Chapter 13, "The Chapter Where Jack Dies"

Chapter 13. The Chapter Where Jack Dies

            I had Wrench out and trained on Hilti as the khaki-wearing New Zealander raised his head, Wrench’s barrel aiming right between the two thick-rimmed lens.
            “You,” he said.
            “Me,” I said. “You.”

“Me,” he said.

“You’re a murderer and you deserve to die.”

            He gave no reaction as my forefinger slowly squeezed the trigger.
            But nothing happened. Just another stupid click.
            “What the...?” I said, frustrated at its lack of--- “Oh.” Out of bullets, just like before, even though I reloaded just this morning. That could only mean one thing. “It looks like we’re supposed to work together at this point,” I said as I put Wrench back in my belt.
            “So I’m a murderer but you’re going to work with me anyway?” Hilti said with a hint of arrogant disdain, so typical of people with shifty morals being helped by someone with good, righteous, upstanding morals. It showed off their guilt.
            “Thus the gods have decreed,” I said as I lowered my hand to help him up.
            “How did you survive that plane crash?” Hilti asked suspiciously as he took my hand and raised himself to his feet.
            “The gods decreed thusly,” I said. I had questions of my own to ask. “What have you been doing this whole time? What are you after? Why did you kill Eli Noyce?”
            “Weren’t you listening? He wanted it. Wanted me to kill him. I was doing him a favor. We’ve been locked in archaeological combat for years. It was the right moment. I knew him well. Believe me, it was his time.”
            “I’ll give you that,” I said, thinking back on it. “It did sound like he wanted to die. And knowing him as well as I did, I can’t blame him.”
            “You knew him? You knew him, you bloody turkey? Then you were with him the whole time! And he gave you the map, didn’t he?”
            “Hold on there, bud. I never met him before in my life, but I didn’t have to. I’m the same person he is. That’s how I know him.”
            Hilti’s face brightened behind his thick-rimmed quasi-hipster glasses as he understood what I meant earlier, about the gods and all. “And that’s how you survived! I get it now. All right, all right. But still---that must mean he gave you the map before he died.”
            “...No.”
            “Then why are you here?”
            “You know, I really have no idea anymore. A way off this island would be great.”
            “No, I mean, why are you here.” He pointed down at the ground. “So near where I’ve determined the darn treasure to be.”
            That made me pause. And it made Annie say, “What?”
            “You guys don’t know?” Hilti said, looking between us. “How could you not know?”
            “What even is this treasure?” I said. “Just gold? Shiny things?”
            “All I know is that it’s on this island and it’s supposed to be the treasure of the gods.”
            “How did you figure out where it was?”
            “I didn’t say I knew for sure, but there’s this encampment of foot-soldiers from Golbez Industries just a mile down the road.” He pointed lazily with his thumb. “From what I’ve been able to tell after spying on them all day yesterday, they’re there for no reason. And it’s very close to the center of Rainswept Isle. I have a map of the island. Not the map. But a map. And a mile down the road is smack in the middle of it. Right next to Mt. Diabolo.”
            “Tell me, Hilti, are you willing to kill for this map? This treasure?”
            “Only Eli Noyce. And I was very sad to see the last of him. We had a good rivalry. But I am willing to be shot at. This is my last archaeological quest as well, so it’s important to me, personally, as a man. By the way, you haven’t seen a woman around here, have you? Name of Clara. We have the same accent, but she sounds like Marilyn Monroe. Talks like her.”
            “Who’s to say? I don’t know what Marilyn Monroe sounds like.”
            “Dang,” Hilti swore.
            “If the treasure is over there,” Annie said, entering the conversation fully, and pointing in the direction from which Hilti had come, “why are you coming back this way?”
            That was a good point.
            Hilti frowned and mumbled something.
            “Didn’t catch that,” I said.
            “I was chased away, darn it,” Hilti said harshly.
            “By the guys with guns?”
            “Actually the guys with bows and arrows,” said Hilti. “I was watching the guys with guns and a bunch of Indian fellows found me. A hunting party, it looked like. Damn turkeys, probably hunting tropical turkeys. Chased me for no reason.”
            I gave Annie a significant look. The Johnsons. Had to be.
            “I doubt there was no real reason.”
            “Okay, fine, you’re right, a couple days ago they found me eating a piece of fruit from a tree they seemed to consider sacred.”
            “Let me guess---a  cantaloupe,” I offered.
            “That’s correct,” said Hilti. “Bloody hell, how’d you know that?”
            “I know what I need to know.”

