to one cluster of glyphs. "Here is a meeting with Estebanico," I said.

"How can you tell that?" asked el Conquistador.

"He's carved out of rock, but they've taken pains to darken his body with soot. He's not like the other figures, do you see?"

El Conquistador nodded. I continued. "If you watch, Estebanico begins to change in the next set. He becomes hunchbacked, feathers shooting out of his head and he dances. In short, the Hohokam see him as Kokopelli, the Trickster. In some regards they were right because he tricked the Spanish. Cibola wasn't the original Zuni pueblo, that was a false lead!"

"I knew that my lovely doctor," said el Conquistador. I felt a pair of powerful hands on my shoulders and a whisper of cold steel caressed my throat. "But if you don't come up with something more substantial, then I'm afraid you'll join the skeletons in the next cavern.

"There are skeletons?" I asked, excitedly.

"Yes, why?"

"Because the glyphs end here--but they indicate people with their mouths shut permanently. Apparently these people had the secret shut up with them. But we need to see. Take me please?" I raised my cuffed hands toward him and I think I surprised him. Instead of anger, I could sense el Conquistador softening. He helped me to my feet, then with reverential silence, led me to the ossuary.

Because that's what it was. A room full of bones in tidy order, with the skulls lined up along one wall. "This is incredible," I began, eager to sketch the room.

"Not now, Doctor," said my captor. "We have a mission."

I sighed heavily, knowing several years work still wouldn't reveal all the secrets of Walker's Table. Still there were glyphs on the walls here too.

I scrutinized them closely, and found the clues I was looking for. "Cibola is west of here. I'd guess Arizona. According to these glyphs its 3 days journey to the west."

"But that would be by foot," said el Conquistador. "We have a Tahoe." He brought me to my feet again, and we began retracing the way out of the cavern.

I stopped at a cranny in the walls--something was reflecting the lantern. Reaching deep, I pulled a soft gold chain free.
I hadn't been noticed, as el Conquistador was talking with his men. I shoved the chain into my pocket for study later and caught up.

The men led me back down the path but the gentle slope was deceiving, and I slipped on loose scree, tumbling down the side of a bluff. I struggled to get to my feet and heard the rattling of a sidewinder. Looking slowly to my left, I saw the serpent three feet away, perched on a loose boulder.

"Snakes," I said. "Why did it have to be snakes?" I tried to stand slowly, but felt my ankle swelling.

"Are you all right, Doctor?" I heard from above.

"NO!" I shouted. "There's a rattlesnake next to me and he doesn't want to be friends!"

"Stay perfectly still Doctor!" I heard....



Obeying the order not to move, I kept my eye on the swaying rattlesnake. The snake managed to look back and the staring contest seemed interminable. I was tempted to use a bit of my super strength to throw rocks, but just as that thought completed in my mind, I jumped at the report of a high powered pistol.

The snake's head exploded and the body flopped. Instinct took over and I screamed, covering my head and dropping face down into the rubble. A moment later, I saw a pair of desert boots at my feet.

"Can you stand, Dr Nikos?" I heard a voice say.

"I think so," I said, pushing against the rocks and coming to my feet. I winced slightly and el Conquistador knelt at my side.

"Hmmm, there's a little swelling, but I think that's stress and not a sprain. Still better safe...." Ferd and Monty came to either side.

"Support her--but let her walk it off. She'll be fine soon."

By the time we reached the Tahoe, I was fine. My healing factor wasn't called into question, though I did act a little stiff as we climbed into the truck. Monty took the wheel, and el Conquistador insisted I sit in the passenger seat.

"You know the route, it makes sense to have you navigate." I nodded and we pulled out on a flat, dirt road heading west. The desert was vast, but not flat and I studied the mesas, saguaro and scrub; wondering how anyone could eke out a living in such a place. Yet there had been a high civilization here. Art flourished, legends and tales, a whole culture. That is wasn't European in orientation didn't make it any less civilized.

"Every civilization falls to someone, Dr Nikos," I heard from behind me. I turned and saw el Conquistador leaning back.

"Its true, Doctor, every civilization falls to a stronger one at some point. And archaeologists sift through the rubble, ghouls with credentials."

I opened my mouth to protest and he held up his hand. "Spare me the platitudes about preserving history for future generations. We're both seekers after treasure. I just happen to desire wealth, while you desire notoriety." I felt there was little I could say to that.

About two hours later, a large mesa arose in front of us and I asked Monty to pull over. "This is it," I said.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"But there's no way into the wall. Where's Cibola?"

I scanned the area and found the washout I was looking for. I lead up to the mesa wall and pushed aside thick brush. "In here," I said.

Monty and Ferd cut away the brush, exposing a tight crevice in the wall. I squeezed in and was relieved when it opened wider about fifteen feet in. I asked for a flashlight, and waited for the rest of them to catch up.

Once again, El Conquistador took the point, pushing through the narrow arroyo, with little regard for the glyphs on either side. But the canyon widened and opened into an open cliff dwelling, I looked up, seeing the sunlight dimming overhead. But in the sunlight, the canyon gleamed with the luster of gold.

"We found it! We found it!!" El Conquistador could scarcely contain his enthusiasm. "Break out the tools boys, we're going to start digging." Ferd opened his pack and produced two picks. Similarly, Mort had two trenching tools in his. Surprisingly, El Conquistador had dynamite in his pack.

"You can't!" I wailed. "This is a national treasure! We have to preserve it, study it..." I heard the cocking of a pistol.

"Your usefulness is about at an end Doctor," said El Conquistador. You can either help us, or you can die."

"How old do you think this is?" asked Mort, holding up a golden goblet.

I looked at it, then said, "Seven hundred years at least."

El Conquistador nodded. "All right then, Dr Nikos. You dig, here. And you can answer questions. But any funny business, and you die. Now I want you to dig right here...your section is six by four and about six feet deep, understood?"

I nodded, grimly; and fully aware I was digging my own grave.

About two hours into our arrival I heard "Fire in the hole!" I dove into my foxhole/grave and covered my head.

"Aw crap," I heard Monty say. "It didn't work."
"GET BACK YOU FOOL," then WHOOOOOOMMMMM!!!

The cavern walls where we came in began crumbling. Because of the explosion I couldn't hear anything but when the dust cleared, I found the bodies of Monty and Ferd, both very dead.

El Conquistador lay nearby, slowly moving. His legs were bent in ways no legs should move and I could see blood oozing from his waist.

I knew I had to act. Standing up, I pulled, snapping the chains linking my bonds. I knelt next to El Conquistador, tying his legs tightly with tourniquets, then unmasking him.

I was not surprised to find Dr Cruz, my host, under the mask. I rigged and wrapped him, to keep him relatively immobile, then flew him out of the blind canyon and back to the Tahoe. Monty had left the keys, and I started the truck, then headed further west, knowing that we'd passed no hospitals coming in. We were fortunate, for within 10 minutes, I found a small regional hospital.

