It was almost nine a.m., and Will Chang had been up for an hour pouring over the codes at the Institute. Billy Travers had just checked in long enough to show Chang where the files were before taking a nap. The others were just now beginning to be heard moving throughout the Bunkhouse; after a raucous night of suturing and discussions, lights had been put wearily out around four a.m. Chang was the only one who didn't look like he'd been put through the ringer, having just come on the scene during the chaotic night before. Buckaroo rarely slept more than four or five hours a night, though, and he seemed his usual self, never showing outward signs of great worry. He checked in on Chang first.

"How's it going, Sihing Will?"

"Not too horrible, Buckaroo. This is a fairly simple case of decoding coordinates, like you noted in the file. I'm hoping to find out what the coordinates will lead to," Will replied, taking a sip of coffee.

"So we may be able to figure this out fairly quickly?"

"Oh, this kind of stuff is pretty simple, for an old hand like myself," grinned Chang. "I will say, though, these files are old. The coordinates are laid out in a way that makes me think that this was set up in the late '70s."

"Late '70s?" Buckaroo repeated. "That's back when we were first starting the Institute."

"Well, strap on your thinking cap." Will tapped the files. "I think whoever came shooting last night was more interested in your not finding out about this than in wiping anyone out."

Rawhide entered then, still yawning as he adjusted a suspender strap. "Finding out about what?"

"The codes," Buckaroo told him. "Grab yourself some coffee."

"Thanks, don't mind if I do." He poured himself a hearty cup, black. "So what do you think last night was all about, Buckaroo?"

Buckaroo shook his head. "I'll tell you one thing: they sure as hell weren't after me, or even Peggy or you, Rawhide."

Rawhide raised his eyebrows dourly. "Mind if I say they did a pretty good job impersonating folks out to get us?"

"Yes, but ask yourself when the incident occurred. They had the whole first half of the set to strike, and we wouldn't have been as ready."

Rawhide thought for a second, quickly catching on. "The first shot came right when I went backstage and saw Sihing Will here come through the front door. I can remember wondering what the hell the Kolodny Brothers were thinking, letting ArcLight and Apache walk this fella right through the front door."

"Exactly," Buckaroo added. "The Kolodny Brothers were watching the back door, not the front. The Rugsuckers were supposed to be watching the front, but they got distracted by a fight in the parking lot. They thought it might be some of the Whisper's men."

"Maybe it was after all," Chang shrugged.

Maybe," agreed Buckaroo. "In any case, they got what they wanted: Will here came in the front. They wanted to knock him out of the picture, not us. Not yet, anyway."

"I guess that makes me Mr. Popularity," sighed Chang.

"Somebody call my name?" Perfect Tommy entered the room now, bleary eyed but cognizant. "How's it going with that business?" he asked, gesturing towards the files.

"Okay." A thought occurred to Chang suddenly. "How's Red doing? She was bleeding like a son of a gun for a while there."

"Oh, she was okay last time I checked. I'll go peek in on her," Buckaroo replied. "New Jersey sewed her up and doped her up to kill the pain and put her to sleep."

"And she took it?" Chang looked disbelievingly at Buckaroo.

"She didn't have a lot of say in the matter. New Jersey shot her up when she was gritting her teeth so hard, her gums started to bleed."

"She's got a thing about painkillers. Stays away from 'em. She'll drink half a bottle of whiskey before she'll take a shot of morphine. Drugs freak her out; her brother was a morphine addict when he was in the Army." Will shook his head. "I remember one time, she got sliced in the arm and drank a pint of Tequila in the emergency room. As soon as they gave her the local, the alcohol hit her and she could barely keep her arm still to sew it up."

"And she's a doctor?" Perfect Tommy commented.

"Forensics," Will grinned. "Dead people are pretty easy patients. Haven't you heard that doctors make the worst patients?"

Buckaroo laughed. "True. Anyway, the rest'll do her good. The gash wasn't deep, didn't sever any muscles or arteries, luckily. So she'll be on her feet soon enough. Good thing, too; we'll be needing her."

"Buckaroo, you're sounding like a man with a plan," Rawhide smiled slyly.

"That's because I am," Buckaroo replied. "Anyway, New Jersey was gonna bunk out on the guest room sofa in case Chicago Red came to. I'll go ask him how she's doing."

