From:    brendan.dillon@xx.xxxx.xxx 
Date:    Sat Feb 28, 2004 7:36 am
Subject: Matthew's legal troubles


Norman and Matthew arrived at Brendan's motor pool and hid behind an adjacent
building. "I don't see him," said Matthew. "He must be in one of those big
tents."

"See if there's a good lookout point," Norman replied. "When he goes outside,
we'll corner him."

Matthew peered around the corner. "There," he pointed. "On the other side of the
motor pool, there's a two-story building that looks like it's made of shipping
containers. We can watch from the stairs."

They went the long way around, to avoid detection, and climbed atop the
staircase. Matthew began to survey the motor pool with a pair of binoculars.

Mechanics walked in and out of the tents every so often, but there was no sign
of Brendan. After twenty minutes, they were thinking of trying elsewhere, when
Matthew heard footsteps behind him.

He turned to find an angry-looking female Marine, wearing an olive green
sweatsuit, standing with her arms crossed. At this point Matthew realized that
this building was the women's shower, and dropped his binoculars. The Marine
decked him squarely in the jaw, sending him over the rail and down to the rocks
below.

Norman changed the local gravitational constant, and slowly floated to the
ground. "You know, I don't think Brendan's here," he mused.

"Uhnn... me neither. My leg's broken."

Norman snapped a finger and healed Matthew's leg. "Will you quit whining now?
Come on. I have another idea."

* * *

Knowing that carrying the Solethurn would be a bit too conspicuous, Paul put it
in the Mustang's trunk and pulled out a Tromix AR15 Sledgehammer. He, Wayland,
and Brendan began walking to the gate off the flightline.

The Air Force sentries gave Paul a strange look as they exited the gate. "I take
it that Army contractors usually don't tote rifles?" asked Wayland.

"No," Brendan replied. "Paul, if you're going to carry that, we're going to have
to get you a real uniform."

"You'd better find one, rifle or not," Paul said. "If I keep wearing your pants
for much longer, I'll never have children."

Brendan led them to the tent city where he lived. Brendan and Paul slinked past
the tents, weapons at the ready, in case Norman and Matthew found the tent
first; Wayland, unarmed, followed behind.

As Brendan turned a corner, he saw motion out of the corner of his eye and
turned quickly, only to see that Paul had gone around the other side. He pushed
the muzzle of Brendan's M16 off to the side. "Point that hopped-up varmint gun
elsewhere," he murmured.

They quickly made it to Brendan's tent. By this time, the rest of the motor pool
platoon was off from work. "What's up, Dillon," said one of Brendan's co-workers
as they entered. "How come you took off early?"

"It's a long story. Is Jorge in here?"

"Yeah, he's in his area."

They walked to the other end of the tent, and Brendan pulled aside a curtain.
"Hey, man. Is it all right if my friend borrows some DCUs from you?"

"Umm... sure," said Jorge. He plucked a uniform from a hanger.

"See if these fit you, Paul," Brendan said.

"What, change right here?"

"Welcome to the Army."

* * *

Norman and Matthew managed to find a nearby supply office. "If I know Brendan,"
Norman said, "he'll have picked up a lot of duct tape from here. I want you to
ask for some, and when they have you sign the register, steal it. It should lead
us straight to him."

"Good idea," Matthew said. He walked in and approached the counter. "Good
afternoon," he greeted the supply sergeant. "Do you have any duct tape?"

"Sure, hold on." She walked to the back, and produced a roll of dull grayish
tape. "Sign it out here, please."

"What the hell is that?" Norman shouted.

The supply sergeant's eyes flashed a big as dinner plates as she noticed Norman.
"What the hell is THAT?" she countered.

"You act like you've never seen an elf before, lady," Norman said sarcastically.
"You call this stuff duct tape?"

"W-well, technically, it's hundred-mile-an-hour tape," she stammered. "Standard
issue."

"We're wasting our time. Brendan wouldn't be caught dead using this stuff. Let's
get out of here."

They left the office to find themselves surrounded by military police, weapons
drawn. "Holy shit!" Matthew yelled, doing a double take.

A couple of the MPs stuffed them into the back of a Humvee, and they drove off.

* * *

"He definitely fits the description, sir," said Staff Sgt. Steve Nordstrom of
the 805th MP Company. "Right down to the Calvin toy he carries around."

"He sure as hell don't look like Taliban," replied his commander, Captain Doug
Holt. "When's the last time you saw a red-headed haji?"

"I'm more interested in how he got an IED on base, personally. We've caught a
few sneaking parts through the gate to assemble on-site, but this one is way too
advanced."