“Apparently. I guess that’s appropriate, knowing who you are. So yeah, they found me there, spying, so I hopped on one of the motorcycles the Golbez guys had there and took off. I don’t know who may have seen me. Or if anyone’s still chasing.”

            “So we might be in danger right now?” Annie asked.
            “I’m not sure. It was a ways back. A mile or so. Probably not.”
            Hmm. I thought and stroked my chin, supporting my elbow with my other arm. It felt very profound. I wish I had a window to look out of, maybe a coffee mug in my hand. But then I couldn’t stroke my chin.
            “I think we have like goals,” I said to Hilti. “Annie and I need a vehicle, and you need to search for your treasure. And I wouldn’t mind being enlightened as to what that camp of guards is up to myself. What say we combine forces and team up? I don’t need to point out that the gods wanted us to already, do I?”
            Hilti peered at me through his glasses, pursing his large lips. Then he looked away. “I suppose,” he said.
            “So let’s get this motorcycle up and running again!” I said as I clapped my hands together.
            Hilti knelt down to take a look at it, and I went over to Carl Sagan, who had been waiting patiently in the background. He had this little stance, front paws wide apart and pointing in opposite directions. Annie would have found it cute, anyway.

“So your coat is bulletproof, huh?” I said quietly to him. “Very impressive.”

Carl Sagan headbutted me affectionately. What a kind animal, I thought. Bred to be an assassin but has a heart of gold inside.

            Annie came over to me and whispered, “Can we just steal that motorcycle and not worry about anything else? I don’t know how comfortable I am with going into the presence of a bunch of soldiers. Being near that many, uh, guns scares me.”
            I opened my mouth to reply, but Hilti interrupted me.

“The piezolectric capacitator is damaged,” he spat. “Ruined completely.”

“...No,” I said to Annie, my mouth completing its journey from being closed to being opened, then to being closed again. Then, to Hilti, it again opened: “So we’re walking?”

He grunted. It sounded like the bleet of a sick, coughing, dying sheep because of his accent. “Yis,” he finally said, when neither Annie nor me could properly interpret the grunt.

And so we walked, Carl Sagan the vigilant caboose, and for the next fifteen or twenty minutes Hilti described some of his exploits as the chosen antagonist of the great Eli Noyce. Going to Egypt, to Russia, to the Sahara, and even a secret vault under modern-day Manhattan. But although he was cast as the villain in those stories, he seemed to me to have noble goals. He did, however, get secretive when talking about his latest adventures.

“I met someone new,” he said. “And my perspective has changed as to what is important.”

“This treasure?” I said, so sarcastic that it sounded sincere. Hilti didn’t catch it.

“One last job, yes, but for different reasons than what I’ve been driven by before.”

He never explained it further.

Very shortly afterwards we came across motorcycle skid marks in the dirt road. Hilti motioned us off the path, almost tripping on the cables (which was good because I had forgotten to keep track of those and was relieved to find them still there), and led us through some shoulder-high palms, all the way to the top of a grassy, tree-covered ridge that consisted of sedimentary rock. We stayed low, bellies on the ground, and peeked over the edge. Carl Sagan did, too.

A large encampment of soldiers lay in the open area below, but it looked more like day camp than serious soldiering.

“Is that a frisbee they’re throwing?” said Annie.

“It looks like fun, doesn’t it?” I said.

“They’re just...playing around. Sitting in those comfy camp chairs you can buy at grocery stores back home. What is this place?”