Buckaroo headed down the hall to Chicago Red's room, and found New Jersey precariously arranged on the short sofa in her room. Chicago Red was snoring loudly in bed, her leg stitched and bandaged, sleeping the sleep of the heavily drugged. New Jersey awoke with a start when Buckaroo came in.

"How's the patient?" whispered Buckaroo.

New Jersey winced as he sat up and stretched. "Fine," he told Buckaroo in normal tones. "Don't worry; she won't be waking up anytime soon. She woke up once around six a.m., asking if I remembered to let the dog out."

Buckaroo laughed. "Well, she sounds okay, at least."

"Oh, she'll be fine. No thanks to jumping around in front of guys with guns. But hey, what are you gonna do?" He rubbed his neck and glanced at his watch. "Nine already?"

"Yeah. When do you think she'll come to?"

"I don't know. The local's worn off by now, and so will the pain killers. She said no more morphine, so I'm guessing that when that wears off, she'll wake up easy enough. Probably not till noon or so. What's brewing, Buckaroo?"

"Mrs. Johnson made some Sumatra -"

"No, I meant -"

Buckaroo grinned. "I was just kidding. Actually, Will Chang's working on breaking this code for us. Says he's close."

"Already?" New Jersey looked impressed.

"Apparently, this is old hat for him. I guess when you're with the FBI, you look at all kinds of stuff like this."

"You thinking of asking him to join a team, Buckaroo?"

Buckaroo nodded. "He saved Peggy's life last night. He's quick, accurate and true. Hard traits to come by these days. The Institute could use a guy like that around."

"You're keeping her on Sobriquet?" New Jersey motioned towards the sleeping figure.

"Hey, I'd have her here in a second, but she won't leave Chicago. She says she can't right now. Next year," Buckaroo told him.

"Why next year?"

"She's taking care of her kid sister. Won't be in college till next year."

"Ah . . ." nodded New Jersey.

"Anyway, we've got work to do. Go have a shower or something, meet up with the rest of us in the conference room. Oh, leave Red a note or something in case she wakes up." Buckaroo instructed, heading out to the hallway.

Just as New Jersey was leaving a note on the bedside table, Chicago Red's eyes opened. Her pupils were dilated still. "Jeez, what hit me?"

"A bullet and a bunch of pain killers. Go back to sleep."

"Don't wake the bees," she mumbled, shutting her eyes again.

"Not to worry."
 

"This is all pretty basic," began Will Chang, back in the conference room when everyone was gathered together. "The first part up here consists of groupings of coordinates. Now the problem there is, coordinates to what? Obviously land coordinates, but they point towards structures miles and miles apart. It was kind of confusing, because they're in different states - a public library in Lawnchair, Arizona; a City Hall in Allentown, Pennsylvania; even the Civic Center in San Francisco. There's about 40 of them."

Buckaroo spoke up then. "Mrs. Johnson, have you come up with anything Flyboy was working on from the years I mentioned?"

"Well, yeah, Buckaroo. The first thing that came to my mind was the fact that before he joined up with you, he was working on security at the White House. There was a big project that he was working on and frankly, I thought the government made him return all his files when he left. It was Top Secret, and would have been against the rules to keep them . . . on purpose." Mrs. Johnson left these words hanging in the air, as the meaning sunk in.

"You think they planted the codes on him for safekeeping?" Pecos asked.

"Well, how can someone betray you when they don't even know they have something valuable?" replied Mrs. Johnson. "Flyboy had hundreds of computerized files, but I can tell you he never would have purposefully kept something he wasn't supposed to, especially where the government was concerned. He was very careful about that."

"So if he didn't know that he had these files, then who did?" New Jersey asked.

"One of the Whisper's guys is obviously ex-CIA. Or maybe even current CIA. Hard to tell with those guys who's comin' and who's goin'," Rawhide replied lackadaisically. "Actually, I'd be surprised if it's only one guy who's a double."

"Or woman," Reno added.

"Whatever."

"So this particular project was supposed to be monitoring certain government-run buildings, but frankly, the locations that Sihing Will is talking about don't make any sense," Mrs. Johnson sighed.

"The World Crime League does everything for a reason, even if it's to confuse," Buckaroo reminded them.

