He spotted the stakeout as he drove rapidly down 143rd street. Two men were sitting in an older green chevy about two hundred yards West of the duplex. One was reading the paper and the other was sleeping. The one reading barely glanced up as he drove by. "Yup," he thought, "they're on the taxpayer's payroll, all right. Wide awake and alert."

Then he saw the real watchers, a parked van with darkly tinted windows. Because it was morning and the sun wasn't yet high in the sky, he could see the shadowy figures of two men looking out through the black bubble of a back window. Between them was what looked like a tripod for a camera.

He cruised the neighborhood and decided on a spot on Hawthorne Boulevard in the Von's parking lot. He parked where he could see down 143rd street. If she left her house, he would be able to follow. He was about ready to give up and go look for Manny when he saw her. She left the house and came in his direction walking briskly. She obviously wasn't going far because her car sat unused in her driveway.

When she crossed the street and headed directly for Von's, he got out of his car and entered the market. He took a cart and started checking out the items on the first aisle.

He had previously prepared a small note. It told of the danger Ernie was in and warned her that she was being watched and her phone tapped, but it was imperative that she, somehow, get word to him to hide in a cave, or somewhere up there in the mountains, until it was safe to come down.

She entered, grabbed a cart, and headed down the aisle. Paul waited for several seconds. When it became obvious that they weren't going to come inside and follow her up and down each aisle, he trailed along behind her.

He managed to block her path in toilet tissue and paper towels. She looked up in annoyance, and suddenly her eyes widened in recognition. He held his finger to his lips and handed her the note. He backed his cart out of the way and mumbled, "See ya in soups, Okay?" She nodded, and he walked away.

In soups she handed him back his note. She had written on the back, "I can't. Because he's here. He's hiding up in my attic. I don't know what to do. I'm scared. He's terrified and won't come down. What are we going to do? Can you help?"

Paul smiled grimly and nodded his head. He whispered,

"Tell Ernie that I'll take care of the people outside your house at exactly midnight. Then I'll come inside and get him out of there. I've got a safe place to hide him, Okay?"

She nodded in agreement, and Paul took his cheese and crackers to the checkout stand. He had to get to Manny quickly because there was a lot of work to be done before 1:00 A.M.

Manny and his friends were waiting at Patterson's Pool Parlor. The pool hall had a new owner but still carried the same old name.

Paul reasoned that the new owner, Pablo Munos, probably didn't have enough extra capital to invest in paint and new signs. After Deke Patterson went to prison for twenty-five to life for murder and his brother was sentenced for fencing stolen property, the Munos family bought the Pool Parlor at the County Auction.

Over a cold bottle of Beer, Paul ran the entire story down to Manny.

He figured, if he was asking Manny and his friends to risk their lives, the least he could do was level with Manny and give him the choice of getting out or going ahead knowing the risks.

When he finished, Manny looked at him and shook his head,

"You know, Keeno, you're one, loco son-of-a-bitch! First, you say that all you want from us is early warning, if someone shows up while you're on the phone. Now, you're asking me and my friends to set up relay stations and do the same thing you were doing last night. All for a thousand bucks. No way, Amigo. Next you'll be wanting us to help you shoot it out with those guys...see you later, gator."

Paul stood up, drained his glass, and said,

"Well okay, Manny, but I was going to raise the ante. How would you guys like to own, maybe, a bowling alley, or some other legitimate business? 'Course you'd need some operating capital -- say, maybe fifty thousand. No, there are six of you, so let's make that sixty thousand to get you started.

"However, if you don't want any part of the deal because its too dangerous, I guess, I'll have to find some help somewhere else. Bye." He hadn't traveled three steps before,

"Whoa there, Amigo. Don't go running off just yet. Now, you're talking some real reasons for taking risks. Lemme check with my guys a second. I'll be right back."

He walked over to the pool table where his friends were passing time. Paul could partially read their lips, as they argued about whether or not Manny could trust his crazy gringo friend to deliver what he promised. Manny's clincher as closely as Paul could get it was: if Keeno didn't pay off, they could always sell him to Ruiz.

He came back over, all smiles,

"Okay Amigo, you got a deal, but let me warn you -- if you try to stiff us, we'll peddle your paddy ass to Ruiz in a hot second. Comprende?" Paul grinned and acknowledged that he, indeed, did understand, and then he lowered his voice,

"Now, Manny, there's one other little thing I didn't tell you about..." and he told him all about his partner, Ernie being holed up in an attic in Hawthorne with both the narcs and Ruiz's boys waiting outside.

"Now here's how we're going to get him outa there:

First, I want a Dominos Pizza truck sitting in the Von's parking lot with the keys in it at 11:30 P.M.

Second, between eleven and midnight, I want two of the smallest guys to crawl under those stakeout vehicles and quietly clamp the fuel lines closed. Use vice-grips with tape on the jaws to muffle the sound.

"While they are clamping the lines, two or three of you guys can race down the street and back to create a diversion. If they see him get into the Pizza truck with me and give chase, they'll run out of gas in two or three blocks.