Dr Cruz was rushed into emergency surgery and I sat and fretted. I was able to call my hotel and let them know I needed an extra day or two. They gladly extended my time.

Sitting in the small chapel at the hospital, Dr Chandrakoury came to me and said, "He's asking for you,"

I found Dr Cruz in the recovery room, but Dr Chandrakoury said, "He doesn't have long. Be gentle."

I sat next to the bed, looking into the old man's face. So many questions...and all I could ask was "Why?"

"I am an old man, Doctor. And heavily in debt. I have a gambling problem at the casinos and my income is in jeopardy for the next year. The museum had evidence and was about to fire me. I faced a bitter future with no pension, and this was my way to retire successfully."

"But your wife?"

"She left me four years ago. She wasn't there when I fed you. It was another ruse." Cruz began coughing and I leaned closer.

"You flew," he whispered. "You flew me out."

"Did I?" I asked. "Or were you dreaming."

Cruz shook his head. "No you flew. You are more than an archaeologist I think. You are an arbiter of order, a keeper of the peace. Are you Mongwa?"

"Lets just say I'm an Owl."

Dr Cruz nodded then gasped. The EKG began to flatline and alarms began ringing throughout the ICU.

"Out!" said Dr Chandrakoury. So out I went. And waited.
Thirty minutes later, Dr Chandrakoury came out, a grim look on his face.

"We did everything we could," he said. "But his years, and his injuries...I...I'm sorry."

I shook the doctor's hand. "I'm sure you did. And I'll notify the next of kin, Doctor. Thank you for all you've done."

I walked out of the hospital, and cried as I sat in the Tahoe.

The end...

In the Blink of an Eye

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Fallen Idols

Fallen Idols...A White Owl adventure.
I opened the door to my fifth floor "penthouse" apartment in Queen City, glad for the break from the classes at Angel Falls. A slight musty smell greeted me, but for all I could tell the place had been undisturbed since I'd moved in June.I was tired from the six hour drive, and all I really wanted to do was run a hot bath and get into bed. But as I headed up the stairs to my loft bedroom, the telephone rang. I shook my head, since the phone had been disconnected when I left. So I reached for the handset. "Hello?" I said hesitatingly."Athena! Oh thank God, I was hoping I could get through to you." The young voice of Julie Allen spoke into my ear. But something seemed wrong--her normally effervescent self deems strained--cracking..."Julie? How did you manage to make a dead telephone ring? And what's wrong?""Athena, he's dead! My grandpa is dead!" The shock in her voice jolted the weariness from my bones and I was at full alertness."Oh Julie, I'm so sorry!" I began. "When did...how?" My words failed me."He died Sunday morning in his sleep. Mom came back from the womens shelter and found him in his chair. He looked so peaceful. I think it was just old age finally catching up to him."That made sense. Nathaniel West had fought in World War II, made the landings at D Day and had been in the thick of things at the Battle of the Bulge. But he'd also been one of America's first Mystery Men--Freedom's Ring. His sonic powers had been key to assisting with the liberation of Paris and Brussels His powers had been passed genetically to both his daughter Rebecca and his grand daughter Julie. "He was eighty eight, Athena," she said. "That's old for a veteran, and positively ancient for a superhero." "Hey careful Julie, I'm not sure this is a secure line." I heard a giggle. "Of COURSE its secure. Who bugs a dead phone?"I had to admit, she was probably right about that. "Well that's a neat trick, Julie." "Its the last thing Grandpa taught me--how to send my energy back down the line to reactivate a phone." I heard a stifled sob."Do you need me to come over, Julie?" I asked."No, the family is here. Grandpa's funeral was today and the Legion did full military honors for him. It was beautiful. But I want you to be there on Saturday if you can. At Idlewood Cemetery in Washington.""I thought you said the funeral was today?""It was; for Nathaniel West. But Freedom's Ring died too. And for security reasons, we still have to maintain the double identity. And I knew your identity--the government didn't. So I had the job of notifying you."I nodded, jotting down the address and time. "I'll be there Julie, as your friend.""Thank you Athena, I knew I could count on you." The phone line went dead and I frowned. I'd brought the White Owl uniform, but the more I thought, the more I felt I needed the formal costume again. I picked up the cell phone, and called Mr Wickersham. The understanding tailor said he wasn't going anywhere for the holiday, and told me to stop by his shop on Friday.*****Saturday morning I 'ported to the DC tube and flew to the cemetery. It was an unusual feeling, because a blue Nu Silk cape was fluttering behind me. I also had added a grey silk skirt at the urging of the Crimson Dynamo. Both added a little drag to the flight profile and I felt sluggish as I flew along. But I knew I shouldn't be complaining. Father Timothy would tell me I should be grateful for the gift of flight.Idlewood Cemetery was the final resting place of America's superheroes and mystery men. Captain Thunder, American Ace, Deep Six, Blaze, Hurricane and Quiver were among the luminaries buried here--or at least marked with memorials. Despite the aura of valor here, the cemetery seemed well used and slightly worn down. I landed outside, near a line of vehicles and made my way inside.I was dismayed by the low turnout. Julie and her mother were both there, along with some elderly men who I assumed were the remainder of the Liberty Guard, the loose team Freedom's Ring had been a part of. Along with the old men, I saw a stunning blonde woman. I straightened my skirt, and sat behind Patriette and Liberty Girl, my two friends from Queen City. The memorial was brief; a couple of the Liberty Guard told some slightly off color stories about Freedom's Ring and Webel, a German villainess who made fog. Julie squirmed uncomfortably, as did Patriette. Nacht and Webel had made things difficult in their family for three generations at least.But the funeral ended, and we went to a small brownstone building in Capitol Heights. I ascended the stairs and felt my heart beating faster. This HAD to be the fabled headquarters of the Guard. A door opened, and a spry old man motioned us in. We passed a room filled with costumes, gaudy and reflective of the forties and fifties. The Spotlight's Chest beam sat alone in a cabinet, the glass shattered with bullet holes. Behind that, in a full length case was Blaze's bright yellow asbestos suit. I stood in awe of my predecessors, then followed quietly into a large dining area.Rebecca seemed to be doing well, and I guess Julie was too; but then these men had been visitors in her house for a long time. I excused myself to get more coffee and as I turned from the urn, I ran headlong into the blonde. My coffee sloshed, spilling over my pristine costume and staining it a dark brown."AHHHH" I shouted...then calmed down because the coffee wasn't really scalding and the NuSilk seemed to be keeping most of it away."Oh GOLLY! How clumsy of me," she said. "Let me take care of that for you. She stared at my costume and her face screwed up in concentration. A moment later--the moisture in the NuSilk misted and evaporated into the air."That's amazing!" I began, but she held up a finger.A gentle breath blew across the front of my costume, chilling me to the bone. A moment later, the blonde flicked away the residue of the stain as little freeze dried crystals."Ta Da!!!" she warbled cheerfully. "Sixty years of filthy costumes and villain's lairs have taught me something about being clean. I'm American Dream." She smiled broadly and the world became brighter. I gazed at her. She had a beauty that transcended glamour. Whichever goddess was responsible for drop dead gorgeous looks had lingered overly long on her. She was tall, blonde, well packed in all the right spots and looked better than any woman almost eighty years old should look. Except maybe Tania."And you are...?" she prompted."Staring...I am so sorry," I said. Then regaining some level of composure I said, "I'm White Owl. I knew Freedom's Ring through Patriette and Liberty Girl."She nodded. "I was a frequent visitor at that house for some time. Actually until Major Allen married Rebecca. Then Nate stopped heroing and I...well I wouldn't give it up. Still haven't, in fact."I nodded. "But I haven't seen anything about you in years," I said. "And you won't. I work covert now for the government. That doesn't mean I don't get down time now and then though. And I very seldom get a chance to train with and talk to the new generations. Are you free anytime soon?""Well, I have a break coming for three weeks in December," I said. "I might be able to make some time then.""Oh please do," she gushed. "I would love to talk, and get to know you better." She pushed a card at me."This is my private line. I'll always answer. Just give me a call when you want to visit. Ta ta!!" She turned and shouted across the room, "Dauntless! Where have you been hiding, you old geezer?"I watched her cross the room to an old man in a wheelchair. His eyes gleamed as American Dream began to cross with him and in my minds eye I caught a vision of a powerful man in a bright red costume; broken as he stopped a bus singlehandedly. that stunt had prevented terrorists from overthrowing Monteverde, but it had ruined Dauntless for life. I was surprised as I walked back to Julie and Becca."Thanks for coming White Owl, it really means a lot," said Patriette. "Dad really thought the world of you, I don't know if you knew that."I felt my face warming. "Aww, thanks. I had similar feelings about him. He knew what it meant to be a hero and role model.""Yes, and he wondered about living so long," said Julie."What?" I asked."It's true, Athena, most people in our profession don't die in bed of old age like Gran'pa."I nodded and thought about that--then I looked at Rebecca. "Hey Patriette, what can you tell me about American Dream?" I told her of my chance meeting and the invitation."Only that you're never good enough for her White Owl. She's a perfectionist. And with all the years she's been doing it, she has it down to a science. Still she's a good one to have in your corner. And no one understands the woman in the hero mold better."I'd say, pick your friends carefully; but being an avatar of wisdom, you know how to do that. I imagine she's lonely, and it can't hurt to go talk."I thanked them both, expressing my condolences again, and stepped into the waning daylight. With a wistful look at the brownstone, I flew back to the teleport tube and traveled back to Queen City.