“I had to go to scout camp when I was younger,” I said. “I didn’t want to do any merit badges or arts and crafts. I just wanted to do what they’re doing. Hanging out, reading, probably playing some video games...”

All the soldiers wore the same clothes: Either a white t-shirt or tank top with camo-colored pants and black boots. Some of them held guns lazily, others just conversed. About forty of them, overall. Some smoldering campfires took on the role of water coolers in the modern office, a place to sit around and chat, get to know your co-workers better.

“Maybe they really are just having fun,” I said. “This could be their retreat from the constant pressures of their chosen career. And who can blame them? I’d be down there if I were one of them.”

“That sounds like a perfect plan,” Hilti said, nodding.

“I’m sorry, what does?” I said, doing a double take.

“If you want to find out what’s going on, you can go down there and be one of them. Pretend you just joined and you were sent up here by the boss. And maybe you don’t have a regulation uniform yet.”

“Why don’t you do that?”

“I’d never blend in. I’m a kiwi. That’s going to draw attention. I just don’t have the looks for it. But you do.”

He was right that he’d never blend in. Those big pink puffy lips, the dorkish glasses, the accent, and especially the khakis, and of those, even more especially the short shorts.

“But I can be a distraction,” he continued. “Maybe I’ll steal another motorcycle. There were a few besides the one I took before.”

“Where are all the vehicles?” Annie asked.

“Just past there,” Hilti said, pointing at the far edge of the encampment. The cars weren’t visible, but it looked like a path led around a hill to another lot that was just out of sight.

“What kind of distraction?” I asked.

            “A pointer edge distraction. I’ll be the pointer, and you edge your way in.”
            “That works. Got that, Annie? Good.”

“No wait, what are we doing here?” Annie said, looking as lost as a spider in a hive of flies. But that’s a bad comparison. That spider would be rejoicing. And I don’t think flies live in hives anyway.

            “She’s right,” I said. “You shouldn’t be the pointer. That’s too much of a distraction. We can use Carl Sagan here.”
            “He’s the bulletproof tiger?”
            “The bulletproof Super Tiger,” I corrected. “He might be able to fly, too, but that’s for another day. But I’m willing to bet some of those people---”
            I stopped as I recognized one of the men down there.

“William Wgerald Blake,” I whispered.

“William Gerald Blake?” Annie said.

“No.”

He was sitting on his own in one of those camping chairs a short distance apart from the rest of the group. He seemed to be writing something in a notebook, and looking very serious about it.

            “---some of those people?” Annie said, prompting me.
            “Some of those people might recognize Carl Sagan,” I continued. “He was Dr. Aperture’s creation, after all. So it would just be like he’s reporting for duty. It would cause a commotion for a little while, then I’d knock someone out, someone who’s lagging behind, steal his pants, put them on, become one of them. If I can’t tell the difference between them, they probably couldn’t tell me apart, either.”
            “And what are you going to do about your leather jacket?” Annie said in a stale kind of voice, almost deadpan.
            “That’s where you come in,” I said brightly. “You’re going to stay here and keep my jacket safe. I shouldn’t need it in there, the way we’re going.”
            “What?” she said loudly, outraged.
            “You’ve been saying that a lot lately. Try being a little more creative with your language. As a writer and everything, you should know.”
            “I’m a writer, not a speaker,” she said grumpily. “But no, wait, seriously. Someone lay this all out for me. Please.”
            Hilti and I rolled our eyes and sighed at the same time.
            “Hey, I’m no bimbo!” Annie protested, and she stood up tall with hands on her hips.
            “Whoa whoa whoa!” exclaimed Hilti quietly but irately.
            “Whatsthe--get down! Get down!” I hissed, grabbing her hand and pulling her back down to the ground. Even Carl Sagan was angry, and batted at her with his paw and roared at her a little bit.
            Which proved to our disadvantage, as a few guys down there stopped in the middle of their conversation and asked each other if they “heard that” up there at the top of the ridge.
            Which would go on to prove to our advantage, as it got them talking about a tiger, and all ended up too scared to go investigate, but too prideful to go report it to anyone else.
            “Good work,” I said to Carl Sagan after observing this, patting him on the head.
            “I would still like an explanation,” Annie said, arms crossed.
            “Okay, here it is...Annie, you said your name was?” Hilti said.
            “I didn’t say that, but it is,” she said grumpily.
            “Whatever. Our tiger friend is going to go down there, cause a little bit of a distraction. Our hero friend Jack is going to steal some pants and infiltrate their base during that distraction. While there he will find out information as to the purpose and placement of this encampment, which could be useful to all three of us, as it might pertain to a nearby treasure, which is, after all, what we’re all about on this island. When Jack has given me the signal---what is the signal, anyway, Jack?”
            “I’ll just yell ‘COMMISSIONER’ really loud.”
            “All right, yis. So when Jack does that, I run in, make a distraction, he sneaks over to the vehicles, grabs one of them, drives it over to meet you, grabs you, then you two take it to meet up with me somewhere, and we all share our secrets and part ways.”
            “And what about me?” Annie said. “You just want me to stay up here?”

