HEROES Chapter 2

Yelena heard the commotion outside her door and sat up, totally on alert now. When the door lock was disabled and in walked Zoe, she had mixed emotions about seeing the girl. If anyone could get them out of here, it would be Zoe, but with Zoe’s arrival, it meant she would have to turn the girl over to Vacily and forfeit her Zoe’s life. There was a moment of hesitation before Yelena kicked into action.

Quickly reaching Zoe and drawing her into a tight hug, Yelena released her as quickly as she had grabbed a hold of her so those watching knew she didn’t have time to relay any messages. Stepping back, she put on her best Dominick Cassius act.

“Baby….you don’t know how glad I am to see your ass.”

Peering over Zoe’s shoulder and seeing the dead guards, the pretend Cassius gave a mild look of concern.

“Won’t be long before they find them. We need to get them inside the cell.”

Without waiting for Zoe to answer, the pretend Cassius grabbed a hold of one of the guards and pulled him inside the cell with them.

“We gotta blow this popsicle stand. These f%$#@*s are about as creepy as they can get. Not your typical Laurel and Hardy cop group. Know what I mean?”

Looking back at Zoe, the pretend Cassius looked up at Zoe as he stripped the guard of his side arm and spare ammo clip.

“So what’s the plan, lyubi maya?”

Hearing voices echo through the vent, Toril leapt on his bed and called over to Cassius' cell, in a hushed tone. "Hey, kid. Who's in there with you? Bring me back a pizza, I'll owe you."

Zoe opened her mouth with a furrowed brow as she regarded Cassius but suddenly paused, closing it again. A dawning realization crossed clearly through her cold eyes before they immediately darted around them, looking for the cameras. Finding two, she immediately killed them and pulled the door shut, leaning in close to Yelena.

"Where's Dominic?" she whispered, the gun held stiffly at her side, cocked and ready to shoot.
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The New Jersey line was blurred beneath a cluster of traffic, tangled in some huge pile-up of more cars than Grey could count. Standing atop an office building, the wind sifting through his loose curls sending flyaways around his head, he paused, taking a few deep breaths of the cool air. Even for him, this was quite a distance and he wondered, with a sinking feeling, how much farther ahead they were traveling, even now. Without thinking, his hand slid towards the pocket at his right knee that rattled every time he moved his leg. His body was beginning to ache for the blessed pills, but he quickly caught himself immediately forced himself back into motion as though attempting to jar the feeling from his own body.

Hopping down on fire escapes and windowsills, Grey's feet landed smoothly on the concrete closest to the off-ramp. He then took off through the meager remains of the forest that had once stood where the city now spread, and jumped the guardrail. His eyes lingered on a black car involved in the pile-up that screamed feds and quickened his pace.

"PIGS!" he screamed uncontrollably before dipping his head downward and jogging up the ramp past the angry drivers. As he emerged at a stop light and leaned against the guardrail at the corner, he found himself stuck at a fork in the road-- one way heading into the middle of nowhere as far as even he could see, and one heading towards a gas station and a McDonald's. Narrowing his eyes and sighing in frustration, Grey dug into one of his many pockets and tapped one last cigarette out of the carton and swore again. Lighting it, he looked out towards the gas station and let pleasant images of his boss's violent demise dance through his mind as he headed towards it.

Despite the event of the time stop, New York traffic once again resumed. People were too busy to take the time to make formal statements of the event, except for those who were involved in collisions. Jameson and Henkel didn't have time to deal with the numerous accidents that were jamming up traffic and using their lights found their way off the bridge. They headed down the New Jersey turn pike and left the mess for cops to deal with. As for the agents, it was just a regular pile up, they never experienced any strange slowing of time and they'd stick to their story where RAID was concerned.



Henkel ended his call from the DMV and began to sift through his address book. "Looks like we have a name on that license plate." He told Jameson.



"Oh? Do you think this could be our guy?" Jameson speculated as he turned in the parking lot of the 'White Castle'.

"I don't know" answered Henkel as he found the number he was looking for and proceeded to make his call.

The phone rang in a Texas F.B.I. field office and was answered by a weary a looking man with short brown hair wearing a stylish grey suit. "Agent Mitchell." he answered while rummaging around his messy desk as he searched for a pen.



