Missing in Action

Sandy Bell suddenly felt a hand covering her mouth and instinctively bit it. Only muffled voice of Volodja stopped her from going any further, like thrusting her knife into hand's owner who was right behind her back. Instead of that she turned around to meet Volodja's worried brown eyes when he told:

"You are doing excellent job by taking out those pieces of slaver trash, but don't get carried away, Sandy. We need some of them alive. Not because I feel any sympathy towards them, but I don't believe that last survivor's story about his adventures will work in our case. One man's talk is one man's talk. You might believe his tale or not. But when we have several people who talk pretty much the same even under oath and lie detector, so nobody can accuse them in conspiracy, it adds credibility to their words. And we need them to spread the local legends about spirits who kill those who harm the rain forest and it's inhabitants. So no more killing, if it isn't absolutely necessary, if you don't mind.

We must liberate their slaves instead and provide slavers with sound and visual effects so they could remember meeting El Tunchi for the rest of their days. I need help of all of you for that. Part of El Tunchi's features is ability to take a form of beloved one or at least a relative of it's victims. I believe that Antonio wasn't exactly beloved among his companions, but at least they knew him, so I need Sarge to play him for five to ten seconds or more to distract slavers. We could use a Decoy for the job, but it doesn't seem believable. Sarge is more free in his actions. We relay on Decoys later when we have right costumes for our El Tunchis - couple of adjusted ghillie suits and improvised masks.



I will try to liberate at least some of their victims during Sarge's performance if he agrees to help us. And provide the whole bunch with some nasty noises while I am doing it. And maybe couple of things more. Demoralizing instead of death as we originally planned. Our tactics are good but we also need to think strategically to stop further slaving expeditions at least in this area by scaring this one crapless. What is your opinion about that soution, Sandy and Sarge?"

"Don't you dare!" Sophie yelled. "Don't you dare to ask Sarge to change his face! I want him to be the same Sarge who he is, you...you...!"

"I wasn't planning another episode of "Extreme Makeover" for Sarge anyway. I happen to like him the way he is," was Volodja's calm response to her before he continued talking with Sandy and Sarge. 

"So do I and more than you can imagine, Volodja" whispered Sophie, while Volodja explained his idea to others:

"Sandy. We are happen to think the same way in this particular case, because I wasn't planning to ask him to change his face," said Volodja. "Changing his clothing is enough, because this shaken folk doesn't pay attention to details anyway. They are perfectly satisfied with a frame id est Antonio's costume. "Clothes make the man," people say. And in this case it is true. At least salvers brains will tell them that they face Antonio when they see that illusion - his coat, pants and hat are Antonio's, so only Antonio can be inside them. That's how human mind works. It looks for confirmations, not for disconfirmations if it wants to believe in something.

Imagine that you are showing your passport when you cross a border between two independent states. Official who usually assumes that you present your own passport will compare your photo with your face and tries to find resemblances between face and picture, not differences, although I can't imagine how they manage to do that, because most of people usually look horrible on document photos. That seems to be one of the fundamental rules in our universe.

Mind happens to be also kind of selective about details - try a bank robbery wearing one piece grey suit, a ski mask and bright coloured tie - I bet that all people will remember later you as someone wearing the tie because it's the most distinctive part of the costume. So id Sarge covers his face then all those slavers are going to pay attention, will be his costume. But enough of that lecture and examples, I believe.

Let's return to our little play now. All that Sarge has to do is to show himself for a brief moment and disappear without saying a word and these scared guy thinks that he is Antonio or El Tunchi who took his form to lure them deeper into the rainforest and kill them. While they are busy with staring the jungle in disbelief, we will act quietly and increase their confusion. I believe that this misunderstanding has found solution and I do apologize for that particular confusion among us, I believe I am responsible of. However, I am not going to apologize for confusing slavers. A common man as I happen to be, can't be found guilty for all confusions in our world." And he smiled. Tiredly. 

