A Tan Beret Goes to Nellis

[Matryoshka]

Lake Mead is nice and deep, as I recall. The trick would be paying for the petrol... but then again, I’m sure the LV Mob have ‘connections’ for that, too.

[The date-time group on this last update needs a tweak for transposed digits, Poohbah. Unless it happened nine years before the rest of the story, which I doubt. ]

[Poohbah]

Lake Mead is nice and deep, as I recall. The trick would be paying for the petrol... but then again, I’m sure the LV Mob have ‘connections’ for that, too.

[The date-time group on this last update needs a tweak for transposed digits, Poohbah. Unless it happened nine years before the rest of the story, which I doubt. ]

The keyboard was dyslexic.

[Matt Wiser]

Fish need sustenance as well: that's what Lake Mead is for.

[Jotun]

Old school wisdom from the Las Vegas mob, did the hole first, then acquire the body for it. Digging in desert is hard work and too many LEOs notice when a backhoe goes there.

Then again, an abandon mine is much easier to use.

A bathtub of lye or acid, or a pen of hogs are actually safer IMO. Less chance of somebody happening upon a corpse by accident.

[jemhouston]

Old school wisdom from the Las Vegas mob, did the hole first, then acquire the body for it. Digging in desert is hard work and too many LEOs notice when a backhoe goes there.

Then again, an abandon mine is much easier to use.

A bathtub of lye or acid, or a pen of hogs are actually safer IMO. Less chance of somebody happening upon a corpse by accident.

Channeling Angel again I see. Both lye and acid have issues. The Chicago mob may have had the best idea, own a cemetery, dig the grave about five feet deeper, dump the body in, pour cement in, then backfill the extra with dirt. Then bury the vault over it.

[Jotun]

Old school wisdom from the Las Vegas mob, did the hole first, then acquire the body for it. Digging in desert is hard work and too many LEOs notice when a backhoe goes there.

Then again, an abandon mine is much easier to use.

A bathtub of lye or acid, or a pen of hogs are actually safer IMO. Less chance of somebody happening upon a corpse by accident.

Channeling Angel again I see. Both lye and acid have issues. The Chicago mob may have had the best idea, own a cemetery, dig the grave about five feet deeper, dump the body in, pour cement in, then backfill the extra with dirt. Then bury the vault over it.

Never watched Angel, got the first one from Blacklist and the second from some Guy Ritchie movie…

[jemhouston]

I was talking about Angel from Stuart's Conrad stories Angel the Gunchick. Her favorite way of getting rid of bodies was feeding them to pigs.

Mythbusters had a myth about getting rid of bodies using acid. A few mystery books I've read had told of issues with lye.

[Poohbah]

18 December 1988
Red Flag Building
Nellis Air Force Base
Las Vegas, NV

Normally, the Red Flag Building's "God Room" displayed the terrain around Nellis; now, it was showing a feed from the TACTS range facilities in Sacajawea Maneuver Area, near Marmath, North Dakota, some of the least populated land in North America.

Sophie sipped stale coffee and watched the displays. A red diamond outline with a short line pointing east was on US 12.

One of the controllers said, "HUNTER 01 has switched its mission gear."

About fifteen minutes later, a blue square icon appeared to the east, with a short line pointing west.

"And there's TARGET 01, coming into the box."

The two icons moved towards each other at a closing speed of roughly 80 miles per hour.

"HUNTER 01 has a solid hit on multiple nuclear warheads, 1502 Zulu."

Decker asked, "Range to target?"

"Just over 10 miles."

Sophie looked at the display and said, "The device by itself doesn't give range. It gives you a notice that there's nukes nearby."

Hummel nodded. "Okay. So how do you go from "there's nukes somewhere inside this circle" to X marking the spot?"

Decker said, "Good question. Do we have a good answer?"

Sophie gestured to a plotting table. "Gentlemen?"

They went over, and Sophie laid an acetate sheet over the operational navigation chart.

"So, let's assume that our rough figure of merit is 10 miles." She grabbed a grease pencil and a piece of string, marked off ten miles on the ONC scale, and tied the string around the grease pencil. She then placed the end of the string at a point and drew a ten mile circle around the point, then repeated the exercise three more times from other points within 20 miles. The circles overlapped in one small area.

