Pandemic Palisades Ch 10

About fifteen minutes later, Michelle returned from the other room.  “Okay, I spoke to Jenna, she said she’d cover for me this week.”

“Good.  That means you have until the seventh of March?”

She nodded and returned to her seat on the chair.

“Suppose you could take a plane, but it’s pretty risky,” I said.  “On the same vein, it doesn’t seem fair to ask you to drive Summer without a pilot the whole way, and especially asking you to stay in hotels.”

“You’ve also got the Outback here,” Michelle said.  “If you don’t need it here, I’d rather drive it home for you.  As I said before, I trust hotels more than I do airports and a confined, pressurized tube in the sky.”

Can’t argue with that, I guess.

“But you should also stay here if your girls are here,” Michelle continued.  “Andromeda said you were going to be there for Nicollet’s ceremony.  You are, aren’t you?”

I nodded.  “Yeah, I did.”

“When you folks go home, you’ll drive the truck, which holds two kids and two adults,” Michelle said.  “Will Ceylara be riding with you again?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I replied.  “But I expect five of us could fit into the truck with two child seats.  How do you feel about driving the Outback?”

Michelle smirked.  “How would Shelly feel about it?”

“The other issue-” I trailed off.  “Maybe it’s better to let this mellow.”

“Was Shelly expecting us back?” Michelle asked.  “I wonder if I should contact Agent Mellner and discuss the thing with Carter.”

I put my feet up in the recliner.  “Not right away.  Suppose I should also look over that stuff I got from Carter, too.”

Michelle pulled out her phone.  “Nothing to it but to do it.”

Mixing up some lunch after a bit - there was plenty of food in the camper which needed to be eaten in our absence - Michelle got a hold of Agent Mellner, who was on assignment but left a message saying she’d discuss it with Jackson and Cauldwell further.

The rest of the time, I checked in with the old man and told him what we’ve been up to - he called and I had to return it.  I didn’t go into everything about what had happened in San Diego, but he shared sentiments about Andromeda, hoping for a quick recovery.

Otherwise, I had a chance to look over the spoils from my day in San Diego.  Two cues, with all of the necessary parts, and two padded cases.  A set of sixteen billiard balls that were a $500 value by themselves; classic.  Accessories included a tip shaper, a box of chalk - blue, but what are ya going to do? - and a billiard table brush, which I’ve already got two.

For the pickleball set, it included two paddles, five pickleballs, a pair of hand towels, a carrying case that held it all neatly secure, and a score sheet.  Don’t know why it needed one, but unless your opponent had their own set you had everything you need except for a court and a net.

Lastly, there was that neoprene envelope.  In total, I counted a sum of - get this - $1,860 dollars, all laid out in hundreds and three twenties.  When he said double or nothing, Carter wasn’t kidding.  If I were going to take this thing with the Ford GT seriously, we’d have to factor that in.

Near as I could tell, everything that Carter had promised me was there.  Still, I wondered what could be done to improve the odds of him not retaliating if the GT we promised him suddenly vanished overnight.

Our first stipend would be that there would be no keys to the GT unless information came first, via recorded phone call - once we were satisfied a key would arrive by private courier.  Second would be that the car in question would have to be delivered via a third party delivery service, like Carvana or something, to avoid putting a face on any agent accused of later removing said vehicle from its resting place.

A third issue would require some trickery, as any cameras would certainly have to be tampered with - if Michelle were to become human and then walk out, what risks would be involved there?  And would she be able to get out without tripping alarms?  Fourth, I began to wonder if the FBI would even be up to a mission like this at all.  The longer I pondered it all, the more issues seemed to be coming up.  Contacting Anabelle or Jeanette seemed good, but even that idea made a guy wonder how we’d get away with it.

Michelle and I worked out what we could, but ultimately our paths split - she gravitated toward the bedroom and I gravitated toward the couch.  While neither of us had been especially taxed that morning, sleep came easy.

Yet somehow, Michelle got talking.

“You ever watch Gilligan’s Island, Greg?”

What?  “As a kid maybe, sure.”

“Shelly’s convinced that if the show had a mermaid it would’ve lasted more than three seasons.”

Really?  “Maybe.”  A moment or two later, I thought about it some more.  A mermaid on the show would’ve changed the plot quite a bit; but-

“A mermaid on Gilligan’s Island wouldn’t have worked.”