"I'll keep him with me and meet you guys at the van. We're going to need three more vehicles for tonight's activity. If you guys do this right, there's no way they can pin down our location and get there before we're long gone. They'll be like a dog chasing his tail -- the faster they go, the dizzier they'll get. Any questions?"

They shook their heads, "No," and everyone headed out to do their jobs.

-------------------

Paul sat in the pilfered pizza truck and watched as Manny's boys put on a show of racing down 143rd street, passing each other just as they went by the van.

For a moment Paul thought they might miscalculate and crash into the parked vehicle, but they missed and disappeared up the street. Two minutes later, they returned -- roaring by and burning rubber as they turned left on Hawthorne and headed South. It was 11:57 P.M.

Paul fired up the truck and headed up the street. He pulled into the driveway behind Ernie's sister's car. The Domino's Pizza van was tall enough to partially shield him, as he headed for the duplex, pizza in hand.

She opened the door the instant he knocked. He hurried inside. Ernie was standing by the window peering out through the blinds. Paul grabbed him by the shoulder,

"Come on, Ernie, get a move on. It'll only take them a few seconds to check and find out that no one has ordered a pizza over this phone. We've got to get the Hell out of here." He took Ernie by the arm and pulled him in the direction of the door.

"What about my sister? What'll they do to Ann, when they find out she's been hiding me?" Ernie demanded, "I'm not leaving her behind for those bastards to carve on. For Christ sakes, Paul, can't you hide the both of us? Please."

"Okay, Ernie, but we gotta leave right now." He opened the door, told them to stay low, and run for the truck. They were huddled alongside the truck when he opened the door. They slid in, he climbed in after them, and fired up the engine. He backed out of the driveway turned toward Hawthorne and saw two sets of headlights come on behind him.

He raced South toward the 91 freeway hoping to get his pursuers up on the freeway before they ran out of gas. He could see their lights in the mirror twisting and turning through traffic, trying to keep up. He didn't think they'd try anything as stupid as shooting at him in a crowded area. They'd wait until he was in the suburbs or on the freeway before trying anything like that.

He had miscalculated. They ran out of gas about half way to the freeway. Their lights faded suddenly into the distance.

Anticipating that they had phone access and would be looking for the truck on the freeway, Paul turned East on Artesia and pulled into the El Camino College parking lot, where he had previously stashed his old car with the Nebraska plates. They changed vehicles and headed for Long Beach. He turned to his partner, Ernie,

"I thought you were safely hidden back in the hills of Colorado. What made you change your mind?"

Ernie looked sheepishly at Paul and, without looking at his sister, started to explain,

"I did go. I took a bus, but by the time I got to Salt Lake City, I was feeling so damn guilty about letting you down and wimping out that I changed my mind. I didn't know how much trouble I was in because of skipping out, so I changed my appearance, so I'd look like a fat, little Mexican and rode the Amtrac back.

"When I asked around our usual hang outs, I found out that you had disappeared. Paul, you know I ain't much good at doing things on my own, but when I work with someone like you I make a pretty good team player. So I figure I'll just lay low until you show up, then I'll give you a hand. Okay?

"Anyway, all of a sudden, the word's out that you and I are bad cops, and the Feds aren't too picky about if we're apprehended dead or alive. I never give Ruiz any thought at all. I just asked Ann if I could hide in her attic until I could figure my way out of this mess."

"Paul, tell me what the Hell is going on?" Ernie looked so pathetic, Paul thought he was going to cry.

"Ernie, I think, maybe, you're going to have to sit this one out. Hang on while I make a quick phone call. I think I know just the place where Ann can be safe, and you can protect her if anything goes wrong." He punched out a number on the cellular phone. When Charles Mathews answered, Paul spoke rapidly,

"Charles, Paul Gillette here. I'm terribly sorry to be waking you at this hour, but it's sort of an emergency."

"'Sokay, Paul." Charlie Mathews mumbled sleepily, "what's the problem?"

"Same as last time, Charlie. Only this time it's my partner and his sister. Some very dangerous people would rather see us dead than any other way. I'd like to stash them on your boat while I take care of the bad guys."

"It's okay with me, Paul, but you'll have to clear it with Mary Ann. She's living on the boat while she's writing her great American novel. Guess she wouldn't mind taking some folks fishing. She can write anywhere, I guess. Tell her, Dad said hello and to phone home once in a while."

"Okay, Charlie, I'll pass the message on. Go back to sleep, and, Charlie -- thanks." Paul hung up and turned to Ernie,

"That settles it. You and Ann are going fishing. Mary Ann is a good skipper, and we've been through a lot together. I can guarantee, you can count on her to want to help."

Chapter Twenty-five
-------------------

Mary Ann was glad to see Paul again and it took no persuasion to get her enthusiastically involved in their escape plan. She turned to Paul beaming,

"Another fine mess you've got yourself into. Are you sure you wouldn't like to come fishing with us? I've plenty of room in my bunk."

Paul grinned. He could never get over the casual way she came on to him. She never asked for a commitment, but she did demand honesty in their relationship.

