A ROCK AND A HARD PLACE by AJ PAUST RATED FRT

This story takes place approximately six months after The Conscience of the King. Some of the events/characters/situations are taken from the 1990s Thunderbirds Comic Series. The ages of the brothers are based on the early nineties timeline (2020s) with Scott being the eldest, followed by Virgil, John, Gordon and Alan. Bereznik - a rogue military state - is taken from the Comic Series, as is the name of its dictator, General Benenora. Special thanks to Jo for her endless encouragement and to Lori for prodding me to finish.

Three and a half years before they go to work for IR, Scott and Virgil's current careers might prove even more dangerous.

Chapter 1

Alan Tracy walked into the lobby of the apartment building and was immediately stopped by a guard from campus security.

"You have to sign in and leave your student I.D. here," he was told.

"Why?" Alan asked curiously. "I never did before and I come here all the time."

"New rules from the Dean of Student Housing," the guard explained. "We've had two break-ins in the last week."

Alan was surprised. "Oh, really?"

He pulled out his wallet and shifted through the contents until he found the card that identified him as a student of Colorado University. Satisfied, the guard handed him a clipboard. "Sign your name, the date, the time, and who you're visiting."

Alan signed his name in big sprawling letters and filled out the rest of the information hurriedly. The guard squinted at the sloppy writing. "I can't read this chicken scratch. Who are you visiting?"

"Julie Davis. Room 424."

The guard nodded and Alan, not having the patience to wait for the elevator, dashed up the stairs. He only had an hour, not nearly enough time for the monumental task of convincing Julie to come skiing with him. Ever since the death of her father, the normally active and outgoing twenty-year-old had been in a state of perpetual hibernation, withdrawn and disinterested. Julie dropped out of all of her favorite activities, quit the field hockey team of which she was a valued member, and stopped volunteering for community service projects. She shunned her friends and drove them all away, except for Alan who stubbornly refused to leave her alone. She only left her apartment to go to class, and even that was sporadic.

Alan knocked on the door, wishing that Virgil could have come along. His older brother's easy going manner and endless patience were much more effective than his methods of plaguing, bothering, and teasing until he got his way.

No one answered so he continued knocking.

"Hey, Jules," Alan shouted. "Open up. I know you're in there."

"Alan, if that's you, bug off," a muffled voice said from behind the door.

Alan knocked harder. "Come on, Julie. Let me in. I'll start singing if you don't..." He cleared his throat. "99 bottles of beer on the wall," he belted out inharmoniously as a preview.

Alan's threat worked. The sound of locks clicking and the door swung open. Julie glared at him, her green eyes glittering angrily. She was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans and her long dark brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

"What do you want, Tracy?"

Alan smiled and pushed past her into the apartment. It was a complete mess. Clothes lay everywhere in piles on the floor and on the furniture. Through the open door to the kitchen, he could see a stack of dirty dishes in the sink and empty boxes of cereal lying on the counter. He gave a low whistle. "Wow! This is place is a mess," he said admiringly. "Don't you ever do your laundry?"

"Mind your own business," Julie told him. "I've seen your place and it doesn't look much better."

Alan sighed regretfully. "It does now. Virgil made me clean up last weekend. That's the problem with having a big brother living nearby...you've always got someone looking over your shoulder."

"I know the feeling," Julie said, still glaring at him.

Alan moved a pile of clothes and sat down on the couch. He noticed a large, unopened box sitting in the middle of the floor. "Hey, Jules, what's in the box?"

"A new computer."

"What's wrong with your old one?" Alan asked.

"Nothing, except it's no longer here."

Alan looked at her questioningly. He had a brief vision of her throwing the computer out the window. Something he had often longed to do to his own whenever it gave him trouble. "Where it'd go?"

Julie shrugged. "You'll have to ask the person who stole it."

Alan remembered what the guard had said about break-ins. "Someone broke into your apartment?" he asked incredulously. "When did this happen?"

"A couple of days ago."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"What for?" Julie said indifferently. "It's no biggie. The only things they stole were my computer and all my informatic CDs. Same thing down in 242."

"You should've called me or Virgil," Alan scolded.

"Why?" Julie repeated. "Even though the lot of you Tracys don't believe it, I can take care of myself. I've been doing it since I was a little kid. Just 'cuz Collie's dead doesn't mean you have stand watch over me like a bunch of guard dogs."

A hint of bitterness crept into her voice when she mentioned her Father's name. Something she rarely, if ever, did. Julie strode over to the box with a knife in her hand. With a vicious stab, she slashed open the packing tape on the flaps. Alan watched her in silence.

Aware of his anxious scrutiny, Julie stopped cutting and eyed him warily. "I don't like it when you have that look in your eyes. Just what are you planning, Alan Tracy?"

Alan managed to smile. "Jules, how'd you like to have a fabulous, fun-filled evening?"

"No."

"Now just wait a second," protested Alan. "Let me finish, will you?"

"I don't want to go anywhere with you and your friends," Julie said flatly. "Besides I have a ton of work to do. I have a paper due on Monday and a physics lab due on Tuesday."

"Come on, Jules. It'll be fun."

"That's what you said last time," Julie snorted. "You do remember what happened don't you, or were you too drunk?"

Alan remembered the incident perfectly. It was impossible to forget how angry Virgil was when he bailed him out of jail.

"This is different, Jules. We're going to go skiing, not bar hopping. Virgil's going and so is Kat Crawford. She's the scientist who gave that lecture on artificial intelligence yesterday."

Julie laughed. "Skiing? I don't know how."

"Liar," Alan accused. He knew that Julie was a good skier from a picture he had seen on display in Collie's office.

"Don't try and pull that one on me."

Julie had another excuse ready. "I don't have my skis anymore. I gave them away."

"You can rent a pair then."

"I can't. I..." Julie thought a moment. "I hurt my ankle yesterday."

"Bullshit."

"I'm not going," Julie insisted stubbornly, when no excuse would deter Alan's persistent determination.

"Don't make me do it," Alan warned. "If I have to, I'll stay here all night and sing bedtime lullabies to you."

Julie didn't believe him. "You wouldn't do that."

"Wanna bet?" Alan smiled. "I'm ready. Are you?"

He warmed up by singing a wavering, ear-splitting note.

Julie covered her ears. "All right! You win. I'll go. Just shut up, will you?"

Alan sighed and smiled happily. It hadn't been as difficult as he thought it would be. Good thing he was such an awful singer. His lack of skill really came in handy sometimes.

"Okay. Get ready then and off we'll go. We're going to meet up with them at five o'clock at Montage."

Grumbling unhappily, Julie gathered up some clean clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. Alan sat on the couch, feeling very satisfied with himself and looking forward to the evening ahead. They would have a wonderful time. He would make sure of it.

"Nothing," the Hood growled. He gave the computer a furious kick, knocking it to the floor. It sparked and with a last whirring whine, the monitor went black. Like an angry lion, the Hood stalked away, flinging handfuls of informatic CDs against the wall. They shattered on impact, spraying bits of delicate metallic chips in all direction.

The violent outburst attracted Becker's attention. He looked up from the portable transmitter console he had been listening to during his waking hours for over a week. Leaning back in his chair, he stretched and yawned, watching the Hood's tantrum with an amused expression. "What did you expect, Belah?" he asked mildly. "Nothing is ever as easy as that. Thank god or this world would be a very boring place for a couple of criminal masterminds like ourselves."

The Hood threw his head back and laughed gratingly. "Ha! Criminal mastermind! You couldn't even break into the right apartment!"

Becker was undisturbed by the ridicule. "A small mistake which I quickly rectified with minimal effort."

The Hood gave the computer another frustrated stomp.

Becker smiled. "I think it's dead. You don't have to pulverize the thing any further to demonstrate your melodramatic rage. Beside, broken glass is a bitch to get out of carpet."

"Shut up," the Hood hissed.

Becker's smile widened. "That temper of yours is going to get you into trouble someday, you know," he chided. "You should consider taking a couple of anger management classes in your spare time."

The Hood treaded across the carpet threateningly. "Don't push me. One day you'll go too far..." he rumbled dangerously.

Not the least bit intimidated, Becker threw back his head and laughed hysterically. "Now, now, don't make silly threats. Why don't you turn your energy towards something constructive, like robbing a bank or some other entertaining pursuit?"

The Hood grumbled under his breath, clenching and unclenching his fists in an effort to control the all-consuming rage that ran through him like an electric current. Becker sighed and patiently turned back to his task. Once again, he put the set of headphones on and adjusted the volume. The sound of voices drifted over the frequency. Listening intently for several minutes, his ever-present smile deepened and he gave a delighted chuckle.

Still trembling with unspent fury, the Hood glowered at him. "Something amuses you?"

"How convenient," Becker said, looking like the proverbial cat who swallowed the canary. "A perfect opportunity, I'd say."

Becker took off the headset and tossed it on the table. He moved over to the closet began gathering some items and putting them in a black bag. Some rope, a roll of insulator tape, a pair of handcuffs, a couple of large white sacks...

The Hood watched darkly. "What are you doing?"

Becker didn't bother to look up. He picked up two bottles of clear liquid, uncapped one at time and gave each a sniff. "What do you think? Chloroform or ether?"

The Hood didn't answer. He continued to glare at Becker, his dark eyes gleaming like flaming embers.

"Chloroform, definitely," Becker decided, tucking one of the bottles away.

Satisfied with his selection, Becker zipped up the bag and handed it to the Hood. Snatching his jacket from a hanger, he hurriedly shrugged into it. "Come along, Belah," he said pleasantly. "Put on your face and let's get going. We'll have to hurry if we want to arrive before they do."

"Where are we going?" the Hood demanded.

"Skiing." Becker wrapped a long black scarf around his neck and settled a heavy fur cap on his head. As a last touch, he produced a pair of black leather gloves from his pocket and methodically put one on at time.

"Skiing?" the Hood grunted, watching Becker's preparations darkly. "We have no time for such recreational lunacy."

Becker smirked. "We're not going for recreational purposes, Belah. We're going to collect our little college girl."

"And just how to do you plan on doing that?" the Hood grumbled testily. "When she leaves her apartment she is never alone, not even for a minute."

"So?" Becker shrugged. "Sooner or later, an opportunity will present itself and we will be prepared to take full advantage of it."

The Hood remained doubtful of their chances of success. "I suppose one of those damn Tracys will be with her?"

"Two actually," Becker corrected. "But that's of no consequence. They won't be with her all the time."

The Hood hissed curses through bared teeth. His vendetta with the family, although only in the early stages, was a source of great bitterness and anger. Becker, though amused by his associate's thirst for revenge, never forsook a chance to point out the folly of such a distraction.

"Just remember why we're there and keep yourself focused, Belah," he reproved. "Use your free time to settle any accounts in the get-even department."

Still unconvinced, the Hood remained in place. "I don't like to ski."

"You won't have to," Becker assured. " I plan on covering that base. I need some exercise after sitting here like a zombie all week listening to a rambling fool."

"Rambling fool?" The furrows in the Hood's forehead deepened as he regarded Becker icily.

"The girl, Belah, the girl, and that Tracy kid. Not you ." Becker said, his face deadpan.

"Suppose we get caught?" the Hood rumbled.

"Suppose we do?"

"You're wanted for murder."

"So are you," returned Becker. "And many other deeds of unparalleled wickedness, I might add. What does it matter?"

"It will be a nuisance if we have to break out of jail."

" Jail ?" Becker scoffed. "I do believe you're getting soft, Belah, worrying over such trivialities. Anyway, we won't get caught if we play our cards right. Now, please...will you stop dawdling and get ready?"

Becker tapped his foot impatiently as the Hood prepared his disguise, something he always insisted on wearing to keep his identity hidden from law enforcement agencies and the occasional witnesses to the crimes he perpetrated.

Becker sighed in satisfaction. Both he and the Hood were equally eager to finish their tedious task and move onto more interesting criminal pursuits. If everything went as planned, they would have the information they needed within a few short hours. Even so, he knew better than to assume an easy success. It would be tricky to grab the girl, especially with a couple of the meddlesome Tracy brothers lurking nearby.

Perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea to dispose of them if the opportunity arose. Becker smiled. Killing two birds with one stone... Not such a bad idea at all.

Helen Frost knocked on the door to her employer's office and walked in without waiting for a reply. At his desk, hidden behind enormous stacks of loose papers and blueprint manuals, Jeff Tracy looked up and managed a weary smile.

"Here you go, Mr. Tracy," Helen said, standing on her toes in order to hand over another stack of papers just received by fax from the Space Agency.

"Thank you, Helen." Reaching across the desk, Jeff knocked over a pile of precariously balanced info-disks, sending them bouncing and flying in all directions. Helen scrambled after them and restacked them as neatly as possible in the limited space. Jeff attempted to help her, but only succeeded in toppling the stack over once again.

"I'm sorry, Helen," Jeff apologized.

"That's okay, Mr. Tracy." She gathered up the stray discs and moved some of the papers to make extra space.

"Would you like another cup of coffee?" she asked, noticing the empty mug sitting next to the vidcomm.

Jeff cleared his throat. "No thanks."

Helen lingered. "What shall I order you for lunch?"

"Nothing," Jeff said, turning back to his work. "Thanks anyway, Helen, but I'm really not that hungry right now..."

Helen sighed. "Okay, Mr. Tracy, but if you should change your mind, you know where to find me."

Jeff didn't answer and she studied him worriedly for a moment. The man sitting behind the cluttered desk was a stranger to her; so different from the Jeff Tracy she had known and worked with for so many years. He had aged overnight. His skin, marked with lines of worry had an unhealthy grayish quality. His eyes, bloodshot and burning, had a peculiar brightness. Even worse, was Jeff's strange mental state that was frightening to everyone that knew him.

Physically he was in a state of total exhaustion, yet he pushed onwards, taking on an enormously crushing workload.

The stress at the company was at an almost unbearable level with the ongoing Sun Probe project and many loyal, long-time employees deserted their positions in the face of immense pressure. Collie's easy-going leadership style and genius at engineering efficiency were sorely missed and his death left a gaping hole in the company's chain of command.

Tracy Aerospace had been without a vice-president since Collie's death six months before, yet Jeff made no move to fill the position. No one dared to bring up the subject of finding a replacement either, as Jeff was particularly touchy about it and became furious at the least provocation.

Helen made a mental note to try and get a hold of one of the Tracy boys at the first opportunity. She knew it would not be easy as they were scattered all over the world: Scott stationed somewhere in Russia, Virgil and Alan both in Colorado, Gordon, somewhere at the bottom of the Pacific ocean serving aboard a WNS sub, and John, a new recruit in the Space Agency's astronaut training program, stationed in Florida.

Virgil had come just the week before, but his trip had been nothing short of a disaster. Yet, something had to be done, and quickly, before Jeff either cracked or killed himself from overwork. She only hoped that one of the boys could intervene before it was too late.

Chapter 2

"Step on it, Reg! We're gonna be late!" Sammie called, looking back over her shoulder at her flight partner. She shivered and zipped up her leather jacket in an effort to block out some of the frigidity of the crisp November air. Her breath came out in frosty puffs and her teeth chattered. The freezing temperatures of early winter in Russia were a far cry from the hot arid Moroccan climate they had blissfully enjoyed until only several days before.

Feeling the cold as much as she did, Reggie Erickson fumbled at the key card to his quarters with stiff, half-frozen fingers. He hesitated a moment and thoughtfully rumpled his dark brown hair until it stood on end. "I know I'm forgetting something. Let me think..."

Hopping in place in the hopes of increasing her sluggish circulation, Sammie groaned. "We've got two minutes to get across the base so put your brain as well as your feet in overdrive, will you?"

Reggie was deaf to any pleas to hurry. He stood in place, reciting the daily mental checklist he used as a means to combat his natural tendency at forgetfulness. "Hmmm...got my id, got my tags, got my sec check, got my..."

"Reg!" Sammie protested. "COME ON! We've been late twice this week already. Scott's going to go ballistic this time for sure."

His memory jogged, Reggie snapped his numb fingers as best he could. "Of course! How could I possibly forget?!"

He disappeared back into his apartment and reappeared a few seconds later with a yellow plastic coffee cup with a smiling face on the side. Grateful for the puny warmth it radiated, he wrapped both his hands around the mug.

Sighing in satisfaction, he took a long slurping sip. "Much better."

Sammie gaped in utter disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me...we're going to have our asses in slings over a cup of coffee? Jeez!"

"My coffee is a pre-flight necessity," Reg asserted, taking another long swallow as he slid his key card through the door lock. "You know I'm no good without it."

"You're no good with it either," Sammie snorted. "I don't know why I have to get stuck with you..."

Reg grinned contentedly. 'Cuz you're damn lucky, that's why. I'm the best pilot this side of Moscow."

Sammie rolled her eyes and pulled the sleeves of her jacket down over her hands. "You're delirious, Erickson. I'm putting in for a transfer so I don't have to listen to your bullshit anymore."

Reg patted her shoulder affectionately. "You're so cheerful in the morning Sammie girl, I don't know what I'd do without you. Can we go now? We're a little late, you know."

"I know that! It's what I've been saying for the past..." Sammie began. "Oh, forget it. Come on."

She grabbed some of the stuff that Reg was carrying and they hurried down the steps to the sidewalk below. Waving wildly, they managed to flag down a rumbling troop transport truck that happened to be passing. With great difficulty, they managed to find a place to sit amongst the Russian infantry soldiers. Sammie elbowed aggressively for more room as the soldier next to her leaned as close as possible, smiling and winking suggestively. A swift, fierce jab to his ribs quickly dampened any amorous intentions the soldier had and he gave the feisty pilot a wide berth.

A few minutes later they reached the building where their unit's daily flight briefing was taking place. Hurriedly, they leapt off the transport and sprinted like Olympic athletes across the tarmac. Flashing their security passes, they dashed through the checkpoint gates.

The MP standing guard smiled at them and laughed. "Late again, huh?"

"Have they started?" Sammie asked, panting for breath.

"Oh, yeah. 'Bout ten minutes ago," the MP answered cheerfully. "The Commander decided to grace you guys with his presence too."

"Aw, man!" Sammie groaned and punched Reg in the arm.

"Ow," Reg complained, rubbing his arm. "What'd you do that for?"

"Didn't you hear what he said? The Commander's here today and that means we're dead and buried."

They hurried down the long hallway towards the briefing room. Slowly, they tiptoed up to the open door and peeked into the room. They could see Commander Morris standing in front of the twelve other pilots in their unit. Their patrol Captain and Coordinator, Scott Tracy stood a few feet behind with his arms folded, his handsome, tanned face looking very somber. He caught sight of them at the door and with a slight movement of his hand, motioned them to come in.

"Come on," Sammie whispered.

They quietly crept in the room. Despite their best efforts at silence, their boots, the leather stiffened from the cold, squeaked loudly. Immediately, the Commander stopped talking.

"Good morning, Lt. Carlas and Lt. Erickson," he greeted. "How nice of you to join us. I do hope it wasn't too inconvenient for you come today." The Commander eyed them critically, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps you think you these pre-flight briefings are a waste of your time?"

"No, sir," Sammie murmured.

"What?" the Commander demanded. "I didn't quite catch that."

"No, sir!" she shouted more loudly than she intended. Her voice echoed slightly in the large almost empty room.

The other pilots tittered and Sammie's face flushed with embarrassment. Cheeks burning, she moved towards the only empty seats located at the front of the room. Reg trailed at her heels.

"What about you, Lt. Erickson? Do you agree with Lt. Carlas or do you think this is a waste of time?" the Commander demanded.

"Huh?" Reggie looked up, startled. "Me, sir?"

"You, Lieutenant."

Reggie hesitated, unsure since rather than listening, he had been looking for seats other than those in the front row. "Yes, sir," he finally answered decidedly. "Just as you said, sir."

There was another round of laughter. The other pilots smiled and poked each other. With lowered brows, Scott glowered at the group, effectively silencing everyone. The Commander turned on his heel and stared fixedly at Scott. "Your people seem to find this highly amusing, Captain Tracy. Would you mind explaining the joke to me?"

"No joke, sir," Scott explained.

The Commander nodded curtly. "Good, because enforcing the Bereznik no-fly/ no-aggression zone is no laughing matter. It is of utmost importance that troop movement is closely monitored and artillery placement along the border is kept in check. As patrol pilots, you are the first link in the chain to contain and suppress the aggressive military tactics that the Berezniks have demonstrated over and over again in the past."

"Of course, sir," Scott affirmed. He scowled at Reggie and Sammie once the Commander turned back around and couldn't see him. Unaware of Scott's facial contortions behind him, the Commander continued talking about the no-fly buffer zone, a recent measure that the World Defense Department had put in place to discourage Bereznik sneak attacks along the Russian Border.

"Any questions?" the Commander asked once he was finished.

Reggie raised his hand before Sammie could jab him in the ribs as a preventative measure.

"Fire away, Erickson. What is it you want to know?"

"Why are there only two fighters to a patrol, instead of the standard four?"

Commander Morris answered without hesitation. "It's only a temporary measure due to the size of the area to be covered and the number of pilots in your unit."

"How temporary?" Reg asked doubtfully.

The Commander pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Probably a couple of weeks at the most. As you know, the approval of a no-fly/no-aggression zone came as a complete surprise. Since your unit is specialized for quick deployment all over the world, it was easy to move you from Morocco to Moscow in a matter of days. However, it will take several weeks to bring in some other more stationary units. Is that a good enough answer for you, Lieutenant?"

"I guess so, sir," Reggie said slowly, his mouth bending into a dissatisfied frown.

"Good, here are your assignment sheets that Captain Tracy and I put together. If you'll look at the top..."

Commander Morris broke off as Reg waved his hand again. "Yes, Erickson, you have a problem?"

"Not a problem, sir. Another question."

The other pilots grinned at each other. He was starting already. Once he got going, Reggie could drive his superiors crazy with endless questions about minute details and what-if situations.

"Could you go over the strike policy again? I didn't quite get it the first time."

"Naturally," the Commander replied crisply. "Since you weren't here when we went over it." He waved at Scott to step forward. "Captain, would you be so kind as to explain the strike policy once more?"

"Yes, sir. I would simply be delighted to go over it. Again. " Scott smiled as he spoke, but his blue eyes reflected his intense irritation. "We'll be using the new satellite-computer SEEK system which will automatically pinpoint any military targets as defined in the no-fly zone guidelines."