“You’re here protecting my jacket,” I said.

Annie sighed. “This whole thing just seems awfully far out of our way,” she said. “Aren’t we just trying to follow those cables to find the Johnsons?”

            “Buuuuut the trip would go much faster if we had a vehicle to take us there. And frankly, I’m really curious as to why they’re there, too. And really, Annie, do you think the gods would lead us down this sidestreet if there wasn’t anything relevant about it? Why do you think they led us to meet Hilti?”
            Annie huffed and said nothing more.
            “Great!” I said, and shook hands with Hilti.
            “Righto,” he said.

I took off my jacket and handed it to Annie. Now all I wore were jeans and a white shirt. My boots were brown, but I doubt they’d notice. “I don’t have to tell you how valuable this is. Take good care of it. Don’t let it get tarnished.”

She huffed once more as she took it and stared at the sky. Then, as I turned to Carl Sagan, I thought I saw a mischievous smile on her face. When I glanced again, it was gone. Well, no, it wasn’t really gone; it was still there, and it made me feel uneasy, but I said nothing about it and instead whispered some words of instruction into Carl Sagan’s listening ear. Then I rounded the ridge and found the right guy on the borders of the encampment to knock out and steal pants from once Carl Sagan made the distraction.

The first stage of the plan went well! I knew Carl Sagan had executed his part well when I heard an exclamation of “Tyger, tyger, burning bright! In the forest of the...day!” from a certain bulky man. That was distraction enough to grab the guy, knock him out with Wrench, and steal his pants. Unfortunately the guy was apparently going commando, so I had that unpleasant picture to deal with, but I was able to hide him rather well and cover him up with leaves, so that was fixed easily. Then I just put on those pants and looked like everyone else.

So while the men were still trying to determine exactly how to react to a Super Tiger who didn’t attack, but rather pranced about as Blake recited the rest of the poem, I was able to slip in unnoticed. It was then I decided I needed a fictional name.

            I had one already, of course. And I had just settled on using it when I heard a voice, a strange, clipped accent.
            “Hey guys, I think that tiger belongs to Dr. Aperture. He’s one of us,” Amon Dem said, walking up behind the crowd that had gathered to watch the “tyger.”
            He was short, dark-haired, and with a face that made him look much younger than he probably was (which I guessed to be about my age), but at the same time showed his experience. He looked tough, but exuded friendliness. There was a lot of conflict in his features, and they provided a mess of expression, and I really don’t know how he did it. Possibly the deep lines around his mouth and the twinkle in his eye.

Some of the soldiers called out for Carl Sagan to do a trick and he must have done some because there were some hurrahs and claps and guffaws, all of which I was thoroughly annoyed by. But about half of the crowd eventually dissipated and went back to what they were doing, which was absolutely nothing. Far more interesting than a Super Tiger, right?