Volodja sneaked closer to slavers with his Cloak on and since he needed some shrilling noises, he decided to use something classical from his faithful data pad, like:



That kind of noise when played repeatedly and with correct timing in seemingly empty jungle for already frightened audience, could make shrills and chills to run up and down on somebody's spine. And it did, because slavers started to look around like scared cattle. And when Sarge made his stage début as late Antonio Garcia, remaining Garcias and one Rodriguez (formerly Garcia) were staring at him silently as they all swallowed their tongues, until bravest of them dared to say: "Antonio?"

"Eso sí que no!" (Certainly not) replied cloaked Volodja in Spanish, trying to sound as eerie as possible and played compilation of sounds from the film "Predator", placing his data pad to the ground because he didn't wanted slavers to see infamous floating data pad. It could ruin the effect.



"El Tunchi!" moaned Juan Garcia, grabbed his gun and started to spray the jungle with bullets. Other Garcias (and Rodriguez) joined immediately and kept their fingers on triggers but all their efforts to hit "El Tunchi" were meant to fail, since Sarge appeared in form of a hologram, meaning that bullets could not harm him. His invulnerability made slavers even more nervous than they already were and confirmed their assumption that their path crossed with El Tunchi's.



Sarge returned into Sandy's mind and enjoyed storming applauds and kisses from Sophie who quickly visited him. Sandy and Volodja used that situation of aimless shooting to cut the slaves lose and lead them away. All slavers were comfortably looking into opposite direction with their backs turned towards their merchandise. It was the most suitable moment to liberate captured Indians. A perfect opportunity which might not occur any more, so Sandy was the first one to see and use it. Volodja joined her right away, helping her to cut slaves lose and carrying youngest one on his broad shoulders as he was playing horsey...Although it was more like playing T Rex or kangaroo, if you wish, because Volodja moved on his two feet instead of all his four limbs. 

The shootout continued, until Rodriguez yelled in panic that they should stop it, because destroying jungle plants might make El Tunchi even angrier than it already seemed to be. Volodja almost gave him some points for his logical thinking, but he was way too occupied with covering his mouth with his hands to muffle the laughter. And other people around him suffered from the same problem. Their Indian friends and freed slaves were rolling on the ground, laughing silently, until they could not hold themselves back any more and began to produce fully voiced laughter. 

Now it was Volodja's turn to feel chills on his spine, because this uncontrollable burst of laughter might betray them, but Sandy Bell pulled his sleeve to catch his attention and pointed towards slavers and the sight which opened to Volodja's brown eyes, made him to grin as well. Their laughter had an unexpected positive effect which supported their cause, because when it echoed through the jungle it scared slavers even more. Especially when they discovered that all their caught slaves were disappeared.

This mysterious disappearance trick and the fact that all the whole rain forest seemed to laugh at them and their misery, was the final straw which caused their nerves finally give up and break down, making slavers to toss their weapons away, turn around and start to run towards the road between Lima and Cuzco at full speed. If some wandering sports talent scout would have seen them running, his worries about finding people for a running team would have been over for good. Especially if he could hire El Tunchi as their coach. Or at least as a member of their pep squad.

Señor Montero leaned comfortably onto embrace of his soft leather chair in his Lima office, poured some whiskey into glass, added couple of ice chunks and looked Castithan in front of him. Castithan's name was Karak Ven and he was a leader of a Nomad group, called Furímyo Clan. At moment he had a business meeting with señor Montero, one of wealthiest and influential men in Lima. The fact that his wealth came from a slave trade didn't bothered anyone any more because after Pale Wars and Terraforming, slavery became relatively common and buying and selling people was as easy as getting yourself a cup of coffee and a muffin from a shop, except slaves were more expensive to buy and unlike in coffee business one didn't had to establish branches all around the world to earn big. Montero's modest business included only whole continent of South America, but he was willing to expand his territory when needed. Especially when social side of his business involved satisfying some basic public needs. If you assumed that he was offering food or shelter then you were wrong -  Montero happened to be a sex merchant.

Usually he didn't bothered to make smaller deals himself any more and let his subordinates - like Zach Normal - handle this kind of small deals, but sometimes...just sometimes he missed the action and then he took part of haggling by himself. This happened to be one of these cases. Aforementioned Zack Normal  - dark haired but already balding man with thick moustache, dressed into black shirt and light grey suit, trying to be exact copy of his idol and boss, Montero - was standing by his chair, bowing over and respectfully lighting Montero's cigar at moment.