"Then the computer will do the shooting?" Reg interrupted.

"Not exactly. The computer is only a guide. You'll have to use your judgement to make the final decision whether or not hit a target."

"Reggie's judgement...god, that's a scary thought," someone whispered amidst a chorus of hushed giggles.

Reggie ignored them and waved his hand again as Scott began to speak. "I have another question."

Scott sighed. "I know you do, but could you just hold it in until I'm finished?"

"Sure, Scott...I mean Captain Tracy," Reggie corrected when Sammie kicked him in the leg.

"Thank you very much," Scott said dryly. "Please be aware that the SEEK system hasn't been used in actual combat situations so don't depend on it too much. Keep your eyes and ears open and use your common sense. If you feel something is wrong, go with your instincts. Always remember that the Berezniks are notoriously clever at disguising their military installations. They also make liberal use of their civilian population as human shields for their artillery placements, so we have to be careful not to fire unless it's absolutely necessity."

"I still don't understand who makes the final decision what to torch," Reggie inserted quickly when Scott paused for breath.

"Just give me a chance, I'm getting there," Scott grumbled. Despite his best efforts to hide it, his voice betrayed his growing annoyance. "The patrol leader of each run is responsible to double-check and approve any SEEK target determinations. If, for some reason, there's a question about the validity of a classification, you'll contact Base for further instructions. It's as simple as that. Got it?"

Everybody nodded except Reggie. "Suppose that..."

Sammie slouched down in her chair and put a hand over her face.

Scott interrupted and balling it in his fist, held up the assignment sheet. "See this, Erickson? It's your assignment sheet for the week. If you'd take a moment and actually look at it, you'll see that you and Sammie, excuse me, Lt. Carlas, are with me on the first run today. At that time we'll go over everything step by step by step...or as long as it takes you to get it. Okay?" Scott smiled fixedly.

Reggie smiled back. "Sure, thing, Sco...Captain, sir."

The Commander briefly went over the assignment sheet and pointed out various details about the rotation and structure of each patrol before finally dismissing everyone. "Captain, I'd like to talk to you a moment," he said as Scott started to leave.

"Sure, Commander. Give me just one second. I'll be right back." He hurried to catch up with Reggie and Sammie who were dashing for the door in a concentrated effort to avoid him.

"Hold it right there, you two," Scott ordered as they reached the doorway. Thwarted in their attempt at escape, they stopped in their tracks and slowly turned around.

Before Scott had a chance to say anything, Sammie spoke. "Let me say just one thing, Scott. It's all his fault."

Reg sighed and gazed remorsefully at the floor. "It's true. I stayed out too late last night and this morning I overslept because my alarm was broken. Then I couldn't find my I.D. and I burned out a circuit breaker by running the coffee maker and the toaster at the same time. When I tried to reach the electrical box, I ripped the seat of my pants so I had to go down to supply because I didn't have another pair because I didn't have a chance to do my laundry because the units were being serviced yesterday and...

"Okay, okay," Scott hastily interrupted before the lieutenant had a chance to really get going. "I get the picture. I'll let you off this one last time. But if it happens again..."

Reggie's dejection instantly vanished and he beamed at Scott. "Never, ever. Bring over a bible and we'll swear on it. Right-o, Sammie girl?"

Sammie laughed. "I'm not swearing on any bible, Reg. I know you too well to risk eternal damnation on your promises of punctuality."

Reggie acted hurt and pouted unhappily. "Why is everyone so mean to me? Even my own flight partner won't give me any sympathy. I've had a really bad day so far with only the promise of more to come." p

Sammie wasn't impressed by the complaints. "Boo-hoo. You want some cheese with your whine, Reg?"

"See what I mean?" Reg told Scott as he wiped away an imaginary tear. "No sympathy."

Scott glanced back at Commander Morris who was watching the exchange critically with a frown of disapproval that deepened with each passing moment. "Look," he told them quietly. "I'll meet you in about ten to go over the pre-flights. Okay?"

Reggie saluted in the most exaggerated, official manner he could muster. "Yes, sir!"

"And don't be late," Scott added in a hushed whisper as they were leaving.

Reg poked his head back in the door. "Never, ever, sir!"

Scott took a deep breath, preparing himself for the battle that was sure to come. From the look on the base Commander's face, a nuclear war would be more welcome than the upcoming confrontation.

The meeting was not going to go well. From what he had heard about the man, Scott had a sneaking suspicion from the start that he and Commander Morris would not get along. Their command styles were too different to coexist peacefully.

"Captain Tracy, I am going to be blunt," the Commander began slowly.

Uh-oh. Scott always hated conversations that started out like that. It meant that a criticism or reproof would certainly follow.

"Do you mind?"

"No sir," Scott replied, feeling very much tempted to say just the opposite.

"Good. Commander Fayez has sent me the most praiseworthy report on your unit. From your record I have no doubt that his high opinions of you are true. In your time of service you have shown bravery and courage in the most dangerous of situations and there is no doubt that you have earned your rank and commendations of excellence. However..."

Here it comes, Scott thought.

"I do not approve of the your disciplinary techniques, nor the familiarity you display with your people." Commander Morris paused and regarded Scott kindly. "May I make a suggestion, Captain, based on my years of experience?"

Oh, no. Please not a pearl of wisdom for the youngster. Anything but that. A small sigh escaped from Scott's lips before he could stop it. Morris' eyes narrowed slightly, but other than that he showed no sign that he noticed anything.

"Certainly, Commander," Scott said dutifully. "I would appreciate any wisdom you would be so kind to impart to me."

Commander Morris smiled dryly. "I'm sure you would. That's why I'm telling you this now, rather than later when difficulties have already arisen. Son..."

Scott flinched at the patronizing tone in the Commander's voice.

"...Son, there needs to be a clear distinction between you and your people, otherwise you will never be able to maintain the proper discipline and order necessary for the optimum performance of your unit. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

Scott didn't answer. He gazed directly at the Commander. Never able to hide his emotions very well, his clear blue eyes were mirrors of his feelings. Currently, they reflected his total difference of opinion.

The Commander read Scott's thoughts. "I can see you disagree. You believe that you can be both friend and leader without losing any discipline. True, Captain?"

Scott hesitated, but his natural truthfulness won out against saying a white lie for the sake of tactfulness. "Yes, sir."

"I see." The Commander thoughtfully stroked his moustache. "Then you deny the obvious lack of respect and attention to duty that Lt. Erickson and Carlas...primarily Erickson, display on a regular basis."

"Sir, if I may speak freely," Scott asked, keeping his voice steady.

The Commander smiled and nodded. "Permission granted, Captain. You may speak your mind as you will. I am curious to hear your excuses."

Scott felt a surge of anger, but quickly smothered it. He was treading on a minefield of sorts, and had to use the utmost caution with each careful step. "Sir...despite his appearance and actions to the contrary, Lt. Erickson is one of the most talented, dependable, and trustworthy pilots in the unit. He may act a little..." Scott mentally searched for the right word. "... bizarre ...or even incompetent at times, but I assure you that when he is in the air, he is all business. Lt. Carlas is the same."

Feeling himself becoming defensive, Scott steadied his voice before going on. "If I do not discipline harshly enough, it is because they do not need it. They perform their jobs at the highest levels of competency and I do not feel it's necessary to plague them continually with petty rules and regulations that serve only to stress and frustrate everyone."

Commander Morris pursed his lips. "Are you finished, Captain, or do you have something else you'd like to add?"

"No, sir," Scott answered calmly. "That's it. I have nothing to add.."

"Good," the Commander said, smiling. "I appreciate your frankness, Captain, though I disagree with your line of thinking. You can teach an old dog new tricks and I definitely fall into the category of very old dogs, however..."

Scott cringed at what was coming.

"...I am interested to see just the skill you boast of...so on today's patrol run, I will fly with Lt. Erickson."

The Commander's announcement wasn't what he was expecting and Scott's mouth dropped open in astonishment. "Sir!" he protested.

"See you in ten, Captain," Commander Morris said, smiling. He left the room before Scott had a chance to offer any excuses.

Now this is going to be fun, thought Scott. Commander Morris, him, and Reggie... He groaned at the mere thought of it. What a day it would be!

Chapter 3

"That's it for today, guys."

"Quitting time already? It's only three-thirty." Dave Lewis looked over at Virgil Tracy who was seated next to him at the controls of Innovative Technology's latest mechanical prototype. The experimental snow rescue machine, nicknamed 'the Yeti', was in the initial stages of testing and redesign. The tests were especially dangerous since they involved digging and snow removal on an actual avalanche-prone mountainside.

Knowing the risks involved, the company's two most fearless testers were assigned the tricky task. Dave Lewis and Virgil Tracy, both known for their iron nerve and staunch reliability, had spent twelve hours a day for the last week in the cramped control cabin of the machine, performing round after round of endless experimentation designed to test the capabilities of the new machine. Except for a few moments of anxiety when a small avalanche threatened to bury them, all had gone smoothly.

Virgil spoke into his headset. "Repeat that last one, control. Are we hearing things or did you actually say we're off the hook for the rest of the day?"

The sound of laughter drifted over the radio band. "Though it's debatable, you fellows aren't crazy. Tests have been called off for today. Snow storm's blowing up this way so we're cutting out early." There was a pause. "Except for you, Tracy. The new boss wants a word with you."

A month before, Innovative Technology, known as InnTech for short, had been bought by the corporate giant, AIS.

It made for a sticky situation since the company was Tracy Aerospace's primary rival and more personally, James Haydyn and Jeff Tracy were long-time, sworn enemies. Despite the heavy pressure from his father to quit, Virgil just couldn't bring himself to do it. He liked his job and was determined to stick to it as long as possible.

Virgil sucked in his breath. "Haydyn wants to see me?"

"Yep. As soon as you get in. He's waiting at the ski lodge caf� for you."

"Great." Virgil sighed. "Just great."

He reached over and flicked a red lever. The steady hum of the engines powering the snow removal units faded and the powdery geyser of snow ejecting from the side blowers stopped abruptly. Virgil selected reverse on the direction control box and put both feet down hard on the accelerator petals. With the squeal of gears and the crunch of the treads on the hard packed snow, the Yeti' powered backwards along the path it had cleared only minutes before. It was a bumpy ride as they plowed backwards down the side of the mountain at nearly top speed, plowing through drifts and bouncing over ruts and holes made from the previous days' trial runs.

Anyone else other than Dave Lewis would have been completely terrified by the wild ride. The only sign of apprehension the middle-aged man showed was a casual check to make sure his safety belt was securely attached. Then he relaxed and leaned back in the seat, watching the snowy landscape whirl by in the side view portals.

The journey to the bottom of the mountain was normally a ten-minute trip, but they made it in five, quite to the astonishment of the engineers and technicians waiting for them. Not slowing down, Virgil drove the machine up the ramp into the portable storage unit and slammed on the brakes to stop only inches away from the control booth. The small cubicle appeared empty, until a few heads cautiously appeared as people recovered from their fright.

Dave chuckled. "Nice one, Virgil. Guess those guys won't be busting us all the time anymore."

"Tracy, you maniac!" a voice shouted over the speakers. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"He's testing the brakes, of course," Dave answered, winking at Virgil. "They're top of the line, don't you think?"

There was a flurry of livid swearing and Dave and Virgil took off their headsets to protect their hearing. Virgil grabbed the shutdown checklist and hurriedly went over it while Dave ejected the data discs from the sensor and control recorders. Convinced that everything was in order, Virgil signed his name and handed the clipboard to Dave who initialed it and tucked it under his arm.

"Check the reactor thermostat," Dave reminded. "It's been erratic all day."

"Already did. It's a little high, but still within range."

"Right. Remind me to tell Chaz about that, in case I forget."

Dave and Virgil both moved to opposite ends of the main control board and grasped blue knobs.

"Ready, Virg?" Dave asked.

Virgil nodded.

"On my mark then. 1...2...3."

They turned the knobs simultaneously.

"Shutdown sequence initiated," the computer informed in a monotone voice. "Have a nice weekend, boys," it added the voice changing to sound like a sensual woman. "See you Monday at six. I'll be waiting..." The sound of a long, puckering kiss that ended with a loud burp followed.

Dave and Virgil burst out laughing. The head engineer, Chaz Dailey was a prankster through and through and always left messages like that for them. Dave opened the hatch, climbed down the ladder halfway, and jumped to the floor. Virgil followed, pausing a moment to close the hatch back up.

Leaning against the Yeti, they began filling out their testing logs for the day.

"Doing anything exciting this weekend?" Dave asked as he scribbled.

Virgil tapped his pen thoughtfully as he considered one of the entries. "A friend of mine is in town. She loves to ski, so I guess that's what we'll be doing."

" She ?" Dave smiled. "Is she a friend or a friend ?"

"A friend, you old pervert," Virgil answered, grinning. "Of the purely platonic kind."

"Too bad," Dave said, sounding disappointed. "You need to find yourself a girl sometime, Virgil."

"And I will...sometime." Virgil snatched another packet from the pile. "Just not now. I've got enough trouble without looking for more."

"Here," Dave said, handing him the sign-off sheet. "Put your 'John Hancock' right there and we're finished."

" You're finished," Virgil corrected. "My fun-filled day is not over yet."

They stopped at the control booth to drop their paperwork off and parted ways. Virgil taking a company snowmobile towards the ski lodge; Dave heading in the opposite direction towards the car park.

Virgil went into the ski lodge, feeling both wary and curious. He had never met James Haydyn before and knew little about the man except the few tidbits of information he had learned second-hand throughout the years. Jeff was very tight-lipped when it came to his former friend and didn't offer any explanations on the origins of their dispute.

He had only taken a few steps when a large, muscled, broad-shouldered man approached him. "Virgil Tracy?" he asked in a deep, raspy voice.

"That's me," Virgil acknowledged. The man was a good foot taller than him and he had to looked upwards to meet his eyes. "Who's asking?"

"My name is Griffin," the man replied. "Mr. Haydyn is waiting for you in the caf�. Follow me."

Griffin turned on his heel and walked in long strides through the across the lobby towards the caf� entrance. The area was crowded with weekend guests checking in and skiers taking a break from the slopes. Like the Red Sea parting, a path automatically cleared as people hurried to get out of the tall, foreboding man's way. Virgil followed behind, his apprehension increasing with each step.

Once they entered the caf�, they headed towards a table in the far corner. A man in his early fifties with graying hair looked up as they approached. Griffin pulled out a chair and motioned Virgil towards it.

Virgil sat down. Behind him, Griffin, arms-folded, stood looking not too unlike the statue of a Greek god.

"Please leave us," Haydyn said pleasantly. Griffin reluctantly did as he was bid, and drifted away to a spot near the caf�'s entrance where he could still keep a watchful eye on his employer.

Virgil studied his father's long-time foe with marked curiosity. Haydyn was classically handsome with fine, well-formed features and a thick mane of dark hair sprinkled with gray that reminded Virgil of a lion's ruff. Of medium height and build, Haydyn did not seem the least bit imposing or intimidating, yet there was a definite air of strength and authority about him. The dark brown eyes that met Virgil's scrutiny with equal interest radiated intelligence and good humor. There was a charismatic energy about the man that Virgil found almost hypnotizing.

"You look like your mother," Haydyn commented, after a lengthy silence.

"Some people say that," Virgil assented, caught off guard by the reference to his mother. "Others think I look like my father."

Haydyn pursed his lips thoughtfully and his eyes roved over Virgil's face. "Yes," he conceded, after a moment. "Yes, I can see a slight resemblance in some respects. Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thanks." Virgil looked around the caf� for a moment. Except for a group of loud, rowdy teenagers on the far side of the room, most of the tables were empty. He turned his attention back to Haydyn and found the man staring at him critically. "I hear you have her talents as well."

"A little maybe." Virgil shrugged, starting to feel both annoyed and uneasy by Haydyn's obvious interest in his mother.

A waitress neared and Haydyn ordered an Irish coffee, double whiskey.

"Are you sure you won't have anything?" he asked Virgil.

The idea of a drink appealed to Virgil, but for some reason he shook his head. "I'm okay, really, but thanks anyway."

The waitress hurried away to fill the order and Virgil found himself the subject of Haydyn's attention once again.

For some reason, Virgil began to feel extremely weary. Haydyn's relentless intensity was more tiring in some ways than sitting in the Yeti hour after hour. He longed to escape, but as their encounter was just starting, there was really no possibility of a quick exit.

"I suppose you are wondering why I wanted to see you." Haydyn smiled, showing a line of perfect, white teeth.

Virgil fidgeted in his chair in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. "Yes, I have to admit I'm rather curious."

"You think perhaps that I am going to fire you?"

"Sure," Virgil agreed amiably. "That's what I figure."

"Would it surprise you if I said I have no intention of doing that?"

Virgil was very surprised, but he was careful not to show it. Not knowing Haydyn except by reputation and press reports, he was extra cautious. Virgil couldn't dodge the feeling he was dealing with a clever, manipulative devil of a man.

Virgil wondered why he felt that way; Haydyn was simply oozing with friendliness and good will. So many smiles and offers of hospitality...yet there was something sinister lurking just behind the congenial front. Something that warned Virgil to tread carefully, lest he make a wrong move and pay dearly for his misstep.

The waitress brought back the Irish coffee and Haydyn took a careful sip. She set a glass of water on the table next to Virgil. "Perfect. Please leave us," he said, impatiently waving her away. He fixed his attention back on Virgil.

"You never answered my question, Virgil. Do you mind if I call you that?"

"Call me what you like," Virgil said with a nonchalant shrug. "It makes no difference to me." Absently, he reached for the water and took a gulp. It tasted a little bitter and he set it down with a grimace. "To answer your question, I am surprised. Are you surprised that I didn't quit?"

A muscle twitched in Haydyn's cheek. He clutched the coffee cup tightly and took another drink, rolled the liquid about in his mouth, and swallowed, all the while gazing at Virgil. "Actually, I'm not. I didn't figure you for a quitter. I know your family quite well and stubbornness is one of your fatal flaws.�

Virgil raised his eyebrows, and though he tried, he couldn't hide his defensiveness. "Fatal? I don't like the sound of that. As to flaws...you've got plenty of your own to occupy yourself so you needn't point out mine."

Haydyn smiled dryly. "I sincerely apologize if I've insulted you. I only wished to point out a character defect for your own sake. It may get you into trouble someday."

Though it was said lightly, Virgil sensed the veiled threat in the words and felt a sense of misgiving. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. Easy, Virgil, easy, he thought. For some odd reason, he had to struggle to maintain control.

"What is it you really wanted to see me about?" Virgil asked once he had regained his composure. As it was in his nature to be direct, he couldn't help but be blunt.

Haydyn laughed. "You are very much your father's son, Virgil. Let me be frank. I see no need for us to be enemies. Your father and I have our differences, granted, but they have nothing to do with you. I have heard you are one of the best test pilots in the private sector and I would like you to come work for me at AIS."

Virgil had the urge to laugh. Was this Haydyn's idea of a joke or something? The idea was so ludicrous it wasn't worth a second thought. " Me work for AIS? You must be joking," he scoffed.

"Why?" Haydyn slowly stirred his coffee. "Is the idea repulsive to you?"

Virgil hesitated thoughtfully, considering his words carefully. He actually did find the suggestion repulsive but it wouldn't do to say it. "N-o-o," he lied. "I just don't think it would be a very good idea."

"Why is that?"

"I think you know the answer to that question."

"Your father," Haydyn said flatly.

"Mostly, yes," Virgil said slowly, thinking of the events of the past six months. "It's more than that though..."

"Ah," Haydyn said, comprehension dawning. "It's what the press is reporting, isn't it? About Collie Davis and my connection to the Nova." He smiled tightly, his dark eyes dancing with mirth. "Utter rubbish. I had nothing to do with Collie's unfortunate demise, I assure you. The man was like a brother to me."

"You had a funny way of showing it," Virgil snapped, unable to stay calm. The events surrounding Collie's death and the subsequent revelations of betrayal were sore spots with all of the Tracys. Throwing caution to the wind, he continued heatedly. "Blackmailing and threatening him to give you sensitive information about Tracy Aerospace. You're nothing but a two-bit extortionist."

Haydyn was unconcerned by the accusations. He took another sip of his coffee and folded his hands. "I did nothing of the sort. Collie came to me, offering to sell company secrets. I felt sorry for him and friends that we were, I took him up on the offer and rescued him from his financial woes."

"You're a liar!" Virgil shouted.

Griffin appeared out of nowhere. "Everything all right, Mr. Haydyn?"

"Of course," Haydyn said peevishly. "If I want you, I'll send for you. Understood?"

Griffin nodded and retreated back to his spot at the doors.

Having no desire to carry the conversation any further, Virgil got up and started to leave but Haydyn reached over and put a restraining hand on his wrist. His touch was ice cold and Virgil couldn't help but flinch. "Please sit down, Virgil. I'm not finished."

It wasn't a request, and for reasons he did not understand, Virgil obeyed and sat back down.

"Very good." Haydyn smiled benevolently. "Now, about your job at AIS. You can start after the Yeti tests are finished."

This man is absolutely crazy, Virgil thought. I've got to get out of here before he talks me into a corner.

"Here is the contract I prepared for you," Haydyn said, handing him a piece of paper. "I am open to discuss anything you don't find satisfactory."

Virgil glanced at it briefly, not bothering to read the words since there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that he was going to sign it. It was bad enough to be working indirectly for Haydyn at InnTech, but being his personal crash dummy at AIS...no way!

"Thanks, but no thanks." Virgil pushed the contract back across the table.

"Not enough money?" Haydyn rubbed his hands together. "Add another zero if you like."

"It's not about money," Virgil insisted. "Haven't you been listening to what I've been saying? I don't want to work for you and that's that."

"Ah, but you work for me already, Virgil," Haydyn pointed out smoothly. "I own InnTech lock, stock, and barrel...you, in effect. Since you insist on being difficult, I have no choice but to transfer you involuntarily to the testing division at AIS's main development center in Toronto."

Virgil knew right then and there that it was over. "Go to Hell. I quit."