            Now that Amon Dem was in the picture, I knew I couldn’t use “Ruggles Smith,” as he might have been informed as to that name. And to be honest, at first I panicked that he would recognize me on sight, but I remembered that in our brief encounter he had not seen my face, and I breathed a sigh of relief. But I would have to use a different name, and, I realized, a different voice. I decided to give myself a New Zealand accent. And suddenly I remembered that craving I had for peach pie the other day. Wasn’t sure why.
            I knew that I’d have to keep away from Blake, who would recognize me easily, but Amon Dem might be precisely who I needed. Someone to ask about the camp. A leader.
            So as he returned to his seat towards the back end of the encampment, I casually followed.
            “Are you...Head Hermano?” I tried to say in a New Zealander accent. Somehow it sounded half Spanish. Maybe because of the Spanish word. But I figured Amon Dem wouldn’t have much to say against ambiguous accents. If he did, then I would want to punch him in the face. I hate hypocrites.
            “I am,” he said, and we shook hands. “Are you a new recruit?”
            “I am!” I echoed. The second word sounded Australian. Now I wanted yams.
            “Welcome to the family! Please, sit,” he said and motioned to the empty seat next to him.
“Orphans of the world, come here to find belonging and acceptance. As my unofficial title suggests, I am the big brother of the organization. You should already know who the father is.”
            “Golbez, yis,” I said, nodding vigorously. Now I was getting into it properly. Or so I thought. Getting that one word right gave me a lot of confidence. “He sent me out here a couple of days ago to find this place and help out. As a test.”
            “That’s the kind of thing he would do,” Amon Dem said with a hearty chuckle. “And it looks like you succeeded! What’s your name, brother?”
            “Aberforth Abadile,” came out of my mouth, for no reason I could think of then or now. “But what are we doing here? What are we guarding?”
            “Golbez has always kept troops in this area. Keep the native tribes away from our fortune.”
            ‘Fortune?”
            “What we pay you with,” Amon Dem said, leaning forward. “We don’t let just anybody know where it is, so you should consider yourself special. Golbez thinks you’re something.”
            “So you all know where it is, and just stay out here to keep it safe?”
            “To be perfectly honest---and I try to be, Aberforth---only Golbez knows where it really is. He’s got a map, or so he says, but no one’s seen it. But we do know it’s somewhere in this area. And if this outpost wasn’t out here, the native tribes probably would have taken it by now. They come wandering around every once in awhile. If you see them, kill on sight. Protect the family’s fortune. That’s really our main job.”
            “Kill them?”
            “We used to just capture them and bring them to Butterknife Bay, but Golbez has been adamant about killing them ever since we caught Vanasmas. But that’s higher-up information. You don’t have to worry about that. You just do what you’re told, and everything will be okay.”
            “So wait, this is how you found Vanasmas? You caught him wandering too close?”
            “Mm-hm.”
            By now my accent, from whichever countries I had stolen it, was unraveling into something like Greek or Russian. But I didn’t notice it. And for a while, neither did Amon Dem.

“There have been...some disruptions in recent days,” he continued. “Whatever’s going on is all in blazes to me. I tend to stay away from Golbez for the most part. Haven’t talked to him for a few years now. We have something of a special relationship, but I don’t like bringing it up all the time. I let him fight his own political battles.”

“Even when he’s in a coma?”

Amon Dem frowned. “And how do you---”

A sudden burst of shouts and cheers came from the men on the other side of the encampment, cutting Amon Dem off.

“Hey boys!” said a familiar, feminine, flirtatious voice that made my blood run slightly colder than the usual ninety-six-point-nine. Maybe point-eight or -seven.

Did I mention the familiarity?

“I think that’s Paula!” Amon Dem said with an incredulous laugh. “She’s been missing the past day or two! I’ll have to ask her about that later.”

I stood to see. Amon Dem did, too.

But it wasn’t Paula.

“New haircut, new look, total makeover. What do you boys think?” said Annie, twirling in the middle of the men and wearing my leather jacket.

Needless to say, I could think of nothing to say.

Cat calls, wolf whistles, shout outs---the stuff Paula thrived on---filled the air. And I could do nothing but slu mp b a ck int o m y s e a t. I felt a little woozy, and nervous as hell, so I just forced myself not to think about it. Whatever this display implicated, whatever it incited, everything would go okay, right? The gods were watching me, were they not?

