It was almost 3:00 when Pinky and Chicago Red returned, finished with checking the grounds. They found Buckaroo in the computer lab with New Jersey and Billy Travers, still going over the architectural plans for hidden codes. "Anything?" Buckaroo asked them when they entered the room.

"Clean as a whistle," Pinky replied, wiping off his brow with his sleeve. The day had become hot, and he was anxious to return to the gates. "If you don't need anything else right now, I'll see how things are going up front. You know, suspicious-looking fans, etc."

Buckaroo nodded and Pinky headed for the door. "Thanks." He turned to Chicago Red. "Have you had lunch yet?"

"Nah, I'm not hungry. Just bloody hot. I'd rather see what's going on here, if you don't mind."

"Sure.  What did you two do, as far as checking the grounds out?"

Chicago Red grinned. "Hey, you know me. If there's a bug, I'll find it.  We did a grounds sweep with some radio detectors, and we put some of the BBIs to work on some parts of the perimeter. The Institute and Bunkhouse were easy; we physically checked each room in the basic hiding places, as well as running a sweep with the detectors. Scoot over, New Jersey. I think I'm going to fall over if I don't sit down soon."

New Jersey, pleased at being addressed by his Team Banzai alias, happily obliged by moving his chair over so that Chicago Red could see the plans. "We printed these out this morning."

She glanced at them briefly before asking, "Okay, this is probably a dumb question, but has anybody checked the actual computer plans? Sometimes people hide things in the commands themselves that are only revealed when you print the ASCII file."

Billy Travers replied, "Yeah, I printed the commands up, but I couldn't make anything out. Here." He handed the plans over.

Buckaroo commented, "You see how the carat pops up so often? I was wondering if that meant anything."

Chicago Red shook her head. "Buckaroo, I spent most of my time in Violent Crimes, not Counter-Intelligence. The FBI doesn't like to let a perfectly good doctorate in forensics gather dust with the Spy vs. Spy people. This is mostly Greek to me. I do think these numbers at the top might mean something, though. Maybe dates? It would probably be helpful if I knew more about who this Mr. Johnson was."

"He was Flyboy, an aviator. That's how he died, actually," Buckaroo responded quietly.

"Well, there's your answer! Map coordinates," New Jersey said suddenly, eyes widening.  "Sorry, Buckaroo. It would have occurred to me sooner if I had known. I guess I was always afraid to bring up the subject around Mrs. Johnson. You know, memories and all that."

Chicago Red laughed and patted New Jersey on the shoulder. "This is the first time that I've heard of a man's sensitivity hindering counter-intelligence."

"Of course!" Buckaroo added, snapping his fingers. "I was too close to it, so I didn't see it.  Sidney, I knew I could count on you. Map coordinates." He shook his head and smiled, remembering that sometimes New Jersey's hidden talents needed prompting to come out. "I think it's more than just that, though. Coordinates may be the numbers at the top, but the ASCII symbols and commands might tell us more about the coordinates themselves."

"Hey, Buckaroo," Chicago Red said tentatively, "I know I suck at this, but I could call an old friend from the Bureau in. He's an outsider, but I trusted my life to him on more than one occasion and never once got killed, as you can see."

Buckaroo looked pensively from Red to Billy Travers, and then to New Jersey. "I don't know. I'll have to talk to Rawhide and Hikita-San first. This guy is good with codes?"

"Yeah, the best," she nodded.

"Is he with the Bureau now?"  Buckaroo asked, knowing that an answer in the affirmative would immediately disqualify this outsider's inclusion.

"No," she replied, knowing what Buckaroo was implying. The Government would have loved to get inside information on the Institute; although Buckaroo was on good terms with the President, there were many Senators and staff members who wanted to see him fail. "Will's a Kung Fu instructor in San Francisco, at the Tat Wong Kung Fu Academy. We could just fax him a copy of the ASCII file and ask him to look at it."

"I don't know about that, either. That's kind of risky, sending out something like that over the wires."

"So scramble it," Billy Travers said. "World Watch One's communications can't be unscrambled."

Buckaroo nodded. "Well, I'm going to talk to Rawhide and Hikita-San about it. We need to get this ball rolling. Hey Reno!" He called out to Reno Nevada and Pecos as they passed by the lab's open door. Reno and Pecos entered. "You check out that Pinkerton thing?"

"Yeah. It's an historic hotel in upstate New York," Pecos said. "It's kind of secluded. You know, the type of place where couples go to get away for a weekend. They also have some pretty impressive conference and dining rooms for rent."

Reno added, "They've got a conference room rented out to a Steven Burke -- We figured that was Shorty. That's how we narrowed down the search. The meeting's scheduled for 6 p.m. next Saturday, with an adjacent dining room rented out and a fifty-person head count."