“No?” Michelle asked.

“Not even if Ginger or Mary Ann was one,” I said.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because a mermaid would leave the island and swim for help,” I said.  “It’s likely she’d reappear every few episodes or so, but while she’d also be able to swim to find fish for food, or swim to the ship-”

“The SS Minnow was run aground with a few holes in the hull,” Michelle replied.  “It actually fell apart in the second episode and was never seen again after that.  But you think the mermaid would leave?”

“Suppose there could’ve been an eighth passenger,” I said.  “One who was a mermaid all along but hid it; the crew left Honolulu for a three hour tour, presumably to Maui or someplace?”

“Maybe, you remember more about the shore than I do,” Michelle said.  “Either way, we argued about it for nearly four hours.  Suppose if you had been on time, that yacht might not have been tracking us.”

I sighed.  “Yeah, sorry about that.  At least Shelly was ready.”

“It’s fine,” Michelle said.  “We’ve all been there for each other, and I guess now I owe her.”

“She probably wouldn’t say that.”

The conversation finally drifted off and the two of us napped.

The buzz of my phone woke me up awhile later.  I checked my watch to see that it was a quarter after two.  I should’ve recognized the ringtone.

“Greg?  Were you and Michelle coming back?”

I explained to Shelly that we had contacted Cauldwell and Mellner about Carter’s GT idea, as well as the stipulations he had come up with.

Shelly processed everything.

“Pick me up at the beach in about fifteen minutes.”

As it took fifteen minutes to get there, we left right away and drove back to Emerald Bay, making sure to take a few towels along.  Instead of Summer driving, however, we took the Outback.

Shelly surfaced shortly after we arrived, and I carried her into the passenger seat which had been lined with the beach towels.  Even though we didn’t take time to change her out of her fins - she insisted we keep moving - she still wore her seatbelt and would ride just fine as is.

“I thought about it on the way to the beach,” Shelly said.  “It’s easy.  Michelle, do you have a problem being a Ford GT again?”

“No,” she answered.  “Well, maybe not Stratocaster specifically.  We could always pick a different color, like red or something.”

“And how about using another wet patch?” Shelly asked.  “You could turn into the blue starfish again.”

I hit the brakes, having started driving back up the hill toward the street.  “Wait, what?”

“Greg, keep up,” Shelly said.  “Have you called Mellner and Cauldwell?  I think you should get them on the phone right away.”

Shelly later got onto the phone with Agent Mellner, who didn’t seem enthusiasitic about proceeding with the plan as currently laid out.

“Cauldwell and I have been debating it for a few hours now, communicating between both our phones and our computers,” Mellner had said after listening to Shelly’s plan.  “But the way you’re describing this, I think it could work if Michelle’s on board.”

“I am,” Michelle said.  Their phone call had been on the Outback’s blutooth and was open to the passengers inside.  “However, you’re thinking that the FBI isn’t up to the task?”

“Regrettably, I think both Cauldwell and I are in agreement, this is a cookie jar the FBI wouldn’t like to get our hands caught in.  However, we do appreciate the importance of finding information on Diego Riviera, and I think I can make one phone call to a good friend - a double agent if you will - who is not only familiar with the Migration but also Rio herself and might be able to help us.”

Though the conversation ended quickly, by the time we returned to the camper and helped Shelly inside - she was dry already and would have legs by the end of our wait - another phone call soon came.  It was not from Collette, however, and instead came from someone much more senior - even though the number was blocked on my caller ID.  Based on what I knew from Mellner’s conversation, I answered the phone on my speakerphone as Michelle and Shelly leaned in.

“Greg Claxion?  This is Commander Simmons.  I trust you’re well?”

“Yes sir,” I replied.  “We’ve been doing our best in this pandemic.”

“Is Miss Peyton and your wife there as well?”

“Hello sir,” both chorused.

“I received a phone call from Agent Mellner of the FBI just now.  It sounds like you might need assistance from a few of our agents?  Tell me what your situation is and what you need us to do.”

Shelly, Michelle and I spent the next few moments filling Collette’s father in on the situation.  Shelly might not have included everything about Michelle’s transformation, but Michelle was the one who mentioned the concept of first the GT and then the starfish.

“You can do that?” Simmons asked in response.

“Sure,” Michelle said.  “I was one the other day.”  She then briefly explained the concept of a wet patch and how it would be activated.