“Aberforth, what accent is it you’ve got there?” Amon Dem said, frowning and looking down on me from his short but upright stature.

“Same as yours, mate,” I said, my face in my hand and not really thinking about what I was saying. But in retrospect, that was a clever move.

“You know, I’ve really no idea what mine is,” Amon Dem admitted. “I admit that. I was raised by my grandmother for the most part, but didn’t get it from her. But it sounds like you’re part Aussie or something like that. Are you?”

“Might be Canadian,” I said into my hand, not really trying anymore. “Say, Head Hermano. I was on guard duty back at the bay and never got a good look at the stuff we ship out. What is it? What’s in those crates? What do we load up on the ships and trains?”

“Oh, all sorts,” he said, keeping his eyes on Paula or Annie or whoever the hell she was or pretending to be. “Chimneys, heat vents, balloons---those big ones that fly up in the sky with people in the baskets---ovens, stove tops...that kind of thing. You wouldn’t believe how many regulations the various governments of the world have on hot air.”

            I thought this guy would have recognized my voice by now, or figured something out, but Annie playing Paula wearing my jacket seemed to be quite the eye-catcher; he was only paying half attention to me. Which was good, because I was only paying half attention to him.
            And I decided I had investigated enough.
            I put my hands to my mouth and yelled as loud as I could, “COMMISSIONER!!!!!!!!”
            Everyone, including Amon Dem, stopped what they were doing and looked at me from all sides of the encampment. I was about to stupidly say “What?” when AnnPaul broke in.
            “Look! Look it’s the---the guy, the kiwi! He’s getting away! Quick, boys! After him!”
            So it was still Annie. Still on our side. Still going according to our plan. Kind of.
            Amon Dem took charge. “Toon B! I need Clans 1, 2, and 3 to go after this guy, whoever he is! Clan 4, you go protect the vehicles! He might be doubling back and stealing one like he did before! Come on, men, get out there, let’s do our job!”  Then he turned back to me. “Aberforth, you stay with Clan 4. That’s your new order. You fight with those men as if they were your brothers, you hear me?”
            I rose and nodded. “Yes sir!” I said, with no pretense of accent whatsoever.
            Amon Dem did a double take, and paused in the second one. He weighed me with a wary expression, then sniffed and went to join his men in their pursuit of Hilti Higgins.
            So he wanted me to watch over the vehicles. “Well that was a freebie,” I said again.
            Three-quarters of the men all charged north, into the jungle. The other quarter trooped their way past us and through some trees to our right. Annie just stayed around. Everyone seemed to forget about her in the hubbub.

“What the hell were you doing?” I asked her, keeping my voice low.

            “It was more effective, wasn’t it?” she breathed back.
            “Well, yeah, but...”
            “Shut up and let’s get what we came here for! The vehicles are this way, right?” She motioned into the trees where Clan 4 had departed into.

“I think so,” I said, shrinking back.

In truth it wasn’t her audacity I found so jarring, but her character shift. In more truth, it was probably a better idea for her to be used; I just didn’t know she was capable of a performance like that.

“So we grab a jeep and go meet Hilti, right?” she said.

“Yeah,” I confirmed. “Except...we forgot to...oh dear. Oh, damb it. Of course. Well, I guess we won’t be meeting up with him later.”

“What? Why do you say that?”

“Because we forgot to designate a meeting place,” I said.

She groaned and swore, just like me. Then, when she met my gaze, she blushed.

“I just don’t know who you are anymore,” I said, shaking my head. “Whatever, let’s just grab a jeep and go...”

I trailed off.

            “What now?” she said, noticing.
            “For one thing, we’re missing Carl Sagan. No big deal though, I think he can probably find us easily. But the second thing---I think we have a firefight ahead of us. At the cars.”
            “Maybe your damn gods can take care of it for us.”
            Whoever she was, she seemed to be bursting at the seams.