"So you decided that your merchandise is worth of my precious time, Mr. Ven. What makes it so special so you were practically intruding into my office? Please, explain fast and with few words because I am a busy man."

"I DO have something special for you, Mr. Montero. A Castithan!"

Montero looked him coldly. "Mr. Normal...How many Castithans are working in our bushiness in this particular moment?"

"Three hundred and five, Sir!" Zack Normal said after looking into his notebook.

"And now you are trying to tell me that you have something unique to offer. Even if you are selling yourself, it wouldn't make me lift even an eyebrow, Mr. Ven. Thry harder next time. The audience is over!"

"She is not an ordinary Castithan, but member of high Caste family, Mr. Montero."

"Now you almost made me lift my brow. You may continue. But make it short! Tic tac, tic tac. Explain meaning of those words to Mr. Ven."

"Señor Montero tells you that time is ticking, so you better be really convincing!"

"Her name is Fehu Valáne. Her family sentenced her to execution for the dishonouring her family and her Caste and has a bounty on her head. She escaped from justice but after awhile we captured her and now we are willing to pass the deal on to you."

Montero put tips of his pointing fingers together and looked seller with narrowed eyes. "So she is more trouble to you than use. But I am known for kindness to less fortunate or rookie businessmen, so I believe that this offer should be reasonable. Show him!"

Zack Normal took a piece of yellow sticky paper, wrote an offer on it and after placing it to the table, pushed it in front of Karak Ven with his forefinger who  looked at it and shook his head, saying: "The offer is too small."

"No sum is too small for selling something you haven't paid for yourself. Even if we exclude expenses you made for her food and clothing, you earn a small profit because you do not seem to be the kind who treated her as a Princess on a pea. Think about my offer while you are admiring the interior of my lobby. See you in couple of minutes."

After Nomad leader went to consider Montero's offer, Zack Normal leaned closer and asked: "Should I let servants to throw him out, Sir?"

"No need for such a rude thing. I believe that we reach into mutual understanding, because I am interested about that deal. In any case we make profit from it - if we sell her back to her people, we receive a bounty. If we keep her, then Castithan aristocrat is something that Everyman can't afford to marry or date and could only dream about it. For a decent fee they can do her fifteen minutes and are happy to pay us for the privilege, because it would be a dream come true for them. Or we can do both - inform her family and use her services during negotiations. After all - if they want her dead, it should not matter about her condition. Besides -as long as I understood, she seem to be girl for my taste - disobedient kind. I would like to meet her," said Montero, looking into the ceiling of his office room and observing slow circles of the polished ceiling fan which cost more than a year's earnings of some poor peasant.

"Fantastic, Sir! You are a genius!" 

"You can quit kissing my ass, because I don't pay extra for your initiative in that area, but for other services you provide me with, and lead this savage back in now! We have business to do."

Sandy Bell narrowed her big blue eyes, shading her eyes with one tan calloused hand scanning the jungle in every direction before muttering, "I haven't a clue where we are."

"I can give you a specific latitude and longitude if it will help," Sarge, Sandy's EGO psyche, replied through the telepathic link they shared, between long kisses with Sophie.

"Not necessary Sarge," Thought back Sandy, totally unaware of his extracurricular activities, as she turned and kissed Volodja, then said, "If you are asking my opinion, I think we are TOTALLY lost!"

Sandy turned again to Ake, and with an easy grin asked, "We sure could use a guide to Cuzco - and maybe a machete or two. I'm betting our friends in the Bay Area are getting awfully worried about us, and I'm sure somebody in Cuzco has a phone we can borrow to contact them."



Back in Cuzco, Commander Kima sat in front of the secretive human with the steely eyes and said, "I believe we have a deal Mr. Lestrange. We lost our quarry's trail in the jungle between here and Lima, where they had evidently run into a large predator but got the best of it. I believe they had help from one of the many native villages that dot the area, but I haven't a clue which. Our local contact, a small time peddler and smuggler in the area, a Mr. Danny Da Vinci, believes that they will head here to make communication with their friends, and I am inclined to believe him. My men currently have the outlets that might house such communication equipment staked out, but as you may guess, there military bearing makes them stand out from the local population even in civilian garb, so I fear they in fact might scare our quarry away, hence why I wish you to approach them."