"Maybe after this mess is all over, Chief Sampson will let me go fishing. In the meantime I'll have to take a raincheck." He gathered her in his arms, and his kiss promised much more than an early morning bout with an albacore.

While Mary Ann was helping Ann get settled in, Paul took Ernie to the side away from the gangway. He punched Ernie playfully on the shoulder and spoke,

"Ernie, I think you're going to be all right, but don't get careless. Don't let Ann call anyone for any reason. That goes for you, too."

"I'll contact Mary Ann by radio when it's okay to come back to the mainland. Let Mary do all the shore shopping, and above all, keep alert. These guys are sharp -- the very best, so they may do anything. I don't want to scare you, but I don't want you to relax and get yourself killed. Okay?"

"For someone who doesn't want to scare me, Paul, you're doing one helluva job."

Paul left him staring down into the water, kissed Mary Ann good-bye, and hurried back to his car. The Marina was only about fifteen minutes from his place in Long Beach, so it wasn't long before he was joining Manny and friends in his driveway.

"Jeez Keeno, where you been? We was worried maybe they got you. You know -- it could happen. Where's the guy we were supposed to be rescuing?"

"I hadda stash him before I got here." Paul answered, "he was scared shitless. Wouldn't a been any help to us, so I dumped him. He's inna safe place. That's all you hafta know. Okay?"

He spent the next half hour drilling his crew on how to plug the computer into the phone systems, turn them on, boot up the communications program, turn them off, and move them. He cautioned them about the explosives inside the units and how the remote detonators worked. He warned them about giving Vic a number if she didn't say, "number please," when she answered the phone. Finally he was satisfied and said,

"Okay guys, lets go to work. What ever you do -- don't get caught. Blow up the equipment and run like hell, if you have to, 'cause we can always get more computers."

His motley crew gave each other a high five, jumped into their vehicles, and disappeared into the night. Paul hated putting the young street urchins in such jeopardy, but he couldn't do it alone, and they had volunteered.

Apparently, he had worried needlessly because the night passed without incident. The only thing unusual occurred at about three o'clock in the morning. When he called in, Vic answered with,

"Listen -- I don't know who you are, but this is the third time you've got the wrong number. Now either sober up or put on your glasses before you dial again." Then she hung up on him. He waited ten minutes and dialed again. This time, she purred, "Number Please?" He read off the number and hung up, making a mental note to ask her about the problem in the morning.

He paid off his crew of urchins just before dawn. He told Manny that if he needed any more help, he'd drop by the pool hall about 2:00 in the afternoon. He checked the van to insure that he hadn't forgotten anything and headed home to get some badly needed sleep.

He jerked suddenly awake. He was wet with sweat, and as usual has been frantically digging through the rubble searching for his brother Phil.

The screams of the frightened villagers were still ringing in his ears, but wait a minute -- he could still hear screams.

He bounded out of bed and looked through the slats in the venetian blinds. Victoria's car was parked behind the van, and two men were dragging her, screaming, kicking body into a dark, green Chevy-van. Then he noticed the other two slowly advancing up his driveway, and from the looks of the weapons they carried, it wasn't a social call.

He felt like a rat trapped in a corner by a hungry cat. Just thinking was using up precious time. He pulled on his pants, checked for keys, grabbed a satchel that he kept packed for emergencies, and literally dove through the bedroom window. He crouched low, as he ran across the back alley and vaulted over a neighbors wooden fence.

It was a desperate, bare-foot Paul Gillette who barely won the foot race to the opposing fence -- just inches ahead of an angry Doberman. As he was starting the engine of his old heap with the Nebraska plates, screams, curses, and growls told him that someone hadn't been so lucky.

He cursed himself for his arrogance and stupidity. He hadn't been so damn smart after all. In fact, to have resumed calling after Vic apparently had a visitor was the same as telling Green that Vic was the intruder. Vic had been right, when she predicted the outcome of their probing. He should have listened to her, but, Oh No, Paul Gillette was too clever to get caught.

He'd probably got her killed with his cleverness, damn! He stopped at a public telephone and called Allen Sampson. When Allen finally answered, Paul told him to hurry to the first, safe phone and hung up. Ten minutes later, he called the number, and a breathless Allen wheezed into the phone,

"What's up? Why the rush?"

Paul ran the whole story down to him and finished with,

"Allen, I feel sick over putting Victoria at risk by being so damn stupid. When this is over, I'm turning in my badge. Can you secure the FBI building until Brad Simons can get involved?

I'm positive Vic has copies of her work somewhere in that building. She's too much of a pro, not to have hidden backup copies. I'm sure she wouldn't be carrying the only copies with her.

"I'll have to call Brad first," Allen replied, "if we go barging in there and searching the place, they might throw us all into Fort MacArthur for ten years.

"What are you going to do now? Your mission just took a crap. Are you coming in?"

"Not until we nail Green. Until then, I'm just a target. Between Green and Ruiz, they've got half the city playing bounty hunter. When Green isn't able to get those disks, and he sees you and Brad Simons working together, he'll know that it's time to run. He'll head for his island in the Gulf of Mexico, and when he gets there, I'll be waiting."