"Kaleb! It's Simon, how the hell are ya?"

Mitchell perked up at the sound of the voice. "Simon! It's hotter than hell out here! It's only been a month and I miss, Chicago already. How have you been? How's New York been treating ya?"

"New York's, fine. Say, I have something I want you check out for me. You busy?"

Mitchell's eyes glanced down at the mounds of paper work that obscured his desktop. "Nope. What do you need?"

"Great. I want you check out a Mr. Henry J. Timble. Rural route, 3218, Box 153, in Arnett. It's related to a vigilante we've been tracking down here."

"Ah, the Wrangler." guessed Mitchell."I was just reading a report on your case this morning. Y'know me always poking my nose where it doesn't belong."

"Hasn't been shot off yet, hey!" joked Henkel. "Let me know the moment you dig anything up."

"Will do."

"Thanks, Mitch. Watch your ass."


Henkel ended his call, tucked his phone into his coat pocket and got out of the car.

"Who's Kaleb?" Asked Jameson who was leaning against the hood of the car while he waited.

"I taught self-defense when I was in Chicago, and Kalub Mitchell helped me with the class. He recently transferred to Texas, so I asked him to check out our lead on the license plate." informed Henkel, then he started walking toward the doors to the restaurant. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

The shadow would hide beneath the seats in the darkest part of the car. It wasn't that they were be watched but everything they said would be heard by their unseen guest as he moved around under them.

Tim galnced over at Morgan, then quickly back to the road, finishing chewing a large bite of his Big Mac and swallowing, Tim said " Wuss, I ain't never heard such talk. Damn darlin, ya shot just like Annie Oakley. I'm right proud ta have ya ridin shotgun. An as fer as the shakin goes, first time I was in a gun fight, afterwurds I damn near puked my guts out. Sorry I plum forgot ya were eatin'."

Tim, took a drink of his diet Coke and continued "I figure Troy is 'bout a hundred and forty-five miles Narth of har. Aftar, Jerry fixes the car, it outa take us 'bout two an half hours ta get thar. That is ifin' I don't break any speed limits ar we don't run inta any trouble. Which I an hankeren not ta." Tim kept checking the rear view mirrors and his eyes scanned the streeet in front of them, behind his sunglasses. "Hows yur head doin'?" he asked.

Tim sensed they were not alone, but did not want to comcern Morgan, it was not eyes he felt on the back of his neck, but more like someone was listening to them. Like there was a bug on the car. He shook that thought out of his head, how could anyone have placed a bug on the car? Then a thought came to him, the McDonald's bags, he immediately pulled over to the curb next to a curbside waste bin, that Morgan could reach from her car window. "Morgan, empty the McDonald's bags and throw them out." After she had thrown the bags out he drove on down the road.

The two FBI agents sat at a booth by a window at the front of the restaurant the later afternoon sun shining through the window and across their table. Jameson tried to stay in Henkel's shadow as he dove in and took a large bite of his burger then without putting it down grabbed a couple of fries and added them to the mix. "I could eat the ass end of dead elephant, right now, Jameson. I should have gotten two of these things." He said between bites.



Jameson smiled as he dipped a fry into a dab of ketchup and slowly nibbled away at it.

"No wonder you're busting outta your seams, look at the way you eat." Cracked Henkel, but Jameson didn't get the joke. He stared out the window, distracted by this thoughts and Henkel following his partners eyes looked out beyond West Palisade Avenue, down Armory Street and noticed the expanse of tree tops that extended south.

"Looks like there's a park down there" Henkel remarked, if only to snap his partner back into the moment.

Jameson was surprised that Henkel noticed it. "Yeah, it's Mackay Park."

Henkel was sure that was a bit of trivia that only a local would now, "You a Jersey boy, Jameson? he asked, and he attempted to put on the accent, regardless of the fact that those within ear shot might be offended, as his partner was.

Jameson sighed. "I spent some summers up here when I was kid." He explained, but it obvious now that his partner's interest was piqued so he continued, "My parents divorced when I was twelve, and things got a little tight, so my Mom, she sends me over to Jersey to stay with my uncle." Thinking about the man made Jameson laugh a little, "He was the toughest and meanest man I ever knew, but deep down he had a heart of gold. He was a cop, and every summer I came up here he taught me something new, guess you can say he's the reason I went into law enforcement."

