From:    brendan.dillon@xx.xxxx.xxx 
Date:    Sun Mar 7, 2004 2:16 pm
Subject: Checkmate


Matt Brown sat in his office, waiting. he knew his operative must tread
carefully to avoid being discovered; there was no telling when he would have an
opportunity to call. He played Tetris on his computer to calm his nerves.

This time, he was finally going to get something right. Besides himself and the
operative, only two people knew about the plan. Even the Co-Rulers were in the
dark.

An incoming call alert opened on his computer. He minimized Tetris and opened
his webcam software. Once opened, an image of the operative appeared on the
screen.

"Agent #867-5309, good, I've been expecting your call. Are we still on track?"

"I believe so. There were some unexpected developments, but I have them under
control."

"That's a relief. Brendan's death couldn't have come at a worse time. I only
hope that he resurrects himself quickly," said Matt. "When should we be ready?"

"Norman plans to hold a press conference at Enloe in four hours."

"Sounds good to me. We'll be in position. Good luck."

"Thanks. You too." The agent cut the connection.

Matt drummed his fingers for a second, then rushed out of his office and
downstairs. As he exited the building, he left his truck in the parking lot and
hailed a taxi instead. There was no telling who was in Norman's pocket; he
wanted as few clues as possible that he was leaving.

"Raleigh-Durham Airport," he told the cab driver. "Quickly, please."

* * *

It began slowly, unseen, at the microscopic level. Molecules broke down and
re-formed, first as amino acids, then DNA, and finally organic tissue. A cool
breeze carried in new material. Human skin flakes, dead insects, bits of plant
life; anything organic was useful. As the primordial mixture grew and became
more organized, the breeze intensified into a strong wind, bringing more and
more raw materials to be assimilated.

The tissue began to form into organs. As the wind became a miniature tornado,
gravel began to be swept up, and was pulverized to supply carbon. The organs fit
together to form a being, and the being slowly took the shape of a human. Excess
material became clothing. Within moments, the tornado subsided, and only Brendan
remained.

Brendan quickly made his way to the Provost Marshall's Office, where all the
base's military police sent their reports. As he entered, the duty MP asked for
Brendan's ID.

He waved his hand in front of the MP's face. "You don't need to see my
identification."

The cop cleared his throat. "I don't need to see your identification."

"You have received a police report and a death certificate on a Specialist
Brendan Dillon."

"I have the reports right here."

"You will give them to me," Brendan commanded.

"I guess I'll give them to you."

"And you will retrieve his personal effects."

The MP walked to an adjacent room, and came back with everything that had been
in Brendan's pockets. "I have retrieved his personal effects."

Brendan put on his watch and put everything else in his pockets. "Move along,"
he said.

"Move along," repeated the MP.

Brendan left the PMO and headed for Base Ops. He had a call to make. He balled
up his death certificate and threw it into a trash can.

* * *

Back in Raleigh, Wayland and Paul were just arriving at the Fortress of Doom.
Bevin rushed out to meet them. "Did you get them?" she asked.

"No," Wayland said. "They got a head start on us. I think they landed in Europe
somewhere so we couldn't track them."

"God damn it."

"And Norman killed Brendan," added Paul. "But he should be back any time, if
he's not already."

As if on cue, the phone rang as they went inside. Agent Rucker picked it up.
"Fortress Dry Cleaners," he said. After a moment, he shouldered the phone. "He
says he's Brendan," said Rucker. "But I think we should route it through OCB HQ
for a voice analysis, just to be sure."

"Give me the phone," Paul ordered. "This is Paul," he told Brendan.

"Hey, Paul. I just came back. What happened while I was dead?"

"Norman got away. He's hiding in Europe for now."

Brendan sighed. "Okay. I'm going to have to end my Afghanistan mission early.
I'll catch the next flight back."

"Actually, I think we can handle things. I've been setting up a plan with Matt
over at OCB, in case we couldn't catch him over there."

"You're tasking Matt to catch Norman? Forget the military flight. Tell Wayland
to pick me up in the Mustang."

"Trust me," said Paul. "I worked out the details myself. I'm just using Matt as
a go-between. In fact, I need to call him. I'll let you know how it goes."

"Um... okay. If you say so." Brendan hung up.

Paul tapped the cradle button and dialed Matt's cell phone. "Hello?" said Matt
on the other line.

"It's Paul. Any word?"

"Oh, yeah, I almost forgot to call you. Three and a half hours. I'm on my way
now."

"Good. Did our agent tell you where he was?"

"No, he didn't say. I think he -- wait a second, they're announcing something."

Paul could just barely hear the intercom on Matt's plane. "This is the captain.
Will the passenger in seat 14C please turn off his cell phone before I crash the
fucking airplane."

"Oops, gotta go," said Matt. "See you there."