"Well, X doesn't mark the spot, but I just told you where the target has to be."

Decker frowned. "Don't the trucks carrying the widgets have to talk to each other?"

"Not really, sir. They do have to talk to someone, sir, to build the picture, but they could do that via Spetosk." Sophie was referring to the Soviet intelligence services' compact satellite communications units.

Decker and Hummel exchanged looks, and Sophie smiled.

"What's so funny?"

"The looks on your faces when I mentioned Spetosk. I hate them, too. The damn things are cast-iron bastards to find when they're standing still, let alone when they're moving."

Decker laughed. "Chief, please don't take this wrong, but you look way too young and fresh for someone who's actually been prowling and growling. I thought finding Charlie's radios was a pain in the ass, at least those would broadcast out and not just straight up."

Hummel said, "Like General LeMay said, times change, and we have to change with them."

"Speak for yourself, Hummel. I'm content with rotary dial phones, HF radio, manual typewriters, and a '57 Chevy Nomad wagon. That said, Chief, I'm damn glad you're here. You're not only a damn good operator, you've got skills none of us can bring to the table. So, how do we hunt these things? I know the time will come when we're going to get tasked to do that."

Sophie looked at the ONC, and felt numbers moving around--but there wasn't a pattern discernable.

Not yet.

The numbers seemed to become both more and less random as she zeroed in on US 12, the only road shown on the ONC.

She tapped her fingers on the chart a few times. What am I missing?

Hummel asked quietly, "Is something bothering you, Gunner?"

"Yes, sir. I just don't know what."

Decker said, "Chief . . . I know this sounds trite, but how about we all take a short walk outside, get some fresh air and some sunlight, then come back?"

* * *

She felt much better after a ten minute walk around the building.

She looked at the ONC again. US 12 was an isolated slash across the landscape.

"Gentlemen, could we get a decent road map of the Midwest between I-80 and I-40?"

Decker said, "I don't know--we might have to have the Defense Mapping Agency do a custom job."

Sophie said, "Well, maybe some Rand McNally state maps would work if they're all at a constant scale. The roads are the key terrain here, especially once you get onto the Great Plains."

Hummel asked, "What are you thinking, Gunner?"

"This sensor network is supporting time-sensitive targeting. That, in turn, implies that the sensor array has two-way comms, both to support passing data up to the central control point, and to receive direction from higher--where to go, et cetera. My guess is Spetotsk for the uplink. Might be important enough for the downlink, too, if they can solve the problem of how to direct the trucks."

Decker looked around the God Room, then murmured, "Let's get those road maps first, and set them up in our own spaces. I want this to be a private conversation among us operators."

* * *

A trip out to a truck stop on Craig Road had scored some road maps, and Sophie laid one for the Central United States in the SOCOM conference room, then put an acetate sheet over it.

Decker's voice was quiet. "Chief . . . I'm assuming Ivan's pretty smart. But I know you're extremely smart. I'm half expecting you to pull a rabbit out of a hat. But that's not fair to you. All of that said . . . I'm not really sure what you're looking for."

"I'm figuring out search patterns, sir. And I'm still . . . not seeing the entire picture."

She looked again at the maps, then at her notes on the conference room whiteboard.

Decker said, "Chief . . . I can't put my finger on it. But something's bugging me, too."

Hummel looked at the map, then said, "The search rate is still pretty low. America is a big country . . . and they can't have too many of these trucks. Exotic superconductors, liquid nitrogen . . . it's not adding up. Even if they're just on the I-70 axis."

Sophie looked at the map, then drew a 20-mile radius circle centered on I-70, then drew another one from a point on the circle.

Decker said, "Wait. That's ten miles more than what we found with our gear."

Sophie nodded. "But the math makes sense now. Double the diameter, quadruple the search area."

She picked up the original Physical Review C paper that had started her on this chase, and went back to the computer section.

"I wonder . . . "

She went to the one empty whiteboard, and began sketching out an equation.

Decker said, "Chief . . . please remember that I can balance a checkbook, calculate a tip, and not screw up a dinner recipe if I scale it up for a big party."

Sophie said, "I understand, sir. Just checking something with the VAX 8600 stats . . . "

She worked on the problem until she got some coefficients, frowned, and then went to the phone. "Time to call General Lodge again."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the last page came out of the fax machine.