August 14th 1943...The battle had raged through the night of the little mountain village. Neither of us had gained an advantage since I had broken free of il Martel's death trap, and now the Italian villain was escaping with intelligence which could overthrow Italy's surrender and swing the war back toward the Axis. I had to stop him."The dark night sky flashed with lightning and above me I say the horrific form of il Martel on top of the abbey of San Catarino. His mighty hammer glowed with an eerie blue light in his right hand. In his left, the limp form of Colonel Trevor Stephens, my friend and lover; dangled over the cliff side."I called out to him, 'Martel! You have nowhere to run! Let me have the Colonel and we'll fight another day!' His answer came in the form of his hammer being flung at me. "I deftly dodged and caught the hammer, its momentum pulling me off balance from the steeple. But I recovered and spun, hurling the hammer back at Martel; then using the forward thrust to launch myself behind the hammer at il Martel."'Foolish woman! Don't you know that the Hammer knows its master?' il Martel gloated, catching the weapon easily."' Si!' I answered as my foot caught il Martel on his jutting chin. The lanky Italian recoiled, his eyes fluttering. At that moment he relaxed his grip on Trevor and once again, I was torn between stopping the villain and saving the man I loved."' Not this time, Martel,' I shouted, grabbing Stephens by his leather pilot's jacket. But the weight of Trevor finally pulled me off balance and I grabbed at the ledge of the rooftop. We both dangled above the Abbey, with the river 880 feet below. A dark pair of boots appeared at my eye level and looking up I could see Martel, towering over me."' This is the end of the American Dream,' he gloated, raising his hammer to pound my fingers. But as he raised the hammer, a bolt of lightning struck the hammer. Martel howled in pain, dancing with the convulsions of the powerful stroke of electricity. With a last lusty cry, he toppled over the edge of the building and plummeted to the valley below."I swung Trevor onto the rooftop and pulled myself up as well. Then I carried the limp form over my shoulders and made my way back to the American lines. Trevor held out for three days, dying shortly after regaining consciousness. I was sent back to the US to deal with my grief and wasn't reactivated to the Liberty Guard until after D Day." (Excerpt from One Woman's War, 2005, by American Dream and Guild Publishing)I set the book down and rubbed my eyes. American Dream had been active as a heroine since 1942 and there was a of history to cover. I remembered how excited I was to find a copy of her book in the Literary Treasures store, and had spent the better part of an afternoon reading the exploits of the amazing heroine.In addition to il Martel, American Dream had been active against Nacht and Webel, Der Metzger, Matryoshka, White Chrysanthemum and others, as well as Miniman, the Lynx and several other American villains. Additionally, she'd been an active part of the Liberty Guard and the Guild, though at the time the book was published she had retired, or at least gone private. Perhaps the last lines of the book were the most telling."I realize I have worn many titles in this country, and worn them all with pride. But even immortals must give way for the next generation. I have stood side by side with some of the greatest in the world, watching them die far too early. Additionally I have fought some of the most vile, and wonder why such are still here after all these years. The fight for justice, the fight for life is a never ending battle, and its not merely the job of the costumed fighters, its everyone's battle. So I am stepping down, in order to see to the next generation."Most had assumed that by this American Dream was going to train new heroes and heroines. But after 10 years, no one had stepped forward with her skill set. And American Dream had said she was mainly covert at this time, showing up for state functions, but basically working behind the scenes. Was she involved with the government Bureau of Extranormal Affairs?I took the card she gave me, and dialed her number. "Hello? Is this American Dream?""Hello dear, keeping free form falling coffee?"I smiled. "Yes I have been. I have some free time later this week, leading to the weekend. Are you up for a visit?""I'd love it. Come out Friday night, and you can spend the night. Ta ta!"With that cheerful note she hung up. I wondered about calling Rebecca or Julie, but decided it would be better to fill them in afterward.