"How do you know where his island is located? You said that Victoria Franklin had the disks."

"Her first night's work wasn't very extensive because I was the only one setting up the relay stations, so she brought me printouts. I put them in an envelope, addressed to your home, and mailed it to you yesterday. You should get it by tomorrow. Never expected you'd need them so soon.

"That's why you should have Brad Simons fly out tonight. When he sees what we got the first night, he'll tear that building down to find what Vic did last night."

"I'll do my best," Allen promised, "take care of yourself, and watch your back. I'm beginning to believe that we can't trust anyone."

"Your right, Chief," Paul answered, "and that includes that Ackerman, so be careful who you talk to, besides Simons." He hung up and headed for the pool hall.

Not knowing if his pursuers had seen that he was half dressed and barefoot, he decided to lay low and let Manny pick him up a change of clothes and a ticket from Ontario International airport to New Orleans. He parked in the alley and entered the pool hall from the back door.

Manny was playing nine-ball with three of his friends. Paul could tell they were having fun because there was much more loud arguing over who was cheating than there was actual pool shooting going on. Having walked a beat in the Barrio, Paul knew that Chicanos would almost rather argue than make love -- almost, that is.

He caught Manny's eye and waved to him. As Manny followed him through the back door, he asked,

"Hey Keeno, this a new disguise? what's with the barefoot business? Thatsa good way to step in some real icky shit, ya know."

Paul told him what had happened. When he finished, he asked Manny to take his car and buy the clothes he needed and pick up his ticket to New Orleans. He finished by warning him to keep a real low profile for the next week or so, until the FBI had a chance to clean up the local threat. He said,

"Manny, I don't have a clue as to where they might have taken Victoria, but I do know that if they drug and torture her, she might say something about you guys helping me. And Manny, the last thing in the world I want to do, is put you guys in danger. I could never live with myself, if something happened to these little kids because of something I did."

"Don't worry 'bought it, Keeno. We talked about the risks before we started; besides, we didn't do it for you -- shit! man, we did it for the bread and the excitement. We ain't had this much fun since the time we blew up the shitter in the school."

Paul laughed, patted him on the back, and pushed him toward the car saying,

"Get outa here and hurry back. I've got to catch a plane."

Manny disappeared in a roar of leaky exhaust noise, and Paul settled down to wait nervously for his return. His thoughts went back over the day's events, and he made a silent promise that if Victoria was harmed in any way, he would never rest until Bill Green and Omberto Ruiz were either destroyed or DEAd.

..............

Chapter Twenty-six
------------------

Paul cleaned up and changed clothes at the airport before boarding his flight to New Orleans. He planned to immediately charter an amphibian to take him the rest of the way, but he found that the nearest available amphibian for charter was in nearby Gulfport, Mississippi.

He hated the delay, but renting a car was out of the question. They always required a credit card. If someone was checking out new arrivals at all airports, taking a taxi from the airport to Gulfport would really attract attention, so he finally settled on taking a taxi to the Greyhound station and riding the bus to Gulfport.

It was late in the afternoon when he arrived, so instead of wasting a trip to the airport, he called HM Used Aircraft -- Sales, Leasing, and Charter. Someone answered on the fifth ring.

When he asked how late they were open for business, they replied that they were just closing; however, if he wanted to come out and talk some business, they were going to be stopping at Hector's Hideaway for dinner and a couple of drinks.

They explained that Hector's Hideaway was a combination hotel and dinner-house located just off the main runway. If they were staying overnight, most pilots stayed at the hotel.

Paul said that he'd be right out and how would he be able to recognize the speaker. The man answered,

"Just ask for Josh, everybody knows me. I'm the only one around here with bright red hair." Then he hung up.

There was only one taxi parked outside the bus station. The driver was not in sight. Paul opened the door on the driver's side and beeped the horn several times before the driver sat up in the back seat rubbing his eyes.

"Alright, alright already! Quit with the horn business. What the Hell do you want in such a big hurry?"

"I want to get to the airport," Paul answered.

"Ain't no hurry on that. There ain't no flights going out 'till mornin, so there ain't no sense in going out there and just waiting for tomorrow, huh?"

Paul was getting a little exasperated,

"Look friend, can I hire you to take me out there or not? If it's any of your business, I want to eat some dinner, have a few drinks, get a room at Hector's Hideaway, and charter a damn plane in the morning. Now, are you satisfied? Do I qualify as a passenger or do I walk?

"No sense getting so testy about it. Get in. Damn! The way you talk, you make me sound snoopy or something. Get in, damn it. They stop serving dinner in about twenty minutes -- we've got to hurry."

They slid to a stop in front of the hotel having used up only ten minutes of the precious twenty. Paul paid the driver and hurried inside. The place resembled an old prohibition road-house more than it did a hotel-dinnerhouse. He decided to eat first and then check in. In the dining room, he spotted the red haired man sitting alone at a table.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked as he approached the table.

"You the one who just called me?" the red haired man asked, as he dug his fork into a pot pie and came up with something speared on the tines that looked like a whole shrimp -- legs, whiskers and all. He smiled at the expression on Paul's face, "Crawfish pie," he explained. "Have some its great."