"So big deal, there are coordinates for a school in Podunk, Iowa. Now what?" Reno asked, ignoring Pecos' elbowing him.

"So we find out what the coordinates really mean. Right, Sihing Will?" Buckaroo glanced back at Will.

"Well, Buckaroo, I can tell you what the coordinates point to. The other codes down at the bottom are not coordinates, though. I think the key might be there. Billy Travers and I will get to work on those this morning. Hopefully we'll have it cracked sometime today. It's just a matter of recombining them into the computer until a recognizable pattern arises."

***

Somewhere, in a dark warehouse deep in industrial Chicago, the Chicago Crime League was hard at work. In addition to serving as a clearinghouse for stolen goods and arms being sold overseas, The Whisper used it as a meeting place, with a large office in the back serving as a dingy makeshift conference room. Mr. Lucky stood to the right of The Whisper, with Shorty Burke sitting in a darkened corner, smoking a cigar that seemed twice his size.

"How much do they know?" uttered the Whisper, looking out the dirty pane of a window at the movements in the alley below.

Mr. Lucky tipped the fedora back from his brow. "They know what you want them to know. They know about the meeting."

"Shorty, that was too simple. They'll figure it out. You shouldn't have used your last name for the room reservation."

Shorty shrugged. "Sorry boss, it wasn't like I had any specific instructions."

"Unlike Keaton's men last night," added The Whisper menacingly.

"Keaton's a freakin' amateur," Shorty told him. "We shouldn't have put him in charge."

"Hey, Keaton did okay. It was his men. Moose called in on a cell phone, for crying out loud. That's about as dumb as it gets," Mr. Lucky added. "Keaton went by the numbers, and fight in the parking lot worked. Moose was the one who screwed up."

The Whisper turned slowly, facing them now. A faint ray of light fell on his cold, steel blue eyes, and a scar ran down one side of his cheek and across his throat. He kept it covered with a black silk scarf, tucked into his overcoat. Puffs of steam arose in the air when he spoke in the chilly air of the warehouse. "Moose may have screwed up, but Keaton was in charge. He shouldn't have picked Moose if he knew Moose was that stupid." He turned to Shorty. "We lost Dead Boy because of it, and he was a good killer. See that both of them are taken care of. Today. And I want you on it personally, Shorty. Be creative."

Mr. Lucky could tell Shorty was smiling in his dark corner, although he could not see him. Frankly, Shorty freaked him out a little bit, and never trusted him. "Boss, this Chang guy is going to blow the codes. That much is obvious. What do you want us to do?"

The Whisper chuckled lowly at this.  "Mr. Lucky, you know I'd love one more shot at this code breaker. Give it another try. But I want you to be ready for Saturday. If anything goes wrong then, I - and Hanoi Xan - will hold you personally responsible."

Mr. Lucky nodded, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. "Piece of cake, Whisper."
 

Back at the Institute, about an hour later, Chicago Red was still deeply asleep when the window was opened in her room. Two masked and camouflaged figures entered. One quickly grabbed her small overnight bag, the other gave her a shot to ensure that she wouldn't wake up. They quickly and silently left the room with Chicago Red and the overnight bag, climbing a rope ladder to the ground floor. Patrols had relaxed now that it was determined that the Institute was not a target, and they had gained entrance through a bottled water delivery truck. While the third man was inside delivering the water, the other two executed their real mission: to gain the upper hand.

Professor Hikita, however, had looked out the window of the lab just in time to see Chicago Red being tucked away inside the van. He quickly grabbed his com-link.

"Buckaroo! Rawhide! Stop the water delivery van from leaving the grounds!"

"Say again?" Buckaroo's static voice came through.

"It is the Crime League - they have taken Chicago Red!" Professor Hikita replied anxiously. "Hurry! No time to loose."

"Saddle up," said Rawhide to the others, who were working in the Bunkhouse. "We got ourselves a bull to rope."

In the computer lab, Chang and Billy Travers were on alert as soon as the explosion sounded. "You got your piece on you?" Chang asked quickly, looking out the window and observing the action taking place at the van below.

Billy Travers shook his head. "I've been practically chained to this desk since yesterday. You?"

Chang shook his head. "Take cover for now. I'll keep watch behind the door."