It was one of the first times that Jameson had ever really revealed anything about his past since the two had become partners four months ago and Henkel had been wondering what had inspired him to join the FBI. "So does your uncle still live around here?"

"He's dead." Jameson announced flatly.

"I'm sorry, what happened?"

"How's your meal, gentleman?" Asked their perky server.

"Great." Answered Jameson.

"Can I get you guy anything else?"

"A coffee." Jameson requested then reading Henkel's nod, "Two please. Thank you."

Jameson watched the happy little waitress bounce away, her dark pony-tail springing up and down.

"Hey, J? What about your uncle? How did he die?" Henkel reminded, a little anxious to learn what became of the cop that made his partner the agent he was today.

"What does it matter, how? A heart attack." He lied, "Happy?" Snapped Jameson.

Henkel leaned back and held up his hands submissively. "Sorry partner, didn't mean to pry."

The girl came back with their coffees and the agents sat in silence, their thoughts drifting to where Wrangler was at that very moment, and what his next move might be. They both knew that he would have to ditch the car, every cop in New Jersey was on the outlook for it and if he would eventually be spotted. So where would he go? It was then that both of the agents had the same revelation, only Henkel was the one who said it, "A garage."

"Not just any garage." A wide eyed Jameson joined in. "We should check all the garages in the area that may be run by, or employ registered meta-humans."

"I'll get on that right away." Said Henkel who was already reaching for his phone.

Jameson paid the bill and the two quickly made their way back to their car, where information was being uploaded to their dash board computer system even as they pulled out of the parking lot.

"You know this is a long shot." Remarked Jameson.

Henkel who was already reviewing the addresses and trying to narrow them down, nodded. "Until the C.S.I.'s can follow up on the statement of that gangbanger, what else have we got right now?"



Agent Mitchell left San Antonio at about 5:30 pm, in a black SUV heading northwest on the 'Number 10' and figured he could cut up by way of San Angelo, get some sleep there, then finish the remaining three and half hours of the drive to Lubbock in the morning. Lubbock was a small city which he had learned on their website was the birthplace of Buddy Holly and they even had a centre in his name, which he planned to take a look at on the way back. From the city he would then travel west for about forty minutes or so and hit the small, remote community of Arnett.

Tim blushed slightly as Morgans gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Aw shucks, Morgan ya ar welcome, thank ya fur watchin' my ass in that little gun fight." Tim pulled up ti a chainlinked fence off Boothe and Johnson Ave, and honked the horn. A young man came out of a metal building, that sat behind a modest ivy covered brink house in a quiet nieghborhood of Englewood, and walked slowly up to the gate. When he saw the Mustang and the driver he grinned broadly, opening the gate. "Get that damned thing in the garage, your hotter than a well digger's ass on the fourth of July with a firecracker up his ass." the young man in his late 20's with shoulder length hair said as he ran to open the bay door of the metal building. Tim pulled the Mustang in and the young man sent a kid of about ten to shut and lock the gate, as he lowered the bay door. Tim turned off the engine, unbuckeled his seat belt and slid out of the car.

"Damn gud ta see ya too Mark." Tim said "Now is that any way ta be talkin infront of a lady? Didn't yur Uncle beat your ass enough and learn ya better?" Tim then grinned and hugged the young man. From behind him Tim heard the soft whir of gears and the aroma of a cuban cigar filled the air. He turned around and Tim's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. There standing before him was John McMannus. "Well tie me ta a fence post an whip me with barbed wire." Tim said as he released the young man and stepped over to embrace his old friend. "I thought them damned soldiers got yur ass at the warehouse. Done figured ya was locked up in some hell hole of R.A.I.D." Tim stopped for a minute and said "They got Robert, we tried bustin' him outof the hospital but they bushwacked us. Yelena and I got seperated, ya looks like all that's left pf the original gang is Yelena, you and me. I ain't got a clue what happened ta the others, John." Tim said looking at the floor, just them Morgan walked up. Tim said "Morgan, this har is John McMannas a.k.a Gearbox, John this is Morgan, right handy little filly ta have on yur side in a fight. And that thar fella, gesturing to the young man that had let them in, is Mark, his nephew, best high performance mechanic I know ..... sepin' fur John har. John is the one that built the Mustang." Tim then whispered to John "She's one of us." ( of course no one but John heard him as he whispered.