"No thanks. I think I'll just get me a cheeseburger and a bottle of Bud. If that stuff tastes anything like it smells, I'd toss it back up before I made it to the john. You say your name is Josh -- Well Josh, you can call me Keeno. I'd like to charter one of your amphibians for a couple of trips, and I'd like to leave first thing in the morning if that's possible. What do you say?"

Josh looked at him speculatively, "No problem, Keeno. You got the money and I got the time. You got enough money and I turn into the three monkeys, if you know what I mean."

Paul reassured him quickly, "It ain't like that, Josh. I'm not into anything shady. I'm what you might call a herbalist."

"I buy and sell rare herbs that are used for medicine. I received some inside information that a rare species is growing on one of the nearby islands. The first thing I have to do is verify this without alerting the owner of the island, then my backers will negotiate for the rights to cultivate or even buy the island outright."

"Herbs?" Josh grinned and shook his head, "Hell man, these islands are practically all jungle. You're going to sneak around somebody's private island looking for some rare mushroom and find it in just a couple of trips? Come on, Keeno try another one."

"You don't understand, Josh, I know exactly where to look and what I'm looking for, so I won't be wasting any time. Do you want my money or not?"

"Sure, I'll take your money. Like I said, make it worth my while and I'll do most anything within reason. What's the plan?"

Paul unrolled his map, pointed to the target island, and asked,

"What's your normal fee for a charter flight to this island and back?

"I'd say sixty bucks if I don't land. If I land, anchor, and wait it's forty bucks an hour for the waiting time and eighty for the round trip. The extra take off takes more gas, you know."

Paul took out his wallet and pulled out four one-hundred dollar bills.

As he leaned across the table to hand them to Josh, he spoke,

"Josh, you're going to make two trips, but I'm only taking one. Here's the plan -- I want you to land me on the water and taxi close to the island at exactly first light in the morning. I'll go ashore, and you come back home. The next day at exactly the same time, I want you to pick me up, and get us the Hell out of there. Okay?"

"Do I cover the numbers on my plane?" Josh asked with a grin.

"Probably wouldn't be a bad idea," Paul replied. The cheeseburger and beer had disappeared during their conversation, and Josh didn't argue at all when Paul picked up the dinner tab. Josh agreed to wake Paul up when he was ready to leave in the morning. Paul paid the dinner tab, got a sleeping room, and was soon sound asleep.

It seemed like he had just closed his eyes, when he heard the light tapping on his door. He sat up in bed and told the tapper that he was awake. Josh warned him that they must take off in the next fifteen minutes to insure being in position at first light. He said he wasn't about to land in the dark.

Paul jumped up, splashed water in his face, and left for the flight strip. When he arrived, he could barely make out the old, decrepit PB2Y3 warming up. He climbed aboard and asked the cheerful Josh,

"Are you sure this old bucket of bolts will make it?"

"Bet my life on it, every day." was Josh's reply. When he revved up the engines, they started singing like well oiled sewing machines. They rolled down the runway and took off into the darkness.

Paul looked down as they cleared the airport and thought he saw a sign that said, "Gulfport, Mississippi" and soon after they were over the water. Josh reached under his seat and came up with a beat up old lunch bucket. Handing it to Paul, he explained,

"I had breakfast an hour ago. Thought you might want something to tide you over until tomorrow morning, so I had the cook make up four ham and egg sandwiches and a thermos of coffee. Its got cream and sugar in it. I hope you drink it that way."

Paul thanked him for being so thoughtful and said that at this time of the morning, he'd drink it any old way. He poured the hot liquid into the tin cap of the thermos and wolfed down a sandwich while he sipped on the scalding hot java. Before the coffee had time to cool, he noticed that the instruments were starting to blink on and off. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, but they wouldn't come back into focus. Suddenly, they went out. He felt the hot coffee spilling into his lap, and then he too went out.

He awoke to cold rain in his face, but it wasn't rain; someone had thrown a bucket of salty tasting sea water in his face. He slowly opened his eyes.

"So, sleeping beauty is finally coming around." He tried to get up and discovered that his left hand was handcuffed to metal ring on a dock. Josh was standing over him, smiling.

"Well, Mister stupid cop, maybe you better learn to check out the terrain before you try to sneak into someone else's territory. You come into Hector Morales' town and try to hire his private airforce to help you sneak onto his island. Man, you're some kinda fool. His security guards will be here to pick you up in a few minutes."

Paul asked, "Where are we? How long was I out?"

"We're tied up to Mister Morales' private dock and we've been here for about ten minutes. Why?"

Paul replied, "Oh, I was just curious," and he quickly reached into his right pocket and threw his pocketknife into the water."

"Hey, what the Hell was that?"

"What was what?"

"Don't give me that crap. What did you throw in the water? Paul looked up at him and grinned,

"Josh, I don't think Hector is going to be very pleased with you over this stunt of your's:

"First, you knew I had a map of this island. Right? Then if I'm a cop, other cops know about the island; and that I'm here to sneak onto the island. Right?