Sophie sat down with colored pencils and began marking up the Lisp code.

After a few moments, Decker asked, "Anything yet?"

"Sir, I really need to focus on this code for a bit."

Decker took the hint and motioned the rest of the team out of the room.

* * *

Three hours later, Sophie stepped out of the conference room, feeling a bit detached from the outside world. Hummel gave her the high sign, and they went into Decker's office.

Decker looked at Sophie. "All right, Chief, give us the bad news."

"Sir, I write much better code than this. For whatever reason, they used the raw code from the CONS machine they originally planned to use. The code was optimized for CONS, even though it was running on a much more modern piece of hardware that doesn't have hardware optimized for LISP. Their memory management isn't very good, either, so that's another performance hit. It's almost an order of magnitude degradation in performance. Give me some time to fix this, I'll give you thirty miles on this, and I think that's what we have to assume Ivan can get out of his trucks."

Decker raised an eyebrow. "Why's that?"

"Ivan is many things. When it comes to applied math and computer software engineering, 'stupid' isn't one of those things. They're very good at getting the most out of any hardware they have--I've stolen tricks of the trade from translated Soviet papers since I was in 11th grade. An American programmer will demand the managers purchase more memory or a faster CPU, and throw a tantrum if he doesn't get it. A Soviet programmer will write tight, elegant code to get the absolute most out of whatever he has, because he knows it's all he's ever going to get."

Decker nodded. "I'll keep that answer in mind if anyone asks." He paused, then said, "Can we beat that network?"

"Define 'beat,' sir."

"Getting past it without being detected."

"That's not going to happen, sir. At ten miles, maybe. At anything over . . . "

Her voice trailed off. Decker said nothing.

"Sir, at anything over about 20 miles, the swept area is just too big. You can't evade it in America once they start coaching more than a couple onto your area, because the road net is too dense."

"I was afraid of that."

"There might be a countermove, though. The danger area is generally considered below I-80. So far, we tried to operate around I-70, and gotten our asses kicked all across Kansas, so we draw back to I-80."

"Logical response, you have to admit."

"At first glance, yes, sir, it is."

Decker looked at Sophie and raised an eyebrow.

"At first glance. Presumably, you're thinking that doesn't hold up on a more detailed look."

"Sir, we were wandering around to the east and west, from one end to the other of their detection belt, giving them the best odds to find the real missiles. That's how you have to think of it: a strip. North or south of it, they're going to have a hard time until they can reestablish the belt on a new latitude. Because they're clandestine, that's going to take time. So we drag them down to the I-40 line. Just send everything on a bum's rush south along I-35 out of McConnell, they'll know we're headed south, but they're going to have a hard time getting good cuts because we're only breaching one patrol cell instead of wandering through all of them at once."

"But then we get top the I-40 and we're back to the same problem we had up in the I-70 corridor."

Sophie smiled.

Hummel said, "Uh-oh, I know that smile."

Decker looked at the map, then laughed.

"Oh, Chief, that is purely evil! I love it! You want Ivan's trucks down on the I-40 because Oklahoma's still under military government, and it'll be easier to find them because TRANSCOM tracks all the bills of lading. Make the enemy fight on ground of your choosing. Learn that from studying the Gettysburg campaign, or Kursk?"

"No, sir, from Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan."

All three shared a laugh.

Decker said, "Now all we have to do is get AAFSOUTH's theater nukes shop to buy in. And that'll be much easier said than done."

[Matt Wiser]

"You want to use my theater nuclear-strike assets for WHAT?" will be the reply.

[jemhouston]

Is the equipment smart enough to know the difference between an actual warhead or lump of uranium of the correct size?

Put some nuclear material in the decoys and see what happens.

[Wolfman]

"You want to use my theater nuclear-strike assets for WHAT?" will be the reply.

Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that conversation…

[jemhouston]

"You want to use my theater nuclear-strike assets for WHAT?" will be the reply.

Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that conversation…

No thanks, I like my hearing and it's bad enough as it is.

[Wolfman]

"You want to use my theater nuclear-strike assets for WHAT?" will be the reply.

Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that conversation…

No thanks, I like my hearing and it's bad enough as it is.

