* * * * *
Faster than you can say "Give up! You're surrounded," the two motorcycle cops had flanked us. While the Econoliner had skidded to a stop, lengthwise, directly in front of us. Whereupon, the side panel door on it slid back. Allowing a small SWAT team, armed with H&K MP-5'S to disembark in a semi-circle!
Needless to say, the machine guns were pointed at us.
It was then that two guys got out of the van's cab. Each one wearing a Navy-blue windbreaker with matching baseball cap. And each cap bearing, in yellow letters, the initials...
"...FBI."
The younger of the two looked like Yale Summers. The actor who used to play Marsh Tracy's preppie assistant on "Daktari." While his slightly older partner resembled Muppeteer Frank Oz (minus the eyeglasses)! And it was the latter who used his walkie-talkie to send for a yellow-and-black bus to transport the four of us to the Los Angeles Federal Building.
That's where he finally made introductions, after the two of them sat down.
"Mr. Northfield? I'm Special Agent Erhart. This is my partner, Special Agent Ebersol."
From where I sat in the interrogation room, facing the standard issue two-way mirror, I smilingly nodded and said (in the most schmoozing tone I could fake):
"Nice to meet you, gentlemen. How can the Fourth Estate be of service?"
"It's been brought to our attention," began Ebersol: "...that you've been trying to get in touch with one General McCoy of the U.S. Air Force. Is this true?"
I nodded, again: "As a matter of fact, yes. I was trying to get his opinion, pro or con, on a certain tip I was given. Yet, so far, he hasn't returned my calls!"
"A tip from whom?" demanded Erhart: "And pertaining to what?"
"With all due respect, gentlemen, you know I can't answer that first question! Source confidentiality. As to the second question, however? It was hinted to me that something was recovered from the wreckage of that Aeroflot jet that recently crashed on Mt. Rainier, Washington. Something that was stolen (by party or parties unknown) from the Russian space center affectionately known, in English, as 'Star City.' Can I safely assume, from our present conversation, that there's more substance to the story than I initially thought?"
Ebersol pounded the table top with his right fist.
"We're asking the questions, here, smart-ass! Not you."
But, Erhart knew I was seasoned enough to recognize "good cop/bad cop," when someone was trying to play it on me, and quickly admonished his partner to calm down. Whereupon, he tried another approach.
"If all you're doing is attempting to get confirmation- or-denial of this rumor, why did we find you hanging out with three known mercenaries? One of them carrying a contraband piece of ordnance!"
Obviously, he was referring to Monk and "Bertha."
"I hired Colonel Barker and his associates to serve as my bodyguards. On the off-chance that one of my source's claims--i.e., Russian Mob involvement in the crash--proved true."
"And why would the Russian Mob want to cause one of their own country's airliners to crash?" sneered Ebersol.
I looked him straight in the eye.
"Perhaps to save themselves some money when it came to getting their hands on a certain silver meteorite."
Bingo! Both of them instinctively stiffened in their seats at those last two words. Meaning that Crazy Bob's tip did have meat to it, after all.
Before either of these guys could come up with any rejoinder, however, there was a tell-tale buzzing sound from the right pocket of Erhart's jacket. It was, of course, his cellphone on "vibe mode." He answered it outside, while Ebersol kept me company. Trying to prove that he had the optical version of bigger cajones.
"Congratulations, Mr. Northfield!" he exclaimed (with a cheerfulness that made me uneasy): "You just won yourself a free trip to DC. Courtesy of HomeSec!"
Ninety seconds later, we boarded an elevator. With my left hand cuffed to Erhart's right, while my right hand was cuffed to Ebersol's left. The latter pressed the button for the parking garage. And all the way down, I was thinking:
"Is this some complicated ruse on M.A.C.H.O.'s part? Are they trying to give me the answers I want, without letting Barker and the others know about the existence of shrinkies?"
I was still pondering this when the elevator chimed our arrival. The doors opened, and we exited. Only to stop in our tracks in perfect unison! Because, standing between us and the car--Erhart and Ebersol had no doubt planned to put me in the back seat of--was a Japanese-American army officer...
...and the two majorettes I had met, earlier that morning, at Cahuenga High School.
The former was holding a nine-millimeter Beretta on us. But, Alana Zaccaroni (the brunette majorette) smiled and told him to lower it. He did so, with an expression on his face that I can only describe as "relieved." But, the very next second, Alana and her blonde co-captain raised their batons. While Erhart and Ebersol simultaneously went for their weapons!
Two "ka-zaps" later? Both FBI agents were the size of Hasbro action figures.
tbc
Giantess World