"Second, they know who brought me out here -- a pilot named, Josh from HM Used Aircraft. Right?"

"And last, Josh, if I don't return tomorrow morning on schedule, and a fly-over picks up the signal from my homing device right here on the island; Josh, your ass is grass, and there'll be more heat on this island than a volcano."

Josh's face turned as red as his hair. He kicked Paul in the ribs with one quick ferocious kick. He spluttered,

"That wasn't no homing device. They don't make transmitters that small -- you lying son-of-a-bitch!"

"Okay," Paul gasped, trying to get his breath back, "if you're so damn sure, then just don't tell Hector about it. I'll be happy to tell him for you. I've got a phone in my satchel. Call him and tell him I've got the disks that he's looking for, and I'll trade the disks for Victoria Franklin. That way you guys can cut out and be at least a few hours ahead of the Feds."

Josh looked worried. Paul continued his desperate bid to prolong his life,

"Josh, I'm not kidding about this island swarming with FBI types as soon as they miss me. I really don't know the range on that transmitter under water, but it could get them out here sooner than tomorrow morning."

Almost in answer to his silent prayers, suddenly, black clad scuba divers surfaced on both sides of the dock and a sub slowly surfaced about two hundred yards off shore. Josh looked around in panic. When he saw the white FBI and ATF lettering on the wet-suits, he just cursed and assumed a prone position on the dock.

The officer in charge of the landing party carefully checked Paul against a photo, he was carrying, before ordering his release.

Paul first words were, "I'll have a little of the first and some of the last, but forget the middle because I don't smoke." The officer looked at him with a puzzled expression. Paul grinned and explained, "ATF -- Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms -- I could sure use a drink 'cause I sure thought my number was up. I was sure those bastards were going to start carving on me. And, if someone will give me a firearm, I'm gonna kill a few of those bastards in just a couple a minutes now.

"I'm sure, if we can surprise the security guards who are on the way to pick me up and take me back to where-ever; we'll be able to get at least two of us inside before the rest of you guys attack."

The officer shook his head and held up his hand,

"Hold on there. The name is Parsons -- Oscar Parsons, and damn it, I'm in charge of this mission. First, I'll have to radio the sub and get permission to invade this private island and also check into the jurisdiction of this search warrant. We came to rescue you, and I consider the mission complete."

Paul was angry enough to scream, but he calmly replied,

"Will someone please loan me a gun? I can see the dust cloud from up on the road. I'd like to be able to defend myself." One of the black clad men handed him a 9mm.

He ran to the plane and grabbed his satchel. He walked back to the prone figure of Josh and shoved the barrel of the 9mm into his mouth,

"Now, you rotten bastard, did you bring a grey-haired, lady prisoner out here yesterday afternoon? Don't lie to me you son-of-a-bitch, that lady is my mother. I'll blow your friggin head off." Josh could only nod a frightened, yes.

Paul turned to Oscar,

"Tell Brad Simons that I believe Victoria Franklin is somewhere on this island. She's probably being tortured to find out how much she found out about the organization. Tell him I'm going in with or without you guys. And you better submerge that sub, or the whole damn world is going to know that we're here."

Chapter Twenty-seven
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He turned to Josh,

"How did you let Morales know that you had arrived and had me prisoner?"

Josh pointed to a metal box mounted on the pier upright.

"There's a telephone in there. It connects directly to the house. All you have to do is pick it up and press the button beside the phone, and someone from the house will answer."

"Call Morales," Paul ordered, "and tell him that I have taken you prisoner and want to talk a deal. Don't say anything else or your a dead son-of-a-bitch. Do you understand me?" Josh nodded.

"If he agrees to talk, just give me the phone, okay?"

Once again, Josh nodded his head. Paul followed Josh to the phone and watched as he punched the button.

When someone answered, he said,

"This is Josh, let me talk to Mister Morales." The little phone crackled loudly. "Mister Morales, I'm sorry, but the guy got the jump on me. He's got my gun stuck in my ear." The phone crackled a lot louder. "I said I was sorry, It wasn't my fault. He says he's got the disks you're looking for, and he wants to talk a deal. The disks for that lady I brought out yesterday. Will you talk to him?" He handed the phone to Paul and shrugged his shoulders. Paul took the phone and spoke,

"Hector, Hector Morales or is it Omberto Ruiz? This is Paul Gillette, Los Angeles Police. Do you understand my terms?" The angry voice on the other end of the connection hissed,

"How can I be sure you have the disks, and what's to keep you from wasting the woman's escort and flying off with both?

"Tell you what," Paul replied, "turn your reception party around and send them back for the woman; and while they're gone, I'll sink the damn plane. Now, I'm sure you've got other ways off this island, and with my rescue party only hours away; I think your best bet is to get the disks and get the Hell out of here as fast as you can. Do we have a deal, or do I call for an airstrike now? He listened to a lengthy pause then a bitter concession -- "Deal."

Paul turned to Oscar Parsons and grinned,

"I think you government types better hide under the dock until I can get Victoria out of the line of fire. How about making yourself useful and sink that nice little flying machine. They won't come close to the dock until it's gone."