Haydyn burst out laughing. "Really, now, Virgil. Be reasonable. Don't act like a petulant child in the midst of a temper tantrum. Consider my offer for a couple days. You'll realize it would be to your benefit to accept it. It would be a real shame for you to miss such a golden opportunity." Again, the friendly smile that barely concealed the deadly menace just below the surface.

Virgil had a sudden urge to flee the oppressive atmosphere, but something held him there. A mind-numbing heaviness settled over him. Haydyn's dark eyes were strangely bright and entrancing. He pushed the contract towards Virgil and handed him a pen.

Virgil set the point of the writing instrument on the contract and was about to sign when a voice calling his name pierced through his fogged brain.

"Sign it," Haydyn hissed in a harsh whisper.

"Virgil!" The voice called more insistently. A young woman hurried across the caf� toward him. She was in her mid-twenties with long, curly coppery-colored hair. Slender and small-boned, she moved with astonishing rapidity. "Virgil!"

"Sign it!" Haydyn ordered insistently.

Virgil began to obey when a hand snatched both pen and contract. Dr. Katherine Crawford, known more simply to those who knew her as "Kat", viciously tore the contract into tiny pieces and hurled them at Haydyn. They showered down over his head, fluttering in all directions like a gentle snow flurry.

Haydyn's lips curled in a snarl and the two glared at each other. Kat's clear gray eyes, were strangely similar to Haydyn's dark ones both in depth and intensity. For a long moment, neither spoke.

Then Haydyn's mouth twisted into a smile. Kat immediately frowned. Grabbing hold of Virgil, she pulled him to his feet and protectively placed herself between her and Haydyn.

"Stay away from him," she warned.

Haydyn chuckled. "Really, now, Katherine. You are so melodramatic...but then you always were, even as a young child."

"I mean it," Kat repeated, nudging Virgil towards the caf�'s exit. "I don't know what you're up to now, but leave him out of it."

Haydyn didn't answer. He watched darkly as Kat guided her dazed friend out of the caf� and into the lobby.

Furiously, he swept the torn remains of the contract and his empty coffee cup off the table.

"So close," he growled, slamming his fist on the table. "Why didn't you tell me she was here?" he demanded of Griffin as the big man lumbered over.

"I didn't know," Griffin said apologetically.

Haydyn regarded his henchman darkly for a moment. "I guess we'll have to go about this the hard way then..." he mused." And I know just who to call."

Chapter 4

Sammie couldn't stand it anymore. For the last ten minutes, Reggie had been batting his flight helmet around like a volleyball trying to keep it airborne as long as possible. He ran back and forth, zigzagging wildly, jumping and diving. The aircraft maintenance crew had paused in the pre-flight preparations and gathered around to watch. They whooped triumphantly every time Reg landed a successful spike.

"Will you cut it out?" she cried irritably. "Scott will be coming along any minute..."

"Too late," a voice behind her said. "Scott's already here."

Sammie jumped. She had been so distracted by Reggie's crazy contortions that she hadn't noticed their flight captain making his way across the tarmac. Scott's sudden appearance startled Reggie as well. He stopped in mid-step just as he was preparing to for a smashing upward blow. Missing the chance to hit it, the helmet flew downward and struck him in the head.

"Ow!" Reggie howled. In exaggerated movements he staggered around clutching his head as if mortally wounded.

pCollapsing to the ground, he groaned loudly and writhed like a snake. Scott and Sammie watched, both of them equally unimpressed by his performance.

There was a murmur of concern from the spectators and a couple of men moved to help. Scott waved them back and stood, with arms folded, over the fallen Lieutenant. "Are you finished?"

"Oh," moaned Reg. "I think I've got a concussion. I just can't go on the patrol now. Ohhhhh!"

"Ha," Scott snorted. "You're such a fake. If you think you're getting off that easy...."

In one swift movement, he reached down, grabbed Reggie's arms and hoisted him up. Reggie swayed unsteadily and fell forward. Scott caught him and carefully lowered the limp form to the ground. His firm belief that the injury was a fake started to crumble, as he looked over Reggie more closely.
p

"Reg?" Scott asked hesitantly.

Reggie's lips moved slightly and Scott bent over him in order to hear the faint words.

"What?" Scott whispered.

Reggie's eyes snapped open and he planted a big kiss on Scott's cheek. "Gotcha!" he cried.

"Oh, god!" Scott sputtered and gave his cheek a disgusted swipe then gave Reggie an angry poke in the chest.

"What'd I tell you about pulling that crap!"

"You...you...should have seen...your face," Reggie choked out the words with difficulty, as he rolled on the ground laughing uproariously.

Sammie shook her head and nudged him with her foot.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Reg? This isn't the time or place for jokes," she chided, disturbed by Scott's obvious anger.

She could tell he was mad. Really, really mad. She knew that if Reg would stop acting like a buffoon for a moment, he would see it too and settle down. Scott propelled to his feet. Blue eyes blazing, he looked like a dark cloud ready to rain down thunder and lightning. The fiery lecture of reproach that he planned on delivering to Reg never materialized. Commander Morris, like Scott, appeared suddenly.

"Performing pre-flight calisthenics, Lieutenant?" he asked.

He stared at Reggie reproachfully from under knit brows. Sheepishly, Reggie got to his feet and retrieved his helmet.

"Good. Now if you finished your bout of feckless recreation, we'll get down to business. We're five minutes beyond departure time."

Morris' attention shifted to Scott. "I know Commander Fayez's lackadaisical attention to time schedules, Captain. While you were under his command, I'm sure your unit got used to coming and going as they pleased. A bad habit that has no place here. I will not tolerate tardiness in patrol run departures in any way, shape or form, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Scott said curtly. "Perfectly understood."

"Good." Morris smiled. "As long as you follow my rules and regulations, Captain, you and I shall get along together beautifully."

Commander Morris went to check on the maintenance crew's progress. The patrol unit, usually consisting of two F-15 Strike Eagle fighters and two F-111 Aardvarks, had been stripped down in size to one of each plane. It was measure made by the powers that be to reduce the strain and stress on the special tactical air unit. Each of the officers in the unit had undergone rigorous training and met the highest standards of excellence. Because of that and their reputation as the best, there was a general consensus that they could do their jobs well even with the diminished patrol size.

Though he had complete faith in his people, Scott had his doubts about the mission plan. The no-fly/no aggression zone covered an enormous amount of rough terrain consisting of massive stands of coniferous forests and snow covered mountains, very different from the sandy wastelands of Northern Africa they were used to. Then of course, there was the Bereznik ingenuity at guerilla warfare to consider. Their talent at sneak attacks both on the land and in the air was a force to be reckoned with. Scott planned on feeling out the situation carefully for a couple of days and modifying their flight tactics and procedures accordingly. Having a new tactical attack system forced on them at the last minute by the Defense Department was bad enough, but having a nosy, critical, by-the-book base Commander along for the ride was simply insufferable.

It threw a major wrench in Scott's plans. He resented Commander Morris for his interference and blamed Reggie for bringing the whole unpleasant situation upon them. Fuming inwardly, Scott rubbed his temples trying to dissipate the stress headache that was rapidly worsening with each new aggravation. Beside him, Reggie toyed with the straps on his helmet, watching Morris verbally assailing the mechanics.

"We?" Reg murmured. "Why did he say that?"

"Who said what?" Sammie asked crossly.

"The Fuhrer," Reg answered, calling Morris by the nickname he had promptly assigned him after the morning's episode. "He said 'we'll get down to business.' What business would that be, Scott, and why is he putting his nose in it?"

Scott whirled on Reggie, planting himself as close as possible to his ear so he could say his piece without having the whole world hear it as well. Usually, on the rare occasions that he disciplined one of his people, he chose a private, secluded spot. The flight area didn't exactly fit that description, but Scott was so hopping mad that he couldn't wait.

"I'll tell you what Morris has in mind for us," Scott growled in a low whisper. "He's riding shotgun on our run because he wants to experience your aviational genius firsthand." He paused to let the words sink in. It had the desired effect; Reggie grimaced as if he had an acute bout of indigestion.

"So cut the theatrics, will you?" Scott continued, half-pleading. "And stop acting like a pinhead, for god's sake! Otherwise Morris'll never get off our backs. Fayez loved all that crap but this guy's got you pegged as a mental already."

Reggie placed a trembling hand on his stomach. "I don't feel so good, Scott. Maybe I've got some of that Russian flu floating around...guess I can't possibly go today."

"Maybe it's all those shots you were downing last night," Sammie countered. "More than likely though, it's a case of Morrisitis, in which case, there's no way in hell you're getting out of going."

Reggie eyes fell on their planes and his eyes lit up. "Three's company, four's a crowd!" he cried triumphantly.

"Where's the old walrus think he's going to plant himself? Out on the tail section?" He grinned. "Guess we could always stuff him in the aux fuel tank...lots of room there."

"Actually there's not," Sammie countered. "One of the guys told me there gassing us up all the way...we've got a lot of distance to travel, Reg, we'll need every bit of fuel they can give us if we want to make it back to Base."

"Sammie's staying behind," Scott said irritably.

"Yes!" Sammie beamed happily, thankful for her good fortune.

Reg, however, looked anything but pleased. "Who's doing my weapon systems then?"

"I am, Lieutenant," Morris answered pleasantly, overhearing the question as he returned.

For once, Reggie's sense of humor failed him. He chewed on his lower lip uncomfortably. "Uh...sir. I really don't think this is such a good idea," he said slowly, aiming his words at the Commander. "It's our first run and I don't flying with a complete stranger, sir...and with the new SEEK system..."

Morris dismissed Reggie's concerns. "Believe it or not, Lieutenant, I know what I'm doing. Though my skills might be a little rusty from sitting in the front office the past couple of years, I can still fly with the best of them." He smiled wryly. "And I guess we'll see whether or not you fall in that category, Lieutenant.�

Reggie swallowed and looked at Scott beseechingly.

Scott felt a twinge of pity, but pushed it away ruthlessly. Reg brought this whole situation on himself by taking on the mantle of court jester. For once, Scott didn't stand up for one of his officers. Not able to stand the look of surprise and betrayal openly exhibited in Reggie's expression, Scott hurried away to his plane.

"Ready to go, Erickson?" Morris asked pleasantly.

"Do I have a choice?" Reg replied miserably.

"No."

"Okay then. I'm ready." Reg suddenly became somber and all business. It was an altering, drastic change and often made people who didn't know the pilot think he had a multiple personality disorder.

As they were leaving, Sammie gave her flight partner's arm a gentle squeeze of encouragement. "You be careful out there, Reg. Come back in one piece, huh?"

Reg managed to smile slightly. "Don't worry, Sammie girl, I will. You don't think you'd get rid of me that easy, do you?"

A short time later Scott's plane sped down the runaway and gracefully lifted into the air, engines roaring. A minute later, the familiar Aardvark followed, wings angled at full forward for take-off.

Sammie watched them go anxiously, painfully aware that it could be the last time she ever saw them. Laughing at her ridiculous notions, she pushed the fearful thoughts out of her mind. It was just a simple, routine patrol run after all. What could possibly go wrong?

When Scott reached 20, 000 feet, he quickly accelerated to 1400 miles per hour. About 1000 feet below, Reggie brought the Aardvark into perfect alignment slightly behind and to the left of the Strike Eagle. It was the classic formation they always used on their patrols. The Strike Eagle used its multi-faceted tracking systems to scan for enemy aircraft while the heavier, larger plane scanned for potential targets on the ground.

When the landscape far below changed from urban sprawl to a blank, white expense, Scott checked their position. Ten more minutes until they reached Bereznik air space. He felt a thrill as he looked downward through the cloudy sky at the jagged mountain points with the green stubble of pines along their sides. It was a refreshing change of scene after the dull yellow desert wastelands they had been patrolling for nearly a year.

Scott brought his attention back to the task at hand. They weren't there on a sightseeing tour; this was serious business and there was no room for a single mistake. Besides, there was still the important task of setting up the SEEK system before they entered Bereznik air space. He activated the computer and hurriedly set up the satellite link, eager to see if all the things he had heard about the new revolutionary system were true.

In the cockpit of the Aardvark, Reggie had the same idea. He glanced sideways at Commander Morris who manned the weapon systems board next to him. "Activate the sat linker and get SEEK online...sir." He added the title absent-mindedly while he studied the terrain radar system readings. The varying depth of hard-packed snow coupled with massive stands of firs made the information a jumble of confusing, impossible-to-read data. "We're gonna need it," Reggie said decidedly. "Too much junk down there. We're getting nothing using the TRS."

Morris hesitated and eyed the unfamiliar equipment uncertainly. Noticing his confusion, Reggie casually reached over and flicked a switch. Immediately, the SEEK system activated, and after the passage of a few minutes, began displaying a three-dimensional view of the surface terrain. Streams of identification information appeared on another monitor halfway between them. The new tactical system was a technological breakthrough and promised to fortify the superiority of the World Government's multi-national military forces.

Reggie relaxed and sighed happily. "Ahhh. Much better. Whoever invented this thing was a genius. I mean, look at all that info...it�s telling us everything we ever we ever wanted to know about snow and trees...not exactly the most interesting subjects in the world, but I sure hope it stays that way. It's a heck of a lot better than learning first-hand about Bereznik artillery placements and missile launchers, don't you think, Commander?"

"I agree with you there, Lieutenant."

This time Morris' smile was sincere and both men felt the tension in the air dissolving away.

Reggie spoke into the microphone built into this helmet. "Scott...I mean, Captain sir. SEEK's activated and operational. Once we hit the border I'll descend to 15,000 feet and start the primary surface scan."

"Right," Scott answered. "I'll stay heads up at 20."

"Right-o. Mind if I tune into some of that funky Brezzy music, Captain?" Reggie asked, having a fondness for listening in to local radio bands on missions.

There was a moment of silence before Scott answered. "No, I guess not. As long as Commander Morris doesn't mind."

Reggie turned to the older man beside him and looked at him questioningly.

Morris nodded his permission and Reggie eagerly tuned in the radio band searcher until he found a frequency that suited him. The sound of extremely loud rave-style music with a booming beat sounded over the speakers. The Commander grimaced and Reggie quickly changed the channel. A voice came over the speakers speaking in a foreign language which sounded like a mixture of Russian and German.

Reggie listened with utter concentration and effortlessly translated the foreign words to English for Commander Morris who showed great interest in the broadcast.

".... The World Government seeks to steal our resources, destroy our cities, kill and enslave our citizens...even now they are planning a major attack with neutronic bombs in the hope to decimate our population and cripple our defenses..." Reggie paused before continuing. "They have detained two Bereznik tourists and subjected them to brutal torture in a squalid Unity City prison center..."

"What a load of propagandist bull shit!" Reg snorted in disgust. No longer in the mood for music, he silenced the radio with a vicious poke. "Tourists, indeed! How convenient to leave out the fact that these innocent vacationers were members of the Stasee with bombs attached to their legs, trying to board a domestic flight with four hundred civilians to New York City...and torture in a squalid prison center! Those guys never had it so good, three square meals a day, shelter, a complete set of clothes, and modern medical treatment. How many other Bereznik citizens can lay claim to that good fortune?"

"When did you learn to speak the language?" Morris asked curiously.

"My pop was a colonel in the Bereznik Army. They threw him out of the country for being a political dissident years back before General Benenora took over. Despite the fact he changed his name and pretended he was from Russia, he was a loyalist through and through. My sisters and I couldn't speak a word of English in his presence or he'd take a strap to us."

The Commander eyed him critically almost suspiciously. "I didn't know that. Your personnel file said nothing about that facet of your family history. What does your Father think of the state of things now?"

"Nothing. He's been dead for close to ten years now."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Morris apologized.

Reggie chuckled. "I'm not, sir. He was a real son of a bitch and dying was the nicest thing he ever did for the world."

They passed into Bereznik air space. In the Strike Eagle, Scott carefully checked the SEEK readings for enemy aircraft. It made him nervous to think of coming up against of squadron of Midi fighters, just him and Reggie, who would be really handicapped in a dogfight by the Commander's lack of recent combat experience. Thankfully, their intrusion seemed to go unnoticed at least for the time being and the screens remained clear.

"All clear," Scott told Reggie. "Descend to 15 and get on with it. No use in hanging around to see if they'd like to come out and play with us."

"Right-o. Descending to 15,000 feet."

Reggie looked downward at the snow-covered ground. A strange clump of round mounds of snow caught his eye.

He immediately looked at the SEEK monitor for clarification and scanned over the data quickly. "We've got geos, Scott, at 6.75 degrees terrestrial," he announced when the readings showed the presence of geometrical patterns below.

"I'm getting them. Getting any mo's?"

Reggie checked for the presence of metallic and organic compounds. "Not any definites. There seems to be some interference from the high lead levels in the snow so they could be there and we're just not getting them."

"Run a secondary scan," Morris suggested. "Only this time, select out heavy metals. They don't matter anyway since the Berezniks make everything out of alloys."

"Good idea," Reggie said approvingly. He made the adjustments and waited for the SEEK system to update. A few seconds later, an array of meaningless, almost random numbers and letters poured onto the screen and the speakers exploded into static. The other computer systems flickered and died, some throwing a few weak sparks.

"What the devil..." Reggie reached and toggled a couple of switches. A sensor flashing red caught his eye. "Oh, shit!" he swore quietly. "An electromag burst!"

"What's wrong?" demanded Morris.

Reggie didn't answer. "Scott!" he shouted into his headset. "We've got major problems! They've nailed us with a..."

He got no further than that when a missile whizzed by close by and exploded. Reggie's quick instincts saved them from getting caught in the aftershock. He desperately banked right, managing somehow to dodge it. The Aardvark's engines screamed in protest as they rapidly ascended at an almost ninety degree angle.

"Where the hell did that come from?!" Morris shouted.

Reggie didn't answer; he was trying to bring the downed systems back on line. The instruments told him nothing.

"Try to activate the tactical navigation system," he told Morris impatiently. "We'll track the exhaust particles to their source and nail them that way."

Before Morris could do anything, another missile exploded only a few meters away from them. It was too close this time. The force of the explosion shattered the cockpit's windows, hurling shards of shrapnel and glass inward.

Though stunned, Reggie instinctively grasped his emergency oxygen facemask and slid it on, thankful for their heavy flight suits. Without the added protection, the sharp fragments would have impaled them like porcupine quills.

Turning to Morris, he was horrified to see the Commander slumped against the control panel. A huge piece of heavy missile casing, a good four feet in diameter had smashed through and struck him. The twisted, smoking piece of metal rested on top of Morris' head and upper torso. Struggling against the furious force of air roaring inward, Reggie somehow managed to lean over and reach the injured officer. He tried to move the debris but couldn't get enough leverage to flip it over. Painfully aware that he might get sucked out of his seat if he wasn't careful, Reggie partially unhooked his safety restraints to get more of a grip on the sheet. It was heavy and he strained to lift it. He caught sight of a trickle of dark red staining the Commander's exposed cheek. Desperation gave him added strength and he somehow managed to push the casing to the side. Hurriedly, he fitted the other oxygen mask over Morris' mouth. There was no time to check to see if he was alive or not. A more immediate danger threatened.

The Aardvark was still plunging downward towards the snowy world below. Struggling with the sluggish controls, Reggie tried to ease the plane out of its dive by adjusting the wing angles. Bracing against the G-forces that pushed him back against his seat with tremendous force, he mentally repeated a childhood prayer as the white expanse of wasteland rushed up to meet them. Then, at last the wings responded and angled in correct position. They were only 1500 feet off the ground by the time the plane leveled out. Cold sweat ran down his forehead into his eyes and the oxygen from the mask froze a sheet of perspiration on his upper lip. They had avoided crashing but they were still not out of trouble.

He gradually became aware of Scott's voice buzzing in his ear.

"Reg! Can you hear me? Are you guys okay?"

"No," Reggie replied flatly. "Commander Morris is down. He may have a head injury...I have no idea how bad. Where the hell did those missiles come from?"

"I don't know. I'm not getting anything. All my systems are completely out." Scott paused. "What's your damage?"

"I dunno. Instrumentation is totally fried. Except the fuel gauges." Reggie noticed with dismay that they were showing a rapid reduction in the amount of fuel available. "I've got a leak somewhere, I know that much for certain. Must be the shrapnel punctured the forward fuel tanks."

"What about the auxiliary tanks?"

Reggie checked. "No help there. I'm not getting any readings. I think the line's been severed."

"Can you make it back to base?" Scott sounded hopeful.

"No," Reggie pronounced with dead certainty.

"How about to the Russian border?"

"Maybe, but we're leaking like a sieve. I can try to make it and land her in a clearing of some kind, but I'm not getting any response on the landing gear control system at the moment."

Scott thought quickly. "You'll have to jettison in the cockpit escape module then."

"Down there? In the middle of Bereznik territory?" Reggie cried incredulously. "No way!"

"It's either that or crash land. You'll have a better chance at survival if you use the escape."

"Not if the Bereznik Army gets a hold of us," Reggie muttered bleakly. "And I have a hunch they'll send the welcome wagon out looking as soon as we bail."

Scott was about to speak when a silvery form flashed by. Immediately another passed by on the other side.

Midi Fighters! Scott immediately recognized the sleek contours of the infamous Bereznik air attackers. He checked his heads up display to check their positions but the screen was dimly blank except for a flashing error message in the corner. No help there. All computer radar systems were completely hosed by the powerful electromagnetic burst, which had wreaked havoc on nearly every computer system and sensor in both the planes.

"Scott!" Reggie sounded extremely unhappy. "I've got company down here!"

"Me, too. I'm counting three, but I've only got my eyes to rely on for that number. How many on your side?"

"Two...I think...maybe three..."

A foreign voice interrupted. Scott couldn't understand what was being said, but he knew it couldn't be good since there was a decidedly hostile note in the speaker's tone. After a couple of minutes, Scott grew tired of listening to the droning words. "What's this blowhard saying, Reg?"

"The normal spiel," Reggie answered. "Basically, he's telling us what crimes we're guilty of against the Bereznik people and how we shall be punished."

"Oh," Scott said, unable to keep back a wry smile. "And I thought he was pointing out all the landmarks down below. Anything else?"

"Just that we have two minutes to surrender or..." Reggie's voice faltered slightly.

"Or what?" Scott prompted.

"Or they'll scatter our atoms to the four winds."