“Well, if it’ll work and you seem okay with it, Miss Peyton, then I think I can approve this operation.  What’s your timetable?”

“How soon could you set us up with a tracking system and some support outside the operation?” Shelly asked.

“From what you’re saying, I would expect at minimum I could provide three agents - one to pose as a Carvana employee, a second to enable access to tracking equipment while serving as your primary contact, and a third to remain on call if the operation should require any additional extraction personnel.  There would be two other outside operatives but you wouldn’t have any contact with them.”

“To secure that number of people, what would be a fair turnaround?” I asked.  “Two days?”

“We could have people in place by tomorrow,” Simmons replied.  “There have been several times when the CIA has worked with far less setup time.  Our intel reports that Mr. Carter’s retail operations are located near the 14500 block of Carmel Valley Road, but also that his home is near a cul-du-sac on the 13300 block of Shadetree Court.”

“Wow,” Michelle said.  “You guys are good.”

“Yes,” Simmons replied.  “The house in question was built in the past five years, has an underground garage and is otherwise about 4600 square feet in the hills near Sycamore Canyon.”

“Okay then,” I said with a smirk.  “What else do you need from us?”

“As this would proceed as a joint operation with the FBI, I would need your agent numbers to pass along to payroll, but beyond that, you need not bring anything.  It sounds like the three of you are on board?”

“Definitely.”

“All in.”

“You bet.”

“As for recovery, I expect you’d want to be along for the ride with our primary contact; Michelle, you’d keep the tracker for up to several hours but if all goes well the mission would last no longer than an hour or three.  Also, you wouldn’t have to worry about any proximity to Carter’s compound as our tracking equipment works within several miles.”

“So let me ask you this,” I said.  “The tracking thing that James Bond used in Goldfinger, did that actually work in the sixties?”

Simmons chuckled.  “Film trickery, but the CIA was definitely interested in some of the things that James Bond worked with, certainly in those days and to which has inspired the tech we use today.  In fact, early GPS satellites were first launched in 1967 as a result of that film, though it wouldn‘t be until the 1980s that it became open to civilian use.”

“How about that.”

“Give me a break, Greg,” Michelle muttered.

Our conversation with Simmons over, the three of us confered about how to proceed from here.  Shelly said it was up to me if I wanted to come back underwater tonight or not, and we ended up driving her back to the beach.  Michelle and I would then remain on land, collect Shelly when they’re ready to proceed, and the mission would begin.

“The girls will understand where you are,” Shelly said as we pulled up to the beach in the Outback once more.  “Nauridia said she went home to check in on Tony and Kiki, and that if you called her, she’d forward the message to me to head toward the beach tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” I answered.  “We’ll contact her when it’s time to proceed, then.  Give the girls my love and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Michelle and I then returned to the camper, picking up a bucket of chicken at a local take-out place on our way back.  After dinner, I checked in with Megan and Jackson, who was glad to hear the mission was proceeding.

Afterwards, I might’ve put in one of the movies I had along - suppose it was an Indiana Jones movie or something - before the two of us retired for the evening.  Michelle slept on the bed while I slept on the couch, as usual.

Luckily, the camper kept good and cool overnight, and there were no issues with either of us doing anything other than sleep soundly.

That Monday morning, Megan had the cafeteria staff provide us breakfast, delivering a disposable pan of egg bake to the camper.  While the pan of green peppers, ham, sausage, black olives, onions, hashbrowns and eggs baked together with cheese sprinkled and veined throughout was more than Michelle and I could eat by ourselves, it was quite welcome and we put the remaining food into the freezer.  With toast and orange juice the whole thing made for a good, stick to your ribs meal which, thankfully, would stick with us for most of the day.

Afterwards, Michelle and I were mostly on standby until about 10 AM when Simmons sent us a text.

‘Expect contact from Agent Nokram shortly.  Prepare your team and be ready at your camper when you will be provided instructions for your transportation to Station 17.  Mission to begin 1300 hours.’

“Guess that means its time to collect Shelly,” Michelle said.

First, we contacted Nauridia while I informed Jackson that we’d be starting the mission soon; he informed me that he was fully aware of the plan and didn’t require updates, as he’d receive them directly from the CIA.  Moments later, we left to collect Shelly, bringing along a new set of clothes for her to wear.