Reno and Perfect Tommy raced up the hallway, creeping towards the door of the computer lab cautiously now, not sure what to expect. Reno signaled Perfect Tommy to cover him, and he entered the lab first slowly, gun drawn.

Will Chang grabbed him from behind the door, placing him in a neck hold. "Oh, it's you guys," he breathed, releasing Reno.

"Whoa there, fella," gasped Reno. "Good to see you, too."

Perfect Tommy entered then, pointing upwards. "Uh, Reno, remember our visitors--"

"Oh, yeah. There are some guys in the air ducts on their way here," Reno explained. "Where's Billy Travers?"

"Taking cover," he replied, coming out from behind one of the desks. "Somebody wanna give me a gun so I can do something around here?"

Reno tossed him his gun and drew a knife from his boot. "You guys can handle this. I'm goi ng to give Pecos and Big Norse some back up. Let's round these guys up and take 'em over to the gatehouse lock-up."

"Right on, Reno," Perfect Tommy replied, leaning against the wall nonchalantly as Reno left the room. He looked up at the air duct. "Jeez, they're slow. Although I guess they can't exactly come bursting in through there. They're more likely to-"

Shots rang out then, from the adjoining lab. Perfect Tommy, Will Chang and Billy Travers all took cover behind the console. "You were saying?" Billy Travers cued.

Perfect Tommy added, "I was just thinking that they might be more likely to shoot first and ask questions later, considering how things went last night."

"I don't suppose you've got a knife hidden in your boot, too?" Chang asked.

"Naw," Perfect Tommy replied. He pulled one out of his pocket. "Got one in my jacket, though." He grinned and handed it to Chang. "How do you want to do this?"

"Quickly. I'll move out first; try and cover me," Will Chang replied.

"I'm on ya," Perfect Tommy replied. He turned to Billy Travers. "You head out when things start moving. Try and move around to the rear." The words were barely out of his mouth when Chang started to move. His 6'4" frame took a dive over the console, gracefully rolling to a crouching position. A few shots rang out from the lab next door through the adjoining door, but they embedded in the far wall behind the three Cavaliers. Sihing Will knelt by the door frame, knife in hand, as Perfect Tommy moved out to the left and Billy Travers to the right. As they fired cover shots, Sihing Will swung around into the doorframe and threw the knife, catching one of the two attackers in the shoulder.

The other Crime Leaguer fired, but Chang had already retreated, signaling Perfect Tommy and Billy Travers to move in towards the door. Perfect Tommy tilted his head in a gesture suggesting that Sihing Will head for the door leading to the hallway. Chang nodded in silent reply and headed out the hall door.

Perfect Tommy and Billy Travers ducked their heads into the adjoining lab then, only to find it apparently empty. Perfect Tommy spotted a few drops of blood from the injured Crime Leaguer leading out the hallway door, and headed quickly to the door. He and Billy Travers arrived in the hallway just in time to see the two assailants forcing Chang at gunpoint down the hallway. "Keep back!" one of them warned, facing Perfect Tommy.

"Now, you guys should know by now that never works," Perfect Tommy said, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Frankly, I expected something more from you guys, what with the air ducts and all-"

"Shut up!" exclaimed the wounded one, taking his attention away from their hallway path just long enough for Big Norse to appear, shoving a revolver at the man's nose with one hand while taking the gun away from the other in one swift movement.

Chang took hold of the unwounded one then, and Billy Travers grabbed the wounded one. Big Norse smiled at Perfect Tommy. "So this is your idea of helping out the girls? Thanks a lot."

"Nice work there, Big Norse. Of course, we could have handled it."

"Of course. You're Perfect, right?" she grinned. "Pecos and Reno are taking the others to the gatehouse. Buckaroo is waiting for you all there."

"Rawhide and New Jersey?" Perfect Tommy asked. "Did they get to the medical labs okay with Chicago Red?"

"Yeah. Rawhide's on his way back, but New Jersey's going to wait around for some blood test results," Big Norse replied, gesturing to her go-phone to signify her recent communications.

"Okay fellas," Perfect Tommy sighed, grabbing firm hold of his prisoner, "let's head 'em up and move 'em out."

Sihing Will grinned as he followed suit. "What kind of cowboy are you?"

"An impeccably dressed one," he replied as they trudged out towards the gatehouse.

Go to Chapter Five, part 1