John said "Damn if Tim likes you I does to." John said with a thick Brooklyn accent. "Damn it Tim, yaz done tore up the 'stang. And as usual yaz didn't do it quiet like." John thumbed over to a TV on the work bench and there was news footage running with airial shots of the high speed chase between the Cadillac, the Mustang, the NYPD and a black Crown Victoria. Then it flashed to the multi car pile up on the Geoge Washington Bridge and another shot of the black Crown Victoria, weaving its way through wrecked cars.

"A shit." Tim said

"Aw shit's right, yuz can't be drivin' that damed Mustang around with that beat up fender and yuz is too hot to be hanging round here long enough for us to fix it proper." John said "Them damned feds will be checking every gargage from Fort Lee to the New York and Pennsylvania line, State Troopers too. Where yuz headed for Tim?"

Tim said "Up state New York ta Troy, Yelena and me we pardnered up with some folf, like us, gota place up thar. Zoe, the ramrod up thar she helped us try an git Robert busted out. I figur on havin a word ar two with her 'bout what went south and why. Ifin' ya know what I mean John."

John limped over on his mechanical leg and with his mechanical hand pulled the canvas cover off of a 2008 Black Hummer H2. "Take this Tim, me an Mark we modified the engine and I beefed up the suspension and armour." John said
"It's got GPS, Police and a broad muti-band scanner, secure cell phone with random switching and routing, communication and radar jamming, kevlar encased auxilary tanks, armoured tires, the doors have double kevlar liners and engine comparment, a four gallon oil dump tank and snorkle air intakes." Mark added. "Oh and onboard laptop computer with wireless internet."

Tim had to smile when he say the New Jersey License Plate: "BRN2RUN"

"Mark and John Jr. will transfer your gear come on to the house and let me fix yuz some coffee and sandwiches for the road." John said

"Holly shit Uncle John!" Mark exclaimed as he opened the hatch back.

It was getting late when Henkel's phone went off and upon checking the display signaled to his partner to pull over as he took the call. Jameson, turned off of Palisade and parked on a side street shaded by large old, elm trees. He was surprise as few birds buzzed the car, still a little paranoid after his recent 'Hitchcock', experience.

Jameson could over hear that Henkel was talking with the NYPD and they were discussing the gangbanger that had been apprehended. "That's great! Good work! The FBI won't forget this. Okay. Bye." Ending the call, Henkel looked over at Jameson, positively beaming. "They have a composite of our man."

Jameson was surprised and elated. "How?"

"It seems that the gangbanger, 'Hi-Dro'..." Henkel shook his head, "Where the hell do these guys get there names?"

"It's slang for pot." Jameson quickly interjected then urged his partner to continue.

Henkel pondered for a moment how his partner knew that tidbit of trivia then went on with his explanation. "Anyway, it seems they caught up with Wrangler outside of a repair shop and the C.S.I.'s tore that place apart and found a security tape in the dumpster that the owner was trying to get rid of."

"So we have a picture." Jameson assumed.

"Well, sort of." Henkel carried on, "The video was kinda shitty, but they were able to clean it up. A rendering should be coming through the system shortly." Then sure enough, just as Henkel finished his sentence a green light flashed on the printer in the dashboard console and it spat out a hard copy photograph of the 'Wrangler'. Henkel snatched it up and examined the guy then passed the picture over to his partner.

"So this is 'Wrangler'." Said Jameson as he studied the man's features, committing every detail of his face to memory. In truth it wasn't a perfect likeness, but it matched Tim Rutherford's face enough that an officer of the law would, with enough time for scrutiny, make the association if they saw him.

"Well I don't know about you, Jameson, but I'm ready to call 'er a night." Said Henkel with a yawn.

Jameson reluctantly nodded. Now that they had a picture of Wrangler, he wasn't sure he be able to sleep at all. "Are they running this picture through the database?" Asked Jameson as he pulled out and slowly drove down street.