Shortly after we returned to the camper, Agent Nokram contacted us.  Simmons had provided Nokram’s phone number - not necessarily the whole number but enough so we’d know how to recognize his information - and around ten minutes to 11, he was waiting for us outside of the gate at Chase Labs.  Nokram drove a modified delivery van which had dark windows and resembled a television studio truck.

Agent Nokram, a fellow who might’ve been from a nationality in either eastern Europe or northern Asia that wasn’t Russian as far his accent went - greeted us from the driver’s seat with a nod.  He had short hair, a pencil-thin moustache and was otherwise unremarkable in appearance.

“Before you ask, my handle is an anagram,” Nokram replied.  “Commander Simmons has requested that we stick to standard CIA procedure, even though I know your names.  Nice to meet you, Peyton, Claxion, and Claxion.”  He gave us each a nod in turn.

We followed suit accordingly.

“Have all of you eaten?  Once the mission begins, we will be working until its completion, which may be all afternoon if not longer.”

“We’re fine,” Shelly said, giving Michelle and I both a nod.  “If it’s all the same to you, we’re ready to get started.”

“And over with,” Michelle said.

“Very well,” Nokram replied.  “In the back are four seats and a console to the tracking equipment.  You may sit so that the seats face forward - they are comfortable enough and lock in place with seat belts and all.  We are looking at an hour drive, are you sure you wouldn’t require anything before we begin the mission?”

“If you insist,” I said with a shrug.  Shelly grumbled quietly.

Nokram chuckled.  “There is a bag of plain soft beef tacos from Taco Johns on the floor, there’s about a dozen so help yourself.  Otherwise, there is also a bag from Holiday that has a few bottles of pop in it.  That said, this van is equipped with air conditioning and everything; make yourself comfortable.”

“Do the seats face forward?” Shelly asked.

“Yes, and there is a bar beneath the seat that locks them in place,” Nokram replied.  “As soon as you are ready, we’ll head out.”

The three of us headed into the back, an area which might’ve had shelves on a delivery van in a former life.  Instead, four chairs which resembled seats on a boat were there; set on heavy duty pedistals they also had lap belts and were already facing toward the vehicle’s front windshield which was tinted to block incoming light but had no other obstructions.  What the vehicle lacked, however, was a rear door:  instead there was a closet beyond two consoles on either side which were currently dark and offline.  If there was anything beyond what we saw, we didn’t pry.

“Good to go?  Good, we’re off.”

Although I could mostly see out the windshield and was familiar with our route toward San Diego on I-5, after we passed California Route 56 we entered new territory.  Though I only got a quick glimpse, it looked like we had merged onto I-805 and continued south of the airport before catching California Route 52 east when any of us finally asked where we might be heading.  Thus far the route had been without incident, but as the clock rolled closer to noon the girls had each snagged one taco from the bag.

“These are cold,” Shelly grumbled as she unwrapped the taco.

“That’s a good thing,” Michelle replied.  “How much farther, Nokram?  I think a bathroom break might be in order.”

“Not far.”

Next sight I saw, we had passed another major route - perhaps California 163? - before Nokram began to slow and exit.  On our right was the regional headquarters of the California Highway Patrol - the CHiPS - and a short distance beyond was a non-descript warehouse that, to the average passerby, might’ve been another garage for police cruisers and motorcycles.

This smaller warehouse was entered with a key card, which Nokram opened the door to the delivery van and leaned outside to scan, before driving into the parking area and then entering the door which opened without any additional security.  Suppose it’s likely that we were expected.

Once inside, the space was lit much like a hanger and was abuzz with activity.  People were moving around with clipboards between a command-center like area beyond a glass or acrylic partisan, separate from the parking and assembly area which could house a single-engine jet or several vehicles of varying size.  There were no lines on the concrete but the space was well lit - almost to the point of being too bright - and the area’s exterior walls were mostly painted white, though monitors and other large display screens were located at varying heights and areas along that south wall.

Most of the text that displayed here was displayed in code - that is, it resembled a flight departure display you might see at the airport but every operation that was being performed in the area was listed by a code name; beyond recognizing military time at the expected launch or start and maybe a column that listed a general area or gps listing for said operation, I couldn’t make much sense of anything displayed.  Suppose to the casual viewer, that was exactly the goal.

