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FROM THE JOURNALS OF RICHARD B. BERNSTEIN, THE ACADEMIC DETECTIVE:
We hastily beat a retreat down the decrepit stairwell, out onto the sidewalk, down a side-alley, and up to Wulfgar's battered old Econoline van. Philm Phan and Branaugh hopped into the Jag. As Zero opened the door on the side of the van, a peculiar sound came forth, a deep "meowr". Looking in, I saw two shapes, not human, but not wholly beast.
"Daown, kitties" said Wulfgar. They were a pair of genetically manipulated feline/human crosses, that he'd "liberated" from a secret illegal Canadian "splicer" lab. He'd named them after some characters from "CATS". I shuddered.
I looked at him. "Another of your brilliant ideas?"
"I can no leave 'em anywhere, laddie. Noone o' the pet-boarding services cover genetic mutations."
We crowded into the van, and Wulfgar got behind the wheel.
We took a roundabout route out of the seedy neighborhood that Wulfgar and Zero had been living in, and a good thing, as well. It was probably the only reason that the police didn't catch us.
We made a few stops before leaving the city (for Scotch, cat chow, bullets, gas and souvlaki), and then we were free.
As the van ate up highway, Zero and Ivan filled us in on their discoveries. Lady Eboshi relayed everything via secured cellphone to Philm Phan and Branagh.
When they'd started cross-referencing their data, they found that near a small northern Maine town called Masardis was a "Shields Brook", which tallied with one of the old rum-runners' maps. "Shields Brook" (not "Brooke Shields") was the final password that opened the files completely.
HairHead was offering them a chance at rescuing their sibs-but things wouldn't be easy. They were being held in a place called "Secure Maxx", just across the Maine border to Canada. The only way to reach the place handily, as it was out in the middle of nowhere, was by taking a disused highway up the state, travel some back roads to the town of Masardis, locate Shields Brook, and the old rum-runners' road near it. That would take us almost directly to the place.
"Sounds like a goddamned set-up" I said.
"Granted", responded Wulfgar, "what's yer point? Hand me another o' thim souvlaki, Zero-Lad..."
"Shouldn't you be concentrating on the road?"
"Not tae wurry, Sword-Brother-I have a route punched intae th' on-board, and th' Law Enforcement Recognition System activated, so we've naught tae be concerrrned aboot."
I must have looked as stunned as I felt, for he continued; "Aye, she may look like a bit o' shite, but this beastie (indicating the van) has a few customized features-armour, turbo-charged engine, on-board computer, concealed weapons pods, ECM, and sensors tuned to all frequencies used by the police, FBI, CIA, MI6, SI, old KGB, RCMP and Girl Scouts. The old girl can even float or operate for a limited time underwater."
"Girl Scouts...?" I asked, wearily.
"Ye'd be surprised. Th' upshot is that as it's set naow, a crash-test dummy could see us safely to our destination."
"Great" I muttered, "or someone with the intellect of a crash-test dummy..."
The miles flew by. Between healing, rest stops and brain-storming sessions to work out some semblance of a plan, there wasn't much to do. Philm Phan and Branagh occasionally traded places with Princess and Ivan, just to relieve the monotony. Branagh was very taken with Wulfgar's 'cats'
New Hampshire was when disaster struck...
(To Be Continued)
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