Teenage Mutant Ninja Torpedoes

by David J. Wighton

  "I'm going to need at least fifteen minutes, Rick. Don't go away."

  # # # # # # # #

  The meeting with Rick ended agreeably. The Wilizy would carry the major burden of the war with Alaska. The Albertan army and air force would have a single objective, one that should not result in a heavy loss of soldiers or weaponry. It was vital that the Albertans synchronize their battle plans with the Wilizy. Rick agreed to what the Wilizy wanted in return.

  First, Rick would turn Zzyk over to the Wilizy. Second, since the Wilizy were carrying the major burden of the war, they'd be entitled to the spoils of war. Third, Alberta would give the Wilizy additional land parcels that were owing from the long-term incursion of the sleepers into B.C. Fourth, Wilizy copters would no longer carry transponders.

  Rick was happy to give someone else the problem of dealing with Zzyk's body. He didn't mind the Wilizy enjoying the spoils of war because they'd be fighting most of it. He would certainly turn over to the Wilizy the land they were owed, and if the Wilizy ever wanted more, he'd discuss long-term lease arrangements. The five urban properties that the Wilizy now owned were important drivers for the new Alberta economy. Why would he object to more of the same? As to the transponders, their data went directly to Zzyk's lab and weren't of any value to anyone. He had no interest in knowing what the Wilizy were doing with their copters.

  # # # # # # # #

  On the same day that Rick and the Wilizy were agreeing to collaborate, Mac was in London sitting inside an interview room at the local nick. Two constables had arrived unannounced at the pub that afternoon and had asked her to help them with their inquiries. They didn't lead her off in cuffs, and they were polite, but Mac was going with them one way or another. They dropped her into an empty box of a room with a solid table, two hard backed wooden chairs that had been bolted to the floor, and a big wide mirror that was more than a mirror. The room could have been used in one of the ancient TV crime dramas – the kind where the police always caught the crook.

  Mac had learned about interrogation techniques in one of the courses at the base, recognized the one-way mirror, and knew that she was now in the softening up process. She had been brought into the room without her pinky ring and her shoes, given a tepid cup of brown swill that the British called tea, and told to sit and wait. As the daughter of a fiercely loyal Scottish patriot (General Jock MacLatchie), Mac had sworn never to let English dishwater pass her lips.

  Mac would have chosen to pass the time on the floor in a yoga position but saw what was on that floor and chose to sit on the table instead. She mentally reviewed the Pug incident and was satisfied that she had no reason to be worried. When two men in wrinkled suits came into the room, she glanced up and sat in one of the chairs. One man positioned himself directly behind her, close enough to make her want to look around. He'd be the bad cop. The man across from her had a pleasant face, engaging smile, and sad gray eyes. The good cop.

  "Can I bring you another cup of tea?" he said.

  "I didn't realize you were allowed to torture your guests," Mac replied but she said it with a smile.

  Good Cop lead her through the whole story on the death of Brett Entwistle, otherwise known as Pug. How did she know that he was following her? Why was he following her? Why had she taken so long to worry about him? Why did she file a report that particular night? What did she know about firearms? How had she acquired that knowledge? Mac answered every question honestly and confidently.

  At one slight interruption in the interrogation, Mac asked why they were digging up all these details. She had thought that Pug's death had been dealt with already. Bad Cop took that opportunity to assert his bad coppedness by slamming the table by her left hand and snarling, "We ask the questions here, you don't."

  Since Mac had chosen to sit across from the mirror, she was able to see Bad Cop edging toward the table and did not react to the sudden noise. "It's a simple question. No reason to hold the answer back," she said nicely.

  "We're just asking you routine questions," Good Cop answered. "Every constable who fired his weapon that night has to be reinstated to active duty and that means we look at everything. We have to be sure that we have everything right in our reports. Let's go through it again, in case you remember something new."

  We have been in Stage 2, Mac thought. Give the prisoner the illusion that they're going through the motions. Now, it will be Stage 3. Look for inconsistencies in the prisoner's answers. Look for the use of the exact same phrases that will reveal she has memorized the story ahead of time.