Oscar spluttered at losing control of the operation,

"Wht, what do you intend to do when they do arrive? I know for a fact that you don't have those disks."

Hell, Oscar, I don't know, but one thing for damn sure - - I'm not leaving without that nice old lady." Oscar shook his head in disgust and dove over the side into the water. Paul handcuffed Josh to the ring that had previously held him prisoner. He went back to the phone enclosure and was busily working on the phone when the plane slowly sank beneath the surface.

Suddenly, Oscar's voice came from beneath the dock,

"The sub reports that a speedboat is rounding the point and heading our way. They are probably trying to flank us. What do you want to do?"

"Can you send a couple of divers out about a hundred yards, so they can be close to the boat when it arrives?

"Can Do. They're on their way. What now?"

"I guess we just wait. It's Morales' move." Paul walked over and sat by Josh. "One peep out of you, Amigo, and you're fish bait, okay?" Paul sat and studied the terrain while he waited. He saw activity up where the dust from the approaching vehicle had been. There were four men on the hillside, but they weren't coming any closer.

The range was in the vicinity of four hundred yards. He told Oscar where they were and that he thought they were probably snipers. Morales's plan was probably to get the disks by boat, leave Victoria on the dock, and then kill them from a safe distance after he had checked out the disks.

The speed boat pulled to a stop and drifted quietly for three or four minutes. Finally, a man came into view. He was holding Victoria Franklin by the hair and held a knife to her throat.

"Gillette, Paul Gillette, can you hear me?"

"I can hear you, Green. Since when have you been doing your own dirty work?"

"Since you and this Bitch here caused me to lose my job. You got those damn disks?"

"Sure do. How do we do the trade?"

"Turn Josh loose and give him the disks. Then, you swim out to the boat, and I swim to the dock. That gives the two of you a half hour head start. If the disks are genuine, you keep on going to the mainland. If they're not, we'll be on your ass in slightly over a half hour and blow you out of the water. Morales has a real fast chopper, so you won't stand a chance."

Paul released Josh. He handed him two 3.5 inch floppy disks from his satchel, and told him to hold them up so Green could see them. He muttered to Oscar,

"Something's screwy here. He can't afford to let us go. I'll play this out -- Please, just lay low until something happens, okay?"

"Okay," came the answer from below. Josh waved the disks at Green and begged Paul to remember how cooperative he had been. Paul just grunted as he took a small plastic sack from his satchel, buttoned it into his hip pocket, kicked off his shoes, and dove into the warm gulf water.

Bill Green was by far the stronger swimmer. He passed Paul before the halfway point and was climbing onto the dock, when Paul still had thirty yards to go.

Paul tried the breast stroke to get some rest, and almost screamed in terror as something slithered between his kicking legs. Seconds later a head broke the surface just a foot away from his face, and matching his speed exactly. One hand removed the mouthpiece and the other held up an explosive device with a timing mechanism.

"Look what your friend left on the boat for you. It was just below the waterline, and set to go off in fifteen minutes. It's okay now. We checked the outside of the hull. I suggest you check the inside. See Ya." He sank below the surface just as Paul reached the boat.

Paul climbed aboard. Victoria sat on the deck. She was still blindfolded and her hands and feet were tied. Paul rushes to her. He removed the blindfold and was removing her bonds when she spoke,

"Well, Hot Shot, you weren't so damn smart as you thought you were. You damn near got me killed, I hate you. Did you bring anything to eat? I'm starved. You stink. I love you, you little creep. How'd you find me so quick?" And then, she started to cry.

Paul hugged her and asked, "Are you all right? Did those bastards hurt you?" She shook her head -- No. Paul told her to wait a minute.

He looked back at the dock. Green was talking to someone on the phone. Paul removed the plastic bag from his hip pocket. After he opened it and removed its contents, he mumbled a silent prayer and pushed the button on the remote detonation device. Green's body jerked violently and he fell away from the phone enclosure. He turned back to Victoria,

"Ya know, Vic, I ain't worth a shit as a detective, I don't take enough baths, and now, I just discovered that I ain't much good at rigging explosions. I thought that if I used the same charge that we figured to blow up our computers, it would just knock out somebody, but damned if it didn't blow the whole top of old Bill Green's head off. Pity!"

She gasped, "You didn't?"

"Sure did, Mom. Let's get the Hell out of here and let the Feds clean up this mess." He rapidly checked the boat for booby traps, fired up the engines and took off on a heading for the mainland.

As they cruised along, he filled her in on the happenings of the last twenty-four hours. They were almost a half mile off shore when Paul heard the sound of the approaching helicopter. It was flying low and fast, and Paul was sure it was headed directly for the boat. He turned to Victoria,

"Mom, I sure hope you can swim."

I can dog paddle pretty good," she answered, "why?"

Well, if that's who I think it is, they'll be turning this boat into Swiss cheese in about two or three minutes. If they start shooting, I'll stop this thing and we'll have to go over the side. If we can stay on the side away from the shooting, maybe we can stay alive until help arrives."