"There are ten Pinkerton Hotels on the East Coast," added Pecos. "That was the only one with a conference room rented out this month under a name we could pinpoint."

"Okay, no mistakes on this one. We need a way to make sure that this information is correct, and that Steven is Shorty's alias. Have Perfect Tommy check it out and confirm."

"Will do, Buckaroo," Perfect Tommy said, appearing in the door with Peggy. "We were just looking for you. Rawhide's with the Prof in the lab - they want to see you."

"Good. I need to see them. Got a sucker?" he asked Peggy.

"No. Check Mrs. Johnson's office." Peggy knew her husband had a sweet tooth for lollipops, and when he was working on several different problems concurrently, it was not unusual to see him with one handy. Buckaroo rushed out as they walked in.

"So what am I supposed to check?" Perfect Tommy asked. Reno filled him in on the Pinkerton information, and Peggy asked how the decoding was going.

"It might be a while longer, but we're on the right track," said Chicago Red. "Looks like New Jersey came through again."

Billy Travers looked up impatiently. "Do you mind taking the party down the hall?  I'm still working on this."

"Touchy!" Perfect Tommy chided. "Okay, let's head over to the Bunkhouse so Miss Thing here can finish up."

"Yeah, thanks, Tommy," came the sarcastic reply. Billy had been staring at the computer for five hours straight now. "You can take over any time."

"Sorry, Billy. We'll be down the hall if you need anything."

Once they were all relaxing in the Bunkhouse, Peggy asked her friend, "So, what do you think of the grounds?"

"Absolutely beautiful. Things here just seem to get better every year. But hey, what's with the tall blond ice goddess?"

"Who?" Peggy asked.

"Well, Pinky and I split up outside, and I was working on checking the stables for bugs when I came across Rawhide, who asked me how things were going, blah, blah, blah. And then this big beautiful blond girl - I mean she seemed about twice as tall as me - comes over and asks Rawhide about her piano lesson. And she's giving me the Evil Eye the whole time. So off they go and I'm sorry, but did I do anything?" Chicago Red's anxious, twitching mannerisms had returned as she noticed everyone grinning and rolling their eyes. Her eyes flew from face to face, and she asked, "No, what?"

"That was Big Norse. Rawhide has a thing for her the size of Texas, we think," Reno said.

"We also think the feeling is mutual," added Perfect Tommy. "Why else would she turn me down?"

"Don't worry, she's really nice. Just a little jealous, maybe," Peggy assured her.

"Jealous of what?" Chicago Red queried incredulously. "Hello! This is me, Chicago Red, we're talking about.  I'm short, scrawny and today, I'm pretty sweaty to boot. Vinyl Capri pants and the sun are not a good mix."

Peggy's mouth gaped open. "Hello yourself! And who, between the two of us, always got asked to dances first in high school? Don't even try that ugly duckling crap with me."

Chicago Red shook her head. "Anyway, you can tell the aptly named Big Norse that she has nothing to worry about from me. You know my type, Peggy, and it isn't Rawhide. He's too . . . obvious for me."

"You have a type?" Perfect Tommy's ears pricked up at that; this was his territory.

"Yeah," replied Peggy. "Tall, skinny, shy and awkward. She was always falling for those guys who hung out around the school library at lunch."

"Yep, that's me. I usually admired them from a distance, though. I'm such a shrew, believe me, I was doing them all a favor by staying away."

"I've got the tall and skinny part down," Perfect Tommy joked.

"Nope, Tommy," Chicago Red replied. "You may be perfect, but I have my orders from the Ice Queen."

"See? She just wants me all to herself," Perfect Tommy laughed, only to get a soft sock in the arm from Reno. "Hey, New Jersey. You're awfully quiet. You fit the bill to a T.  Now's the perfect time to show off your six-guns. I mean, your shooting."

"Uh, Tommy, I don't think today would be such a great day for target practice. Too many Irregulars wandering around," New Jersey told him, not quite making eye contact. "Besides, I'm sure Chicago Red has had enough for one day."

"There you go, being shy and awkward again," Pecos teased gently.

"Actually," Chicago Red stated, fumbling around in her bag for her gun, "I'm just getting started. And I haven't fired this thing in about a year. Today would be the perfect time to get some shots in. What do you say, New Jersey?" Chicago Red tossed a quick wink at Peggy, who suppressed a smile by biting her lip. Red stood up, gun and shoulder holster now on.

New Jersey seemed at a loss at first, but quickly caught up. "Uh, sure. I mean, I guess so. The firing range is on the east side of the grounds, not too far away."

"Good. See you guys at dinner," Chicago Red said as they left the room.

Peggy and Pecos burst out laughing as soon as they had gone. "Oh, Buckaroo's going to love this. Poor New Jersey," Peggy said.

Reno put a consoling hand on Perfect Tommy's shoulder, "Ohhhh, cheer up, little fella. You'll find a date for the prom somehow."