Hmm, good point…

[Poohbah]

18 December 1987
Las Vegas, NV

O'Shaughnessy frowned. "I have to chaperone you."

Sophie chuckled as she drove the jeep west from the strip. "You worried that I won't behave myself?"

"You strike me as being willing to substitute enthusiasm for skill."

Sophie chuckled. "Relax! All I'm going to do is clean my fingernails while you talk to her."

* * *

"Sally Jones" was actually one Patricia Latham, a trust fund baby from Boston, in her mid-thirties.

Sophie felt her combat reflexes coming on as O'Shaugnessy introduced herself and waved the AFOSI shield.

The apartment was small, but tidy.

O'Shaugnessy asked basic questions about Latham's background; the answers were brief, going no further than the content of the questions.

Sophie cleaned her fingernails with her Sykes-Fairburn, sitting diagonally across from O'Shaughnessy and Latham. The entire time, she watched Latham's body language, which was tense.

What's going on?

Latham finally asked, "Your friend have anything to say?"

O'Shaughnessy smiled. "You don't want to talk to her."

"I don't want to talk to you, either, hick, unless you're offering to put that cute face between my legs." She turned to Sophie. "What about you, honey? I heard rumors about some Air Force chick hanging around--"

Sophie smiled, and Latham's voice trailed off.

O'Shaugnessy's voice went to maximum cheerfulness. "Remember, I did tell you that you didn't want to talk to her. Now, you can talk to me, or I walk out of here, and she can talk to you."

"What do you want out of me?"

"Your name came up in connection with James Austin, something about procuring young--as in underage--girls--"

"Fuck you. I want a lawyer."

O'Shaugnessy sat back. "This is a counterintelligence investigation under the National Security Act of 1947 as amended in 1986. You don't get a lawyer. Talk to me, or talk to her. But you're going to talk."

"Fuck you, I got rights."

Sophie put th knife away.

O'Shaugnessy sighed. "In order, you're not my type, and, in case you missed the announcement, there is a war on. This is a counterintelligence investigation--"

Latham moved toward O'Shaugnessy, and Sophie sprang out of her chair. She grabbed Latham's right arm with her left, pivoted 180 degrees, and executed a perfect shoulder throw onto the dinette table, which promptly collapsed under Latham's weight.

Sophie watched Latham as she got back up.

O'Shaugnessy's West Texas twang grew even broader. "I'm going to leave y'all to visit for a spell."

Sophie heard the door open and close behind her.

Latham squared up against Sophie and said, "Come on, bitch!"

"Who's your contact?"

Latham closed in and swung clumsily. Sophie threw a wax-off that would've made Mr. Miyagi proud, trapped Latham's arm, and threw her back across the room.

Latham rolled back upright and charged head-on at Sophie, who merely sidestepped and turned, then delivered a kick to Latham's right kidney as she went past.

Latham staggered into the remains of the dinette table and tripped, then crashed into the kitchen counter.

"I can do this all night, and there's a bunch of women out there who will be happy for me to do it. So, who's your contact in supplying underage girls?"

Latham staggered to her feet and spat at Sophie.

Sophie closed in and put Latham in a hammerlock. "All right, dear, playtime's over. You want to keep this arm, give me a name."

"Richie."

Sophie applied some torque, and Latham screamed in pain.

"How about a last name?"

"Never got it! I swear!"

Sophie backed off slightly.

"Where can I find this Richie character?"

Latham said, "He hangs out at Vinnie's, it's his brother's joint." She gave the address, then groaned, "Goddamnit, you're tearing my arm out!"

Sophie increased the torque until the shoulder dislocated and Latham passed out, then let her collapse onto the floor. "Quit complaining, you've got a spare."

Outside, O'Shaughnessy rolled her eyes. "Chief, I think you're overdoing the bad cop role."

"Maybe it's a mood swing, my hormones, or my need to impose my will. Or maybe it's just that I don't like people who pervert kids."

O'Shuaghnessy sighed. "Point taken."

"So, Vinnie's, about five blocks off of Fremont Street."

"It would have to be Vinnie Madano's joint."

* * *

O'Shaugnessy and Sophie walked into the bar. The main floor was about 7 feet below the entrance area. Vinnie, leaning against the railing, rolled his eyes. "Special Agent bigshot! And my night was going so well. As you can see, there's no service personnel in here, so you can go on your merry way, fuck you very much."