Scott swallowed. The threat was not an idle one. The Berezniks enthusiastically embraced the opportunity to use deadly force on their enemies. And in less than two minutes, that was just what they were planning on doing.

"Sixty seconds," Reggie said impassively. Though he was nervous, his experience in combat situations helped him push his fear aside and stay clear and focused. "Are we going to wave the white flag, Scott?"

Scott didn't answer right away. He had shutdown all the Strike Eagle's computer systems and was trying to restart them. He, too, felt no fear, only a sense of urgency and impatience with the malfunctioning equipment. If he could get the tactical combat systems back up, they might have a chance.

The fact they were grossly outnumbered didn't bother Scott; he had been in such situations numerous times before. What was more disturbing though, was that the Aardvark was becoming dangerously low on fuel and would never make it back to the Base. Reggie and the Commander would have to bail soon, possibly within minutes. Thankfully, Morris, though still unconscious, didn't seem to be too gravely injured except for a good knock on the head and a couple of scrapes.

"Scott?"

"What's your fuel status?" Scott asked, knowing the answer was going to disturb him.

"We're just about empty."

Reggie said nothing more. He was listening to the babble of Bereznik voices on the radio frequency as they conversed back and forth.

"Can you make it to Russian air space?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Reggie answered absently-mindedly. He felt a growing sense of anticipation as the seconds ticked away. "Thirty seconds, Scott."

"I know." Scott held his breath as the heads up computer flashed on and off, as if the machine was trying to make up its mind whether to function properly or not.

"Come on, baby, come on..." he muttered under his breath.

The harsh, foreign voice came over the speakers, again droning on.

"Time's up, Scott!" Reggie exclaimed.

The Strike Eagle's computer systems came back to life with a mechanical whir.

"Got it!" Scott cried triumphantly. He didn't have a chance to celebrate. One of the Midi's to his left moved dangerously close, trying to force him to change position. Instead of moving away, Scott headed towards his enemy.

It was the ultimate game of chicken. The two fighters threatened to collide when the Bereznik pilot lost his nerve and dived out of the way. No longer boxed in, Scott turned sharply right and descended.

Their formation broken, the Midis scattered. A babble of angry voices sounded over the radio. Strangely, they made no move to pursue the Strike Eagle.

Reggie listened with grim satisfaction. "Surprised 'em, Scott." He paused as some more verbal exchanges passed.

"That's funny..."

Scott detected the note of confusion in the Lt.'s voice. "What is?"

"Notice they aren't going after you?"

"I noticed."

"They seem to be worried about damaging us."

"I'm a little worried about that myself," Scott said wryly.

"It's a bit out of character, don't you think?"

"A bit," Scott agreed. "Maybe they don't want to start an international incident by shooting us down."

Reggie snorted. "They were never concerned about that before. Must be something else..."

"Does it matter?" Scott said, keeping his eyes on the monitor tracking the Bereznik fighters every move. "Every second they don't attack we're getting closer to the Russian border."

"It matters," Reggie said grimly. "Those suckers never do anything without a reason. I think they're after something. I'd just like to know what it is. Might come in handy sometime...like when the Commander and I are being interrogated by the Stasee."

Scott cursed. "Jeez, will you stop saying stuff like that? You'll make it to the Russian border, bail out, and a rescue team will pick you up and have you home in time for lunch."

Neither of them believed it, but somehow the words were comforting.

"Right-o, Scott. Your treat, right?" Reggie said lightly.

Before Scott could answer, a sharp intake of breath and a mumbled curse signaled the arrival of the fuel sensor on empty.

"That's it!" Reg announced. "Fuel's out!" He had to shout to be heard over the whining claxon warning of the dire situation.

Immediately, the Aardvark's engines died, roared into life again briefly, then stopped again. Reggie, his knuckles showing white, grasped the controls tightly trying to keep the faltering plane on course. "We're losing altitude!"

Scott watched helplessly, knowing there was nothing he could do except sit and watch as they plummeted toward the ground below. The SEEK system, coldly impersonal, affirmed the fact that the plane was indeed losing height as an astonishingly rapid pace. Reggie's skill was the only thing that kept the heavy plane from tumbling into a nosedive as he guided it towards a clearing among the green clumps of bristly conifers.

There was an increased note of urgency in the Bereznik's transmissions, but without Reggie's help at translating, Scott had no idea what they were saying and, for the moment at least, he didn't care. He only had eyes for the crippled plane as it fell from the sky towards the snowy, hostile world below.

Scott checked their position. Only two hundred miles from the Russian border. It may as well have been a million. There was no chance now that Reggie and Morris would make it to the relative safety of friendly Russian territory.

Reggie's voice, strangely calm and steady drifted over the radio. "Well, Scott. Guess this is it. Never thought I'd be bailing out...and in Bereznik, of all places...this just isn't my lucky day."

"You'll be fine, Reg. Activate the distress beacon once you hit the ground so Rescue can find you. They'll be coming."

"So will the Berezniks," Reggie muttered. "They'll be real anxious to give us a slam, bang welcome."

Reggie prepared for the launch of the escape module, entering his id code and checking the settings. When all was prepared, a simple push of a button would separate the cockpit from the rest of the plane. A mammoth, specially designed parachute and a set of breaking thrusters would slow their fall and air bags along the base of the module would activate to cushion their landing.

The Aardvark shuddered as Reg fought to angle the wings upward once more, hoping to give them a few extra minutes to finish entering the necessary codes.

"Damn bureaucratic red tape," he growled, irritated by the numerous steps he had to perform. "What's next? Do I have to write an essay about why I'd like to avoid smashing into the ground in this crate?"

"Reg!" Scott sounded nervous. "Hurry up, if you don't eject soon..."

"I am! This is a military plane, remember? Everything's got to be bloomin' difficult!" Reggie snapped.

"Good thing I'm not in a hurry," he added sarcastically as he entered the last code. A green light on his console twinkled signaling the module was ready to launch.

"Right-o, Scott. We're ought of here in two minutes. See ya later.... hopefully," Reggie added, unable to stop himself from expressing the gloomy pessimism he felt, both about landing in one piece and what would happen thereafter.

"Okay..." Scott began, trying to think of something encouraging to say.

Before he could, an unfamiliar harsh, Bereznik voice sounded over the radio. Though Scott didn't know what was said, he knew it was a command. Immediately, the Midi fighters streaked towards him.

"Watch it, Scott!" Reggie cried a warning, catching the last transmission. "They've just got orders to shoot you down!"

Scott eyed the heads-up display grimly. "Did they? We'll see about that!"

Five blips, each representing an enemy fighter, glowed on the monitor. The two shadowing the faltering Aardvark side-by-side did not leave their guarding position. The other three dove sharply in hot pursuit of the Strike Eagle.

Scott immediately slammed upward into a steep dive, and cut the engines. The Midis below streaked ahead and Scott activated the reset switch, praying to god that the engines would re-fire. There was a comforting roar as the flames re-ignited and Scott rapidly accelerated back down, already lining up one of the Midis in his sights.

The Midi pilot, realizing he was now the pursued instead of the pursuer, tried to shake the Strike Eagle by a variety of circus stunts, spinning and turning in a variety of aerial contortions. Undisturbed and completely unchallenged, Scott dogged stayed on his target. Grimly satisfied, he waited until he heard the familiar low-toned melodic note that told him the combat computer had made a target lock.

Without hesitation, he fired. The missile streaked across the sky, leaving a white, puffy exhaust stream in its wake. It hit directly and the Midi exploded into a ball of fire.

Reggie saw the explosion and whooped triumphantly, keeping one eye on the chronometer that told him they'd have to launch the escape module in less than twenty seconds.

"One down, four to go," Scott said, his voice grim. He wasn't out the woods yet by far; there were still the other Midis to deal with.

In the Aardvark, Reggie's gaze settled on the two fighters off to his left. They were so close he could see the Bereznik insignia's on the pilots' helmets. A fanatical plan began to form in the back of his mind. He checked the chronometer. Ten seconds... Enough time. Knowing that he might be forfeiting the Commander's and his own life, he jerked the plane into a sideways roll directly into the fighter next to him.

The movement was so quick the Bereznik pilot had time only to scream as the two planes collided into each other. The smaller fighter burst into flames and separated into two sections. One of the sections hurled outward and clipped its companion. The frightened shouts of the second pilot over the open channel alerted Scott to the situation below.

He looked down in time to see the damaged fighter spinning out of control towards the snowy forest below. Staring in horror, he saw the Aardvark breaking apart, following the same course that the Midi had a few moments before.

"Reg!" he shouted.

A large object flew upward from the smoking hulk of the plane. Then an enormous nylon parachute erupted and the escape module began it's descent downward. The shock absorbing retro-thrusters fired in short little bursts, sending puffs of white smoke drizzling upward, quickly dissipating in the frosty, dry air.

Scott gasped and slumped back in his seat. His relief was short-lived however, as the heads-up display screamed a warning that he was under target lock. He realized too late that somehow the pilot of the one of the other Midis that he had been pursuing had got the upper hand in the split second he had been distracted.

Scott desperately tried to avoid the missile that the display showed was streaking towards him. Too late. The missile missed its direct mark, but clipped the Strike Eagle's wing, severing it from the fuselage. Immediately, the plane plunged downward, spinning wildly out of control.

Scott fought with the controls, knowing it was useless. He was going down and there was nothing to do but eject. The white world below spun crazily as the plane screamed towards the earth with ever increasing speed.

Fighting against the dizziness and nausea that swept over him, Scott reached for the switch that would activate the escape mechanism. His finger barely touched it, when the cockpit exploded outward and he felt himself flying through the air. Cold stabbed his body with a thousand icy fingers and the fury of the wind stole the breath from his lungs. He felt his parachute unfold and snap open. The jerk snapped his neck so violently that his legs and toes tingled.

Though the parachute slowed his fall, he could see the ground rushing up to meet him. It was colored green instead of white. He was heading towards a stand of tall pines that were packed so close together that their broad bows hid the snowy ground at their bases.

Oh shit, thought Scott unable to think of a less crude epithet for his situation at present. Landing on the snowy plain without breaking a leg would have been difficult enough, but settling down among a bunch of mammoth, prickly trees!

A minute of calm silence allowed his apprehension to grow. Scott was close enough to see the individual branches and the oblong clumps of green pointy needles along their length.

Scott held his breath and closed his eyes as his feet touched featherlight at the very peak of one of the largest trees. Then he was smashing downward, needles scratching the part of his face left exposed by his helmet. Smaller branches cracked and crumbled under his weight, while the heavier, more resisting obstacles smashed with bone crushing force.

Then his head connected with something solid that even the helmet's protective layers couldn't fully absorb. Through a haze of pain, Scott became vaguely aware that he was no longer falling. Thankful for that small favor, he rested a moment, waiting for his head to clear.

He put down his foot tentatively and was shocked to find no solid resistance. Opening his dimmed eyes, he was dismayed to see layers of branches stretching downward leading to a tiny patch of white that was barely visible. The snow-covered ground was a good 50 meters below. He gazed at it stupidly, wondering how he could be held levitated in such an awkward position.

Of course, his dulled brain deducted as he swayed back and forth in a lulling hypnotic motion. The parachute. It must have caught on a branch or something.

One look upward proved the hypothesis correct. The light material had tangled around a stout protrusion, which appeared to be the remnant stump of a broken limb. Not much between him and a nasty bone-breaking nose-dive.

As if it was a mocking response to Scott's concerns, the noise of tearing fabric disturbed the stillness. A section of the parachute began to tear away. Dropping a foot or so, Scott braced himself for the plunge. Fortunately, the material was tough and held.

"Well, Scott," he muttered out loud. "How are you going to get yourself out of this one?"

There was no answer except the rustle of pines boughs from a frigid northern breeze.

Chapter 5

John tried not to fall asleep as he listened to the lecture on rocket propulsion systems, but his eyes were so heavy that keeping them open was nearly an impossible task. Many of his fellow students must have felt the same way, for there were numerous nodding heads and bleary-eyed yawns. The instructor's monotonous voice didn't help keep attention focused on the rather dry, tedious topic either. John was so exhausted from that morning's surprise ten mile bout of cross-country training, that he couldn't rouse more than a dull spark of enthusiasm for a subject he would have found extremely interesting in a more rested state.

The Space Agency's Astronaut Training Program was an extremely competitive, vigorous program full of physical and mental exertions. John had no difficulty with the intellectual component, but the physical challenges that were thrust upon them day after day were beginning to take a toll on him. Rousing up at five o'clock every morning after studying until midnight or later made him both groggy and extremely irritable, but he had no choice if he wanted to stay at the top of the roster.

Thank goodness for the weeklong holiday that began the next day. John had been looking forward to it for a long time and had carefully scheduled enjoyable pursuits for every minute of every day. He planned on catching up on all the hours of sleep that he had missed over the last four months since he had entered the program. In his waking hours he figured on exploring the local spots of interest that he never seemed to have time to see. Not by himself of course. John smiled when he thought of his best friend and top rival in the class, Jessica Matthews. He shot a quick glance across the room and was pleased to see that she looked as bored as the rest of them. Her eyes were half-closed and she slouched over her desk, propping herself up with an elbow.

He knew that he should go home to check on what was going on with his Father, but a recent argument with Virgil about the very subject made him change his mind about making the trip. Even though he felt guilty about not going, John wanted to prove that he was an adult and could make his own decisions with interference from the older brother department. Plus, he couldn't resist the allure of spending some time with Jessica without the pressures of the training program upon them.

His thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of one of the administrative assistants from the training department making an appearance at the door. The instructor stopped talking and waved her onward. She entered the room, scanning over the rows of faces.

"John Tracy," she said when she spotted the object of her search. "You've got a personal call."

Acutely aware of the instructor's disapproving eyes upon him, John went to take the call.

Better not be Virgil or Alan, he thought angrily as he turned off the call-waiting button and waited for the signal to come through. He felt a surge of surprise when he saw the face in the monitor. It was Helen Frost, his father's secretary at Tracy Aerospace.

"Helen!" he cried, troubled by her worried expression.

"John! Thank heavens I finally reached you. I tried to get a hold of Virgil but he doesn't answer and I'm not sure of Alan's number, Scott's out on some mission or another and Gordon..."

"What's wrong?" John asked apprehensively.

"It's your father..." Helen began.

He's dead, John thought numbly. Closing his eyes, John braced himself for the next words he knew were coming.

"...I'm really very worried about him. He's here from morning to night, seven days a week. He's not acting a bit like himself. Do you know what he did this afternoon in a department head meeting?"

John was so relieved that he hardly heard what she was saying. "What?" he managed to ask.

"He fired the entire drafting department because they mislabeled one of the Sun Probe plans. It's was a minor mistake really and didn't matter a bit but he acted like it was the end of the world. Of course he wasn't in earnest, but I'm afraid of what he'll do next. I wish that one of you boys would come and take him in hand..."

"Virgil's the one for that," John said decidedly. "Did you talk to him about this?"

"I did and he flew in last weekend to reason with him, but they had a terrible quarrel...it was really quite awful...Jeff actually threw a coffee cup at him and called him a back-stabbing traitor and told him to leave...Virgil wouldn't, so Jeff called the police and had him thrown out..."

Though he found his father's odd behavior extremely disturbing, John couldn't help but smile at the picture of the police tossing his straight-arrow, law-abiding brother out on his ear.

"You've got to be kidding me!" he muttered, as he listened to Helen continue to relate the fantastically unbelievable, but thoroughly enjoyable story. "What did Virgil do then?"

"Nothing. He flew back to Denver and said he'd be back when things cooled down. He's been calling every day but your father won't speak to him."

Funny, his brother didn't mention that when he last spoke to him two days before.

"What's Dad so steamed up about?" John wanted to know.

"I'm not sure exactly, but I think it has something to do with Virgil's job at InnTech."

"What about it?"

"I'm not sure," Helen answered, smiling worriedly. "You know that I'm not an eavesdropper, John."

"I know." John smiled back. The kindly, honest woman had been at Tracy Aerospace from the very beginning. No one was more loyal or dedicated to the welfare of Jeff Tracy than she was. That was why all he and his brothers took her concerns very seriously.

She continued on. "Virgil says he'll be back out midweek, but I'm not so sure that it can wait until then...�

"Are things that bad?" John asked bleakly.

"Worse. I do wish you'd speak to him, John."

"Me?" John laughed. "If he won't listen to Virgil, he's sure as hell not going to listen to anything I have to say. I carry the least favored nation status in the Tracy family."

Helen looked surprised. "Why, John! Whatever do you mean? Graduating from Harvard with high honors and now the top recruit in the Space Agency Astronaut Training Program...your father is very proud of you."

John shrugged. "He may be proud of me, Helen, but he doesn't like me. We've never been close ...never will be either."

"Ridiculous!" Helen snorted in disgust. "Where did you get such a notion?"

"From living on this earth as his son for the last twenty-two years," John said, his voice taking on a tone of bitterness. Talking about his relationships with family, particularly his father, always made John extremely uncomfortable and he tried to change the subject.

"Maybe Scott can talk to him," he suggested hopefully.

Helen shook her head doubtfully. "I don't think a long-distance telecall is going to be enough. I really wish you'd come home, John."

"Okay," John agreed reluctantly, wishing there were some way he could escape his duty. "I'll come."

There went all the good times he had planned. Instead, he'd be locked in mortal combat with his father, complete with all the unpleasant trimmings that a confrontation of that type always carried. He sighed and drearily headed back to the classroom, already making mental preparations for the fight to come. What a way to spend his hard-earned vacation!

Becker hummed happily as he made a final adjustment to his "borrowed" clothing. Two men, bound and gagged, lay in the corner of the small Ski Patrol booth at the base of the mountain, watching his movements with unconcealed fear. Fitting a thermal-lined cap on his head, Becker did a couple of quick dance steps, finishing with his arms outstretched.

"Wa-lah!" he cried joyously. "What do you think, boys?" he asked the two captives. "Do I look snazzy or what?"

On the other side of the room, the Hood, armed with a pair of binoculars, peered out the window towards the ski lift. He paid no attention to his comrade's silliness, though he found Becker's warped sense of humor somewhat amusing. Especially the way he toyed with his victims' emotions and fears, all the while exuding an enthusiastic friendliness.

Though Becker might seem harmless enough and incapable of violence, the Hood knew just how deadly he could be. Becker's capacity for murderous villainy was a match to his own and made him the perfect companion for a myriad of criminal pursuits.

An electronic beep made him turn around. Becker reached into his discarded jacket and produced a cell phone. Flipping it open, he answered it. Listening for a moment, his ever-present smile broadened into an ecstatic grin.

"Of course," he purred like a monstrous cat. "Nothing would be more pleasing, especially for my esteemed colleague."

Becker ended the call and regarded the Hood pleasantly.

"Well?" the Hood growled, expectantly waiting for something to be said.

"There's been a change of plans."

The Hood scowled.

"Now, Belah. Don't look like that. You're going to like this...you're going to have a chance to work off some of those vengeful feelings you've been experiencing as of late."

The Hood bared his teeth, having little patience for Becker's lack of verbal directness. "Say what you mean for once, you damn fool."

Becker smiled, undisturbed. "Really now, Belah. Is that any way to talk to a fellow criminal? You shouldn't be such a grouch especially since you're going to get what you wish for."

"What's that?"

"Revenge, of course, of the Tracy variety."

The Hood instantly became interested. It was what he had been waiting for many long months since the accursed lot had thwarted his plans to destroy the Nova. Now, finally, the day of golden opportunity had arrived. At last, the Hood thought gleefully, a chance to get even...

Kat eyed Virgil, obviously disturbed by his unexplained mental state. Neither moving nor speaking, Virgil sat in the chair she had guided him to by the lobby's main entrance. He offered no answers to her concerned questions except to stare at her in confusion. Though he could see her lips moving and heard the jumble of words, he could make no sense of them.

Kat tried again. This time she knelt on the floor in beside the chair, her clear grey eyes looking searchingly into his brown ones. "Gus? Can you hear me? Are you alright?"

He did not respond to the affectionate nickname she had given him when they were children so she tried his given name.

"Virgil, please!" she pleaded. "Say something! You're making me nervous."

She took one of his hands in hers. He could feel the warm pressure of her fingers against his skin. It was comforting, reassuring. A memory stirred somewhere in his mind. They were children again, laying on the grass gazing up at the dark night sky brilliantly alive with twinkling stars, talking of such things that only young minds full of dreams might conjure up. Dreams that slowly ebbed away as the two best friends grew up and changed.

Like a tonic, her touch seemed to have a restorative effect.

Virgil blinked at her and smiled wanly. "What's with the funeral face, Kat? Someone die?"

She gazed at him somberly, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Almost I think. What in god's name did you think you were doing?�

"Doing?" Virgil echoed blankly. "Why? What was I doing?"

"Haydyn. Don't go near him, Gus. He's an evil son-of-a-bitch."

Virgil grinned. "Is that a scientific analysis, Doctor?"

Kat smiled back only slightly. Though she had a well-developed humor, she could see nothing funny about the man who had been her stepfather for nearly twenty years. A man she both despised and regarded with a mixture of caution and fear.

"Okay, smarty. Let state the facts for you, scientifically . The human known as James Haydyn, by outward appearance possesses the typical anatomical and physiological characteristics of a normal male Homo sapiens; however, his mental processes have evolved to a level of pure, unadulterated evil only rarely found in the species. Example: Adolph Hitler, Joseph Stalin, General Benenora, Satan...."

"Don't hold back now, Kat," Virgil teased. "Tell me what you really think of him."

"...And I have based this conclusion on years of observation and personal experience with the subject and strongly recommend against contact of any type, whether it be direct or indirect." She paused, miffed by his jesting attitude. "If you don't believe me, you can ask your father or Collie Davis...if he was alive."

At the mention of Collie, Virgil became somber. "Then you think he did have something to do with the whole Nova affair?"

"Of course."

"But there's no proof..."

Kat sighed. "That's James Haydyn for you. Slithering about like a poisonous snake, he leaves no tracks, no connections that can be traced back to him."

She patted Virgil on the knee and rose to her feet in a single, graceful movement. "Don't worry, Gus. He'll get what he deserves one day. In the meantime, follow my advice and keep a healthy distance from him. I don't know why he's turned his attention on you, except perhaps to plague your Father. Whatever were you talking about anyway?"