"Shit," spat Holt. "That car of theirs was better armed than an Apache. I'm not
sure that 'improvised explosive device' is the term, in this case."

Nordstrom sighed. "Well, hopefully we'll get some answers soon. We're bringing
in a translator to interrogate him now."

* * *

Norman paced to and fro on the table in the interrogation room. "This is just
freakin' great. We get away with trying to assassinate the most powerful people
in the Oligarchy, only to get arrested over this crap."

"You think they actually believe we were going to blow up the PX?" Matthew said.
"Brendan could have set this up."

"No, I don't think so. These guys are morons -- hell, they think I'm some kind
of kid's robot toy. Besides, they--"

Norman was interrupted as the door opened, and stopped pacing. He decided to sit
this one out, let the cops believe what they want about him; perhaps he could
get more information by simply observing.

The interrogator walked in and gave Matthew a long look. After a moment, he
leisurely walked to the table and took a seat. He was short, olive-skinned, with
a short-cropped beard and Western clothes; probably an Afghan educated in
America or Europe.

After another long moment, the interrogator folded his hands and spoke. "Az
cheraghe rahnamaiy be daste chap bepichid."

"Huh?" Matthew responded.

The interrogator cocked his head and glared. "Momken ast supe ruz barayam
biyavarid?" he asked.

"Uh... I don't understand, buddy."

The man became livid. Pounding his hand on the table, he exclaimed, "Lotfan
tayere zapas ra ham kontrol konid!"

"Look, I don't speak Farsi, or whatever that is! I'm from America. Bring the
other guys back."

"Yobusat daram," the interrogator sighed. "Man shoma ra az hoteletan savar
mikonam." Shaking his head, he slinked out of the door and shut it behind him.

Norman glared at Matthew. "Still think it's a setup?"

"Jeebus. These guys are dumber than I thought."

* * *

Once adequately clothed, Brendan, Paul, and Wayland made their way to Disney
Drive. Brendan pointed at a large balloon floating over the center of the base,
anchored by several cords. "See that balloon? It's loaded with infrared cameras
and stuff. We use it to monitor the perimeter. If we point it towards the base
itself, we should be able to find Norman."

The trio began walking towards the balloon's anchor point. After a few minutes,
Brendan's radio crackled. "Duct Tape 42, this is Dragon 6."

"Forty-two here," Brendan responded to the base commander.

"The subject is in custody on unrelated charges."

Brendan paused. "Roger. Forty-two out." Turning to the others, he said, "Let's
visit the MPs, shall we?"

* * *

They turned back and walked to the 805th MP Company headquarters, not far from
where they started. Approaching the desk, Brendan said, "We're looking for a
couple of prisoners. Norman the Elf and Matthew Pulley."

"Umm... we have a Matthew Pulley in interrogation," said the desk sergeant. "And
who are you?"

"Lieutenant Dillon, CID," Brendan said, flashing a fake badge. Noticing the
sergeant eyeing his Specialist rank insignia, he added, "I'm undercover."

The sergeant nodded and handed him a sign-in roster. "Down the hall, third
holding room on the left."

The three signed in and headed down the hall. "CID?" asked Wayland.

"It's like the Army's FBI. I'd rather use a cover within a cover than say who I
really am," Brendan replied. "Besides, this is more believable than the truth."

They entered the interrogation room to find Matthew still seated, and Norman
atop the table. As soon as Paul saw his brother, he lunged for him, with a
violent gleam in his eye. Brendan and Wayland managed to restrain him until he
could get a grip on himself.**

"Hi, gang!" Norman said gleefully. "We were wondering when you guys would figure
out that we were here. And I, for one, am glad you made it. Now that you've
poked your heads up, I can finish here." Norman leaped back onto Matthew's
shoulder, and they both vanished.

"Great! As soon as we find them, they teleport away," Wayland sighed. "Now they
could be anywhere."

"I don't think that's all he teleported," Paul said, pointing at the table.
"Where the hell did that come from?"

Sitting on the table was a messy pile of internal organs. Blood began to pool
under them as they drained.

"Oh, shit," Brendan moaned. "I think I know whose those are."

"Whose are they?" asked Wayland.

"Damn it, not again," Brendan said, and slumped over, dead.

* * *

To be concluded.....

** Note: I find the concept that Wayland and I could actually restrain Paul to
be about as realistic as anything else in the Oligarchy.

--
Brendan, the Duct Tape Avenger,  | brendan.dillon@xx.xxxx.xxx
GPG; 1SG, KPS OPC; SC, HQ, SURLI | http://www.holyducttape.com

"You've seen generals inspecting troops before. Just walk slow,
look dumb and act stupid." -Major Reisman, "The Dirty Dozen"