O'Shaughnessy "Good evening, Vinnie. We're looking for your brother, Richie."

"Well, he ain't here."

Sophie asked, "So where is he?"

"None of your business, sweetie."

Sophie looked at the man, then said, "I don't like you."

"Oh, yeah? Whatcha gonna do about--"

Sophie yanked Vinnie off-balance, then swept his legs from under him while pushing him as hard as she could. Vinnie went over the railing and down onto the main bar floor.

O'Shaugnessy said quietly, "And we're off."

Sophie jumped up lightly onto the railing, then dropped to the main floor, cushioning her landing with Vinnie as he tried to get up. This time, he was down and out cold.

She asked loudly, "Anybody seen Richie?"

A large man with tattoos playing pool shouted back, "Fuck you!"

Sophie said, "You're not my type."

About half of the bar laughed, and Tattoos turned red-faced.

"Bitch, I'm gonna smash your head in!"

Sophie calmly stepped into a hapkido stance as Tattoos charged towards her. He swung. Sophie parried to her right, grabbed his forearm, hyperextended the elbow, and brought her left elbow down onto his upper arm, just above the joint.

The elbow bent sideways with a loud CRACK!

Sophie then kicked the side of Tattoos' knee, and he fell to the floor, with two limbs hideously bent at wrong angles.

Everyone else stopped and stared at the casual violence with varying degrees of shock.

Sophie looked around the bar. "I can do this shit all night! Anybody seen Richie?"

She walked towards one of the pool tables. A man who looked too young to be out of the military tried to block her way.

Sophie shoved him into the phone booth and shut the door.

"Anybody seen Richie?"

She walked towards the bar. An overweight guy leaned his stool back and rested his foot on the pool table.

"What's the password, honey?"

Sophie swept the back legs of the barstool, dumping Fat Guy onto the floor and bouncing the back of his head off of the bar rail.

A middle-aged man in a threadbare sport coat and slacks was leaning against the bar, looking over the scene calmly, an amused smile on his face.

Sophie looked at him. "You seem to know what's what."

The man looked at Sophie, nodded, and said, "For some reason, I like you. There's a place down the street. We can have a sit-down."

* * *

The man led them down the street to an Italian restaurant. A woman who appeared to be related to the middle-aged man greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. "Johnny, it's good to see you again. Your usual table in back?"

"Yes. Please notify my brother that I'm here, and that I probably need his counsel."

The woman led them to a room in the back of the restaurant. The man gestured to the door on the far wall. "That's the back way out. Could I offer you something to drink, or some light appetizers? On the house, of course."

Sophie gave O'Shaugnessy a bemused look.

O'Shaughnessy said, "Actually, that sounds right nice, Mister--"

"Johnny Fontini. My brother Mike should be here any--"

The door from the main restaurant opened, and an older version of Johnny walked in.

"Johnny, I heard there was an incident."

"Wasn't me. The Air Force wants Richie Madano for some reason. Tattoos decided to be stupid."

Mike rolled his eyes. "It's not like Tattoos could ever decide to be smart, even if he wanted to be. And I hear Vinnie Madano's pretty messed up, too."

"Least he still has both arms and legs still working. Tattoos lost the use of one of each."

Mike grunted, then said, "All right. Good to see you again, Caitlin. And your friend is--"

"Chief Warrant Officer Henrix. I'm with the Air Force Special Operations Command."

Mike smiled, and poured on the charm. "Please call me Mike. You're quite the lovely lady--"

"In case you haven't figured it out, I'm the one that took down Tattoos. And Vinnie. And a couple of other finooks."

Mike froze, then chuckled. "Well, that's one way to kill the romancing. So, you're looking for Richie Madano?"

Sophie nodded.

"Any particular reason?"

Sophie glanced at Caitlin, who nodded.

"We have info that he's the go-to guy for underaged girls. We're doing a counterintelligence investigation, and his name came up."

"Now, you gotta understand, our family doesn't mess with that stuff. Look, we've got some girls who are 4-F, or they're out of the service on disability. But they're all of age, we don't require them to put out if they're not feeling--"

Sophie held up a hand. "I'm not looking to bust your balls over stuff that isn't germane to our investigation, Mr. Fontini. Richie Madano's balls, on the other hand, are a whole 'nother story."