  # # # # # # # #

  When Good Cop wound down, Mac informed him that she'd need to use the washroom fairly soon. Since they seemed to be at a break, why not now? Bad cop played his part enthusiastically and Mac ignored him.

  "Since I'm helping you in your inquiries, I believe that I can leave at any time. I don't want to do that. I'd like to see your constables reinstated. But still, forcing me to sit here with my knees crossed seems somewhat rude, don't you think?" Mac had indeed been sitting as she had described, but from her own experience in lasting through the Saskatchewan anti-interrogation training, she figured she had about five hours of comfort remaining.

  Mac was now at the point of the interview where the prisoner should show her interrogators that she was human, not an anonymous number to be berated. Try and get the good cop on your side; he will be the one who is already inclined to be sensitive.

  When they resumed after Mac's brief departure, Good Cop asked if anybody could corroborate her story.

  Mac told them that her boss had seen the original incident and had given her Pug's address when she told him why she needed it. Tiny also knew what was happening and had offered to walk her home. This was now the third time she had given them that information. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

  It was time for the interrogators to move on.

  Stage 4. The interrogators will try and get the prisoner to refuse to answer, and/or try to leave. At that point, the interrogators will tell their superior that she's showing signs of guilt and that will give them the justification to incarcerate her.

  "Perhaps you could tell me what's bothering you?" Mac asked. Mac herself was ready to move on to her Stage 4 countermove.

  "I think you know!" Bad Cop.

  "No, I don't. I need to stretch," Mac replied and turned to look at the bad cop. "Why don't you sit down here? Standing in one place for hours can be hard on the feet. I bet they're aching right now." Mac got up, did the stretch, and paced around a little. If Bad Cop's feet weren't aching before, they were now. She saw him looking at the chair.

  "We couldn't find any spent bullets from the victim's gun," Good Cop said.

  "Not surprising seeing as how he was running and trying to kill me from a distance."

  "He wasn't running when he stood right over you and shot at point-blank range."

  "Somebody probably kicked that bullet away what with all the chaos after the shooting. I recall seeing a medic, a whole lot of constables, and some officers. All in the one tiny area." Mac turned, touched the bad cop on the shoulder, and said. "Go ahead. Sit down. I'm not going anywhere. The pain in your feet must be excruciating."

  Bad Cop looked at Good Cop who shook his head ever so slightly.

  Mac returned to her relatively comfortable seat.

  "We were wondering why he had only six bullets in the magazine. It holds eighteen."

  Mac shrugged. "How would I know?"

  "It seems strange that he would run out of bullets just as he reached the police station."

  "Perhaps he had used the gun somewhere else and had not refilled the magazine. If I were investigating this case, I'd want to know if he were experienced with a gun. Did he clean it after every use? Did he reload his gun after every use?"

  "You've had a lot of experience with guns?" Bad Cop shifting his feet and painfully grunting it out.

  "You know that I have, Detective. I've already told you that I'm ex-military."

 
"Perhaps an experienced soldier like yourself could tell me how a bullet can be fired at a supposed victim from right about her and not leave a mark on the pavement? Here are the pictures of the scene. A spent cartridge could have been kicked aside. But a scar from the bullet would still be visible on the road. But it's not." Good Cop showed her the vital clue that he had been holding back.

  "He was firing blanks at you. We're wondering how you managed to put those blanks into his gun ahead of time." Bad Cop. Driving the coffin nail home.

 

  Back to the Table of Contents

  Chapter 33

  On Monday, October 29, Izzy was talking with her contact in the B.C. military. The brigadier general told her that Zzyk's sleepers had confessed everything, including their creation of the unauthorized biographies and their inflammatory postings on internet boards. These taped confessions would be part of a media blitz that the B.C. government would conduct and they would lay the blame for this at Zzyk's feet. "An act of war against one of our most esteemed citizens," he said. "We're going to make sure people know that these were all lies."