Friday was a getaway day at Angel Falls University, and my classes ended Thursday afternoon. I spent the evening packing a few things and setting my answering devices. Daisy would be all right, I had an auto food and watering device set up.I was eager to be on my way. American Dream had sent directions to my QCPD cell phone which amazed me--but then I knew Captain Winslow had a soft spot for all sorts of heroines. I was surprised that she had by passed both the Guardian's and the Guild's com systems, but maybe she wanted this to be low key.I made a final tour of the apartment, scratching Daisy one more time as she dozed in the papasan. She looked up and purred louder, then licked her lips and rolled back over. I could tell I wouldn't be missed.I slung my weekend bag over my shoulder and secured it, then flew into the twilight of an Angel Falls autumn. I shivered a little as a chill wind blew in from the sea, and wished I had considered bringing the jacket with me. Winter was just around the corner, but in the warmer climate of Angel Falls, I was trying to eke out as much warmth from my summer garb as possible.I followed the coast highway a long while, crossing into Virginia. I banked inland then and toward the Smokies, crossing empty fields and dark woods. A moon rose, casting a silvery glow over the landscape and making the land look like a fairy tale come to life. I heard a gentle hooting, and looking over my shoulder, I saw a barred owl pursuing its prey. I smiled. Not quite the snowy owl I'd seen in Angel Falls, but a good omen none the less.Checking the directions I'd been given, I looked below me to see a walled compound in the middle of nowhere. A large abbey loomed over a hillside, and I gawped at the size of it. But a smaller house stood in the middle and a golden light gleamed from the front door. I angled my flight that way and landed in the courtyard.With a little trepidation, I knocked on the door. Immediately it flew open and American Dream stood at the door, beaming. "White Owl! Right on time. Come in come in." I stepped into the foyer and smelled a savory smell coming from what I assumed was the kitchen. American Dream smiled and as I surveyed the home I found it to be a cross between Norman Rockwell and Martha Stewart. The magazine couldn't come here; there was no Better Home or Garden, I was convinced."Thank you for inviting me. This looks like an interesting place. " I gushed. I reached into my rollbag and pulled out the bottle of wine I had purchased just for this trip. "A Chateau Picard 1936?" said American Dream, as she studied the label. "Some say that was the last good bottle they produced. I'm one of them." She smiled."I wanted you to have something to remember the good times with," I said.A tear welled in the American Dream's eye as she fought back emotion. "The last time I had this was just before Trevor was kidnapped by il Martel. Just be..before he died."Then just as quickly, she pulled herself together and said, "But that's all water under the bridge, eh? Long ago and far away."She gestured to my bag. "Just set that in the corner. We'll get it to your room after dinner." I followed her down the little hallway and into a small dining room. "This used to be the abbot's dining room," she said. "He would entertain his guests here. The monks had a refectory in the main hall.""But when the monastery's land stopped producing, the monastery was closed. And I bought it from the church--the Bishop actually sold it cheaply because I'd saved his father in the War.""And you live here alone?" I asked, astonished."Well I need a big place to train, for visitors and of course my museum," she smiled. "They're all on the tour tomorrow though. Tonight we just get to be girls." And with that announcement, American Dream took off her mask."I'm Anna Dottir. You may call me Anna. And you?"I hesitated. Though this woman was an American icon, I still maintained a secrecy that was crucial to my work. I thought about the Owl, announcing himself in flight; giving himself away and decided."I'm White Owl--for now anyway, Anna." The slightest beginnings of a frown occurred and then she brightened. "Quite right. You're protecting your identity." We sat to eat an excellent meal of beef stew and fresh whole grain bread. Then over coffee, Anna asked me, "So tell me about yourself. How did you gain your abilities?"Over the next hour or so, I regaled her with my origin detailing how Athena herself had appeared to me and granted me my gifts. From there, we discussed some of my battles, my victories and defeats. She nodded."I too had my share of all those things as well," she said. "I have a question I'm dying to know," I said. When she nodded an ok, I asked, "How have you stayed so gorgeous and so young?Anna smiled. "It's really no secret," she said. "I'm the daughter of a Valkyrie, sent to earth to select the slain heroes for Valhalla.""But I thought the Valkyries were all maidens," I said."They were, except Brunhilde, and my mother Frigga," she said. "Mother was banished to earth, for her transgressions and died when I was five. I was moved from one family to another, until I reached adulthood. And I became American Dream--I was strong, agile, and swift."We stayed up a while longer, but I was nodding. American Dream smiled and said, "For a nocturnal creature, you seem sleepy. Perhaps we should turn in." I followed her to the guest room where a large canopied bed sat on the floor. Anna turned down the quilt and said, "goodnight."Within ten minutes I was in bed--still masked though. I slept badly, my dreams haunted. I thought I heard a scream as a woman aged and crumbled to dust before my eyes.Morning broke and I stretched, rested. I heard a knock on the door and was about to call, "come in," when Anna popped her head in. That frown began again, then stopped."Hey sleepyhead," she smiled. "I'm going for a run. Want to join me?I slid into my boots and met her at the door. "I usually run the perimeter of the abbey twice before breakfast," she smiled. "Why don't we race. As long as you promise not to fly, I promise not to hold back, deal? Oh and loser does dishes."I nodded. "On your mark, get set..." I saw a white and blue blur zip past me and heard the sound of "gooo" receding from me. I smiled and turned up the heat. I wasn't flying, but I was using the speed that came with it and soon I caught up and passed American Dream. Stubbornly, she turned her power up a notch and came closer. We passed the starting line again and I pulled whatever kick I had left; slowly but steadily beginning to outdistance the golden age great. As we crossed the line a moment later, I had her beat by at least 3 seconds."Are you sure you didn't cheat," she gasped. "Only Whirlwind was fast enough to beat me before." "Scout's honor," I said."All right, then I'll have to do KP." I helped with the drying though, noticing the whole time that Anna was studying my hands, and my face. After breakfast, she took me to the Chapter house of her abbey, and opened up the museum.One whole wing was devoted to Trevor Stevens, and I saw she still carried a torch for him after all these years. The next section showed images and memorabilia of American Dream through the years. Posters, helmets, and even dolls were on display.Finally, we entered the allies wing. Here were images of the Liberty Guard, and its successors, including the Guild. Also a line of black frames identified heroes and heroines who had died in action. I noticed several greats from the past, but was shocked to see images of more recent heroes too--the Golden Archer, Skybolt, Scarlet Angel, Blue Panther and Wondervixen.I stood somberly at the pictures, reminding myself of all these greats had stood for. "It makes you think, doesn't it?" said Anna, putting her hand on my shoulder. I shuddered--something felt wrong.Mercifully, the cell phone chirped. It was Captain Winslow. "White Owl? You on your way back to QC? We got a problem.""I understand, Captain. I can be there in two hours," "Oh honey, I can get you there sooner. The Guild left me a portal.""Why didn't you say so?" I asked. "I could have ported from Angel Falls.""It slipped my mind until now." I looked at Anna. She seemed older now--almost forgetful. But she led me to the portal and I set the controls personally, then 'ported to Queen City and Captain Winslow's problem.