Nokram pulled to a stop near the opposite end of the space where a second door was currently closed.  The door was made of thick steel and could probably save you from any blast short of a tank who tried to penetrate it.  I imagined we’d be leaving through this door, but for now Nokram put the truck into park and shut off the engine before leaving the chair.

“Okay, crew.  Miss Peyton, or anyone else, I can get a staffer to show you to the restroom if you’d like.”

“Yes please,” Michelle said.

“Me too,” Shelly said.

I shrugged.  “Should probably go while I know where it is.”

He smirked.  “Yeah, we might be in for a long afternoon.”  Taking us outside of the truck, Nokram saw that everyone nearby was occupied.  With a shrug, he gave a wave.  “This way.”

Turning to the right, we headed down a wide hallway along the west edge of the building which had enough room on the left for several locker room areas, both behind angled corners to avoid any sightlines for unwelcome eyes.

“Men’s locker, left,” Nokram said.  “Ladies, right.  And before I let you enter, remember that anything you hear is subject to security clearance and not to be shared anywhere outside this space.  You all have a level 9 FBI clearance, yes?”

We nodded quietly.

“Around here, that’s about the equivalent of a level 6 on a scale of ten,” Nokram said.

“Are you sure, Agent Nokram?” Michelle asked.

He smirked.  “Need to know, mum’s the word.  Meet back at the truck when you’re all ready.”

Passing into the men’s locker, the space was your typical locker room but with much more tactical gear.  That’s all I’ll say for now.

When we all met back at the truck a moment or three later, Nokram had given us each a project folder.  He then motioned for our trio to follow him down the hall and into a narrow room on the left.  Behind yet another acrylic wall that was intentionally smokey or shaded fairly dark in the middle and gradually brighter at the ceiling and the floor was a meeting area with a table, several chairs along either side, and another monitor at the south end.

This monitor, like those in the assembly area, displayed status of the various ongoing missions in the area.  Nokram went to a small tablet at the end of the table, scanned a badge onto a scanner that was embedded into the backside of it, and then entered a few commands which cleared the screen and displayed a map of the general area.

North of us was a landfill which, stepped down below a ridge, flattened out to the Miramar Air Station, which I understood might’ve been a base of operations for the Marines.  North of that was residential and unmarked neighborhoods, but beyond that I recognized route 56 and surrounding trunk highways.  Only two other locations were noted on the map, which were listed as Black Mountain and Sycamore Canyon.

“What you are looking at is a general area of Mission Diego, which has a long codename and codenumber that doesn’t really matter to our discussion at this time,” Nokram said.  “As you three already know, my name is Agent Nokram and I am acting as both your commanding officer and mission supervisor for this operation.”

We nodded accordingly.

“You may open your folders at this time if you choose to follow along.”  Nokram paused as we did so, finding several documents and maps inside the folder.  “If you’ll follow along here, though, this location we have marked as Black Mountain is also known as the Carter Compound, a retail empire known for sporting goods, medicinal paraphanalia and discount clothing among other goods.”

Again, we nodded.  Though I was familiar with it, Michelle and Shelly seemed interested to know where it was.

“The second location on this map is marked as Sycamore Canyon, and is the home of the owner and manager of the aforementioned retail establishment, one Sullivan Ross Carter, who typically goes by S. Ross Carter or is simply called Ross by his immediate family or closest of friends; we believe that in other circles he is known among smugglers and tranporters who, along with his compadre who is a woman known as Bandit, he himself is a simple name - Thief.”

This we knew, though I didn’t see anything wrong with the name Sullivan.  Suppose he hadn’t gone by it as much as my grandfather wouldn’t have gone by the name Gottlieb, for varying reasons; and no, he never worked at any pinball factory as far as I knew.

“Despite that moniker, intel reports that Carter has never been implicated nor suspected as a thief, perhaps ironically.  At any rate, he is the subject of our operation tonight and a suspected source of information on one Diego Santiago, brother of Rivera Santiago who also goes by the name Rio.”

Again, we knew this.  All the same, we allowed Nokram to indulge us to what the CIA knew; it was rare to get this kind of access and if they chose to give us new information, we might not otherwise get it by cutting them off or asking to skip ahead to the meat of the conversation.