Virgil scratched his head. His memory was still a little dimmed, but he could recall the gist of the unpleasant conversation. "He wants me to work for him at AIS."

"Ha! You should have told him where he could stick his job offer!"

"That's just it. I did...but then I didn't." Virgil stopped talking, confused. "I was going to sign that contract, Kat...I don't know why, but I was going to do it. Good thing you came along when you did. Guess I owe you one."

"Just one?" Kat teased. "You owe me a lot more than that, buddy. Think of all the times I've saved you from yourself."

She poked him playfully in the ribs. "For someone so steady and reliable, you sure get into a lot of trouble. Must be that kid brother of yours rubbing off on you."

"Speaking of that kid brother of mine...wonder what's keeping him." Virgil checked his watch.

It was nearly five-thirty. Not late by Alan's standards really. Still, it was getting dark outside. The huge spotlights that lit the ski slopes had already been turned on and there was no sign of the dim early winter sun as heavy clouds rolled in from the northwest.

Kat, a confirmed caffeine addict, urged Virgil to come to caf� with her for a cup of coffee while they waited. After ascertaining that Haydyn and his lackey were indeed gone, they entered the now-crowded room and found a cozy spot by one of the large picture windows facing towards the mountain. From their vantage point, they could see the streams of people, skis hoisted on their shoulders like so many radio antennas, passing by on their way to the main ski lift just up from the lodge about hundred meters or so.

Kat ordered a coffee and despite Virgil's protests, ordered him one too. While they were waiting, Kat told him about her numerous projects at the World Defense Department. As a brilliant computer scientist, she had been assigned to perfect the new SEEK system.

"Actually, that's why I'm going to Russia," Kat explained. "The USAF just started using the system in their patrols of the Bereznik no-fly/no aggression zone. I want to make sure everything's in working order before giving final approval for standard usage."

Virgil was about to answer, when he caught sight of a face passing by the window. It was uncannily familiar and he tried to pull a name from his reluctant memory. That face...then it hit him hard as remembrance triumphed. A chill surged through him and his skin crawled.

It was the cold-blooded murderer that had killed Collie and countless others with his sabotage and mechanical subversion during the years he had been at the Space Agency.

Becker.

Chapter 6

A couple of flakes of snow drifted down cooling Scott's feverishly hot forehead. He studied the branch above him thoughtfully. Too high to reach by at least a couple of feet.

But maybe, just maybe...

It might work. He could use the parachute harness as a rope to climb up to the nearest branch. It was his only chance.

Scott reached for the straps that connected his harness to the parachute. Hand over hand, he gingerly climbed upward, keeping a cautious eye upon the tearing portion of the parachute above.

His shifting weight hastened the separation of the material. Rip. Rip. Rip. He could hear each stitch separate, feel the vibrations of the weakening support through the straps that he clung to. He stopped for a second to get a better grip.

Unable to help it, he glanced down. Was it his imagination or did the ground look even more distant than he had originally thought? His eyes must be playing tricks. Still, he could almost see the ground getting further away. He started climbing again. There wasn't time to hang around and wonder about it.

Just hanging around... Reggie always said that whenever Scott asked what he was doing, followed by a lengthy excuse justifying his lack of activity.

Reg...

Scott couldn't think about his friend now. There was no time to waste with only an inch of military-issue cloth between him and the forest floor below.

He grasped the thick limb with one hand and the rough bark cut into his sweaty palms. Ignoring the pain, he tightened his grip and brought his other hand into place. He dangled for a moment, resting for the coming exertion.

Scott took a deep breath. The crisp freshness of the cold air invigorated him, renewed his strength. Kicking his legs for momentum, he made a tremendous effort, heaved himself up and collapsed onto the branch. He lay still with his face pressed against the course bark, panting heavily from the exertion. The smell of the sweet fragrance of pine tickled his nose and he sneezed. Gobs of sticky sap that wept from gaps and knotholes stuck to his face and hands.

Scott had the sudden urge to laugh. If anyone had told him that morning that he'd holed up in a pine tree somewhere out in the Bereznik wilderness... The whole thing would be downright funny except, of course, for the very real possibility that he would never make it out of there alive. He had no food, no survival gear, and no radio. Added onto the pile, the Berezniks would doubtlessly be on his trail by now. Not good odds. Not good at all.

He lay there for a long time and listened to the wind dance through the branches. Far above, a dark northern cloud raced across the brackish sky. Delicate snowflakes swirled through the air, coloring the pine boughs a dusty white. The snow became denser as each minute passed and the gloom of the forest deepened. It was not yet noon, but it seemed as if night was already claiming the day for it's own.

Scott shivered, feeling the cold more keenly since the adrenaline rush that had powered him through the crisis was fading fast. Time to get moving.

He pushed himself up slowly on his hands and knees, trembling unintentionally as his muscles spasmed and cramped. He felt bruised and battered from his impromptu descent through the trees, but thankfully nothing felt broken. Amazingly enough, he had escaped without serious injury. Except for his pride. The fact that another pilot had gotten the better of him stung more deeply than any bruise.

Now to get down. Hopefully, it wouldn't be that difficult. As a child, Scott had been the tree-climbing expert among the Tracy brethren. It had been an enjoyable activity that he pursued with great relish much to the distress of his father. He could still remember the last time, when he was about thirteen, that he had scampered up a particularly enticing oak tree at the edge of his Grandmother's back yard. It was an oak tree that had been expressly set off limits in no uncertain terms. His brothers stood around the base of the massive tree cheering him on as he rose to new heights in the breathtaking expedition. All of them were blissfully unaware of their Father's sudden arrival on the scene. It was one of those few times when Jeff had really lost his temper. The incident had made quite an impression and served to dampen Scott's fondness for his favorite pastime. Now thirteen years later, he hoped he hadn't lost the magic tree-climbing touch. Otherwise, he'd be going down the hard way.

Scott scooted along the branch, already mentally mapping the path he would take. He was almost at the trunk when he heard it. A crack like a gunshot. With the sound of half-rotten wood splitting apart, the branch collapsed.

There was no time to think. No time to react. Instinctively, Scott reached out and tried to grab something to break his fall. Twigs and needles passed through his clutching fingers. He was falling. Down...down...down...

Then the impact. Not as hard as it could have been thanks to the layers of soft-packed snow. Scott struggled against the waves of darkness that rippled over him, but it was a losing fight. He succumbed and sank into unconsciousness. The falling snow settled gently on his still form and once again all was quiet in the ancient forest.

The escape module hit the ground with a heavy jolt.

"Godalmighty!" Reggie swore as he was thrown into his restraints. "Could've had a smoother landing if we went down with the plane!"

Feeling there wasn't a second to waste, Reggie quickly shed the safety harness and shrugged off his parachute pack. He gave Commander Morris a gentle shake. There was no response and the man's head lolled limply to one side. Worriedly, Reggie ripped off his gloves and checked for a carotid pulse. His trembling fingers found a steady, strong beat and he let out in a relieved sigh.

"Whew! Playing possum, thank god. Guess even I'm not such an unlucky bastard as to lose my Base Commander out on a patrol run."

First things first, Reggie thought. Got to clear up things fast. Mighty fast.

He stood up and peered out the broken cockpit windows. They had landed in an oval-shaped clearing contained within a stand of mammoth pine trees. Except for the soft sound of snow settling, all was silent and unmoving. Reggie scanned the perimeter slowly. He had the distinct feeling that they were being watched by someone. Or something...

Reggie grinned. What did he think was out there anyway? The abominable snowman? Bigfoot? Bug-eyed monsters that ate stranded pilots and their base commanders, perhaps? Too many late night horror movies and a hyperactive imagination... he thought and dismissed the odd feelings.

The rhythmic ping of the distress beacon brought his attention back to the task at hand. For a few minutes, he searched for a way to deactivate the signal.

"Oh well," he said with a shrug. "No switch, no problem."

He grabbed a handful of important-looking wires and ripped them away from the communications board. The distress beacon died with a last mournful ping. Satisfied, he began rummaging behind the seats for anything that might come in handy out in the frozen wasteland.

"What did you do that for?" Morris mumbled groggily from his seat.

Reggie looked at the Commander and smiled. "Well, good morning to you, Commander. I'm awful glad you've come round; I didn't know how the hell I was going to carry you. I'm no weightlifter, you know, or pack mule either, for that matter."

Commander Morris gazed around him with an expression of complete bafflement. "What's going on? Where are we?"

"In the god-forsaken middle of Bereznik nowhere," Reggie said shortly.

"How'd we get here?"

"Well, it all started when..."

"Not from the beginning, Lieutenant," the Commander interrupted hurriedly. He had heard enough about the Lieutenant's long-winded explanations to know it'd be a long time before he'd actually learn how they had ended up in such a dire predicament. "Start from the part where we were fired upon."

Reggie told the Commander everything that happened, taking care to describe every detail in great depth.

"Yes, yes," Morris growled impatiently when he finally reached the point when the Midis had attacked. "So we ran out of fuel and they shot us down."

"Er...not exactly," Reggie said sheepishly. "We did run out of fuel but they didn't shoot us down. I rammed one of them."

"You what!" The Commander gasped. He studied Reggie a moment, his brows lowering as his face creased into a dark frown. "I figured you for an oddball, Lieutenant, but I didn't realize you were also a suicidal lunatic."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Reggie protested weakly.

"We can discuss your faulty reasoning later." Morris looked at the control console. "Have you initiated the D-Struct sequence?"

"Not yet."

"For god sakes, man!" Morris glowered. "Do you know how to follow procedures in any way, shape, or form? D-Struct is always the first..."

"...Action performed when behind enemy lines," Reggie finished lightly. "I know, sir. I was getting to it when you woke from your nap."

He reached over and began typing commands into the tactical computer. Images began flashing on the screen. Reggie absorbed the information like a sponge and quickly prompted the computer as it fired code and passwords requests out with machine-gun rapidity. Much to his amazement and wonder, the SEEK system magically came back on line as if it had a mind of its own.

The Commander gingerly felt his forehead. A large purplish hematoma was forming where he had been struck by the missile casing. Grimacing, he scraped at the dried blood caked on his cheek.

"Good thing you've got a block head, sir," Reggie commented innocently, as he continued to wrestle with the computer. "Any normal person getting a knock like that would have a first class concussion at the very least. You got off easy with only a major case of the grumps."

Morris scowled. "Lieutenant, when we get back to Base, I'm going to see to it that you spend a couple days in the brig for insubordination."

"Deal, Commander," Reggie said, grinning. "I'm holding you to that offer. I need some rest and there's no better place than the brig for getting a good night's sleep."

The Commander's lips twitched and he almost smiled. "Change that, Erickson. I think what you really need is a complete psychiatric evaluation."

Reggie was about to respond with a flippant, light-hearted joke when something on the computer screen made the smile vanish completely from his face. He stared at the screen, the color draining from his face.

"What's wrong?" demanded Morris.

Reggie didn't answer for a moment. When he finally looked up, his face betrayed his emotion. "He's gone, sir."

"Who?"

"Sco...Captain Tracy," Reggie said miserably, huddling over the computer. He read the same information over and over. "There's no sat link signature present on the SEEK system."

"So? What does that mean?" Morris challenged. "The damn thing is probably malfunctioning again."

"No," Reggie said flatly. "You don't understand. There's no signal at all. None. Even if his system was malfunctioning or he was offline, there would still be something there."

The Commander understood the implication. Neither of them said anything for a very long minute. Then Morris placed a sympathetic hand on the younger man's shoulder. "I'm sure he ejected in time, son."

A trickling sound like water was coming from somewhere in the module. The two men looked at each other in confusion. Then Reggie felt a coldness at the bottom of the leg of his flightsuit. Immediately, he spotted the source.

Water. A good eight inches of it at their feet and rising fast.

"What the..." began Morris. Before he could finish, they felt the escape module shift slightly. The inward flow of water hastened, splashing up over the tops of their boots.

"Shit!" Reggie exclaimed. It all made sense now. The large oval depression in the middle of the trees. He cursed his stupidity for not realizing where he had guided the escape module. A lake... underneath the unmarked layers of white.

And they were sinking right in the middle of it.

Lieutenant Harris sat at his station in flight control, bored out of his mind. Alternately glancing out the window at the heavy snow swirling down and at the satellite monitor which showed the position of the all USAF and civilian aircraft currently flying in the area, he was acutely aware of each minute passing by.

Thirty minutes to go, he thought wearily as he again checked the chronometer.

His replacement would be coming any minute to go over the shift logs and flight schedules. Time to make a last check of the aerials. He had forgotten to do it the hour before, but it didn't really matter. Nothing ever seemed to happen on his shift anyway. Except for the month before when Bereznik troops had crossed the border and raided a supply station, all had been quiet as of late.

He casually reached over and typed a command into the computer. As each satellite tracking check came in, he absent-mindedly marked it off on the checklist. Supply flights, passenger flights, personnel transports...check, check, check. Finally, he came to the last screen. The Bereznik patrol run.

He had his pen poised over the sheet as the screen flashed into view. It was blank. For a moment, Harris stared dumbly at it before leaning forward to check the identification marker at the corner of the monitor.

0125-0175 A. Harris double-checked the number on the checklist. It was correct. Feeling a twinge of alarm, he looked over to his shift supervisor, Captain Laslo who was sitting in his chair, feet propped up, arms folded, with his chin resting on his chest. The sound of muffled snoring mingled with an occasional throat clearing sounded from the relaxed form.

"Sir," Harris called quietly.

Getting no response but another snore, he spoke more forcefully. "SIR!"

The Captain practically fell out of his chair. He gazed around in bewilderment. Seeing Harris' anxious expression, he got to his feet. "What's happened?" he demanded.

Harris motioned nervously at the monitor. "I can't find the NFZ patrol."

Immediately, the Captain was at his side checking the readings. "Did you run a diagnostic on the sat link?"

"Yes, sir. Everything's green. We're just not getting their signals."

Captain Laslo chewed his lip. "What about that SEEK thing? Did you check that? They're position should register on the system's global detector."

"No, sir," Harris answered. "I don't know anything about the new system. The DD's supposed to send someone to train us all next week on operation procedures and all that."

"Okay. No problem. I think I know enough about it to see where our guys are."

Captain Laslo crossed the room to an array of computers, intimidatingly complex looking and unmistakably new. He poked a button cautiously. One of the computers flickered into life. "Get me the I.D. manual," he ordered.

Harris scrambled to obey and less than a minute later they had the patrol aircraft's identity codes. Laslo entered them and they both waited anxiously while the system processed their request.

A beep signaled the satellite's relay of information. The monitor showed one flashing light amidst a stream of warning messages.

Laslo paled as he read them. "Good god," he whispered. "Where's the other one?"

Harris plucked at the Captain's sleeve. "What's the matter?"

Laslo's didn't answer for a moment. "Call Commander Morris," he said quietly. "Tell him the patrol's down. At least one of them. The other signal is gone and presumed destroyed."

"But..."

"Do it!" snapped Laslo, turning angrily on the white-faced Lieutenant.

"But Commander Morris isn't..." Harris stammered. "He was on the patrol run."

Laslo froze and stared at Harris blankly a moment while the information sunk in. "Okay," he said slowly. "Contact Lt. Commander Weiss then. Tell him we've got trouble on our hands."

"Big trouble," he added quietly to himself as Harris made the call. "An act of war."

"Water!" Commander Morris exclaimed wondrously. "Where's it coming from?"

Reggie didn't answer. The second he realized the precarious nature of their situation, he began grabbing everything he could lay his hands on. Emergency packs that contained survival gear, a med kit, flares...A stream of objects hurled out of the broken cockpit windows to land about a dozen feet away in the snow.

Morris watched him darkly. "Well?"

Reggie smiled weakly, and drew his feet out of the rising icy water onto his seat. "Guess we landed on top of a lake, sir." He turned his attention to the SEEK system which was slowly processing the D-Struct request.

"For Christ's sake, Erickson!" Morris roared. "You landed us smack dab on top of a lake! What the hell where you thinking?"

Undisturbed by the Commander's fury, Reggie's eyes never left the flashing monitor. "Well, sir," he replied mildly. "If I recall, I was thinking how unpleasant it'd be to crash into all those pine trees over there, so I brought us down here, in this nice, clear open area. With the piss-poor day I've having, guess I should've figured it was too good to be true..."

"Why didn't you use SEEK to get a terrain detail?"

Reggie snorted. "Pardon my French, sir, but in case you haven't noticed, this SEEK thing doesn't work worth a hill of sh...."

The module tilted and there was a groan of splitting ice. A huge wave of ice cold water splashed over the two men.

"Hold that thought," Reg gasped as the icy coldness of the water hit him. "Time to go." He nudged the Commander towards one of the broken windows. "You first, sir."

Morris offered no argument. Grabbing onto the shattered frame, he pulled himself up and began to wriggle through. Satisfied with the Commander's progress, Reggie turned his attention back to the SEEK monitor. The D-Struct program still hadn't started and a progress indicator showed no activity.

"Come on, you bugger," he muttered.

As if answering him, the screen flashed a message.

Action denied.

Reggie slammed his fist into the console. "This is a record, even for me. What else could possibly go wrong?"

."I've got an answer to that, Erickson." Morris' muffled voice said. The Commander was halfway out the window. "I'm stuck."

Reggie looked up with great alarm. It was true. The man's large, broad-shouldered frame didn't quite match the size of the window and Morris was tightly wedged in place.

Reggie sloshed through the water, trying to think of something to do. "Can you move at all?" he asked hopefully.

"A little."

"Good, I'm going to give you a boost." Grabbing the Commander's feet, he pushed. Nothing happened.

"Put your back into it, Lieutenant," Morris encouraged.

"My back isn't the problem," Reggie grumbled, straining and pushing with all of his might. "May I make a suggestion, Commander?" he panted in between efforts.

"What's that, Lieutenant?"

"Just say no."

"No to what?" Morris asked, trying to wriggle through the window.

"Candy, cookies, cakes, pies, junk food, fast food, second helpings..."

"This is no time for jokes, Erickson," Morris snapped. "Maybe you haven't noticed yet, but we're in kind of a bad situation here..."

"Who's joking?" Reggie said, eyeing the rapidly rising water. "And believe me, sir, I know just what kind of situation we're in."

Another crack.

The module lurched to one side, submerging halfway under the ice. Desperately, Reggie rammed into the Commander's backside with his shoulder. The move was successful and the Commander disappeared through the window.

The sound of something heavy landing in the snow and a string of muffled curses signaled that the Commander had reached the ground safely. It was fortunate that only the ice on the opposite side of the module had collapsed, otherwise he would have been in for a really good dunking. Reggie couldn't help but grin at the mental picture.

Turning back to the computer, his eyes fell on a small compartment. He quickly opened it and pulled out the standard-issue loaded sidearm contained within. Tucking it in his jacket, he was thankful for its reassuring presence.

"Come on, Erickson!" Morris shouted. "What the devil are you playing at?"

"D-Struct isn't working so I'm going to transfer all the ops info on an info disc."

"Forget that! Nobody's going to get a hold of any sensitive info from the system when its on the bottom of a bloody lake."

"Maybe," Reggie said doubtfully. "Guess I'd just like to make double-sure about that."

He slid the disc into place and typed in download instructions, hoping desperately that the stubborn computer would let him at transfer all the code and system settings. Although it wasn't as good as clearing the system completely, it would be enough to prevent any tampering or unauthorized access.

The water was nearly up to his waist now and the coldness of it took his breath away. Chunks of ice sloshed onto the control console and Reggie prayed that it wouldn't short out the system before he got what he wanted.

"Come on," Reggie growled at the computer.

Like magic, the download started. A reading showing the percentage complete climbed painfully slow. Twenty percent...thirty percent...forty percent...

The module was moving, tilting further and further upward until it was nearly at a ninety-degree angle with the ice. With the change in position, Reggie could now see Morris through the windows.

"Get out of there, Erickson!" he thundered.

Reggie's eyes never left the monitor. Sixty percent...seventy percent...

"That's an order!"

Eighty percent...

The module hung in place a moment. Part of the hull that was underwater collapsed from pressure. Water poured in with ferocious intensity. Still, Reggie stayed in place, clinging to the seat with one hand to avoid being swept away. His other hand hung over the eject button on the drive.

"Lieutenant!" Morris shouted. "I gave you a direct order! Get out of there now!"

Ninety percent.

No time left. It was sinking. Still he made no move.

Download complete.

Reggie jabbed the eject button and swiped the disc. Like an Olympic athlete, he dove towards the window. Too late. He caught a brief glimpse of the Commander against a backdrop of green forest half-hidden by falling snow, then a tremendous wall of water smashed into him, knocking the breath from his lungs.

Morris watched with horror as the module disappeared beneath the surface. He retreated backwards as a large chunk of ice broke away, creating a hole about twenty feet wide. The exposed water, darkly sinister, swirled and splashed as enormous bubbles of air exploded on the surface.

"Erickson!" he called helplessly. "Lieutenant!"

He cautiously stood at the edge of the hole, peering in the murky depths for any sign of movement. Nothing. Water sloshed over the toes of his boots as the turbulence settled. Pieces of ice bobbed and collided like ice cubes in a glass of water. Finally, the water calmed. Far off in the trees, the wind howled mournfully as it started to gust. Though he knew there was no hope, Morris made no move to leave.

"Damn fool," he muttered sadly. "He didn't have a chance."

Chapter 7

"Where the devil did he go?" Virgil muttered, still searching the faces of the people of the people passing by.

Without explaining anything, he had rushed out of the caf�, through the lobby, and onto the ski-lift path. Kat followed on his heels, wondering perhaps if her friend was suffering from hallucinations or had just gone plain mad.

While Virgil zigzagged in and out among the skiers, she stood and watched his search from the edge of the path.

After a few minutes Virgil gave up. There was no trace of Becker anywhere; he had vanished without a trace.

What business would such a man have at a ski resort anyway? Virgil thought. It just didn't make any sense.

Feeling a trifle foolish, Virgil trudged back to where Kat was waiting for him. Even at a distance he could see the skepticism clearly displayed in her expression.

"Don't look at me like that," Virgil growled when he reached her.

"Like what?" Kat said innocently with a grin.

"Like I'm a few fries short of a happy meal. I know what you're thinking, Doctor, but there is method to my madness, I assure you."