"It just seemed a little odd is all I'm saying Patriette," I said as we met on the rooftop of the Central Trust tower. Patriette stood with her arms crossed, her dark curly hair floating in the cold breeze from the river. She glowed slightly, converting the ambient sound into heat energy."I'm not surprised White Owl," she said. "I feel the same way, since I LOOK older than she does, and yet I'm much younger. But I always did wonder about her. My "aunt" Anna never aged while all my "uncles" did--roughly the same amount as Dad did. Dad always claimed it was her demi human status that conferred such longevity, but I'm not sure. I always thought in her attic somewhere is a portrait that's aging VERY badly." I grinned at her joke, as Patriette broke her own smile. Patriette continued, "I had occasion to work with her twice, before Julie was born and I was still working with the military. Even then she seemed aloof, and professional--not very warm and fuzzy."I shivered into my warm coat, realizing December was definitely bringing a cold snap with it. "Well with her background I wouldn't expect warm and fuzzy. Lonely yes. But I think she was on the verge of becoming seriously ungrounded. Maybe even crazy cat lady.""That's odd," said Patriette. "Her mind is usually sharp as a razor. How did she look?""She seemed fit, and looked good," I said. But she seemed like she was showing her age in the morning.""Oh like you don't," joked Patriette.I nodded. "Well anyway, it was good to catch up Patriette. Tell Liberty Girl I said hi.""Are you in town much longer?" she asked. "I know Julie would love to see you.""I'm leaving in the morning. I had to sign some documents relating to my parents' estate, and make certain the first floor apartment was ready for a new tenant. So I'm going home to bed, then back to Angel Falls in the morning.""Maybe next trip in then," she said. Her glow altered slightly and suddenly her energy converted to sound waves, which she could ride back out to Kosterman Hill. I watched her head west, then took off and flew down through the city's Entertainment District. The shows were dark tonight, so I wasn't expecting any problem, but as I crossed Eighth and Sycamore, I heard a shriek coming from an off street parking lot. I wheeled and in the dim light, I saw a woman, dressed like she was coming from a nightclub being attacked by two men."C'mon bitch, we just want to play," said one of the men, grabbing at the woman. She pushed and the other one caught her arm."Aww come on, that's not nice," he said.I swooped in and grabbed the first one by his collar jerking him off balance. I grabbed his leg and with him held off the ground, I threw him into an open dumpster at the back of the alley. He hit with a whoof and a thud, then the lid of the dumpster clannnnnged shut on his back.The second guy wasn't as lucky. He was trying to flee when his friend went sailing, but the sight stunned him. He stood stock still as I clocked him with a restrained left hook. He dropped to the ground, completely unconscious."Must've had a glass jaw," I said, smiling. I picked up the black purse from the ground, and handed it to the woman. She seemed familiar, with a head of long straight dark hair and a pretty face."Oh thank you," she said. "How can I repay you?""There's no need for that," I said politely. "Just doing my job.""Oh wait! I have something here!" She reached into her handbag and pulled out an aerosol can. She stepped up and sprayed it into my face. A swirling gas of blue and gray hit me in the eyes and I began coughing."Breathe deeply little fool," she said.The walls of the parking lot began to sway and I could feel my knees buckling. The gas was powerful and anesthetic. I struggled to keep to my feet, but felt gravity pulling my knees toward the asphalt. I dropped to my hands, then fell prone at the feet of the former victim.Even as my muscles refused to obey me, I struggled to maintain awareness. And when she knelt beside me, I managed to get out one word..."W...why?"The woman pawed at my toolbelt, pulling the pouches free and pulling my supply of weapons from me. "This will look so nice in my collection," she said. She went through the pouches and pulled my HD cuffs, the ones I use for heavily powered villains.She flopped my onto my chest like I was a rag doll and with practiced expertise secured the handcuffs around my wrists. A moment later, she slipped some sort of breathing filter over my mouth and nose, and I felt a heavily scented air entering my lungs. "You're too powerful, White Owl; and I know you can shake off poisons. But this drug should keep you pacified until we arrive at your Final Destination." My blood chilled at that last comment and I recognized the capital letters in the last two words. The woman stood and motioned and her two pain stricken goons joined her."You've done well, men. Help me load her into the car." I was carried through the parking lot to a lone Lincoln, and dropped unceremoniously into a dark, cavernous trunk. As I was placed inside, the dime dropped. American Dream was kidnapping me? Recognition must have shown on my face, for I heard her say, "Yes, its me!"Behind her, the two men coughed. She wheeled and said, "Oh you've done very well tonight. You've earned your pay and a little extra." She reached into her purse and drew out a stack of $100 bills, handing 10 to each man."What about the extra?" asked one.A sinister smile broke across her face and I watched in helpless horror as she broke the necks of the two men, then left their bodies under the dim street lamp. The trunk lid closed and I struggled in my bonds as we shot out of town.