---

            Mystery Solver Mortimer liked to solve mysteries.

Mortimer also brainstormed his own personal philosophies. Indeed, he often combined these two passions. Once, when on patrol on the outer perimeter, he used his penchant for deciphering the great secrets to discover why they had an outer perimeter, something that had puzzled him since enlisting. The reason, by jove, was snakes. He had to protect the facility from them.

When he figured this out he groaned, and wondered why it had to be snakes. Which of course presented a further mystery. All the solutions to his mysteries eventually did.

Once he wondered why he wondered about things, and that led him down a rabbit hole that he had yet to fully emerge from. He had to put it aside when it started denying him a full night’s rest. He needed a lot of sleep to fuel his high-powered brain. That’s what he told himself. But that mystery transformed him into wondering about other things he always took for granted. The mysteries of the world outside this island, a world that existed outside of his present reality. And that of course led to God, higher meaning, life after death, etc., etc. He decided that that last one was the greatest mystery of them all, and vowed to figure it out one day, hopefully before it became the most immediate issue.

But right now Mortimer was involved in something of a detective story. He liked these mysteries too. These were worthy pursuits, as he had been praised by no less than Amon Dem himself for solving The Case of the Clever Bandit and the Mysteriously Emptying Barrel of Fish. No one had thought a raccoon could have stowed away on a Spanish galleon, then made it across the gap over to the modern pirate ship that was attacking it, and then hiding in luggage until one suitcase burst open with a scream by a lovely fainting lady in her fifties before scrambling through the jungle to hitch a ride on a train that would eventually carry it to Butterknife Bay on Rainswept Isle, where he would hide in the shadows and steal fish when no one was looking. No one had thought that but Mortimer, and he had been given a special sapphire medal for it, and a certificate signed by Golbez.

His current case was plagued by several unknowns. The strange giant tiger that pranced about looking noble and fine. Paula’s new haircut, fashion style, and lack of makeup. The Australian fellow who ran through the encampment wearing flesh-colored khakis that made him look naked. The missing Jay Grey, who had disappeared around when the tiger appeared. And then the newcomer, the one in conversation with Amon Dem. Mortimer watched this guy in particular with his binoculars from his place on the hill, away from all the hubbub.

Though Mortimer belonged to Clan 3, he did not chase after the khaki man with his colleagues. He stayed behind in the shadows and watched as Paula met with the newcomer and as they dashed to the other lot, where Clan 4 was protecting the vehicles from potential troublemakers. Troublemakers like those two down there. Hmm. What was going on?

Mortimer would find out. He would solve this case.

---

Chadwick went out to meet them. Widmar and Mitchell watched from the back of the group.
            “Paula?” Chadwick said. “I thought you were on the chase.”
            “Uh, yes, I am. We need one of these vehicles,” she said.
            “But that guy was on foot.”
            “He was really fast.”
            “He was running through the trees. You can’t take a car through the trees.”
            “You can probably take a motorcycle through trees. I want a motorcycle. One with a working piezolectric capacitator.”
            “They’re all working, but...why don’t you just join the chase on foot? They’ve probably caught him by now.”
            “Then why should I join the chase?”
            “Duty, I should think.”
            “Why are you arguing with me? You know better than to question a superior.”
            “I’m obeying Head Hermano’s orders. He said to protect these vehicles.”
            The man with her raised his gun and pointed it at Chadwick. “Like the girl said. Motorcycles can fit through trees.”
            “Wait! But you’re not---!”
            The man fired, but missed. Chaos broke out among the ten remaining men of Clan 4, who all took shelter and then aim, hiding amongst the various tan-colored jeeps and motorcycles. The man and the fake Paula took cover behind some crates.
            The firefight lasted a very long time, because neither party seemed able to hit the other.

“Dammit, why can’t we hit him?” Mitchell said to Widmar after his thirty-seventh failed shot.

“I’ve been thinking about this a long time, Mitchell. I think it’s because we’re bad guys. Our side is enslaving innocent people and killing innocent natives. That means we’re not supposed to win. Even when the odds are entirely in our favor. Face it. We’re doomed.”