"Mind sharing it then?"

"I thought I saw someone I used to know."

"An old friend?"

"Not exactly, but someone I'm eager to get a hold of just the same," Virgil replied testily. "But never mind that. Guess my eyes were playing tricks. It wasn't who I thought it was at all."

Kat shivered as another arctic blast roared off the mountain. It was so cold that it easily penetrated through both her jacket and the heavy woolen sweater underneath. Having no gloves, she balled her fists and crammed them into her pockets. Partly because he was obsessed with locating the object of his search and partly because he was used to it, Virgil seemed impervious to the freezing temperatures.

"Whew!" she gasped gazing at the darkening sky. "Must be a storm blowing up!"

For the first time, Virgil noticed how dark and forbidding it had become in the last couple of hours. The clouds crowding in from the north had a dangerous quality and their gloomy heaviness blocked out a good portion of the looming mountain above them.

"Let's go back in," Kat urged. "It's freezing out and here you are, no jacket and no hat. Do you want to catch pneumonia or something?"

Virgil couldn't help smiling at his friend's scolding. "No, mother."

They returned to the caf�. As the minutes passed, Virgil became increasingly irritated by his brother's lateness.

"Six o' clock," Virgil announced. "Is it too much to ask for Alan to be on time for once?"

He sighed in disgust and reached for his cup of coffee. Across the table, Kat didn't answer. With her elbow propped against the table and her chin cupped in her hand, she gazed out the windows of the ski-lodge caf� at the jagged mountain peaks barely visible through the swirling snow sqawl that had started several minutes before. The falling snow had a hypnotic quality and she gave into it completely, a stream of random thoughts and fancies flowed unchecked through her normally disciplined, scientific mind. Occasionally, she gave her coffee an absent-minded stir.

"He'd be late for his own funeral," Virgil added grouchily. "Which will be quite soon if he doesn't get here in the next fifteen minutes."

Katherine tore herself away from the snowy view reluctantly. "Be patient, Gus," she reproved. "I know you haven't had the best of days, but that's no reason to be such a grouch."

Virgil made no comment and scowled into his coffee cup as he took another drink.

Kat kicked him gently under the table. "Wipe that look off your face, buddy, otherwise I might have to get rough with you," she kidded, her gray eyes sparkling with fun.

In the many years they had been friends, the two had engaged in many lively wrestling matches and scuffles. Virgil knew from personal experience, that the young woman, though slender and lithe, was also very strong and dexterous. If provoked, she could and would fight like a tiger. The years that she had spent on her grandfather's zoological reserve in the rugged Australian outback had toughened her both in mind and body. A philosopher at heart, she took things as they came and was completely undisturbed by a change of plans or schedule.

Virgil, however, was not so flexible. Especially when it came to Alan's chronic lack of discipline. His youngest brother deliberately ignored both rules and schedules; a bad habit that had only become worse since he had started at Colorado University a few months before. Out from under the watchful eye of their father, Alan delighted in his new found freedom and was constantly in hot water with both college officials and the local police.

Virgil, in true big-brother style, did the best he could to rein in the teenager's exuberance, but distracted by the demands and pressures of his job, his attempts to quell Alan's deviltry were pretty much unsuccessful. As the capers and antics continued, Virgil's limitless patience was fast coming to an end. Kat's visit had restored some of his good humor, but Alan's lateness rekindled his ire.

Even though he didn't feel like it, Virgil managed a slight smile.

"That's better," Kat said, pleased. "You need to lighten up. Sometimes, you're just like your father, getting all tied up in knots about everything."

At the mention of his father, Virgil's frown promptly returned.

"Uh-oh. Gloomy Gus returns," Kat said lightly. "I was wondering how your Father was doing, but from the look on your face, I'm not going to ask that question."

"Good, because I don't want to talk about him," he informed her peevishly. "He's acting like a first-class fool."

Undisturbed by Virgil's crankiness, Kat wadded up a napkin and threw it across the table at him. "Don't give me that attitude, Virgil Tracy. So you've knocked heads with your Father, have you? Well, let me assure you, it's not the first time such a thing happened in this world. It wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that you stubbornly insisted at staying at InnTech, would it?"

"Mostly," Virgil admitted. "He told me in no uncertain terms that I was to quit and work for Tracy Aerospace."

"Why didn't you then?" Kat asked. "It sounds like a sensible idea to me."

"Because I liked my job, that's why, and I won't have my Father ordering me about like one of his employees."

"Stop acting like a rebellious child," Kat scolded. "You're Father is right and you almost learned it the hard way, Gus. Just be thankful you got out while you could."

"Hey!" The familiar sound of the youngest Tracy's voice drifted over to them. Virgil turned around to see Alan and Julie hurrying across the crowded caf�. Alan picked his way through the maze of tables filled with skiers who were relaxing with steaming cups of hot beverages. Julie Davis, looking disgruntled and unhappy, followed behind, her hands stuck in her pockets.

"You're late," Virgil reprimanded.

"Sure we are," Alan retorted. "The roads are really getting slick out there so I drove like you, Virgil, slow and easy like a doddering old foggie."

In no mood for a fight, Virgil ignored Alan's sarcasm and motioned to the two empty chairs at the table. "Have a seat. I'm glad to see you came, Julie."

"I didn't want to come, but I had no choice," Julie said sullenly. "It was either this or Alan's singing."

Kat laughed. "You're right. That's no choice." She raised her eyebrows reprovingly at Virgil. "Manners, Gus?"

"What?" Virgil said, confused.

"Manners," Kat repeated. "Got any?"

Virgil caught her meaning and introduced the two women to each other. "Julie, this is Kat Crawford."

"Doctor Katherine Crawford," Alan corrected with a grin.

Virgil shot him a dirty look. "Okay then. Doctor Katherine Crawford, this is Julie Davis."

After a brief debate about whether to postpone their skiing until the next day because of the weather, it was decided that, since they were there, they would go for a run or two. Julie and Kat headed to the ski shop to rent some equipment, while the two brothers went out to Alan's car to get their skis.

Twenty minutes later they all met in front of the lodge. Kat, long unused to the sport, was so unsteady on her skis that ever-cautious Virgil insisted she spend some time on the beginner's bunny slope to practice. Alan and Julie, both experienced skiers, decided to go ahead and try one of the most challenging trails on the mountain.

"Be careful up there, you two," Virgil warned as they headed up the path towards the ski lift. "There's a lot of spots up there with avalanche warnings, so pay attention to the signs and don't get yourselves into trouble."

Alan dismissed his brother's concerns with a wave of his hand. "Yeah, yeah, Virg. I can read directions, you know."

"That's very reassuring," Virgil snorted. "Now if only you could learn how to follow them."

"That's no problem either," Alan retorted. "Except that you give me so many I can't keep up with 'em. If I wrote down all your directives, I'd have an instruction manual that could match the Encyclopedia Britannica for size."

An argument threatened until Kat stepped in. "Ah, brotherly love," she sighed. "What would this world be without it?"

"Peaceful," Julie supplied. "I used to be sorry I was an only child until you two guys came along. Now I thank my lucky stars for my good fortune."

"You think we're bad," Alan said. "You should see good ol' Virg and John have a go at each other. It's like having ringside seats at a prizefight."

"That's ridiculous," growled Virgil. "John and I get along just fine. Now are we going to ski or what?"

With that, Alan and Julie departed in one direction while Virgil and Kat went in another. None of them noticed when a man clad in a ski patrol uniform stepped out from behind one of the small decorative pine trees that formed a natural border along the outside edge of the path. Grinning broadly he watched them leave. "This is going to be easier than I thought," he mused happily.

He spoke into a tiny transmitter attached to the inside of the collar of his jacket. "Is everything ready?"

A muffled one-syllable growl came quickly as a response. "Good.... you'll be having two guests very shortly. Make sure you give them a warm welcome."

Becker rubbed his gloved hands together gleefully and chuckled. Soon, very soon, they would have what they wanted.

"I really think this is hopeless," Kat laughed. "I'm just no good."

Pinned underneath her, Virgil lay on his back in the snow. "You're doing fine. Just try to stay on your feet next time."

Kat rolled off on him and propped herself up with her elbow. Still smiling, she brushed the snow out of Virgil's hair and replaced his hat. "Poor Gus. Did I hurt you that time?"

"Not a bit," Virgil said, sitting up. He grimaced slightly and pulled a ski pole out from behind him. "Shall we have another go?"

Kat was about to answer when a muffled beep sounded. She unzipped her jacket and produced a small pager. She checked the message and instantly became serious. "I've got to check in immediately. Is there a vidcomm around here, Gus?"

"Sure," Virgil said, motioning towards the distant ski lodge about a half a mile away. Through the heavy snowfall, the building was barely visible. "There's one in the lobby."

"Anything closer?"

Virgil eyed Kat critically, disturbed by her worried expression. "I think the ski patrol booth has a telecomm. Why? Is something wrong?"

Kat struggled to get to her feet. "Yes. Very wrong. A code 43..." she broke off as her skis threatened to go out from under her once more.

"Code 43?" Virgil asked. Effortlessly, he got up and put out a steadying hand to his friend.

Kat clung to him, trying to get her balance. "Defense Department lingo for 'big trouble.'"

"What kind of trouble?"

"I don't know," Kat said grimly. "I'm afraid it probably has something to do with the SEEK system though."

"I thought you said it was working fine," Virgil said, placing the ski poles in her hands.

"Not really," Kat admitted. "From what I've seen of it, there's some major bugs in the basic design. I really wanted another six months of testing and some advice from an outside consultant I know, but the powers that be wanted it up and running immediately." She smiled at Virgil. "I shouldn't really be telling you this, you know. Top secret government mishmash."

Virgil chuckled. "You sound just like, Scott. That's the line he always hands out whenever anyone asks what he's up to."

"Good old Scotty," Kat said, gingerly gliding forward. Beside her, Virgil pushed along, keeping ready for any sudden loss of balance that delay their progress. "What is Captain Tracy doing these days?"

Virgil shrugged. "I don't know really. I haven't talked to him in over a month..."

Kat twisted to look at him sharply. The sudden movement almost made her lose her balance, and except for Virgil's quick reaction, she would have been upon the ground once again.

"A month?" she asked incredulously. "You're not having a sortie with him too, are you?"

"Of course not," Virgil scoffed. "Big brother and I never fight. It's just kind of hard to stay current with a couple of thousand miles between us. And then he's always on some mission or another and I've had the Yeti tests to think about."

"Excuses, excuses," Kat scolded. "I guess you'll have plenty of time on your hands now that you're out of a job."

"Thanks for reminding me."

Virgil sighed and dug his ski poles viciously into the ground. He propelled himself forward, surging on ahead. Kat came along more slowly. The snow squeaked beneath their skis and the bright lights set high on top of metal poles that lined the trail illuminated the darkness that hung heavily over the mountainside.

They reached the small ski patrol booth and Virgil knocked on the door. There was no answer.

"Hmmm," he mused. "Funny no one's here. They must be out somewhere."

Kat leaned against the building, grateful for the support. She watched while Virgil scrapped a hole in the frost on one the windows and peered inside. It was dark, with no sign of movement. Unwillingly to give up so quickly, he rattled the doorknob. It was locked. No surprise there.

"Well, I guess this means only one thing..." Virgil began. He reached down and unhooked his skis and propped them up against the building. Kat continued to watch him, becoming more and more curious by the second.

"What are you going to do, Gus?" she asked.

Virgil reached in his jacket, pulled out his wallet, and produced a credit card. "Open the door, of course."

Kat's raised her eyebrows. "Ah. You're turning into a regular criminal, Virgil Tracy. You know breaking and entering is a felony carrying at least a penalty of..."

"I don't intend on breaking anything, just entering," Virgil interrupted somewhat defensively. "No one will ever know we were even here. Besides, you want to make that call don't you? It's either this or we go back to the lodge. Your choice."

Kat sighed. "Okay, Gus. I guess you have a point there. Go to it then."

"Good thing they're behind the times," Virgil muttered as he carefully slid the credit card down the crack of the door. "We'd be out of luck if they had magnetic locks or coded inputs."

"Yeah, well, they probably figured that nobody in their right mind would bother breaking in this dump," Kat replied. She bent down and unfastened her skis and set them alongside Virgil's pair.

Virgil didn't answer. Listening carefully, he moved the credit card along the lock. Click.

There it was. With a quick turn of the knob, Virgil threw open the door.

"After you," he grinned, theatrically bowing.

Kat laughed and jabbed him in the ribs. "How kind you are, sir. Letting me be the first to go in."

"Okay, fraidy Kat. I'll go in first. Just thought I'd show some of those manners that my Father drilled into me and my slob brothers at a tender age." Virgil chuckled and went through the door.

He fumbled around for a few seconds until he found a light switch. Kat immediately settled down at the telecomm.

While she made the call, Virgil wandered about the small room. At a table in the corner of the room, two coffee cups sat half-filled. A donut with a bite mark lay discarded nearby and there were creamers and sugar packets scattered all over the floor. Curiously, Virgil moved closer and dipped a finger in the coffee.

Ice cold.

"Wonder where those fellows ran off to in such a hurry," Virgil mumbled out loud.

"What?" Kat asked absent-mindedly, waiting for her call to connect through to the Defense Department headquarters in Washington, D.C. She stretched, leaned back in her chair, and stifled a yawn.

"Nothing. It just seems kind of strange that..."

The call connected and Kat leaned forward eagerly. A noise, like a soft bump sounded nearby. Virgil glanced around. "What was that?" he muttered to himself.

Another bump and a faint scratching.

Virgil listened intently for a moment, then his eyes fell on a large metal cabinet on the opposite side of the room. There was no doubt that was where the noises were coming from. Cautiously, he treaded over and stopped in front of the cabinet. A flurry of scuffling and scratching erupted.

Mice? Virgil thought.

No, too loud. It had to be something bigger.

Rats? Still too small.

Monster rats? Virgil grinned at the amusing thought.

"I've got to go," Kat was saying as she turned off the telecomm. "Do you think you could give me a lift to the airport, Gus..."

She stopped talking and cocked her head, listening. The banging was louder now, with a more desperate quality.

"What's that noise?"

Virgil pointed at the cabinet and reached for the latch.

"No!" Kat called, jumping to her feet. "Just wait a minute there. No need to be hasty..."

She raced to the doorway and came back with one of the ski poles.

"Okay," she nodded, brandishing the pole like a sword. "I'm ready. Now open it."

Virgil grasped the latch and wrenched it open. Two large white sacks burst forth. Virgil stumbled backwards as one of the objects fell onto him. It was heavy and squirming and he hurriedly thrust it away. It fell with a loud thump to the floor. The other sack went into the opposite direction. Both of the sacks writhed and jerked like living things.

Cautiously, Kat poked one with the pole. The move served to agitate and the sack began twisting and turning violently.

"What is it?" she whispered.

Virgil didn't answer. An awful feeling was fast rising and he crouched beside one of the sacks. For a moment, he tugged at the tightly tied complex knot that bound the material shut at one end. Then, Kat was there her fingers moving with astonishing speed as she unraveled the cord.

Within seconds she had loosened the knot, and together they pulled the sack away to reveal a startled, frightened face of a man. He blinked at them a moment and then began making urgent muffling noses through the heavy insulator tape affixed to his mouth. His eyes darted to the other sack and immediately Kat went to work on it.

"I'm going to take this tape off," Virgil told the man. "Ready?"

The man nodded and in one swift movement Virgil ripped the tapped loose.

"Thank god!" the man gasped. "We've been in there for hours."

"What happened?" Virgil wanted to know.

Kat freed the other man and moved to take the tape off. She was about to remove the tape from his mouth when she was noticed that the man wasn't looking at her at all. His eyes, bright with fear, were focused elsewhere.

At the door.

She twisted around on her heels to see a man clad in a ski patrol uniform leaning casually against the doorframe. A friendly smile creased his face and he winked. "Won't you step into my parlor said the spider to the fly..."

Alan Tracy opened his eyes and stared into the darkness. For a moment, he thought he was back in his apartment and had fallen asleep in the comfortable, over-stuffed armchair in front of the television, a bad habit that quickly resurfaced once he was out from under his father's watchful eye.

Then it hit him. The memory of what happened to him and Julie.

Julie...

Where was she?

"Julie!" Alan frantically called, struggling to get up. A futile effort since something strong bound him to the chair. Either rope or a type of cord, Alan figured. It bound his hands together behind his back, wrapped around his waist, and woven around in a complicated maze around his legs and feet. Barely able to move, he felt like mummy wrapped in linen, ready for placement in a sarcophagus.

He managed to wiggle his fingers and they tingled as the blood sluggishly tried to circulate against the digging restraints.

Where was he anyway? Alan wondered. Not outside, that was for sure. He could see the dim outline of a window and the faintest glow of light in the patch of visible night sky through it.

His thoughts were still dulled by the vicious blow he had received; it took him a few minutes to concentrate enough to consider the possibilities. One of the utility cabins used by the Ski Patrol to store rescue and maintenance equipment on one of the upper trails. That must be where he was.

But where was Julie?

Alan's mind went over the disturbing events that, though they must have happened less than an hour before, seemed so distant. Things had started off well enough...the trip up the ski lift had been refreshing. So high up the air, the majesty of the mountain above, the maze of trails lit by enormous pole lights down below...even Julie had been impressed by the view.

Happily, he had chosen the most challenging trail available. A "thriller" the ski lift operator told them, recommending it so highly he was downright pushy. Another nearby skier called it a regular downhill nightmare and said only someone with a death wish would dare to take it. Just the sort of thing that Alan couldn't resist. Julie had been doubtful at the prospect, a little unsure and a lot more cautious.

Alan could still hear her words. They echoed in his skull, burned into brain.

I don't know about this. It sounds a little dangerous.

Come on, Jules, don't go soft on me now. Live a little bit.

Exactly what I plan on doing, Tracy, which is why I'm not going to risk breaking my neck for a few minutes of excitement.

Now you sound just like Virgil!

And what's wrong with that, may I ask? You should take a couple of lessons from your brother, Alan, you'll live longer.

Ha. That's a laugh. You know how many times Virgil's crashed up at InnTech in the last year? How many chances he takes each day he punches the clock? He's an insurance agent's worst nightmare.

She hadn't wanted to go, but somehow he convinced her through his usual way of relentless pestering. The trail was indeed challenging; riddled with rough areas that fell away into almost vertical drops. From the moment they pushed off, Julie aggressively took the lead, surprising Alan with her adept skill. She zigzagged downward in tight motions, crouching over in perfect alignment with her skis. Alan increased his speed, trying to catch up. Snow sprayed in all directions as they raced down the mountainside and the wind whipped against their exposed faces with brutal force. Alan barely noticed it; the race was delightfully exhilarating. He hadn't counted on Julie being such a worthy rival.

Enjoying herself just as much, Julie glanced back and smiled wickedly. She headed towards a bulky mound of snow and used it as a ramp. For a moment she was airborne, then she landed with a clap of fiberglass on ice. Alan, determined not to be outdone, followed the same course. His landing wasn't as smooth and he had to struggle to keep from pitching headfirst down the steep incline. Slowing for a moment, he quickly regained his balance and once again surged forward. Julie was a good ten meters in front of him then, and gaining even more ground by the second.

Then it happened.

A red warning sign suddenly appeared directly ahead. Julie veered off the main trail to avoid hitting it. Alan followed, catching a glimpse of the words-'Danger Avalanche Area' as he raced by. Funny, since it wasn't one of the places that Virgil had been worried about...

Alan closed his eyes as he remembered. Things had gone from light-hearted play to deadly danger so quickly! The secondary trail they went down was so dark without the pole lights' radiating beams. And then Julie stopped, so sudden she tumbled head over heels. Alan watched with horror as she disappeared from sight, sliding motionless down the hill. He twisted sideways, jamming the edge of his skis into the snow to check his forward motion. A heavy sheet of snow from his attempt to brake splattered onto the object that Julie had avoided crashing into.

Waiting in the middle of the path, a dark figure stood motionless alongside a snowmobile.

The events that followed were so blurred and jumbled that Alan could barely recall them. He had a vision of the dark figure, a massive ox of a man, striking out with cobra-fast speed. The blow had caught him off guard with its shattering force as it connected with his jaw. Instantly, he had dropped down and was out like a light before he hit the snow.

Was it all a dream? Alan wondered. It seemed too surreal and fantastic to have actually happened. He licked his dry lips and felt a stabbing white-hot flash of pain in his jaw. That was real enough. Was his jaw broken? Alan worried. Maybe. His face felt strangely hot and swollen, like he had a mouth full of marbles.

But Julie, where was she?

He had to find her. It was the only thing he could think about. A brief picture crossed his mind. Six months before, after Collie's funeral, his father speaking to him and Virgil, entrusting them with the promise to watch over the grief-stricken daughter of his dead friend. A promise to keep her safe from harm and danger.

A promise the two brothers had taken as seriously as if they themselves had made it. And up until then, a promise that they had faithfully kept.

I've got to get out of here, Alan thought desperately. I've got to find Julie.

I've got to.

Chapter 8

Commander Morris stood in place as the snow swirled around him, staring at the still water, straining to see any trace of movement. But it was useless. No matter how much he struggled to see something, there was no trace of Lieutenant Reggie Erickson.

Nor would there be, Morris knew. He had been under a long time. Too long.

With the irregular outline cut by the escape module, the hole looked like a jagged wound on the lake's snow-covered surface. Morris paced along the edge, anger mingling with grief. It was an all-too familiar feeling that came whenever he lost one of his men. Strangely enough, he felt it more keenly this time. Even though he disapproved of his lack of discipline and somewhat irreverent manner, Morris rather liked the quirky young lieutenant. He would never admit it to anyone, of course. Though, from the look of things at present, there would be no one to tell anything to anyway with the exception of a Bereznik army unit perhaps.

He stopped in his tracks, glaring at the black water. It was like a living thing almost, and he had a sudden urge to attack it and get revenge for the life it had stolen. A slight bubbling drew his attention to a spot near the edge of the hole. Gluing his eyes to the place, Morris knelt down on the ice and leaned as close as he dared.

"Great Jupiter!" Morris gasped in utter amazement as the surface of the water exploded and a head appeared. Reggie bobbed up and down in the water, gasping for air. His dark hair was plastered against his head and he coughed and sputtered in between breaths.