I rode in a dim, drug induced stupor as the car clocked mile upon mile. I was aware of time's passing--but hours and minutes made no sense in the dark carpeted lining of the large car's trunk. My healing factor was working over both the chloroform and whatever drug was in the mask, along with a mix of carbon monoxide in the trunk. But when the car lurched to a stop, I was still woozy. The trunk opened and I blinked back the tears as a dazzling white light filled the confines of my temporary prison. A shadow loomed, and I saw American Dream reaching into the trunk. "Come here, Owly" she purred, with menace in her voice.I was set on wobbly legs against the trunk, then American Dream bent me over her shoulder and carried me as easily as a sack of potatoes deep into the brightly lit chamber. I tried to glance at the articles on the walls, but could make little to no sense of the technical miscellanea surrounding me.Dream dropped me on the floor of a metal platform, then slipped the mask from my face. I gulped greedily as the fresh air. "Feeling a little better?" she asked, with a sound of concern in her voice. I nodded."Good," she said. With a strong left fist, American Dream punched me in my solar plexus and I gasped, struggling to breathe as my muscles contracted in pain. She followed with a right cross to my jaw and I dropped to the floor, hitting with my head, out cold."Bitch" muttered American Dream, kicking me in the ribs. She knelt down and rifled my toolbelt again, setting all the items in the pouches and tubes to one side. Satisfied, she untied me, then sat me back on the platform. A twist of a lever brought a large bell jar tight over the top of me and it sealed with a hiss.I struggled to me knees, then my feet, using the thick glass to stand. American Dream looked up from her winded stated and smiled back at me. Then she pointed at the control panel. "This apparatus was developed by Dr Friedrich Werner, as a means to prolong the life of an ailing Fuhrer. A young volunteer would be placed in that bell tube, and his life would be drained. His liquid life essence; the remainder of his unused life force would distill here...(she opened a panel) and the Fuhrer would drink it, extending his life."On a top secret mission in 1942, I was kidnapped by Greta von Gutenheim and brought to Dr Werner's lab...Where I was to be the next victim of his life distiller. But before he could place me inside, I broke free. Countess von Gutenheim fell into the device instead and was distilled from a vivacious woman of 27 to a shriveled corpse. The glowing liquid beckoned to me, and I drank it, growing stronger, more devious than I had ever been. With the Countess' mental energies supplementing my strength, I managed to sneak the device back to America."I have since then been consuming the life energies of heroes, heroines and villains over the last sixty years. And look at me! I'm beautiful, am I not?""You're a MONSTER," I replied. Then I looked closer. "And its starting to tell! Your hair is graying, there are definite age wrinkles showing. And you were winded after dragging me here!"American Dream waved her hand. "All mere details, I assure you. You have one of the most powerful life forces I have tested in some time, White Owl. And you became my dear friend in such a short time. I shall have to attend your funeral, alas, and say nice things, I'm sure." "Funeral? What are you talking about?""It will be a tragic death. You'll be burned beyond recognition--only your costume and mask will be used to identify you. You'll have died in a heroic manner, saving lives, though."A cold shiver struggled down my spine. I pounded on the glass."It's quite unbreakable, I assure you. Even il Martel couldn't break it.""il Martel? You killed him here?" I asked in astonishment."And Trevor, and Matryoshka, der Metzger, and the rest. Not to mention quite a few neophyte heroes and heroines here in the US. They were all ready to establish themselves as my friends..instead, they became my life."As she talked, American Dream poked a few buttons, and I felt a giant fan at my feet begin to hum. "This will begin to draw the oxygen out of that tank White Owl. I estimate 10 minutes before you die in the vacuum. I am sorry you have to die, but you'll live on through me."She crossed the floor and closed the door. I could feel the air getting thinner in the glass tube and I began to methodically look for some way to break free. All the items in my toolbelt were gone; I could see them on the table beside the console. I dropped to one knee--the air was thicker here, closer to the floor and began looking for other options.The words of Liberty Girl echoed in my ear, "People like us don't have a long lifespan Athena, There aren't too many heroes who live to collect their pension." At the rate the air was seeping out, I had a feeling I wouldn't be around to collect mine.
The air in the vacuum chamber was growing thinner, and I knelt awkwardly trying to breathe in the ever declining environment. I could feel the whoosh of air around me and when I put my hand on the floor, I puled it back with a strong pull, the suction was that powerful.American Dream had not put a lot of work into upgrading her death trap; she was from the "if it works don't tinker with it" school of thought and for that I was grateful. For as I pulled my hand from the floor, a thought occurred to me. I made a quick study of the louvers at the bottom of my cell. While they were too small for me to escape, I was certain the duct led to a powerful fan, which drew the air out of my chamber. I poked a finger into the holes. but the gaps were too small for me to get very far with a probe."Probably for the best" I thought, "I wouldn't want to lose a finger." I smiled at the morbidity of entering into eternity whole, rather than living a life with a disfigured hand. But a second thought occurred and I acted quickly. I sat on the floor of the cell, gasping for breath in the rarefied air and began peeling my long glove from my left hand. "Forgive me grandmother," I pleaded; then I fed the elbow length garment through the duct. I felt the suction grab hold and pull the glove from my hand, then heard the fan whine as the silky glove caught in the turbine. I breathed a bit easier, but the fan continued to drive the air from my death chamber, albeit a bit more slowly. "I need something more," I muttered to myself. I twisted the buckle on my now empty toolbelt until it popped free. Then with an urgent yet delicate touch, I force fed it to the hungry fan. I heard the belt buckle crash into the whirling steel blades and then watched the lights flicker in American Dream's lab. A puff of smoke broke from the console at my feet and I slumped back against the bell jar, relieved that I had earned a reprieve.But the dying fan had also alerted American Dream that something was wrong, and the blonde bombshell charged like an angry rhinoceros into the now dark chamber."What have you done you little fool!" she shrieked like a banshee. A beam of bright light shone across the room , reflecting off the thick glass of the cell. American Dream crossed to the device and kicked it. It sighed, then all the lights on the panel went dark."You've broken it, White Owl," she said. "And I have no way of fixing it--Dr Werner's notes were destroyed in a fire in 1960 by a minor heroine named Sparkgirl. She didn't live long beyond that, I made certain. And now I can't let you live; you know my secrets. So I'll have to kill you myself." American Dream launched herself at the chamber, toppling the entire structure. The large glass jar cracked at the base and I felt the vacuum lift. I struggled to get to my feet and saw American Dream coming back at me, a large, sinister looking hammer in her hand."I killed il Martel, I killed General Winter, I killed Matryoshka, I can certainly kill a little pretender like you!" Dream's eyes were red with rage as charged, swinging il Martel's hammer. I barely had time to avoid the swing as the hammer finally shattered the glass. I dove free, feeling the shards of glass cutting into my bare hand and tearing my tights. I rolled and came up across the room, away from my tools.American Dream lunged at me again, and I ducked under her outstretched arms, kicking out with a sweep that knocked her off balance. Seizing the advantage, I reversed course and ran toward the table where my weapons lay."Oh no you don't, honey," I heard and a scant second later, I was propelled forward and into the thick stone wall with Martel's hammer deep in in my spine. I heard the crunch of bone as the hammer shattered a rib and another as I landed awkwardly on my left ankle, twisting it. I scrambled as best I could to get to my feet, but American Dream was following the hammer with a diving tackle of her own. I leaped into the air, intending to flyover the insane heroine and thought I was free until I felt a strong hand on my sore ankle. "AAAAHHHH!!!" I screamed in pain as American Dream's iron grip broke the ankle. I fell face down on the floor, my hands inches away from the table. It may as well have been miles."Not so fast, Owly," I heard. though American Dream's voice seemed older, harsher. Was she breathing hard? I turned to look and could definitely see age taking a toll on the once vibrant woman. "I have some youth serum left, my dear," she croaked. "Enough to allow me to attempt to fix my device, and to live on for several years. You would have been mere storage. But I tire of this game now, White Owl. It's time to end it.""I couldn't agree more," I said, slamming American Dream's wrist with my right foot. I felt the bones break beneath my boot heel and regretted the rage I'd unleashed. American Dream broke her grip on my leg and I slithered back on the smooth stone floor and reached for a bop ball. My hand closed on one just as American Dream lunged once more. In desperation I threw it, noticing the yellow color too late."NO!" I shouted. "Look Out!" The ball shattered against American Dream's chest and exploded, a white hot blaze shooting up the older heroine's chest. My Phosphorus Flare burns hot and bright, and was never meant to be used against a human. America Dream screamed in terror and began racing around the room. I stood to try and help her, but immediately dropped to the floor, my ankle still throbbing with pain. Dream screamed once more then fell to the ground, her arms beating uselessly against the remnants of her costume. I don't know how long it was, but I finally managed to get to my cell phone and make a call to Patriette in Queen City. "I...I didn't know who else to call," I told her."Sit tight White Owl. American Dream worked for the Bureau of Meta Human affairs. They'll want to work it I'm sure." An hour later several cars rolled into the compound and began the investigation. I found myself in Anna Dottir's kitchen as Special Agent Max Folder led me through my third interview."OK White Owl, I think we understand that you are claiming this was a death by misfortune, but you haven't said a word of why you were even here, or what your relationship with American Dream had been."I was a fan who had come for a visit Agent Folder," I replied evenly. "But what about your toolbelt, your weapons and so forth? Why weren't you wearing them?""As I explained, American Dream was giving me a tour of her trophy room. She'd made me turn out my weapons belt as a security precaution before we started. She left for a moment to take care of some personal business and I got locked into Dr Werner's device. The device started and I had to use my belt to break free. Dream then broke the device to get me out, and carried me out through the fire. But she went back in to try and save some of the trophies. I guess the fire got her."Folder frowned, but nodded. "OK then that's the official story. Don't tell it any differently Friday when you speak at her funeral. Your original version is now Classified, and if it gets out, you'll be charged under the State Secrets Acts of 1970, 1992 and 2004, fair enough?"I nodded. Folder nodded to his assistant Agent Shayna Dulles and she helped me out to the Ambulance. The end.