"Look, he's not a made man, but he is related to some made men."

Sophie smiled.

And watched as the elder Fontini winced.

"Do you paint houses, Mr. Fontini?"

"What kind of question is that?"

Sophie spoke quietly. "Either pulling the trigger, or calling in airstrikes, my guess is that I'm up to 700 customers or so right now. I paint so many damn houses, Sherwin Williams should name me Customer of the Year. Ivan's got a $20,000 bounty on me in American money, not that toilet paper Gus Hall issues. I took an oath, Mr. Fontini. To uphold and defend the Constitution, against all enemies, foreign..."

She paused, looking at Johnny and Mike in turn.

"...and domestic. There's no clause that says 'except if he's related to a made man.' Hell, even if he is a made man. I don't give a jolly damn if I need the Red Horse boys at Nellis working three shifts to stash the bodies between here and Lake Mead, if that's what it's going to take to win this war. Have I made myself sufficiently clear?'

Mike looked irritated. "Ms. Henrix, the Air Force and my overboss have an understanding--"

Sophie said, "We did you a favor. You had to know going in that, someday, we would ask you to do us a service in return. That day, Mr. Fontini, has come. I am telling you what needs to happen. You've got to pass the word that Richie is radioactive, and no one should raise a hand to help him. He has managed to get himself involved with Soviet intelligence. Or, why do you think the entire San Fernando Valley porn industry just happened to move from a spot right next door to the Air Force's top secret production plant to right next to the headquarters of Air Force ops west of the Mississippi River?"

Mike and Johnny exchanged a look, and then Mike said, "You just asked a question that's been bugging everyone in the families since the move. It's caused some tension--we expect to receive compensation for our part on facilitating certain things, and the Los Angeles branch thinks we overcharge. The directors claim it's cheaper to shoot in Vegas. But I'm not sure I buy it."

Sophie said, "The guys pimping underaged girls are also providing a lot of business services to the porn industry. Now, all these business relationships are of long standing, and they were based on cutthroat pricing. They drove the other folks willing to work with porn out of business. When they bugged out to Las Vegas, the porn guys could either go to the straights for those services--but a lot of those services are unique to shooting movies, and anyone trying to work in Hollywood is not going to play ball with porn--or they come to Vegas. It's cheaper to shoot in Vegas. So they came here, and the ones pimping underage girls have cover."

Mike and Johnny exchanged another look--one of resignation this time.

Mike then looked at Sophie. "You've made yourself clear enough."

* * *

Caitlin looked at Sophie. "So now what?"

"AFSOC Instruction 31-303 applies here."

"I'm not sure that one would ever pass constitutional muster."

"Good thing anyone bagged under 303 doesn't get to go to court."

Caitlin said, "Damn it, we both swore an oath to defend the Constitution!"

"And, sometimes, we have to violate the letter of the law in order to protect the spirit. And I am willing to submit my conduct to review by the chain of command and the Staff Judge Advocate."

Caitlin looked Sophie, then sighed. "You're not joking."

"About stuff like that? I never do. Caitlin . . . look, I have a very intensive background in mathematics. There's a couple of theorems by Goedel that, boiled down to simple terms, say that no formalized system of logic is completely self-referential."

"What's that mean in English?"

"Not every possible true statement in a system of logic can be proven as true solely using the axioms of that system. Most can; some can't. Sometimes, you have to apply common sense."

"So what's that mean for this?"

"It means I do a 303 rendition, and if you think I'm out of line, you swear out charges and I stand tall in front of an Article 32 hearing."

Caitlin sighed. "What's you game plan?"

"Reconnaissance by fire. Pull one of the major pieces off the board and see who wigs out--and how." She paused, then said, "About 1 to 4% of adults are attracted to minors."

Caitlin sighed. "2,500 or so at Tenth Air Force HQ. So anywhere from 25 to 100."

"Not quite how it works. We can reasonably expect 25 to 100 perverts, but that may be higher or lower--and based on background investigations, probably lower. But the odds of there being none are vanishingly small--so small that we needn't consider it as a reasonable possibility."