"Lieutenant!" Morris exclaimed, a relieved smile automatically appearing. "I thought you were a goner."

"Me-e-e, t-t-t-ooo," Reggie chattered as he swam to the edge of the ice.

With a mighty heave, Morris pulled him out of the water and deposited him on the snow. Still trying to catch his breath, Reggie shivered and shook. Rivulets of water ran down his face and dripped off of his soaked flight suit.

Relief changed to anger and Morris folded him arms and frowned down sternly at the huddled figure. "Erickson, I gave you a direct order and you willfully disobeyed it. Do you realize that I could have you court-martialed?"

"Y-y-yes," Reggie chattered. "I k-k-k-know it. W-w-w-would you d-d-do it p-please? I c-can't take any-m-m-more of t-t-this."

He looked so miserable and pale that Morris swallowed his anger. There would be time enough for reprimands later. First things first.

"Come along, son, let's get you into some dry clothes," he said kindly. "There must be some in the survival gear packs."

Morris searched the parcels scattered about and brought the more promising ones over to where Reggie sat staring dully at the informatic disc his fingers were still wrapped around.

"Try this on," Morris said, tossing a dark-colored jumpsuit over.

It was made of a heavy material especially designed for cold weather. Reg got to his feet unsteadily. Slowly and stiffly, he shed his saturated flight suit and put on the dry clothing. Morris brought over a parka, deceivingly thin for the amount of warmth it provided. As if he were dressing a child, the he pushed Reg's arms through the sleeves, pulled it on, and zippered up the front. As a last touch, the Commander produced a fleece cap adorned with an enormous USAF logo along the front and settled it on Reg's wet head.

Morris stood back and surveyed his handiwork a moment before he gave an approving nod. "Very good," he said gruffly. "You look sharp enough to be in a cadet review."

Immediately a mischievous look came into Reg's eyes and he grinned. "How 'bout that court martial you mentioned. Do I look good enough for that?"

Morris scowled darkly. "Yes. For that and a firing squad too, which is what'd you'd get if I had any say in the matter. Next time I give you an order you follow it," he added severely. "Otherwise I'll shoot you myself. Understood?"

Reggie snapped a salute. "Right-o, sir. Understood one hundred percent. Your wish is my command...or is that your command is my wish..." He thought about it a moment and shrugged. "You're the boss either way, I guess."

"Good. Keep that attitude for longer than five minutes, and we might just get along after all, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir. It's possible, I suppose," Reggie said doubtfully. "But I'm not holding my breath."

Morris glanced at him sharply, but Reggie's face remained completely serious. "No puns, Lieutenant. I hardly think this is the time or place for wanton jokes."

"I agree entirely," Reggie nodded. He moved to gather up the supplies. "I'm in no mood for jokes either, sir. You see, my sense of humor has been completely dampened."

Morris groaned and put his hands over his eyes. "Erickson, knock it off."

"Knock what off?" Reggie asked innocently. "Tell me right now what I've done, I don't want to get in hot water with you again, sir."

"Erickson..." Morris warned.

"Yes, sir?"

"Not one more word."

Reggie complied with the Commander's order and together they sorted through the pile of items, keeping anything that might be of use and discarding the rest. When they were finished, they packed everything together in two large parcels. They each took one, and slinging them over their shoulders, they headed into the woods.

"Where are we going, sir?" Reggie wanted to know.

"I have no idea."

Reggie asked nothing more. He knew as well as the Commander that it really didn't matter where they went. There was no place to hide. Any efforts they made to get away were entirely futile. There was entirely no chance for escape now.

All they could do was wait for the inevitable, wait for the Bereznik Army to find them. With thoughts as dark as the gloom of the forest, the two men trudged onward, painfully aware what the future held for them.

"Hurry up, Sasha!"

Nikolas scooped up a handful of snow and flung it at his sister. The girl nimbly darted out of the way and stuck her tongue out at him from behind the safety of a half-rotten tree trunk. Then she disappeared a moment as she prepared an icy missile of her own. Forgetting her numb, half-frozen fingers, she packed the snow into a rounded ball and waited stealthily for the right opportunity to fire it.

"Come on, Sis!" Nikolas taunted. "Let's see what you've got!"

The boy dropped the frayed ropes of the sledge he had been pulling along. He clambered over the shallow wooden sides and stood on top of the heap of sticks and branches piled inside.

"King of the mountain!" he shouted, shattering the silence of the ancient forest. He threw his arms upward in a triumphant embrace of the snow-filled sky. As if in response, the trees creaked and groaned as a violent blast of arctic air roared through. The gust caught the tip of the boy's well-worn cap and sent it whirling away. Nikolas leapt from his imaginary throne and scurried after it, plunging through the knee-deep snow as gracefully as one of the many reindeer that called the boreal forest home.

Sasha laughed at him. It was a musical noise like the sound of a delicate wind chime dancing in a soft breeze. Playfully, she bounded out and caught the wayward hat as it passed by her hiding place. "Lookee what I found!" she teased, dangling the hat in front of her panting brother.

Nikolas grinned. "Gimme, Sis."

"Catch me if you can!" she called and sprinted away through the trees, waving the cap above her head like a battle flag. Her brother gave chase, his longer legs benefiting him in the drifting snow. Sasha, though at a disadvantage, remained ahead of her pursuer. She darted among the massive trunks, now and then, stopping to shake the stolen hat tantalizing close to Nikolas' grasping fingers.

Deeper and deeper they went into the forest. The sound of their joyous laughter echoed through the darkening gloom. Nikolas cornered Sasha against a particularly large tree.

"Okay, Sis, hand it over," he gasped, puffs of frosty air streaming from his smiling mouth. His face and ears were reddened from the cold, but his brown eyes glowed with affectionate warmth as he regarded his sister.

Sasha twirled the cap around on her finger, a mischievous grin playing across her pixie-like features. "Come and get it, King Niki!"

Nikolas made a dive for it, but Sasha slipped away around the tree. Laughing, she stumbled over something and fell heavily in the snow. Stunned, she lay there a moment, the coldness of the snow burning into her already numb hands.

Her eyes settled the source of her fall, a partially covered mass only inches away from her. Cautiously, she reached out and touched it. It was solid and unyielding. Her eyes traveled over the length of it and she felt a sudden chill of horror as she realized what she had stumbled over.

It was a man.

She catapulted to her feet and slammed backwards into Nikolas who was standing still, staring dumbly at the horrifying sight.

Sasha clutched his arm and leaned against him. Their frightened eyes met.

She managed to mouth the question that was burning in both their minds. "Is he alive?"

Nikolas offered no answer. Slowly, he edged forward and nudged the still form with his foot, then leapt back, protectively shielding his sister.

Nothing happened. There was not even a twitch of movement. Curiosity began to get the better of fear, and Sasha broke a branch off of a nearby bush and gave the body a gentle prod.

This time a moan issued forth, sending Nikolas and Sasha for the reassuring safety of the same nearby bush. Peeking through the branches, they could see the man moving weakly. A couple of garbled words came from his mouth and he put a shaking hand to the helmet that covered his head.

"Look at his helmet and uniform, Sasha. He must be a pilot or something."

Sasha looked upward towards the sky and a flash of white caught her eye. It wasn't snow, rather a massive piece of torn fabric swinging in the wind. "That must be his parachute then, hooked up there in the tree."

Nikolas nodded in agreement and pointed to the shattered remains of a rotten branch, which lay scattered around in the snow. "And he must have fallen. See that broken branch over there?"

Sasha felt a surge of concern. "He's hurt, Niki. We've got to help him."

She took a step forward, but Nikolas halted her progress. "No, Sasha," he said severely. His voice took on a tone of bitterness. "Let him alone."

"Nikolas!" Sasha said angrily, pulling out of his grasp. "He's hurt. We just can't leave him here. He'll die..."

Nikolas stared at his sister coldly. "So? The glorious Bereznik Army never worries about us so why should we care what happens to them?"

"Look at him, Niki," Sasha said. "At his uniform. He's not one of them...he's not a Bereznik pilot."

"All the more reason to leave him alone." Nikolas worriedly looked around the dark woods. The gloomy forms and dim shadows had become sinister and threatening. He shivered, not from cold, but from an ominous feeling that churned in the pit of his stomach. "They'll be coming for him," he added quietly.

Sasha trembled and looked at him pleadingly. "Please, Niki. Let's help him. If the Stasee takes him..."

As he looked into her soft eyes threatening to fill with tears, Nikolas felt his resolve crumbling. He knew she was right. They couldn't leave the unknown man to the murderous Stasee agents. Even though it could result in dire consequences, they had to help him.

"Okay," Nikolas sighed. "You stay here. I'll go get the sledge."

He trudged away. Sasha watched him until the darkness hid his retreating figure from sight. Turning to the fallen pilot, she knelt by his side. Cautiously, she reached out a hand and touched his face. Although the skin was cool to the touch, she could feel a glimmer of warmth. She felt reassured. Curiously, she reached down and fingered an emblem on his flightsuit.

"U-S-A-F," she murmured. "What does that mean?"

She ran a hand the helmet, marveling at the unfamiliar designs and symbols.

Suddenly, a hand snaked out and grabbed her. She yelped as strong fingers closed around her wrist in a vise-like grip. Holding onto her, the man sat up and Sasha found herself staring into a pair of the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

He said something to her. Unintelligible words mostly in a language that sounded vaguely familiar to her. English. She had studied it at school for a time, before the Stasee closed it up and took away all the teachers for "re-education."

The man repeated the words again in a less-than-friendly tone and Sasha struggled to remember the long-forgotten lessons stored somewhere in the back of her brain. If only Niki would come back! He knew ever so many words and phrases from studying their Papa's worn dictionary.

She forced a smile and said the only word she could think of. "Hello!"

The man regarded her steadily and half-smiled. "Hello to you," he returned.

Sasha smiled and pointed to herself with her free hand. "Sasha. Friend," she added, thinking of a simple word that might satisfy enough for him to let go of her.

"Friend, huh?" The man let her go and passed a weary hand over his face. "Well, Sasha, I could really use one right about now."

His closed his eyes tightly and almost fell backwards. Sasha grabbed a hold of his arm, struggling to keep him upright. His weight won out against her strength and he sank into the snow. She pressed against him closely, her eyes full of concern and compassion. His sky-blue eyes met hers and he smiled weakly before reverting back to unconsciousness.

A few minutes later, Nikolas plodded up with sledge in tow. He had thrown out most of the wood and laid out a couple of burlap sacks in the bottom as a makeshift cushion. Together they struggled to move the man; Nikolas supporting his head and Sasha hugging his feet.

"He's heavy," Nikolas complained, as they managed to heave him over the low sides. "And tall," he added, noticing the way the man's feet hung over the back of the sledge.

Sasha made no comment as she fussed over the motionless form, tossing sticks aside and smoothing down the burlap bags as much as possible.

"Now what, Sis?" Nikolas asked doubtfully. "Shall we drop him off at the mission?"

Sasha glared at him. "Don't be an ass, Niki. We're going to take him home of course."

Nikolas' eyes widened. "Home, Sasha? Are you crazy? They'll be looking for him."

"All the more reason to keep him with us."

"Where will we hide him?"

"In the barn."

Nikolas snorted. "That'll be the first place they look, silly."

"We'll worry about that later," Sasha said, dismissing her brother's concerns. "Let's hurry up and get going. It's getting dark out."

Nikolas grumbled under his breath and took hold of the frayed ropes. Throwing his weight into it, he grunted with effort as he slowly pulled the sledge along. Sasha followed alongside, her eyes never leaving the prone figure lying so still and quiet.

By memory alone, they made their way home through the darkness. The falling snow swirled around them, finding its way through their thin clothing. Even though their bodies were hardened to the cold, they still felt the keen sting of it. Sweat ran down Nikolas' face and dripped off his chin as he floundered through the drifts with the heavy load in tow. Still, they forged onward.

The young teenage boy became wearier and wearier as they approached home. Slower and slower he moved, panting for breath. When the bright glow of the lamp in the kitchen window shone like a beacon through the trees, Sasha joined him and tugged at the rope impatiently.

They reached the barnyard and Nikolas collapsed in the snow with a groan. "Sis," he complained. "I sure hope you know what you're doing." His labored breaths produced geysers of steam that rose into the air like miniature volcanic eruptions.

Sasha ignored him as she scurried over to the barn and threw open the doors and propped them in place with a metal bar. Then she returned to the sledge and hurriedly tugged at the ropes. Through sheer will power, she pulled the load into the barn.

There was a sound of creaking and the kitchen door opened, throwing forth a square patch of bright light onto them. A large shadow stood in the doorway, partially illuminated.

"You're back then," a kindly voice said. "I was going to come looking for you in a few minutes. What took you so long?"

"Nothing, Papa," Nikolas replied smoothly. "We were playing and didn't realize how late it was getting."

"Where's Sasha?"

"In the barn, unloading the wood."

"Go and help her then and come right to supper."

"Yes, Papa," Nikolas said dutifully and headed towards the barn. The kitchen door closed and darkness settled over the barnyard once more. Inside the barn, Sasha had lit the lamp and was forking down clean hay from the hay mound into the empty stall that had once housed their cow, Daisy. A few weeks before the animal had been confiscated by the Army along with the remaining few chickens and ducks left on the farm. Now, with the exception of the old, half-blind pony, Trix, the farm was completely without livestock.

Finishing the job, Sasha scaled down a rope that hung from an overhead beam high above. Jumping halfway down, she landed lightly on her feet and immediately headed towards the sledge.

"Don't just stand there, Niki," she snapped. "Help me with him."

Together they pulled the sledge as close as possible to the stall and heaved out the pilot's body onto the bed of hay. Hurriedly, Sasha pulled down an old horse blanket from a hook on the wall and threw it over him. She stooped alongside and fussed at the corners a moment.

"Come on," Nikolas urged. "Papa will come looking for us if we don't hurry. We can come back after supper. He'll be okay until then."

Reluctantly, Sasha left and the two hurried away towards the house. Neither of them noticed as a stream of lights passed overhead in the sky heading north.

Bereznik search aircraft heading towards the forest with only one thing in mind.

To find the enemy.

Chapter 9

Jeff Tracy stared wearily at the computer monitor in front of him. Though he had been pouring over endless columns of statistics and complex computations since early that afternoon, he had only reviewed a fraction of the company's quarterly cost analysis report. Hours of work still lay ahead. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Accountants," he grumbled. "Why do they have to make everything so darn complicated?"

His eyes fell on the chronometer on the wall opposite his desk. Ten o'clock. Not that late really. What did it matter if he stayed for a few more hours? There was no one waiting for him at home anyway. Even Ugly, the family's cantankerous cat, was gone, packed up with the rest of Alan's belongings and transplanted to Colorado.

A sigh escaped Jeff's lips before he could stop it. His boys were boys no longer. Where had the time gone? he wondered. The years had passed by so quickly. Memories and photographs were all that remained of the past. Automatically his eyes went to the wall where a collage of family pictures was displayed.

He scanned the familiar images, feeling a swell of emotion as he thought of his family. He lingered on one picture longer than the rest.

Lucille.

The photograph had been taken a few months after they had been married, just before he had transferred to the Space Agency. She was sitting on a large boulder on a rocky New England beach looking out towards the ocean with a faraway look in her expressive brown eyes, the sea breeze blowing back her dark brown hair. He could remember how the seascape's rugged beauty had touched her artist's soul, how she had marveled at the eternal motion of the waves as they crashed against the shore.

A second in time frozen forever. Everything had been right in the world then. The future was bright with possibilities, the present untouched by sorrow. They had each other and that was enough. When Jeff looked at the picture, at the woman who had been his soulmate, who had understood him and loved him like no one else, he could almost feel her presence again. Nearly nineteen years had passed since her death and he still couldn't accept the loss that fate had handed him with cruel indifference. He missed her so much that he could hardly stand it sometimes.

Once and for all, let it be over and let it go before it destroys you. Promise me that you will .

Collie's last words played over and over in his mind.

Promise...

And he had.

It was the first time in his life that Jeff Tracy didn't keep his word. But how could he? He had tried hard enough, tried to forget, but it was impossible. Though nothing could be proven, there was no doubt in Jeff's mind that James Haydyn was responsible for the first Nova disaster, the death of its six person crew, and indirectly for Collie's murder as well.

Collie. Another loss. For a moment, Jeff embraced the waves of bitterness that came whenever he thought of his dead friend. He felt the sting of his loss more keenly than the sting of his betrayal

And there was no doubt Collie had betrayed him. The Vice-President of Tracy Aerospace had been a first-class traitor, selling technological secrets to that scoundrel Haydyn. The evidence was obvious and apparent. Blatantly so. Collie hadn't bothered to cover his tracks at all; he left a trail a blind man could follow. The only thing that Jeff could figure was that he desperately wanted to be caught.

Jeff burned with livid anger when he thought of James Haydyn. He would pay for it all one way or another. If not through the legal channels, then another way...

"No."

He said the word out loud, startled by the sound of his voice. He was even more startled by the darkness of his thoughts.

He shivered, frightened by the all-consuming desire for revenge. For a brief moment, his hate had overcome his steadfast principles of law and justice. What was happening to him? He knew everyone thought he was he was at the verge of cracking up. His employees at Tracy Aerospace, his friends, even Virgil...were they right? Was he losing control?

The unpleasant confrontation that he had with his second-eldest son the week before replayed in his thoughts. Appointed as family spokesman, Virgil had flown in from Denver for the weekend with the intention of evaluating the home front. Things hadn't gone well from the very start. Knowing he was being checked on like a child hadn't disposed Jeff to be in an agreeable frame of mind and he was cross and short-tempered. Then Virgil, deaf to reason, would stubbornly insist keeping his job at InnTech. An argument was inevitable in such a climate and before long, father and son had clashed with unusual vigor.

Jeff sighed, troubled by the whole incident. He had completely overreacted. Once again. He cringed when he remembered how the police had come and marched Virgil through the hallways and out in the parking lot.

Jeff suddenly tensed. He could feel the familiar sensation creeping slowly over him. It was the same tidal rush of emotions that he had first felt on the night before the Nova launch. Doc called them anxiety attacks, brought on by stress, overwork and worry. Jeff fumbled in the desk drawer for his pill bottle as his heart started pounding and sweat began to bead on his forehead.

He found the object of his search and despite his shaking hands, managed to fish out a green pill. With a gulp of cold, bitter tasting coffee, he washed it down and waited for it to work.

Trying to ignore the tightness in his chest and the pounding in his ears, Jeff swiveled around in his chair and looked out the window. A million pinpoints of starlight pierced the night sky. As a distraction, he began mapping out the early winter constellations, tracing their ancient imaginary outlines. Draco, Ophiuchus, Hercules, Cygnus, Aquila, Pegasus...

"Hullo, Mr. Tracy." a familiar voice called behind him.

Jeff slowly turned to see Jack, one of the night security guards standing in the doorway. Every night when he made his rounds and found Jeff still working he said the same thing. Tonight was no different.

"Kind of late to still be pushing paper, isn't it?"

"Late? It's only ten o'clock, Jack. Plenty of night left to get some work done."

"Sure, but everyone's got to catch a few winks now and then. Even you, Mr. Tracy. Besides, life ain't all work you know."

Jeff managed a wan smile. "I know. If I had a dollar for each time someone's said that to me I'd be a rich man."

Jack chuckled. "I'd say you fall into that category already, Mr. Tracy. If I were you I'd ditch this place and go buy myself a tropical island somewhere and live in the lap of luxury the rest of my days." He jangled some loose change in his pocket. "I mean, why make money if you can't enjoy it?"

Jeff didn't answer. With each passing second, he felt worse and worse. The room began to spin around and he felt like he was on an out of control merry-go-round. He closed his eyes and rested his head in his hands.

"You okay, Mr. Tracy?" Jack asked, his voice concerned.

Jeff made an effort to answer, but his tongue wouldn't form any words. He opened his eyes, but his vision was so distorted he couldn't see anything clearly. Jake, transformed by his faltering sight, looked like a shapeless blob.

"Mr. Tracy?" the blob said. "Are you all right?"

Jeff heard the voice but it sounded odd, like he was hearing in slow motion from a great distance away. The blob moved closer, making noises, but Jeff hardly noticed. The dark chasm opened up before him again. He looked down into the shadowy depths. Instead of retreating from the edge, he was slipping down the steep side.

Deeper and deeper he went. As he fell, images flashed by, appearing for an instant then fading. Scott. Virgil. John. Gordon. Alan. His mother. A multitude of friends and acquaintances. The dead. Collie. His father. His brother Michael. Lucille. He tried to slow down and reach out to her but she faded away just like all the others.

Then memories replaced faces. His childhood in Kansas, his air force service, his marriage to Lucille, his time as an astronaut, his boys one by one coming into the world, Lucille's funeral, the long years building up Tracy Aerospace, the boys growing up...the memories merged into a blend of unrecognizable colors as he fell faster and faster.

Then there was nothing.

Everyone and everything was gone.

Jeff slowly drifted away into nothingness and for the first time in many years he felt completely at peace.

At last he could rest.

Becker and Kat's eyes met for the briefest of moments. She could sense the menace lurking just beneath the man's broad smile. Instantly she attacked. With dizzying speed, she ploughed into him.

He had no time to react as she grabbed his arm, swung him around, and forcefully slammed a knee into his groin. Becker fell to the floor with a grunt. Kat grabbed the ski pole she had brought in earlier. Straddling his fallen form, she pressed the pole into his neck.

Becker choked and gasped. His astonishment rapidly turned to amusement and his eternal smile appeared on his face once more and he started laughing hoarsely. Managing to twist his neck a little, he shifted his gaze to Virgil. "Is this...anyway...to...greet...an...old...friend...Tracy?"

Kat blinked in surprise and frowned. She looked to Virgil, who had watched the whole attack in open-mouthed amazement. " Friend, Gus?"

"He's no friend of mine," Virgil growled.

"Ah...but you're wrong," Becker managed to squeak. "Who ...but ...a... friend... would...help...you...save...your...brother?"

Brother? Virgil thought, confused for a split second. Then the horrible realization of what the words could only mean hit him.

Alan.

"Let him loose, Kat."

Kat reluctantly took away the ski pole from Becker's throat and got up.