Another Fine Mess Part 6

A big apology is in order for the long delay in getting back here... no explanations really--just got sidetracked with other work and projects.

The plane touched down with a gentle bump and Lauren looked for an escape route. But the bedroom she was locked in, despite it's luxurious touches, was still nothing more than a prison. Throught the tiny window of the plane, Lauren saw the silver case containing her nemesis being offloaded and carefully shunted into a large six wheeled truck.

"Well, if I can't break out here," she thought, "I will have to try another time. I just need to stay alive." So resolved, she waited, and then stood demurely as the cabin door turned and opened. As she expected, three large men with AK47s stood at the door. Behind them, Hao Chin smiled and dangled a set of thick metal handcuffs.

Putting her hands up at shoulder height, Lauren staggered forward, the stilletto heels of the maid's outfit pitching her forward, and almost onto her nose. "Bloody Hell," she stammered. "How can anyone WALK in these things?"

"Boris expects YOU to do that O'Rourke," said Hao Chin. He caught the comely crimelady and spun her around. Lauren almost pitched forward again, but Hao Chin caught her wrist, and slipped a handcuff around it, cinching it too tight.

"Oww!!!" protested Lauren. Hao Chin ignored her, however; and popped the other bracelet around her opposite hand. He pulled Lauren's struggling body against hsi own corpulent form and squeezed her plump breast with one hand.

"You've lost, O'Rourke. And this makes us even for Seville, Copenhagen and Queen City. Enjoy your servitude bitch. I'm sure Boris will see it drag on as much as possible." Hao Chin snoothed down the front of Lauren's red dress, his hand lingering just at the crotch for a moment as he felt the sexy woman one last time.

Lauren shot a hard, cold look at Hao Chin. "You'll regret this Chin. I'll get meself free, an there's not a country, not an island, not a piece of ground anywhere on this earth where you can hide. You're a dead man."

Chin laughed, but it was weak and without mirth. A look of uncertainty hinted at his features until he mastered it. Then he pushed Lauren into the guards. "Take her to the truck," he said in flawless, though accented Russian. "And keep 2 guns on her at all times."

Lauren smouldered, but held her tongue, at least until the van started. The silver case containing White Owl unnerved her, but she was made of stronger stuff and studied the men with the guns. They could have been carbon copies of one another or rather granite for all the dialog they offered. So Lauren tried her own. "GRU?" she asked the one who appeared to be the leader.

"Nyet," he replied. "Spetsnaz"

"Crap" thought Lauren. Special Forces were always hard to deal with; their loyalty was fierce and they were brilliant and chancy fighters. Like Lauren, they seldom knew when to lie down and quit. But if Boris has hired them, he'd passed some serious money to the Powers that Be. That meant he was reorganizing--possibly stretched really thin. This would be knowledge Lauren could use.

After a long period, the truck stopped and the cuns once again prodded Lauren to alight on a cobblestone courtyard of a large dacha overlooking Lake Baikal. The bright sun was high, and Lauren blinked then stumbled forward into a palatial estate. She watched again as the sarcophagus containing White Owl was carried into an office just inside the foyer. Already Lauren had spotted 5 security cameras and three laser points at the windows and door. Additionally she had plotted at least 2 escape plans and was calculating the odds of each when the door to the office opened and Lauren was motioned (at gunpoint) into the office.

The office rivalled Lauren's though the decor was more tasteful and subdued. A large photograph of Red Square, illuminated by fireworks hung in the corner, and White Owl's case leaned against it. Across the room at a mahogany desk, though sat Boris.

"Velcome Lauren," he said, with a broad smile across his arachnid like features. "I am much appreciatink your gift of Vhite Owvel and of your own serwices to my humble cause."

Lauren strode daintily across the room and lay herself across the table in what she hoped was a seductive pose. "It was my pleasure, Boris honey. But you didn't have to bring me clear across the world for your little joke."

"Oh but I did! You see, you are nefer leavink! You haf heard old Russian prowerb, 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer?' Vhat closer place than to haf you actually under my vatch, hey?"

He chortled and said, "Come, ve have wodka to celebrate, yes? I haf maid fetch it for us." He picked up a brass bell and shook it, giving a melodic tinkle. Nothing happened.

"Hmm, I vonder vhat happened?" he growled. He shook the bell again. No answer.

"Ahhh I am beginnink to understand. The maid job vas chust filled." He pulled a nasty looking pistol from a drawer in his desk. "By YOU O'Rourke. You'll find the wodka in the cabinet, so get to it."

Scowling daggers, Lauren held her ground. "No."

to be continued

Another Fine Mess Part 5

Lauren struggled to come to consciousness. Her mouth was dry and her tongue felt like a thousand gerbils had marched across it in their sweat socks.Moreover, she was disoriented, and felt out of control. None of these were feelings that Lauren O'Rourke LIKED feeling. Of course there was that time in Belgrade, but THAT had been consentual.

As she struggled with her orientation, Lauren realized she had been undressed and left in nothing but her bra and panties. Her clothes, always so immaculate were no where to be seen and her proper fedora was perched across the room on a wig stand.

"All right, I'm movin'" thought Lauren. "An' movin' fast. A jet?" A glance out the small porthole proved Lauren's assumtions correct. She sat up, and put her feet on the thick carpet, then surveyed the cabin.

Her eyes lit on a steel sarcophagus, where White Owl continued her vacant stare. "This is all YOUR fault, Red Robin," she muttered. Swaying to her feet, Lauren tried to cross the room, only to be stopped by the heavy chains around her ankles.

"Someone wants to play kinky games," she said. Her head was pounding though, and the tough crime boss sat on the bed wishing for a cigar, Scotch and a bottle of aspirin. But when the cabin door opened, Lauren's headache stopped and she snarled in fury.

"YOU! How DARE you kidnap me! There's not a country on earth you'll be safe in Hao Chin, once I get free. And I will. There's no one who can keep Lauren O' Rourke. Well maybe only one person who MIGHT be able to keep me and he's ..."

"He is Boris Andreyavich Neyk. The head of the mafia in all of Russia."

"Boris the Bloody Spider? He was cooling his heels in a maximum security prison in Siberia last I heard. How did he get free? What did I ever do to him?" Lauren asked indignantly.

Hao Chin settled into a comfortable chair, just out of Lauren's reach. "He said you would ask that. He told me one word. 'Odessa'."