Caitlin nodded. "All right."

"You're going to have a very public fight with me about a 303 rendition." Sophie smiled.

"Sophie, will you please quit smiling? It's not charming, it's utterly terrifying. You always look like a coyote that just spotted a very succulent and tasty roadrunner. And I know you're way smarter than Wile E. Coyote."

Sophie dropped the smile. "Sorry."

"And I'm not buying the contrite sorry act, either. You want a bunch of people scared of you right now, don't you?"

"I want any kiddie diddlers wondering if I'm onto them. I want them to show themselves by trying to pull ME off of the board."

Caitlin rolled her eyes. "That sounds extremely dangerous."

Sophie smiled. "Abso-damn-lutely. The only question is for whom. Gotta ante up if you want to win the big pot. Remember, Caitlin, there's no reward without risk!"

"Sophie, just remember that the only place you can get free cheese is in a mousetrap."

* * *

Hummel looked at Sophie as they geared up in the unmarked van. "You've been busy tonight."

"Yes, sir."

He smiled. "I like that."

Decker looked over Sophie's gear and nodded. "You know what you're doing. Well, let's get this done."

"Yes, sir." She donned her gas mask.

* * *

Special Agent In Charge Thomas Clavin asked, "Caitlin, you sure this is legal?"

"No. That said, the senior AFSOC representative is claiming authority to do a 303."

Clavin nodded. "All right. We'll make sure they don't use excessive force."

* * *
Hummel kicked the door and threw a flashbang into the apartment.

Sophie swung in and pied the left side of the room, getting off the X and moving toward the corridor right behind Decker. Hummel checked behind the door, then followed.

Sophie kicked the bedroom door in, tossing a flashbang. Decker took point, Hummel followed directly behind, and Sophie checked behind the door, then made for the bathroom.

By the time she'd cleared the bathroom, Madano was trussed up and wearing a blindfold; Hummel and Decker were carrying him out. Caitlin and another AFOSI agent were tending to a little girl who was . . .

Dear God

She managed to make it out of the apartment and to unmask before she threw up.

* * *

"Damn it, Sophie, I can't do the next part. I'm going to say it--you were right."

"Caitlin . . . you have to. Find a way to do it and make it convincing, or this was all for nothing."

"Sophie . . . no one should go through . . . "

"Caitlin . . . sometimes, you can't keep evil things from happening to innocents. But you can stop them from continuing. That little girl has a chance now, a chance she didn't have twenty minutes ago. That's a win, Caitlin. And none of us shot our prisoner, either, no matter how much he deserved it. We kept our . . . decency. That's got to count for something, too."

Am I saying this for Caitlin?

Or for myself?

[Matt Wiser]

Nice shout-out to Out for Justice. Who do you see taking Steven Segeal's place as Sophie?

[jemhouston]

Don't know Angelina Jolie is too young, and Maureen O'Hare is too old. Cynthia Rothrock maybe?

[Poohbah]

Don't know Angelina Jolie is too young, and Maureen O'Hare is too old. Cynthia Rothrock maybe?

Remember, Sophie's only 22 here.

That was the big defect of the classic WW2 movies: they used actors who were really too old for the roles they played.

[jemhouston]

Don't know Angelina Jolie is too young, and Maureen O'Hare is too old. Cynthia Rothrock maybe?

Remember, Sophie's only 22 here.

That was the big defect of the classic WW2 movies: they used actors who were really too old for the roles they played.

Angelina Jolie was born in 1975. I was trying to think of female action star of the mi-80s in her twenties.

Given the fact the studios could only hang onto so many actors during WW2, which was one reason they actor they used were too old.

[Poohbah]

Don't know Angelina Jolie is too young, and Maureen O'Hare is too old. Cynthia Rothrock maybe?

Remember, Sophie's only 22 here.

That was the big defect of the classic WW2 movies: they used actors who were really too old for the roles they played.

Angelina Jolie was born in 1975. I was trying to think of female action star of the mi-80s in her twenties.

Given the fact the studios could only hang onto so many actors during WW2, which was one reason they actor they used were too old.

Figure this story wouldn't hit the screen until the late 90s at the earliest. Angelina Jolie would be in the age range then.

[jemhouston]

Linda Hamilton and Sigourney Weaver