  Wizard and Hank were going to be very pleased with the confession too. The brigadier general said that the two sleepers had entered B.C. territory illegally. Since they had been in B.C. for so many years, the penalty would amount to some very big land parcels that B.C. would immediately turn over to the Wilizy. "How'd you like to own Banff Park?" he asked jokingly.

  "I'll give the good news to our economic team," Izzy replied. She didn't say that she had already talked with Rick about this. A week ago, I hadn't been able to imagine anything good coming out of those books. Now this.

  "Before I forget," the brigadier general added. "Is that girl Mac still with you?"

  "Wilizy membership is confidential," Izzy evaded. "Why?"

  "I was talking with her a lot when we were looking for Franklin Franklin and I thought that I recognized her voice. I couldn't place it immediately because it had been so long ago and she had been much younger. I worked with her father years ago in Saskatchewan. She would have been about seven at the time. So I phoned General MacLatchie and told him that I had talked with his daughter and had been happy to learn that she was working in the military field and had been so helpful in our recent operation. I didn't say anything in detail about the operation, of course. Open line. He seemed pleased to hear the news but had to take another call. The next time I talked to Mac – it would have been mid-March – I told her who I was and how I had phoned her dad. She asked me about the things that I had said and I reassured her that I had praised her highly. If she's still working for you, give her my regards. She can work for the B.C. military any time."

  "I will do that, Brigadier General. On the topic of upcoming military matters, some time in the next week, we'll be taking your subs."

  "Yes, I've been briefed on that. Glad to be rid of them. Useless things. They never worked from day one."

  "So that you'll know, we'll be conducting trials with them in Puget Sound. Also, you'll already know that a war is coming soon. We don't believe B.C. is in direct danger, but you should not challenge the Alaskan military, Brigadier General. They are beyond your strength."

  "When are you expecting the war to start?"

  "Any day from the beginning of next week to the end of November."

  # # # # # # # #

  The same day that Izzy was finding out why Mac had left the Wilizy so unexpectedly, Wizard had flown to Clearwater, taking Mathias along with him as a passenger in Wizard's new corporate copter. Dreamer met him when they landed.

  "Wizard, what do you think of Clearwater's new copter?" she asked. Dreamer pointed to the big Saskatchewan monster copter that she had purchased with the sawdust income they had earned. "The Wilizy colours are on and we have the necessary transponder placed as well. We'll use it to haul freight but I think we can also use it to harvest some of the very big trees that aren't close to the river. We'll need special equipment, but it will pay us to have copter harvesting so long as the tree is worthwhile. We're going to be replanting as well and the copter can help us put teams into difficult terrain."

  Mathias was there to fly the Wilizy's monster copter that Wizard had leased to the tribe back to the Wilizy compound. For now, Wizard didn't see any use for it, so Mathias was going to park it in the meadow near the community hall. Wizard would use his business copter to return home later that afternoon. Dreamer had said that she wanted to show him something.

  That something required a short canoe paddle south and then a hike up an established deer trail that wound up and around a hill. The forest was sparse here, and in most places, Dreamer and Wizard were walking side by side, chatting about whatever. As a chaperone experienced in such matters, if I were trailing behind the couple, my attention would be on Dreamer's right arm and on Wizard's left arm, those being the arms that were swinging next to each other.

  Young girls and boys engage in a courting dance in these circumstances, perhaps unknowingly. At least, for the male. Not for the female. We are genetically pre-programmed to perform this dance. And for most of us, we're good at it.

  First, the female needs to be on a broad trail extending far enough ahead to make this a reasonable time to begin the stalk. Then, the female adjusts her stride so that her inside arm is swinging in cadence with her prey's inside arm. When that is achieved, she narrows the gap between the arms one air molecule at a time. When skin contact is achieved, male genes should kick in with an automatic hand-grab.