The large Irathiant leisurely leaned back into his chair; his back rigid against the cold wood, his posture suggesting that he was not a man used to relaxing, and suggested, "I believe Cuzco is the best place to intercept the duo, but I can have Sargeant Maas take you in one of our Land Rovers to where we lost the trail. She is an excellent tracker, but found no trace of which direction they took, but maybe you would have better luck. Of your competition, there are many, since I did make the bounty on Sandra Bell publicly known in Lima, but there are only two parties that were seen following their trail into the jungle. The first is a yankee duo called Mr. Wynd and Mr. Kyd - an odd couple who seem to want Mr. Volodja for their own purposes and could care less about Ms. Bell, except maybe for the bounty. Sargeant Maas wasn't able to dig up much on them since they are not normally operating in South America. From my personal observations, they are clever professionals, tend to finish each other's sentences, and seem to be very... close. I know much more about the second party, as he is a bit of a criminal legend in Lima. Sentenza, formerly know as Banjo, is a professional hit man for hire with a long history of murders and violent acts. He is smart enough to cover his tracks so that nothing can be proven in court and not to attract the ire of powerful government entities; but don't underestimate him - he loves violence, and will do anything to both accomplish his goal and give himself pleasure by doing it in the most brutal way possible."

Kima reached over his desk with one strong muscular arm, picking up two files and handing them to Marcel, saying, "These are Seargent Maas' files on them, with complete descriptions including photographs. I can transfer it to you electronically if you prefer, but you would have to give me your electronic address, which you might not choose to do. Now... so I may start the wheels of out vast Votan Collective spy machine going, who is this woman you are looking far. Sargent Maas was able to find out that she is young and Castithan, but not much else, Evidently, those you talked to were much more afraid of you than the whole of the Votan Collective, which is very impressive in and of itself."

Marcel lit another cigarette, taking a long drag on it, before saying impassively, "Lena Marr."



Commander Kima's golden eyes grew wide, then he did something totally unexpected. He began to laugh hard and long, slapping his knee and throwing his head backwards. When he was finished, he wiped a tear from his eye and said to the startled human, "Forgive me Mr. Lestrange, for my outburst, but the Gods do have a wicked sense of humor. Lena Marr! There is a name I thought I would never hear again, for I thought she would be dead for sure by this time!"

Commander Kima regained his composure and could tell from the expression on Marcel Lestrange's face that Lena Marr's disappearance was no laughing matter to him. Normally, Kima kept his private history to himself, but in this case, he felt that Marcel was owed an explanation due to his outburst, for it was clear to Kima from reading Marcel's body language that Lena was important to him, so Kima began, "Let me tell you a story Mr. Lestrange, about a young rookie policeman and an even younger thief. The young policeman was a teenager with stars in his eyes and dreams of serving the public good, not heeding his tribe elders' warning that the city government that employed him was more corrupt than the criminals he sought to capture. In the first month of his service, the young constable had a series of encounters with a preteen prostitute and thief who lived on the streets. Having been a street urchin himself, he was street wise and came close to catching her many times, but always she would escape him at the last moment - usually with great dramatic flair."

Commander Kima's golden eyes took on a faraway look as he told his story, allowing himself a brief smile at the remembrance before continuing, "Every time, the young policeman would get closer, but every time the younger thief would get away. However, she was not his only case, and he became adept at his job, catching many of the street criminals who infested his beat, including many of the local street gang that claimed his beat as part of their turf. Furthermore, the young constable found evidence that his superiors were taking bribes from the street gang, and his immediate superior even warned him to leave the street gang alone and to concentrate on the lone criminals, such as the younger thief. The rookie police officer was starting to think that he was being encouraged to capture her because she was taking profits from the street gang, and therefore bribes from his superiors, but the young officer was ideologically pure, and sought evidence to prove his case against them. Evidently, he must have gotten too close to the truth, for the street gang laid a clever trap, which he fell into, and was captured by them. Being a gang of cruel thugs, they did not kill the young officer outright, but dragged him into an alley and proceeded to beat him with baseball bats and tire irons."