Despite the serious situation, Lauren smiled. "My girls saved his from the Honey Trap he was running there, an' left HIM to fill the bill. He looked rather fetching in that tight little French Maid outfit. The Beyalarus government ripped him a new one then too. But his money taled and he was escorted back to the border--first class. But that was at least two years ago. The man has no sense of humor."

"I disagree," said Hao Chin. "Mr. Neyk has quite the sense of humor. It is why he requested you be wearing this when you are brought before him." He proffered a box toward Lauren. The mob queen opened it, then frowned.

"Never in a million years. There's no way in Bloody Hell I'll ever wear this."

Chin shrugged. "It's either this or nothing," he said.

"I'll take me chances with nothing then," said Lauren, defiantly. "It's not like he's not seen me in the buff before."

"We shall see." Chin stood, and opened the door to Lauren's cabin. "This flight is almost over. We will be landing in Mr Neyk's private retreat in an hour. I would suggest....compliance with his wishes. Mr Neyk can become most disagreeable. But I believe you are already aware of that fact?"

As the door closed, Lauren's eyes remained fixed where Chin's retreating body had been. "More than you'll ever know."

She shuddered in the cold and sat back on the bed. As she glanced out the window, she could see the deep forests of central Russia and tried to remember where Neyk might have his lairs. Lake Baikal came to mind and Lauren frowned. "middle of Bloody Nowhere!" she muttered. "An' even if I DO get away the only way out is through the damn Gobi or through Mongolia! She looked at the sarcophagus once more and wished she'd paid better attention to Suzy Q's lecture on the devices.

"Just my luck, the one time I actually DO succeed in getting rid of the Big Bad Birdie, its the one time I could use a friend--or a heroine." Lauren felt a cold wind on the back of her neck and shuddered.

"Just like Hao Chin to turn up the cold," she said. "But if he thinks I'm going to wear THAT..." She shuddered again.

"Lauren, ye can't be daft if you want to survive this, an' bring down the big bad Spider. You'll need your cunnin' and all the tools you can use." With a sigh, she opened the box again, and slid into the bright red satin dress and apron.

(to be continued)

Another Fine Mess part 4

The gleaming blade hovered inches above White Owl's vacant face. Felicia's eyes flashed with eagerness as the scalpel traced the air above the slumbering heroine's head. "You should have been mine," she hissed. "It's not fair that we went to all that trouble and got nothing. Lauren is too money hungry to pay attention to all my needs..."

The scalpel drooped, touching the heroine's tanned skin just on the left of her slowly rising and falling breasts. "It wouldn't take much," mused Felicia, aloud; "just a quick little jab here, and you'd bleed out so fast, no one could save you. I wonder if..."

"All right lass, that'll be enough of that." The dim lighting in the lab suddenly flashed brighter and Felicia threw her arm over her eyes. Yukiko crossed the room with catlike grace and deftly plucked the scalpel from Felicia's hand.

"She is disarmed Lauren," reported Yukiko. "What is your wish regarding her?"

"Eh, let 'er go," said Lauren. "I might have done the same thing meself."

Lauren turned to Felicia, and scolded. "I'm gonna cut your pay on this caper though. If you can't follow orders, ya gotta be disciplined." Felicia's pout nearly melted Lauren's icy heart, and the Queen of Crime had to steel herself against the angelic face.

"Now scoot," said Lauren, dismissing Felicia from guard duty. Yukiko sighed.

"What?" said Lauren.

"Nothing," said Yukiko, averting her eyes. Lauren balled her fists, then unclenched them.

"Look, love," she said to Yukiko. "When you're running this gang, after I've retired to Singapore, THEN you can do things by whatever book you want. But until then, this is my show, OK?"

Yukiko nodded and the faintest hint of a smile crossed her face. The two women then turned back to the unconscious heroine.

White Owl was still bound in the pink ribbon, her arms and legs tight. The gleaming band on her head pulsed slightly, indicating the brain drain was still working as well. "So what's next?" asked Lauren, her voice slightly above a whisper.

"There is no need to lowah yo' voice sugah," said Suzy Q, emerging from a lab door at the other end of the room. "She's so fah gone, even a GPS wouldn't help her none." The honey blond crossed to Lauren and frowned.

"Ah jes heard about F'licia. Ah'm sorry I wasn't there."

"No matter--what's done is done," replied Yukiko.

"As fo' what's next," continued Suzy Q, ignoring Yukiko; "well, then. First, we have a glass case filled with inert gasses. White Turkey here will be loaded into the case, an' fitted with an oxygen and narcotic mask. She'll have enough air to breathe, but won't be able to form a conscious thought. Once that' s sealed, she'll be packed in a normal crate for Lauren to deliver."

"An' don't forget the lovely money," said Lauren. She stepped to the inert form of White Owl and smiled. "I'll be rid of you once an' for all, Stormy Petral!"

Yukiko piped up. "Are you sure you want to trust Hao Chin? You were pretty evasive when you first met him, and this time--well something doesn't feel right."

Lauren tossed her head back and laughed. "He had courage, I'll grant him that. Didn't flinch once when you offered to kill him. No, he's earned this. An' it's not like I'll be alone out there. You ladies will be set up just atop the hill, out of sight. Anythin' goes wrong, you're to swoop in like the Avengin' Furies themselves! We'll dispose of Hao Chin an' Ruddy Duck at the same time if he tries to cross us."

****

A cuckoo clock struck 9 pm as Lauren latched the back of her delivery van. Inside was the carefully packaged container full of White Owl. Lauren adjusted her jaunty fedora blew a kiss at the back of the van and gunned it out of the warehouse. Thirty minutes of driving left Queen City well behind her and Lauren followed along the river road toward the rendezvous point.

She turned onto the private road, and along the two ruts leading to the small valley where Hao Chin would be waiting. But as Lauren entered the clearing, she could only see the bend in the river--no car or truck waiting for her.

"What in bloody hell?" she asked, killing the engine and shutting off the lights. She wasn't eager to break radio silence with her assistants, and so she fretted. But across the river, she saw a bright spotlight aimed at the clearing.

"Of course, it's brilliant," muttered Lauren. "Of course he had a boat." Lauren stepped out of the van and watched as the boat drew closer. So intent was she on watching the boat, she failed to hear the helicopter until it was flying overhead. When the beating of the rotor alerted her, Lauren looked up as a dark helicopter sprayed a thick, cloying gas over the clearing and up over the hill.

Choking and tearing up, Lauren clutched at the handle of the van, but drooped sleepily and collapsed on the ground. Six pairs of boots clumped up behind Lauren and men in gas masks sprayed the unconscious felon with another dose of sleeping gas. Laughing in their masks, the six men grabbed Lauren and tossed the dozing gangster over one shoulder. Four others gathered the case from the back of the van , then carried it to the waiting boat. The last man placed charges under the van then scurried back to the boat.

The cabin cruiser drifted into the river, then headed downstream as Hao Chin pushed a button on a remote control. Three hundred yards away, the Shamrock Delivery van exploded in a bright fireball.

(to be continued)