* * *

Paul walked to the den, where everyone was waiting. "All right," said Wayland.
"What's this plan of yours, and why didn't you tell us before?"

"I couldn't run the risk of you or Brendan acting like we were on to him. It was
essential that Norman stayed completely in the dark. Come on, I'll explain it
all downstairs."

"Dude, you think I would have acted suspiciously? For Delilah's sake, I was a
drama major!"

"Look, this was a backup plan. I thought we could get him ourselves. Now will
you get over here?"

Paul and Wayland went to the gun room and climbed down the trap door, into the
fifth-dimension basement. A platoon of mercenary soldiers, wearing black
uniforms and black helmets, stood in formation. As Paul approached, they snapped
to attention.

"These are a group of my Death Inc. mercenaries," said Paul.

"Dude... are those Super Soakers they're holding?" Wayland asked.

"Filled with blue Palmolive dish soap. Pots and pans version."

Wayland smiled. "Of course. Norman's only weakness."

"Norman is planning to land at Enloe in three and a half hours. But he's not
going to. He's going to deliver himself right into our clutches."

"And how do you expect to accomplish that?" Wayland asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Let's just say, we have an agent planted very, very close to him," Paul
replied.

* * *

"It's time, Emperor," said Matthew. "If we leave now, we'll just make it."

"Fine," said Norman. He turned to Dogbert. "Thank you for sheltering us in your
kingdom. Once my power is consolidated, I'm sure we can improve relations
between the World Oligarchy and Dogbert's New Ruling Class. Perhaps I can even
arrange a land concession."

"You're always welcome here, Norman," replied Dogbert. "Us sadists have to stick
together."

Norman and Matthew boarded the Escort and lifted off from the Zagreb airport in
Croatia, DNRC. "What's our ETA?" asked Norman.

"Three hours, fifteen minutes."

"Good. Wake me when we get there."

* * *

The last of Paul's mercenaries exited the fifth-dimension back door and took
their positions. Paul walked over to a tiny bed, and gently woke the sleeping
goddess. "Forgive me," he said. "It's almost time."

Delilah yawned, and materialized a mug of coffee. "All right. I'm ready."

* * *

The Escort descended and pulled in front of a small rural cottage. "Norman,"
said Matthew. "Wake up."

Norman slowly rose from his dash-mounted seat and stretched his arms. He looked
around. "Wait a minute. This isn't Enloe."

"No. It's Baton Rouge."

Norman gave Matthew a sharp look, and then appeared to be straining. "Urr. I
can't teleport."

"That's because Delilah has covered this area with a suppression field. None of
your Junior God powers will work."

Norman turned to face Matthew dead-on. "Matthew, you would betray the Son of Elf
with a kiss?"

"Uh... I didn't kiss you."

"R-right, sorry. I knew I shouldn't have watched that Mel Gibson movie."

Just then, the black-clad mercenaries rushed out of Delilah's house and
surrounded the Escort.

"Why, Matthew?" Norman pleaded. "I offered you enormous power and wealth at my
right hand. They've given you next to nothing."

"Well, Paul's giving me command of a division of drunken rednecks. Besides, he's
my brother. If I really betrayed him, our mom would kill me," said Matthew.
"When Mom gets pissed, even Delilah gets out of her way."

* * *

The troops took Norman into custody, and Matthew joined Paul, Wayland and Matt
Brown.

"I still don't get it," Wayland said. "If you guys were working together all
along, why did you attack him at the MP station?"

"It was an act, for Norman's benefit," said Paul. "Like I said, we couldn't let
Norman think anything was going on. If I really planned to hurt him, believe me,
you and Brendan would not have been able to stop me."

"Okay, I guess that makes sense... but Matthew, you helped Norman with his
attacks on us, and let him kill Brendan."

"Hey, I had no idea he was going to do that to Brendan. And even if I did, I
couldn't stop him. Don't forget, I'm only mortal," Matthew explained. "As for
the other attacks, I didn't push them quite as hard as I could have. But the
fact is, you guys were expendable, since you can resurrect. What mattered was
that I gained Norman's trust."

"So what are we going to do with Norman, anyway?" the other Matt asked.

"We hold him in custody until we can hold a Co-Rulers' conference," said
Wayland. "That'll be at least a month, since Brendan's still overseas. Norman
will have plenty of time to stew. Then we'll see how cooperative he is."

"Sounds good," said Paul. He turned an invisible knob in space-time, and opened
the door back to the Fortress of Doom basement.

"Now there's only one thing we still have left to do," Wayland said. "Does this
room have a doorway to Enloe?"

"Yeah, over here." Paul opened the door, and a herd of barnyard animals began to
push their way out.

Wayland sighed. "This may take some time."

THE ENB!

--
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"