Kima paused as he focused his stare with a grimace, then gestured to Marcel to give him a cigarette, which Marcel did lighting it with his own. Kima nodded a thank you, then took a deep drag before continuing, "Evidently, the younger thief had been watching from the rooftops and decided to intervene, but not until both of the young officer's legs were broken. The first ganger fell with a bullet between the eyes from a home made pipe rifle. The second from a bullet to the throat. The three remaining gangers sensibly took cover in the garbage strewn in the ally, drawing their own pistols as they did but not before the younger thief, with a butcher knife in her teeth and screaming like a banshee swung down from the rooftops. Before the young policeman could count one-two-three, the remaining three gangers lie dead at his feet. All the young policeman could do was stutter his thanks and ask, 'Why did you save me?' The younger thief answered, 'You're cute, but even more importantly, you amuse me.'  The young constable then asked a second question, 'Why did you wait until they broke my legs?' to which the younger thief said with a cold smile and even colder eyes that haunt the young policemen to this day, 'You needed the lesson in reality.' The agile younger thief then climbed and disappeared back onto the rooftops, never to be seen by the young policeman again, but he was soon found by members of his tribe, who pooled their money and smuggled him and his parents out of the wicked city to begin his life anew somewhere else and somewhat wiser."

Kima smiled again, puffing out a huge cloud of smoke that he watched dissipate as he fondly remembered Lena Marr, then put out the cigarette in his red clay hand before promising Marcel, "I will do my utmost to help you find Lena Marr. Now is there anything else you need from me Mr. Lestrange?"

"Incroyable! An uncorrupted flic in Lima," muttered Marcel and added absent-mindedly: "Lena likes to play sometimes...Thank you reminding me about that, Commander. If you can help me to find her, then I believe that it will be more than enough to pay for my trouble. Marcel Lestrange appreciates money for sure, but I also appreciate my companion...And since you provided me with some necessary leads, I know whom I might face and where to begin the search. I will let you know about results, Commander when I have any. Have a nice day." Marcel got up from his seat, bowed slightly before turning around and leaving the headquarters of Commander Kima. 

He was not specifically afraid of mr. Wynd and Mr. Kyd, because he had some experience with them already and he knew what he could expect from that source of possible trouble. It was best to avoid them anyway, because officially he was somewhere else than in South America. If they see him, they might start to ask unnecessary questions and ruin perfectly fine business relationship between him and their employer Mr. Blowjob...Blowfish...Blowfield if he has to kill them after that meeting.

That homme, Sentenza, seemed to be tougher nut to crack, Marcel Lestrange was used to face determination and orientation to results. Especially when he looked into a mirror during his morning shave. And now there was someone cruel and cunning to compete with, because letting someone else to eliminate Volodja was something that Marcel did not appreciated. Volodja was HIS rival and nobody should stick his nose into the long time competition of Marcel Lestrange and Volodja Uljanov. It was not in the spirit of sport to play fifth feel in their quarrel. so Monsieur Sentenza found himself a place in Marcel's obstacle's list. There is only one Alfa male in town and that is Marcel. Eliminating Sentenza from the picture seemed to be inevitable. 

Then there was some Danny Da Vinci, who seemed to know more than it was useful to his health and that is why had to share his knowledge with Marcel, even if he did not wanted to. Marcel had methods to make people to speak up. And some of them did not ended with holding the peace forever. At moment Marcel was not sure which method he is going to use when he finds that Danny boy. Not "if" but "when", because Marcel was absolutely sure that he finds Monsieur Da Vinci somewhere in Cuzco. He was not a needle in a hay stack and Marcel was able to find even a needle when he dedicated himself to that problem. And even when Da Vinci was awfully small for Liberata, as was said in his description, he was definitely larger than a needle, so there MUST be someone who has seen him. All he had to do was politely ask. Marcel was ready to do anything to find his beloved Lena Marr...