Perfect Tommy shoved the arm away.  "Save the yucks for later, Reno. Can you believe it? I've been rejected for . . . for New Jersey." He said his friend's name like it was a disease.

"Oh, please!" Pecos commented. "They're going to the firing range! I hardly call that a date."

"Besides, Tommy, you've been saved a frightening fate. She's a pistol. I've known her a long time, and I love her like a sister, but she's kind of scary. There's a reason she goes after the shy, quiet, awkward type, and it's not because they put up a fight," Peggy told him.

This didn't seem to matter to Perfect Tommy. He admired New Jersey's skill as a surgeon and marksman, but he never thought New Jersey would best him in his own area of expertise: the fine art of dating. "Come on, Peggy, I don't care what she's like. It's a matter of principle."

"On the up side, she wouldn't have dated you anyway," Pecos told him. "You heard - Ice Queen's orders."

"Yeah, and that's another thing! Where does she get off telling girls they can't date me?" It was becoming a vendetta now: the Ice Queen would have to at least agree to dinner now. He shook his head. "Well, I'm going to check out this Pinkerton thing before it gets too late. See you guys later."

Back in the lab, Buckaroo spoke to Rawhide and Hikita-San about possible developments in sending out the coded ASCII file in scrambled form to Will Chang in San Francisco. Rawhide shrugged. "Normally, I'd say bring this guy out here in person. But next Saturday's coming up, and we got some planning to do." He chewed a toothpick pensively as he mulled over the recent development.

"Buckaroo, do you think he could come out here?" Professor Hikita asked. "I would prefer a personal meeting rather than a conference call. I know we have good security, but the telephone is still the telephone."

"Okay, so what do you say to this: we try and get this guy out here pronto. If he can't make it, we find someone, maybe a BBI from the Institute who specializes in decoding. I don't like the idea of faxing and talking over the wire either, even if it is scrambled," Buckaroo agreed, and they headed for the Bunkhouse. "Where's Red?"

Peggy grinned at him. "Well, that's kind of an interesting story. She and New Jersey went over to the firing range. You know, target practice."

Buckaroo rolled his eyes. "New Jersey. I should have known. Well, he can take care of himself, I guess. Peggy, will you go get her? Tell her I need her to get in touch with Will Chang for us."

Out at the firing range, Chicago Red had no secret motive; she truly wanted to get in some shooting since she hadn't fired her weapon in a long time. It was always kept clean, but she doubted her accuracy just now, without a few hours of practice to sharpen her skills. As they walked over, she checked to make sure it was loaded. "Good gravy, the last time this baby saw the light of day was to discourage a creepy fan turned stalker. Even then, I didn't have to shoot it."

"'Good gravy'?" New Jersey grinned. "I think I heard my grandmother say that once."

"It's better than some other phrases I can think of," she muttered as they arrived at th e range. "Let's just hope I can still shoot straight."

"So the last time you used it, was that with the FBI?" New Jersey asked.

"Yeah."  She fell silent, taking position at one of the barriers. She took aim at a target and fired, missing it by a few inches. "It really has been a while," she sighed. "Think I'm leaning away too far?"

"Try supporting your firing wrist with your other hand. That way the backfire won't jerk you around so much," New Jersey hinted, not wanting to sound like a know-it-all. "I mean, your aim seems fine. It just seemed to surprise you a little.  The shot, I mean."

Chicago Red smiled wryly. "That's for sure. I have a feeling I'll be seeing a lot more action with Team Banzai and Sobriquet than I ever did with the Bureau."

"I take it you didn't like it very much there."

"Au contraire, my friend. I loved it. It didn't like me very much, however."

New Jersey, not sure how to respond, realized she was waiting for him to fire. He pulled both guns quickly and fired them, twelve shots in all, with about 90% accuracy.

"Hey, not bad," she said, nodding in approval. "I'll catch up sooner or later." She fired again, emptying her chamber, with improved results. "Maybe sooner than later."

New Jersey nodded. "So what did you mean by-"

"Hey! Red! Hold up a second." Peggy called out from the path leading back to the Institute. "Buckaroo needs to talk to you about getting hold of a Will Chang or something."

Red secured her gun in its holster and turned to New Jersey. "Thanks for the big ten minutes of practice. I'll try and get back out here later or maybe in the morning - I really need the work."

"Uh, anytime."

"Be careful, or I'll take you up on that." She winked almost imperceptibly as she and Peggy returned to the Bunkhouse, arm in arm. "He's nice," Red told Peggy as they headed down the path.

"Yes, he is, so you be nice too," Peggy warned her.

"Oh, when have I ever been nice?" Red replied, a little sadly.

Inside, Buckaroo waited, not sure when he should the others what he feared about the map coordinates.

Go to Chapter Three