Becker sat up and rubbed his throat. All the while his eyes never left Kat. He chuckled. "We have to get better acquainted sometime, my dear. You're my kind of woman. Good looking, smart, violent..."

He broke off as Virgil reached down and yanked him to his feet. "Violent? You haven't seen anything yet! Now tell me what the hell you've done to my brother!"

"Certainly," Becker said mildly. His eyes dropped to Virgil's fists balled up in the heavy jacket of his stolen ski patrol uniform. "But please, don't wrinkle the jacket. Dry clean only you know."

Virgil's grip tightened and he nearly lifted the man off of his feet. "There'll be blood stains on it if you don't start talking mighty quick!"

Becker smiled. "I didn't think you had it in you, Tracy, but then desperation will sometimes drive people to do strange things." He sighed. "Take Collie Davis for example. He'd still be alive if it weren't for that belated twinge of conscience."

At the mention of Collie's name, Virgil clenched his teeth and thrust him into the chair by the telecomm. The wheels squealed in protest as Virgil jerked it around so that Becker was facing him.

Kat, disturbed by the anger and hate she saw in her friend, put a restraining hand on his arm. "Take it easy, Gus. Let the police handle it. This evil monster isn't worth it."

"Evil monster," Becker repeated blissfully and winked at Kat. "See. We were made for each other. You recognize my finer qualities."

Kat paid no attention to him. She leaned in front of Virgil and looked steadily into his blazing eyes. "Gus. Listen to me."

Virgil gaze shifted to her. "Kat, you don't understand. This is the man who killed Collie, who helped sabotage the Nova. He's responsible for dozens of deaths. And now Alan..."

"I know," Kat said quietly. "And he will be punished. But not like this, not by you. It has to be through the legal channels, otherwise it's just cheap revenge...and that's not justice at all."

"Ah," Becker purred. "A philosopher as well. You only get better and better."

The mocking words rekindled Virgil's smoldering anger to full strength and he reached for Becker. Kat thrust herself in between them and put her hands against Virgil's chest. "You know what I'm saying is true, Gus. Now stop acting like a lawless street thug!"

"Get out of the way, Kat!"

"No!"

The two friends glared at each other. Kat's grey eyes sparkled with anger and determination; Virgil's with wrath and frustration. She knew that Virgil would never use physical force to try and get her out of the way. Of course, they both knew if he did try, she'd be a match for him despite his advantage of greater size and strength. It was just like one of their childhood clash of wills: stormy, tempestuous, and mercifully brief.

The standoff was only thirty seconds long when Virgil gave in and backed off; a natural conclusion as his innate sensible nature asserted itself over the hotheaded urge to beat Becker into a pulp.

"Wise decision, my friend," Becker said gleefully. "I'm not opposed to an occasional head bashing now and then for the sake of personal satisfaction, but if you knock my teeth out I won't be able to help you with little brother."

Becker paused, seeming to savor their anxiety, before continuing. "And that would be a real shame since he needs all the help he can get."

Virgil clenched his fists. "If you hurt him I'll..."

"Now, now, Virgil, listen to Dr. Crawford and take it easy. You're expending far too much energy making grandiose threats. Take my word, you need to conserve it for later."

"How do you know who I am?" Kat demanded.

Becker studied her keenly. "You and I have a mutual acquaintance, Doctor."

Kat instantly knew the identity of the unnamed person. "Haydyn. You're one of his hired mercenaries, aren't you?"

"Once again, you flatter me with your compliments. I have never had the honor of being referred to as a 'hired mercenary." Becker smirked for a moment. "I'll have to add that to my resume. However, that's a conversation for another day. Little brother's life is our first priority at the present moment. I'm afraid the young fellow has gotten himself into a rather slippery predicament. Quite literally."

Becker settled back in the chair and fidgeted a moment to get comfortable before he continued speaking. "Much better. Although I must say, I did enjoy our little encounter on the floor, Doctor. We'll have to do it again sometime. But as I always say, business before pleasure. So let's not waste anymore time."

"What have you done to them?" Virgil growled.

"Me? Nothing at all." Becker whistled a few bars of Taps cheerfully. "As I'm sure you both know, skiing is a dangerous sport. People fall and break bones every day. Then you have your collisions. People crash into each other, sometimes there'll be a chance meeting with a tree..." He paused and studied his nails critically. "I really must get a manicure. My cuticles are absolutely disgraceful."

Virgil eyed him warily. Beside him, Kat hovered like a tiger ready to pounce. Becker's easy-going manner made her tense and her instincts warned her of the danger. On the other side of the room, the two ski patrol men sat together quietly in the corner. They all waited for him to continue.

Becker smiled at them. "...And of course, we can't forget avalanches." His voice was casual, as if he were discussing the weather. "There are a lot of dangerous places on this mountain. Places where people shouldn't go. Places where a mere acoustic vibration of just the right pitch can cause disaster. Isn't that right, Virgil?"

"That's right," Virgil said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. Though he didn't show it, Kat could sense his fear, his concern for Alan and Julie.

For a fraction of a second, Becker's friendly expression vanished. The face underneath, a mirror of his soul, reflected a mixture of pure evil and ferocious cunning. It was the face of a demon.

Then as quickly as it came, it disappeared. Once again, Becker smiled, even more broadly than before. "Tell me, Virgil, are you ready for the challenge?"

"The challenge?" Virgil asked, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

"It's very simple really," Becker explained pleasantly. "Can you save little brother? Can you reach him in time?"

"In time for what?" Kat demanded.

"In time to avoid the avalanche that will occur in�" Becker checked his watch. "Fifteen minutes."

"I don't understand what you mean�" Virgil began.

Becker cut him off. "Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Time's running out, Virgil. You'd better be on your way. Every second counts."

One of the men in the corner, gathered a small amount of courage and headed towards the telecomm.

"Shame, shame," Beck scolded, wagging a finger at him. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The man fearfully stopped in his tracks. Kat scowled and picked up where he left off, walking around Becker, reaching for the emergency signal button.

"That goes for you too, Doctor," Becker warned. "Otherwise the avalanche will happen a little sooner than planned and little brother will not fare well as he is centrally located, right in the middle of the action."

Kat stopped and regarded Becker steadily. "You talk a lot, but say very little. Why don't you just come out and say what you mean?"

Becker sighed. "Hmmm. That's the second time I've heard that today. Perhaps I should consider modifying my style somewhat." He drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair. "Very well. Let me be blunt. Little brother is in a maintenance cabin up on Trail Seven. As you know, Virgil, that area has been off limits for some time now, and is classified as an avalanche hazard zone. Simply put, you've got fifteen minutes to go up there before heap big snow come down, kill little brother."

"You're going to trigger an avalanche?" Virgil asked incredulously.

"Yes, that is the implication. But only if you don't reach him in the time allowed. As long as you set foot inside the cabin before time's up, there'll be no avalanche." Becker winked at Kat. "I do believe our Virgil's a little slow, my dear. To have a truly satisfying relationship you need someone that is your intellectual equal. Me, for instance."

Kat paid no attention to Becker. She was puzzling over the situation in her mind, analyzing possible motives and underlying meanings. "So you're going to trigger an avalanche in order to kill Alan Tracy. Yet if we reach him in time, nothing will happen. What's the point of that?"

Becker chuckled. "It's all part of the challenge."

"And what's the purpose of that?" Kat wanted to know.

"The scientific mind thinks it has to know everything," Becker replied sadly. "Meanwhile, poor little brother comes closer and closer to a rendezvous with death."

"What about Julie?" Virgil said. "Is she there too?"

"Of course. Where else would she be?" Becker replied casually. "Now I suggest you start your journey. Only thirteen and a half minutes left."

He stretched out comfortably in the chair and began whistling cheerfully. He was the picture of happiness and contentment.

Virgil and Kat looked at each other. She could see the pain and worry in the brown eyes she knew so well. Automatically she reached out to comfort him. "It'll be all right, Gus. We can reach them in time..."

Virgil tried to smile, but failed miserably. "Not we, Kat. It's too dangerous for you to go."

Kat started to argue but Virgil stubbornly refused to allow her to go, pointing out that she could hardly stand up on her skis let alone go down a treacherous mountain path. Kat, always logical, could appreciate that argument and reluctantly agreed to stay and watch Becker.

Anxiously, she watched as Virgil hurriedly put on his skis. It was snowing heavily and the light from the booth penetrated only a few feet into the wintry darkness.

"Don't let your guard down for an instant with that guy," he said. "I don't know what they're trying to pull, but it can't be anything good."

As Virgil started to leave, Kat impulsively threw her arms around him and held him close. "Be careful, Gus," she whispered.

"Aren't I always, Kitty Kat?" he said gently. He brushed a long strand of her coppery-colored hair away from her face. She caught his hand in hers and their fingers intertwined.

"Promise me you'll come back."

"I promise."

They could barely see each other in the dim light, but; they knew each other so well that it didn't matter. Reaching for each other at the same time, they kissed. It was so sudden and unplanned that it startled them both, but neither of them stopped. For a moment, their souls, as well as their bodies, connected in perfect harmony.

Then Virgil reluctantly pulled away. He gently touched her face and a silent exchange passed between them as they held in other in the darkness, snowflakes dusting over them.

Then Virgil unwillingly let her go and dug his ski poles into the hard-packed snow. With a mighty push, he propelled himself forward. Still feeling the warmth of his touch, Kat watched him disappear into the darkness towards the ski lift.

Her eyes turned to the mountain. A portion of it was lighted by the light poles that outlined the open trails; the rest was in complete darkness. Kat shivered and folded her arms to try and conserve warmth. But it wasn't the cold that bothered her, it was the sinister atmosphere she felt radiating from the mountainside hid in darkness.

Alan and Julie were up there somewhere. And soon, Virgil would be too.

Plagued by the troubling thoughts and feelings, Kat turned around and went back into the booth. The only thing she could do was wait and hope that Virgil could reach them in time.

Virgil felt surprisingly calm despite the knowledge that if he didn't make it to the maintenance cabin in time Alan and Julie would surely be killed. Even without checking his watch, he knew that there simply wasn't enough time to go to the main ski lift next to the ski lodge. Instead, he headed in the opposite direction towards the secondary lift that serviced the upper trails during the busiest part of the season.

With synchronized movements, he hurtled across the main path that wrapped all around the base of the mountain from the ski lodge to the Yeti's testing site. Thankfully, it wasn't too crowded as the snowstorm had discouraged many people from coming out. Even so, he nearly collided with a couple as they leisurely glided out of the exit of one of the trails.

Missing them by the narrowest of margins, Virgil ignored their babble of angry protests and ploughed onward. No time for apologies. He could feel the precious seconds ticking away as mentally numbered the trails he passed by.

Trail Four...

Trail Five...

Trail Six was just ahead yet the ski lift was no were to be seen.

Virgil's heart sank and he slowed down. Ahead of him, he could the blockade of red signs and fluorescent orange snow fence signaling the start of the avalanche prone area which stretched from trail seven all the way up to twenty-five. It was a solitary wilderness of snow and ice, menacingly quiet and still.

He knew from the site surveys for the Yeti tests that the entire mountainside was littered with enormous sheets of unstable snow ready to explode at the least disturbance. It was like a giant minefield, with pockets of death randomly scattered about.

Breathing heavily from his speedy sprint, Virgil came to a stop and leaned against the fence. For a moment, he stared into the darkness and desperately tried to think.

Where was the ski lift? He had been so sure it was at Trail Six.

Wait. An answer flickered somewhere in his memory.

It was Trail Seven , not Six.

Virgil squeezed past the metal warning signs and hoisted himself ungracefully over the snow fence. He caught the end of one of his skis in the plastic mesh and pitched forward headfirst into the snow on the other side of the fence.

Scrambling to his feet, an instant later he was speeding into the darkness. The snow seemed to be getting heavier and without the help of the trail lights, Virgil found it almost impossible to see.

A cold wave of despair washed over him. What if he was wrong? What if it wasn't Trail Seven, but one of the other trails further on down? He would never make it in time.

A barely visible shape loomed ahead.

Virgil sighed in relief. It was the control shack where, when it was in use, the operator sat monitoring the ski lift's operation. He scrambled up to the door and rattled the doorknob. Just as he suspected, locked.

No matter. Virgil drew back his fist and smashed into the window with all his strength. With a crunch, the glass cracked inward and gave way. Reaching inside, he undid the lock, once again thankful that the ski resort's management was too cheap to update their security technology.

Not bothering to take his skis off, he thumped around in the dark. Somehow he managed to find the circuit breaker box. Wasting no time, he turned on the ski lift and the trail lights. There was the sluggish whir as a generator powered up, then with the horrible screech of stiff metal, the ski lift creaked into life.

Less than half a minute went by before Virgil was seated in a lift chair heading up the mountain. He took the opportunity to rest and gather his thoughts. Glancing downward between the outline of his skis, he could see the distant trail below, wild and unmaintained.

Although it was rough, he had complete confidence he could get there in time. The cabin wasn't that far from the top of the trail. The possibility of what awaited for them afterwards was far more troubling.

Haydyn was obviously the real force behind it all, but what was this game really about? Simple revenge? Somehow, Virgil didn't think so. From his brief encounter with the man, he didn't believe it could be that easy.

As the ski lift carried him closer to the top, he continued to puzzle over possible motives until a distant sound pierced the stillness.

It was low rumbling like the sound of a freight train. Horror washed over Virgil as he listened to it, coming closer and closer. It could only be one thing...

Avalanche!

Heart pounding, Virgil checked his chronometer. He stared at the lighted dial in utter disbelief. According to Becker's timetable, he still had time.

Five minutes.

Yet, there it was, a deadly wall of snow and ice hurling towards him with furious speed. He had been tricked and trapped. What a fool he was to believe a double-crosser like Becker!

The rumble became a roar and the trail lights up ahead winked out one by one as the avalanche's incredible force knocked them down as if they were matchsticks. Virgil gripped onto the puny metal frame of the lift chair, holding his breath as the juggernaut thundered towards him.

This is it, he thought grimly as the tidal wave of snow neared.

He closed his eyes and braced for the impact.

Chapter 10

Scott's eyes snapped open. Where was he?

He stared into the darkness a second, struggling to get his bearings. Something rough was digging into his cheek. Tentatively, he brushed at the unknown object and his fingers came into contact with a bunch of rough, pointy stalks.

Hay.

He tried to sit up, but his head throbbed so painfully that he quickly collapsed backwards once more. Waves of dizziness bombarded him. Waiting for them to pass, he loosened the straps around his chin and took off his helmet. As he was setting it aside, he hand came in contact with a huge dent along the side.

Where did that come from? Scott groggily tried to think.

Of course. He had hit his head when he first landed in the tree, then again when that branch collapsed.

"What a rotten day!" Scott muttered, rubbing his swollen eyes. "All I need now is to make prisoner of war status to top things off."

A creak made his heart stop. Ignoring the pain, he forced himself to sit up. The sound of voices reached him and an overhead light flashed on. Before he had time to react, he found himself face to face with two children, a girl and a boy.

They were probably in their early teens but it was difficult for Scott to tell their ages. They were dressed shabbily, in clothes that were worn and threadbare and hardly suitable for the harsh weather of a Bereznik winter. The boy was taller, but both were equally thin. Their faces had a pinched quality that told of many barely sustainable meals. The two pairs of luminous brown eyes that regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and fear were much too old for such young faces.

As Scott looked at the girl a faint memory stirred somewhere. The girl in the woods. He had thought it was only all a dream. He made a move towards them, and immediately the boy pushed the girl back and grabbed for a pitchfork.

"Hey, hey!" Scott protested. He smiled and held his hands up. "Take it easy there. I'm not going to hurt you."

Frowning, the boy held the pitchfork out and brandished it like a sword.

Scott put on his most winning smile. "Friends, remember?"

The girl said something to the boy, scolding him. The boy replied angrily, his eyes never leaving Scott. Then the girl reached for the pitchfork and tried to wretch it away. A furious babble of words erupted and they struggled over it. Scott took advantage of their distraction, scrambled forward, and snatched the pitchfork out of both their grasping hands.

The two children fell back fearfully.

Scott smiled reassuringly and set the pitchfork aside. "Now, don't look at me like that, you two," he said, knowing they didn't understand a word he was saying. "You could get hurt with this thing. Sharps object and fighting siblings don't mix. Believe me, I know."

Still feeling a little dizzy, he leaned back against a wooden partition. Something nudged against his arm. Scott whirled around and found himself face to face with a fuzzy brown face.

A shaggy bay pony shoved its head against Scott's chest and curiously nibbled the emblems on his flight suit. Scott relaxed and grinned. Scratching the pony's forehead, he turned back to the children.

The boy still eyed him warily, but the girl had lost her cautious reserve. Smiling shyly, she produced a paper bag and handed it to Scott. It contained a couple of cold boiled potatoes and a hunk of coarse brown bread with the thinnest trace of butter.

Scott wasn't hungry but changed his mind when he saw how concerned the girl looked when he didn't eat. He took a bite of potato and washed it down with a drink from the bottle of cola that she proudly offered him.

"Thanks," he said.

"Your welcome," the boy replied.

"You speak English?" Scott asked, amazed.

"A little. From school." The boy hesitated, as if trying to remember. "Name?"

"Scott Tracy. And who are you?"

"Nikolas." He pointed to the girl. "Sasha. My sister. You are...pilot?"

"Yes," Scott answered a little cautiously.

"Where?"

"From Russia." Not wanting to provide any more information than necessary Scott deliberately made his answer somewhat vague.

Nikolas regarded him steadily, a frown playing at the corners of his mouth. He turned to Sasha and spoke rapidly in an unhappy tone. She replied soothingly, her voice pleading at first, then angry.

Though Scott didn't understand the language, he had a good idea what was going on between the two. Nikolas obviously didn't want him here while Sasha wanted to help.

While they argued, Scott ate the rest of the mealy potatoes and scratched the pony behind the ears. He knew he couldn't stay no matter what the children decided. The Bereznik soldiers and Stasee agents would surely be searching for him by now.

The low rumbling of motors and the crunch of tires on snow sounded outside. The children abruptly fell silent and Nikolas sprinted to the door and peeked out. Terror-stricken, he turned and said one word.

"Stasee!"

Sasha grabbed Scott by the hand and dragged him over to the ladder that led into the hayloft. Pointing at it, she desperately spoke. Scott wasted no time and clambered up the ladder.

He had barely settled in the hay when the doors opened. Four Bereznik soldiers came in with weapons drawn. A black-uniformed man clad in a heavy full-length black leather coat followed on their heels. Two more soldiers trailed behind with another man, dressed in an old flannel shirt and worn jeans.

Methodically, the soldiers began searching. Scott watched their movements anxiously, knowing it would only be a matter of time before they searched the loft. He had to find someplace to hide.

While the soldiers searched, Nikolas and Sasha stood near the stalls next to their father, Alexei.

"What are they looking for, Papa?" Nikolas whispered.

"Enemy pilots," Alexei answered quietly. "Their planes were shot down not too far away. They think that someone may be hiding them."

The soldiers threw open a door on the other side of the barn. A large pile of enormous feedbags stuffed with grain filled the small compartment. Drawing their knives the soldiers began slashing at them, spilling their contents on the floor.

"Careful there!" Alexei protested.

"Be quiet, Citizen." The darkly clad Stasee agent drew a handgun from his coat and pointed it at him. "Unless you want to make your children orphans."

Alexei fell silent and drew the children back into one of the stalls while they watched the soldiers. He stumbled over something. Looking down, his eyes widened in surprise. A battered flight helmet lay in the hay. Hurriedly, he kicked a clump of hay over it.

"Check the loft," the Stasee agent ordered.

One of the soldiers clambered up the ladder.

"Where is he?" muttered Alexei out of the corner of his mouth to Nikolas.

Nikolas nodded ever so slightly in the direction of the loft. Alexei groaned softly.

"See anything?" the Stasee agent, asked.

"No," the soldier called down.

"Get up there and search."

A couple of the soldiers were moving towards the ladder when Alexei cleared his throat.

The Stasee agent turned on his heel, the finger closed over the trigger of his gun. "Are you sure you want to say something, Citizen?"

"Tell them to be careful of the nests up there," Alexei said.

"Nests? Of what?"

"Of black-banded barn hornets."

"Black-banded barn hornets!" scoffed the agent. "In winter, Citizen?"

"Yes," Alexei said, never blinking. "If you disturb them, they'll come out of hibernation to defend themselves."

The agent threw back his head and laughed. "That is the dumbest story I have ever heard in my life." He motioned to the soldiers to continue.

Alexei sighed. "Just remember I tried to warn you. May my children and I wait outside? We will not be safe down here."

The agent scrutinized him darkly but Alexei never faltered.

Not thrilled at the prospect of a thousand angry stinging insects, the agent ordered the soldiers down and they left to search the next farm a little further down the road. When the motors had faded off into the distance, Alexei turned to Nikolas and Sasha.

"Papa..." began Nikolas slowly. "You see, we..." The words died in his throat under his father's furious eyes.

Without a word, Alexei strode over to the ladder. Grabbing a beam lantern from the floor, he clambered up the rungs.

"You can come out," he said in nearly perfect English. "They are gone now and won't be back. At least for a while."

Near the back of the loft, a pile of hay moved and a figure sat up. Even covered half-covered in hay, the USAF insignias on Scott's uniform were visible in the dim light.

"You are the pilot they are looking for." It was a statement of fact rather than a question.

"Yes," Scott nodded. "One of them anyway."

"Your name?"

"Captain Scott Tracy."

"Well then, Captain Tracy, may I be the first to welcome you to the Republic of Bereznik," Alexei said with a weary sigh. "I sincerely hope you live to leave it."

"We're lost," Commander Morris said gloomily. He leaned against a tree and waited for Reggie to catch up to him. For nearly three hours now, they had been wandering through the forest. The days were short this time of year and though it was relatively early, the forest was already cloaked in gloom and darkness.

Reggie trudged slowly behind, a little worse for the wear from his icy plunge.

"Nah, we're not lost. I know exactly where we are."

"Oh?" Morris asked skeptically. "And where's that?"

"H-E-L-L." Reggie shivered and drew his jacket around more tightly. "Except I don't see any of that fire and brimstone the preachers are always promising wicked sinners like me."