"Don't hold your breath on those results." Replied Henkel and he sunk into his seat, folded his arms across his chest and leaned his head back against the rest. "You know as well as I do that those things can take days and are often inclusive. This isn't a TV show." He yawned once more, "Besides, we got a city wide A.P.B. on him. Sooner or later, someone's going to spot him."

"Has the picture gone public yet?" Jameson was curious.

"Tomorrow morning they're going to release his picture to the media." Answered Henkel sinking deeper into his seat.

Jameson watched his partner clumsily move his large frame around as he made himself comfortable, then close his eyes. "Wake me up when we get to the hotel would ya? I need to rest my eyes."

"Sure thing." Jameson replied as he flashed his eyes to the computer and continued checking the addresses of meta-human mechanics in the general area. There was more than he imagined there would be; it seemed like working in a garage seemed to appeal to meta-humans or something. They had found five in the New Jersey area, and they had already been to three, but at each of those the meta-human's were extremely cooperative and helpful despite their records. None of them seemed the sort to harbor a criminal and looking at the last two on the list, Jameson pretty much figured they weren't going to yield any results either. Then the system brought up a sixth location that had been previously passed over for some reason, but regardless of the why, the person it brought up caught his attention. "John McMannus." Jameson read aloud, then he pulled the car over so we wouldn't have to concentrate on driving and reading at the same time. As he read the man's record, Jameson became more and more convinced that this was there man, if in fact their hunch was correct. Either way it was worth a shot.

Jameson pulled back onto the street and checked his watch. It was 7:45 pm and the drive to Johnson avenue would be another forty minutes. Chances were that the shop would be closed down and there was a hotel not too far from it so he decided it was best to retire for the evening and question, McMannus in the morning.

Tim followed Morgan inside and John followed Tim, while Mark saw that the Rottweiller had food and water. Tim took Morgan’s hand, finished cleaning the wound and bandaging it.

John went into the kitchen and returned with a thermos of coffee, a box of ham sandwiches and two Philly steak sandwiches, placing them in the Hummer. He limped over to Morgan and said “ Miss Morgan I wants to thank you for looking after my dog. He is one mean son of a bitch but he is real special to me and John Jr. Yuz is a real special lady and I would break any assholes neck that done yuz wrong. I wants yuz ta do me a favor if yuz would. Yuz look after this hayseed hick redneck. He’s family, me an him weeze goes back a long ways. Tim ain't been the same after Abby, and his son, Samuel, were murdered in that drive by shooting at their home in Dallas. He's been real hard to get close to, if yuz catche my drift.

I would like yuz to consider me, Mark and John Jr. family too. Yuz or Tim get in a jam, yuz call on ole’ John. Yuz need anything yuz call John.” with that he gave Morgan a kiss on the cheek and turned to Tim.

“Now yuz gets your cowboy ass in that vehicle and get out of here, before the Feds start poking around. Mark and I will stash the Mustang until the heat is off. Then we’ll fix it good as new, give it a new paint job, new vin number and change what needs changing..” John then stuffed an bulging envelope in Tim’s jacket.

Tim said “No John you’ve done more an enough, ya knowed them Feds come ’rounb har they ain’t gonna be to kindly. An ifin’ them R.I.G.G.’s asshole git wind of this all hell’s gonna break loose.’

John looked at Tim hard “Yuz let ole John worry about that, yuz just get the hell out of here. When yuz sees Yelena, yuz tells her that Bug sends his love and that he is safe. Then yuz tells her I said to watch her Russian ass. Now get on out of here.” he shook Tim’s hand and gave him a hug.

“Open the damned door Mark, this man has a train to catch.” John said then looked at Tim and said “You keep that rocking chair ready for me on that ranch of yours. I want to taste some of that Bar-B-Que you keep yakking about.”
Tim helped Morgan crawl up in the Hummer, shut her door and walked around to the drivers side door, he opened it and crawled in. He shut the door and looked at Morgan “Better buckle up, don’ want ta go an get a ticket fur not wearin’ ar seatbelts ya know.” he said. He started the Hummer and it roared to life. He flipped a series of switches on the console and the electronics came to life as well. Tim placed the vehicle in reverse and backed slowly out of the garage, through the gate and out onto Johnson Avenue. He stopped and waved at John Jr., rolled down the electric passenger window and told the boy. “Ya look afta yur Uncle thar boy ya hear me. When him an you come ta the ranch, thar is a right handsome real Indian pony waitin’ on ya. Ya be good now son.” Tim then rolled up the window and drove slowly down Johnson to the New Jersey 502 and turned north. “I watched what ya did wit John's dawg, an I thank ya fur it. Ya that good wit all critters? ........... Lets be hearin’ that CD ya bought Morgan, I could use sum music.” Tim said as he looked at his watch 8:15 PM