  Dreamer had never been taught to perform this stalk, but the warmth of the sun, the sense of being alone where nobody could see them, the allure of a healthy, reasonably good looking male of the species walking next to her was all it took. Twice Dreamer achieved skin contact although she was not yet able to do this without looking down and adjusting her pace. With experience, her own skin cells would be able to automatically guide her arm into the desirable reflex proximity to the innocent male striding beside her. Right now, that male was stopping without warning, looking around, and admiring the scenery. None of this was the scenery being presented by Dreamer in her freshly washed and ironed shorts and, if I may be blunt, a top that was a little bit too tight for her. Gone was Dreamer's inclination to roll her shoulders forward as was her slouch. Nonny, who knew what was going on, said nothing when Dreamer came out of her bedroom with that top. She stifled the urge to grab a training bra and stuff some apples into it to give her a fighting chance.

  Three times now, Dreamer had made skin contact and Wizard's hand did not react. Her own hand was mere millimeters away. But Dreamer was attuned enough to the female spirits floating through the sky around her to know that it would be best if the male thought it had been his idea to hold her hand. She resisted the temptation to grab the hand.

  As for Wizard, like all males, he had the inclination, if not the knowledge of how this was supposed to happen. Male genes dictate that a man does not ease into this dance and gradually let nature take its course. Male genes are pre-programmed to grab what they're after before it can escape. Think of it as a pounce attack. But Wizard was a member of a sub-category of masculinity referred to in real-men circles as sort of a man. He was a sensitive male and they don't operate quite that impetuously. Wizard knew intuitively that the female of the species would automatically react in alarm at such an approach. "What? What? What did you do?" Think of this as an Ack response that happens automatically in response to the pounce attack. Instead, sensitive males look for a plausible reason that would explain the sudden grabbing of the aforementioned appendage. When Wizard was pretending to look around at the scenery, he was actually looking for a streambed that they would have to cross. To be effective, such a streambed would have enough water running down it that would require a gallant male to help his unsuspecting companion cross the water, perhaps by helping her to balance on a slippery rock midway. Holding her hand to help would be the proper thing to do. Then, if he were lucky, she'd forget that he was holding it. Male inno
cence at its best.

  It is a truism in all the dealings of the young males that they are totally unaware that the female of the species has been planning for incidental physical contact to happen since she first laid eyes on him. He will remain blissfully unaware that he is way behind her in the Capture the hand objective until some other female, probably a rival to the active predator, will reveal the truth to him with some comment like "She's been chasing you for months."

  Wiz had no such rival for his attentions. Nor was he instinctively aware of the danger that he was facing. He had no idea that he had a giant target on his back, or more accurately, a giant target on whatever hand was closest to hers at the time. Nor did he know that he had been sporting such a target since Dreamer had seen him for the first time in the tribal center. In his naive ignorance, he thought that he was the hunter. When Wizard realized that the Let me help you across the stream ploy wasn't going to work in August on a dry parched hill with no streams, he looked for some other reason he could invent to grab her hand.

  The opportunity arose when they came to a place where they had to make an itinerary choice. The couple could continue to walk up a gently sloping trail where incidental contact might occur through a partial stumble into each other, for example. This would be the female's best-case scenario. Or, they might decide to go straight up a vertical cliff. This would be the male's best-case scenario because the male could demonstrate how this kind of exercise was nothing for such a manly body as his.

  Wizard's decision was made for him when his nonchalant peering around at the scenery revealed that he was running out of hill and that meant he was running out of hand-grabbing opportunities. Where they were passing right now, he saw a little natural step that they'd have to take to exit the trail and start the climb up the vertical challenge that awaited them. Wizard's male brain spotted this, and without thinking, he jumped up onto the hillside, held out a hand, and said, "Hey, let's go this way."

  Now, keep in mind that Dreamer was taller than Wizard. That difference in size was found mostly in her legs. If Wizard were going to climb that hill in fifty of his steps, Dreamer would take forty. That ledge that Wizard was ready to help her to overcome? She could clear that by lifting her knee about two millimeters. She didn't need Wizard's hand to help her up that hill.