“Though she is not part of this operation, Bandit is also known by the name Kennedy Elaine Young, and who also sometimes uses the initials KEY to sign into various events.  She has also never been implicated nor suspected in any criminal activity except while operating as a smuggler, to which she and S. Ross Carter are both well known to the CIA and other organizations.”

“Forgive me, Agent, but we’re burning daylight,” Michelle said.

“Yes,” Nokram replied.  “Mission time is estimated to last between one and six hours, at which time our extration team has agreed that once Agent Peyton’s equipment will be wearing off and when extraction of her secondary form would be removed by one of our undercover infiltrators of Carter’s organization, a woman who has been in place for some time.”

Personally, it wouldn’t surprise to me to learn that Carter has been on the CIA’s radar for some time, given Collette’s connection with the Migration from her previous runs.

“At approximately 1300 hours today-”

I checked my watch; it was a quarter after noon and that meant they’d be doing this at one PM -

“Agent Jackson of the FBI is going to make contact with Carter, which will thus be known as Hour Zero of Mission Diego.  At that time Jackson should be letting Carter know that a delivery will be made at his home, at approximately 1400 hours, should he accept to divulge information regading Diego Santiago via telephone.  Though the car will be delivered, Jackson will be informing Carter that the key to said vehicle won’t be delivered until satisfactory information regarding the wherabouts of Diego Santiago has been received.”

“How long will he have to do this?” Michelle asked.

“We will give him twenty minutes to either return the call or to otherwise inspect the vehicle delivered.  If we do not hear from him by 1500 hours, then contact will be initiated again.  If contact is still not made, action will be taken and the vehicle will be removed by force.”

“By force?” Shelly asked.  “Like, you’ll send in the Marines?”

Nokram smiled.  “The nature of the force will not be divulged to Carter, though the message will be quite clear that the car will be removed from his premises.”

“Am I allowed to drive away if my life is at risk?” Michelle asked.

“Absolutely,” Nokram replied.  “Agent Peyton, I should be clear - during this mission, you will be in the form of a 2017 Ford GT, yes?”

She nodded.  “Shelly and I decided we’d go with Liquid Red.”

Nokram gave a firm nod.  “A fine choice.  That said, you always have the right to power on and abandon the mission at any time, though I trust you understand what will occur if you do.”

“Yes,” Michelle replied.  “Implicitly.”

“That said, for your cover to remain intact, it is expected that you will act as an ordinary vehicle at all times with only one exception.”

“Which is?”

Nokram pulled something from his pocket.  Inside of a small plastic bag, he placed what resembled a key fob onto the table.  “This is an authentic key fob for a 2017 Ford GT, however it contains no electronics other than an inert placeholder which contains a 123 button cell battery which operates a small LED light on the top and the front.”

“The front?” Michelle narrowed her eyes.  “Why?”

“Because, when a button is pressed, a very small LED light will turn on inside of the endcap of the key fob to indicate which button has pressed.”

Nokram entered a few commands into the tablet, which lowered the lights in the room though the monitor on the wall remained on.  He then pushed the button for the door unlock, which illuminated a faint blue light on the end of the key fob.

“This LED should be bright enough to see even in normal lighting, but it is designed to be invisible to only you in dark conditions.  Blue indicates an unlocked door, while red indicates a panic alarm.  Yellow indicates a lock mechanism, while purple indicates a trunk release - the fob must be hit twice for him to activate that, keep in mind.”

Michelle nodded, taking notes in her folder.

“I see you’re taking notes, but of course you won’t be allowed to keep the folder with you.”

“I know,” Michelle said.  “I remember things better if I write them down, even if the notes aren’t in front of me.”

“Fair enough,” Shelly said.

Nokram allowed us to see the back of the key fob, which had the updated Ford GT logo on it.  “This key, of course, does nothing, but it is expected that if he has it on him, you’ll have to start your engine if he’s inside of you with it.”

“Have we given Carter enough time to go on a drive with Michelle?” I asked.  “This is expected to be a short mission, and he won’t even have it until we’ve received our intel, right?”

“That’s part of our terms, yes, but it’s likely that your extraction may not occur until after he has taken you for a drive,” Nokram replied before bringing up the next slide on the monitor.  It showed an image of a small pill - perhaps a liquigel of Tylenol - with a small tracking device inside.

“What you are seeing here is the latest version of our tracking device,” Nokram explained.  “It is similar to a device we have used numerous times with an agent you are familiar with, one Agent Specter.”