            The firing continued.

“Then maybe we should join them. This guy, and whoever the girl is. I think it could be our only way out of this.”

“Quit your day job? Are you kidding?”

“We can get a job somewhere else. No, wait! Maybe we can be his sidekicks!”

“Or his lackeys! I see your point. Okay, let’s join him. But first we have to kill all these other bad guys. I’ve even forgotten their names by now. That means they’re our enemies. Then he’ll see that we come in peace and want to be on his side!”

“Yes, I see it. Okay, on three, ready?”

“Yeah.” Widmar nodded resolutely.

“3…2…1…go.”

They both turned around and fired on their fellows point blank. They went down easily.

“Gee, I hope those weren’t once friends of ours. I feel like I never really got to know them.”

“Nah, I don’t think bad guys have friends. But hey, now we’re not bad guys anymore, how about WE be friends?”

“Sounds good! I have a good friend now. Imagine that!”

“Life as a good guy sidekick might be worthwhile after all, if I have a friend.”

“Let’s go out and meet our new boss, the good guy.”

They stood up simultaneously with bright, friendly expressions on their faces, mouths open to salute their new boss.

They were gunned down instantly.

---

Jack, after making sure there wasn’t anymore return fire, went over with Annie to assess the killcount.

“I wonder why I couldn’t hit them,” he said, examining Wrench as he walked.

“Jack,” Annie said, pointing to the bodies.

Almost all of them had been shot by the two who had stood up so stupidly..

“Looks like they turned on each other,”  Jack said, shaking his head and sighing. “Bad guys are all the same.”

---

            On the other side of the hill, Mortimer watched, horror-struck, at the massacre. He still hadn’t a clue as to what was going on, and knew he needed to further investigate. At the nearest opportunity he knew he should kill those two for what they did, for the threat they posed to his brothers.
            But he also really wanted to know who they were.
            He checked to make sure he had his pistol on him. He did. As the two down there hopped onto a motorcycle and started up the engine, he raised his gun and held it on them, but his grip was shaky, and he so badly wanted to know who they were, what they were doing. So instead of shooting them, he growled in frustration and ran down the hill as they zoomed off, then hopped into a jeep and started after them.

---

Annie, black jacket whipping behind her in the wind, held onto Jack as they rumbled down the path on the motorcycle. Jack could tell she was enjoying it immensely, but he was too busy to frown and sigh.

            The path led from the vehicle lot by the encampment to the dirt road that they had met Hilti on. Jack was about to pull back onto the main road when he saw a jeep in the mirror about fifty feet behind them.
            “We’ve got company,” Jack muttered to Annie over the wind. “Hang---” When he realized what he was about to say he cut himself off and did in fact sigh. But he finished: “Hang on tight.”
            She did. She was.
            “And hand me my gun!”
            “Where is it?”
            “Can’t you feel it? Check my belt at the bottom of my back!”
            She found it, blushed at its location, and reached over Jack’s shoulder to hand it to him. He took it and suddenly swerved off the road into a gap between the trees with uneven but open terrain. As the bike turned he fired a few shots behind him, but none came even close.
            Odd, he thought. Must be the bumpiness of the ground.
            The gunman in the jeep fired back with a few bursts from a machine gun. None hit. But that really was the bumpiness.
            Ahead of them seemed to be a short gap in the earth, perhaps a stream or narrow river that cut a scar through the jungle. Jack did a quick glance to his left and right. The trees on either side prevented him from turning. The closer they got, though, the more Jack realized it was a full-fledged gorge that was far deeper than he originally thought.
            Whatever, he thought. I’m Jack McDowell.
            Annie started screaming as she realized they weren’t stopping. The motorcycle hit the edge and did not take flight as had always happened to Jack before. His own eyes became as wide as the gorge turned out to be, the wide open jaws and deep mouth of hell that they were plunging down into, that ate them in a fiery explosion reminiscent of the fires and destruction of damnation itself.
            In case it wasn’t clear, Jack and Annie are now dead.