He was so busy watching the approaching chopper that he didn't notice the surfacing sub. The chopper came in low -- guns blazing. Paul could see the line of impacts in the water and the line was coming right at them. He slammed the throttles into reverse and grabbed Victoria as she sailed past, completely off balance. The boat shuddered to a halt, as the bullets cut a path across the bow -- sending a cloud of mahogany splinters into the air.

The chopper roared past and made a climbing turn to come back for another pass at the helpless targets below. As the chopper straightened out for the next run, Paul started to lower Victoria over the far side of the boat.

Suddenly, the chopper disappeared in a giant ball of flame. Victoria gasped,

"Good God, Paul, what was that?" Paul let out a deep sigh of relief. He hadn't realized it, but he had been holding his breath. He grinned at the bewildered and frightened Victoria,

"That Mom, was your tax dollars at work. It was a beautiful missile, a missile fired from a beautiful submarine; both of which were paid for by the tax payers of our beautiful country. God, Vic! I thought we were dead, for sure. I think the world has seen the last of Omberto Ruiz, and I know that old Bill Green won't be getting any more friends of mine killed."

He checked the fuel level, and not knowing the extent of the damage to the front end of the boat, he decided to return to the sub. By the time Paul and Victoria boarded the sub, Oscar was on board waiting. The island had been secured, prisoners taken, and an investigation team was on the way to completely check out the whole island. Oscar joked, as Paul helped Victoria out of the small boat,

"Well, Hero, I guess you couldn't do it all yourself, could you? If old Dead-eye here hadn't nailed that chopper, you and the lady would be fishbait by now." The Dead-eye that he referred to was a young ensign in navy uniform. He looked to be about twenty years old. Paul shook his hand and thanked him, and when Victoria grabbed him and kissed him on the forehead, he blushed until his ears turned pink. Paul turned to Oscar,

"Seems like I did nothing but make mistakes on this case. I almost got Victoria killed, I put some darn good kids in jeopardy, and Ruiz almost got away because I wasn't working with the team. I told my boss that when this was over, I was going to resign, and I meant it. I know that I could never be a team player, and going it alone puts my partners in jeopardy, so I'm going to hang it up."

Oscar nodded in agreement,

"We've had guys like you, and they were nothing but trouble in the department. So, I agree with you, if you retire and do something else, it just might be best for everyone."

They got a ride back to Los Angeles, courtesy of the tax payers, and on the way, Paul made his pitch to Victoria.

"Vic, I hope you haven't forgotten our agreement about the trust fund for the families of the guys who lost their lives trying to nail Ruiz?"

"No, Why?" She responded, "I said I would, and I did." "Well," he stared out the window at the fleecy clouds outside, "I hate to tell you this, but I made a couple other commitments. Those, little, street-urchins who risked their lives to help us get the goods on Green and rescue my partner, Ernie -- they need and deserve a better life. So..." He turned and looked pleadingly at her, then turn back to the window.

"I sorta promised them a bowling alley," he muttered softly.

"You WHAT?"

"I promised to help get them off the streets. And when I asked them what business they'd like to go into, they decided on a bowling alley. You see, Vic, most of them don't have any place to stay anyway. They're sleeping in cardboard boxes.

"They want that bowling alley on Van Ess Street. The one where a neighborhood boy, Jason Moses was living before he was killed."

"They figure they can fix the upstairs up for living quarters for the whole group, and make a decent, legal living downstairs with the bowling and games.

"I could rent office space from them and sorta keep an eye on the whole operation. What do you say, Vic? The place IS for sale. All you'd have to do is shuffle a few more of Morales accounts before the treasury people get involved."

He glanced over at her. She was glaring directly into his right ear -- looking more prim and matronly by the second.

"Paul Gillette, I declare. You really don't belong in law enforcement. I think you better get yourself a good lawyer -- a divorce lawyer because you and the law have some irreconcilable differences. Whatever feels right is right as far as you're concerned. Well, Sonny, I want you to know one thing: and that is ... if there's anything I can do to help, you just let me know. Now, what's this about you renting an office?"

Paul couldn't believe his ears. He turned in his seat, grabbed her and planted a kiss on her cheek. She pushed him away, smiled at the passing stewardess, and sighed,

"Incest, isn't it just grand." The stewardess looked the other way and quickly passed by.

Paul explained,

"Seriously, Vic, I'm going to quit before I do get someone killed. I never will be a team player, so I've decided to open up a one man private investigations office. I shouldn't have any trouble getting a licence, I know the streets of South L.A., and with my rapport with the small-fry I'll have lots of eyes to help me.

"It wouldn't hurt to have the best, damn, computer hacker in the world on my side, too. Just in case I needed information on really rotten people. What do you say?"

"And just where do you expect to get the operating capital to finance this little venture?" she asked with a wry smile.

"From my Mom," he answered, "or if you'll teach me how to go prospecting in bad guys accounts, I'll get it the old fashion way ... I'll earn it."

She patted him gently on the head,

"My Son -- My Prodigal Son, let's get this show on the road, so I can get back to Washington. God, I hate Southern California."