“A good friend and ally,” I said with a nod.

“This device has proven successful while being present in either Agent Simmons or Agent Specter, and we have been able to track it from a classified distance for an operating life of between four and eight hours.”

“Until?” Michelle asked.

I whispered quietly.  “Until you read the morning paper the following morning.”

“Ah,” she said with a curt smile.

“Though I should clarify,” Nokram continued, “the equipment in the tracker has an operating life of that span - and needless to say it is designed to disappear with the bathwater, if you will, and need not be returned.”

“Well I should hope not!” Shelly gasped.

“As I understand it,” Nokram continued, “You will be entering Carter’s compound in vehicular form, Agent Peyton, but you have planned on leaving it in a different form than the one I see before me?”

“That is correct, Agent Nokram,” Michelle replied.  “You have that form listed that in your files, I assume?”

He nodded.  “An impressive transistion, to be sure.  We believe that there should be a storm drain in the vacinity of his garage.”

Nokram brought up the next slide, which was a schematic of Carter’s house.  Covering three floors, a basement and with nearly 4600 square feet of living space, the mansion was nothing like Jason Grigg’s house.  The garage was in the basement, surrounded by reinforced concrete and accompanied by a large recreation room as well as a mechanical area.  Upper levels were typical to mid-century designed houses, but while the house had an elevator and plenty of entertaining space it only had three bedrooms and two private baths on the second level.  A third level at the top housed the master suite, which likely belonged to Carter alone.  The house did, however, have servant quarters on the first floor in a separate wing above the garage and well away from the more public areas, behind the kitchen, a pantry and a private den.

Hadn’t he said he was a family man?  Curious.

Using a laser pen, Nokram indicated an area near the garage door.  “We are confident that there is a storm drain either at the garage door, just inside or just outside; this is ahead of a sloped driveway which is subversive to the rest of the surrounding yard.  The house is situated on a cul-du-sac and has no main gates or anything, but instead is set rather far back from the street allowing for extra hedges and additional privacy from the road.”

“Suppose he’s got a talk box at the sidewalk?”

“Actually, yes,” Nokram said.  “There’s a gate before the stairway up to the main yard, which then leads to the home’s front door.  Otherwise, the yard is terraced and sloped so that the driveway is open to the street; however it’s believed to be well surveilanced by cameras and other deterrents.”

“Question,” Shelly asked.  “If there is believed to be a storm drain outside, how is Michelle to access this without opening the door?”

“Satellite recon has indicated that in your secondary form, you should be able to reach the drain,” Nokram said.

“And as a plan B?” Michelle asked.

Nokram cleared his throat.  “You are then adivised to locate any other suitable means to reach the ocean.”

Michelle gagged slightly.  “I can only imagine what that suggests.”

“All drains lead to the ocean,” Shelly said with a smirk.

“Easy for you to say,” Michelle muttered.

“At this time I remind you that extraction will occur at hour six regardless of your location,” Nokram said.  “The extration team has been trained on several scenarios, and has a one hundred percent record.”

“They don’t know exactly how I am to assume any alternate forms?”

“That is correct,” Nokram replied.  “As with Agent Specter, they are not aware of any connection to Agent Simmons, nor are they allowed to conjecture or learn otherwise of any said connection.”

“Understood,” Michelle said with a nod.

“Last point to mention,” Nokram said.  “While riding in the van, Greg, Shelly?  I’ll be referring to you by your surnames - Claxion, and Starsetter.  Is that agreeable?”

“I’m okay with that,” Shelly muttered as I nodded.

“Suppose I don’t get to be on the soundtrack,” Michelle smirked.

“I’m going to leave the job of being a car to you,” Nokram replied.  “That said, are there any other questions?”

I crossed my arms and put my hand to my bearded chin.  “Sounds pretty good, but there’s one issue.”

Shelly nodded and kept the ball rolling.  “What happens in the event of rain?  Rain would activate her second form.”

“Yes, we’re aware of that eventuality,” Nokram replied.  “The weather report indicates high pressure, blue skies and a high of 68 degrees.”

Of course.  “This is San Diego,” I said.  “You folks get, what, about ten days of rain per year?”

“Last year we only got eight,” Nokram replied with a smirk.  “So if it rains, I’ll personally buy you all ten lottery tickets.”

“Deal,” Michelle said with a smile.