With everyone distracted by the dog that Morgan was treating the shadow had slipped out of the Mustang and made its way across the garage to the Hummer. It would then settle beneath the seats of the SUV, staying away from the sunlight at all costs.

By 8:15, Grey was more than fed up with chasing this ghost of a vigilante for his asshole boss. He'd already given up on running after him and was strolling agitatedly towards Johnson avenue when his phone range in one of his many pants pockets.

"What?" he snapped into the phone.

"The *&^%$ you mean 'what?'" the boss demanded on the other end, "you're dicking around and I don't have my guy! What the @%$# are you doin'?"

"You gave me a f#$*in' name!" Grey shot back, "the f#$% was I supposed to do with that? You're lucky I even got in the guy's general direction!"

"Let me tell you something, you freak of nature!" his boss seethed through the phone, "if I don't see your ass in 24 f#%$in hours, I'm gonna have my boys come find you! And if you ain't got my guy, your ass is gonna rot in RAID freak prison, ya got me?" and before Grey could reply, there was a click the line went dead. Gritting his teeth, Grey slammed the phone shut and just barely composed himself enough to keep from throwing it across the street. As he turned onto Johnson avenue, he lit a cigarette and took a long drag before he finally spilled a few of his precious blue pills into his palm and tossed them back, swallowing them dryly. As he seethed, his boiling rage fueled the incessant tics that plagued him more violently as the night wore on. The muscles in his shoulders, head, and face twitched and a string of swears echoed down the street.

He was a long way from his prescribed medication, but it was only a few minutes before his more prized meds took over. As his vision blurred slightly, there was a split second in which he vaguely wondered just how many pills he'd taken before he stumbled and tripped, sprawling over the sidewalk. Feeling nothing, despite his now scraped elbow, he giggled quietly to himself and got to his feet, picking up his cigarette along the way. Taking another long drag, his body convulsed again as he stumbled back against a tree and let himself slide down to the ground, a crooked smirk over his pale face.

Grey couldn't be sure exactly how long the police officer had been standing in front of him, filling his head with the dull hollow tones of one sided communication, but the cop seemed quite adamant on getting his attention.

"Whoa, buddy! Hey, sleeping beauty, time to rise and shine now guy." Shouted a stereotypical Irish cop, his hand resting on his sidearm and keeping a few steps back from the drugged out man. He looked over to his partner, a younger African American man who remained at the car, calling in a domestic disturbance and requesting a paddy wagon for pick-up. "Hey, Tyrone, I don't know what it is about this guy's mug, but I could have swore that I've seen him before."

"You always say that, Jimmy." His partner shouted back, then informed him that he called in the situation and that the paddy wagon would arrive shortly as they were picking up a few drunks at a party just down the street.

"I know I always say that." Replied Jimmy narrowing his eyes and carefully scanning the man's face but who ever he reminded him of just wouldn't come to mind, "Na, I thought I knew."

Jimmy backed up a little more from the wasted man and waited for the truck to arrive that would send Grey off to the drunk tank. He was a cautious cop, and never once did he for second release his hand from his holster and was prepare to draw and fire if the young man gave him an excuse.

As John stood in the driveway and John Jr. waved to Tim, driving away, John Jr. looked up at John and asked "Does Uncle Tim realy have a ranch with horses in Texas, Uncle John?"

John rested his good hand on the boy's shoulder, as he looked down the street to the flashing red and blue lights of a Englewood Police car halfway down the block. "Yuz bet he does J.J. best damned horse ranch in Texas too. I think yuz and me and Mark will go there before long. This city's going to shit around our ears. ......... Come on it's past your bedtime." John then turned and started walking to the house.

John Jr. said "That lady with Uncle Tim sure was nice .......... why was here eyes purple Uncle John? Was she sick or blind or something?"

John stopped and looked down at the boy "No JJ she wasn't sick or blind she was special, her eyes were how she could talk to Brutis and fix his injured leg. Now I want yuz to listen to me real good JJ. Yuz don't sya nothing to no one about her or Uncle Tim. Yuz ain't seen Uncle Tim in a long time. And yus ain't never seen no lady with purple eys. Promise?"

John Jr. looked up at his uncle and thought for a moment "Would't that be telling a lie Uncle John?"

John said "I guess it would be more like keeping a secret. This is an important secret JJ, your Uncle Tim's life may be depending on your keeping this secret."

"Is Uncle Tim in trouble Uncle John?" JJ asked

"Not yet JJ....... not yet, but we need to keep this secret anyway." John said "Now yuz go on in and get ready for bed." John said as he lept watching the patrol car down the street.

Listening intently through the vent, Toril could only make out the hushed tones of a female voice. Then alarms sounded and the lights in his cell went from cool white to red. As he leapt off his bed, he could hear a male voice echoing through the halls:

"Detention Area Delta is in lock down. All non-military personal within the area should remain calm and lock themselves within their offices. This is not a drill. I repeat this is not a drill."



Vacily stormed into the Delta Surveillance room and went straight for the monitors in Cassius' cell to verify that the cameras had been rendered inoperable. "Good work soldier." He commended the marine monitor, then left the room and proceeded back down the corridor. He took out his phone and made a call.



Sara-Lynn, picked up her phone and answered, " Yes, Surge."

"We're on." Informed Vacily, "Is the weapon hot?"

"Everything is ready. Your little, Yelena just has to do her part."

Tim watched the road and said " Yep, John ain't one ta spin a yarn, ifin' he said ya was family then ya can bet the south forty that ya ar. ...... Damn I damned near fugot with hour little freckus with them city hombres. Julio thru the cd in fur good measure." Tim shifted in the seat, reached in his hip pocket, took out the three dollars folded around the two one hundred dollar bills and handed them to Morgan. "As fur as them R.I.G.G.'s bastards ..... ta be honest wit ya, I don't know Morgan. But what I do know is they ain't gonna get me or any more of my friends without one hell of a fight.

Now don't ya go frettin 'bout them guys... least not now. I gotta feelin' them two FBI agents are like a couple of coon hounds. Ya jus' keep an eye out fur them, when we git ta Troy we'll have reinforcements and then we'll del with them." Tim then smiled and said "An we we git ta Troy ya kin fix me up a mess a tarders and the three inch steak. Course all ya gota do is grab that steaks by the horns , throw him on the grill, turn him over and ifin' he ain't still mooin' it'll be purfect."

"Thanks fur what ya said 'bout Abby and Sam, they been gone spell. Zoe I don't knowd a lot 'bout, 'septin she is right smart with computers and such. Righ good at aquirin' stuff too. I suppose she's like us, yea she is but differant.

Yelena, I knowd Yelena almost as long as I knowd John. Yelena is a Ruskie, or least of all from over thar close. She cin change her looks, just like one of them cameleon lizards. All she gots ta do is inagine herself a certain way and wham, she looks like that. I seed her one time look and sound just like a General she was talkin' at. The damned General near shit his pants, talkin ta himself.

Yelena an me we don't see eye ta eye a lot but I'd trust her with my life. I reckon we are kinda like bruther and sister, ya know. I figure her and "Bug" they got a thing goin'. Don't think either of em would admit it though. I ain't seem Bug since afore we all skiddadled outa New Yourk and headed up ta Troy.

Any who afta the R.I.G.G's Act the govment deported Yelena back ta Russia. I reckon they were right hard on her. She don't talk much 'bout those years."

Tim became silent then as her drove through Bergenfield, took US19 to Nannet. Then turned north on US6 thru Maitou and Highland Falls, then NW to Cornwall on The Hudson. They drove thru New Windsor. This route took them longer and was slower but they stayed off the interstate and hopefully out of sight. As the sun began to rise in the east, Tim turned north onto Interstate 87 to Sangerittes he then turned off the Interstate and headed North East.