Enter the Headhunters Chapter 21

Chapter 21

After a long discussion, the Cobra supreme leader seemed content with the installation of his new operative.  Ghost Bear possessed a wealth of military knowledge and had an excellent grasp of the Middle East, their language, and customs. He had not taken long to dye his obnoxious orange hair and was set to meet with Major Bludd in order to gain the intel on the informant he would be meeting up with at the currently undisclosed location.  The major had only questioned him on a few key matters after his meeting with Cobra Commander.  The first being his knowledge of the Islamic faith, the other his grasp of the Farsi, Arabic, Hebrew and Urdu languages. It wouldn’t be the first time he was undercover in a foreign country, but it would be the first time he was undercover and mostly alone in a possible war-torn nation.  Major Bludd excused himself from the room and returned ten minutes later carrying a large black locking case.

“You’ll be needing this for your journey.” 

He placed the large heavy case onto a nearby table and unlocked the latches.  Upon opening the lid, the inside housed some curious objects.  The most peculiar being a glass canister containing a green semi-translucent gas. 

“You’ll be traveling to your location by ground.  We cannot risk infiltration by way of the local airports, and the substances contained in this case would never pass through customs.” 

Ghost Bear moved in closer and reached for the strange canister. The major grabbed his hand preventing him from touching it. Ghost Bear eyed him curiously.

“What is it?” 

“Consider it your insurance policy should things go awry.  It’s a deadly neurotoxin capable of being dispersed into the air or drinking water.  Once released, it can infect and effectively wipe out upwards of twenty-five hundred people.  Should your negotiations with Cobra’s affiliates go sideways, this will ensure that they are no longer in our employ.”

“I thought I was supposed to be going undercover?”

“Your undercover status applies to getting you into the country and the area of concern. Once you’re in, you will be serving as a Cobra emissary. We are not expecting hostility from the terrorist cell and as long as they accept our proposals, you will then be working side by side within the organization to make sure they hold up their end of the bargain.” 

The younger operative made a noticeable grimace.

“This is not what I was expecting to be doing.  I’m not a diplomat!”

“Hold your tongue. This is an extreme honor.  And the fact that the commander agreed to your deployment speaks to your abilities and future in Cobra.  My services are required elsewhere, but if they weren’t, I would be handling this situation personally.  Do not doubt that for a minute!”

Ghost Bear nodded his understanding and then returned his attention to the contents of the case.  In addition to the canister, there was a strange looking handheld injection pen.  There was also a stack of foreign currency, two passports, a foreign driver’s permit, and some other handheld weapons. 

“Most of the weapons were 3D printed using state of the art high heat resistant polymers. They will not set off metal detectors, but they do unfortunately have a short service life.  Once you’re at the specified location, you will be provided with more than adequate resources, but these may still come in handy.”

The soon to be deployed operative glanced over at the injecting pen.

          “The handheld is for assassinations.  Should anyone in the organization be unwilling to comply with our directives, that pen will ensure they are dead within a thirty-six-hour window.  The toxin is untraceable, undetectable in the blood, non-contagious and will mimic the symptoms of a fatal heart attack.  Use it with extreme discretion.  Your ride will be here within the hour.”

Major Bludd handed him a swatch of yellow paper with some numbers scribbled on it.

“These are the coordinates of your rendezvous and the name of your contact. After you memorize the information, eat it.  It’s biodegradable and fully digestible.”

The Siberian tracker had a photographic memory and after glancing once more at the coordinates and his contact’s name, he swallowed the paper.

“So, what’s your liason’s name?”

  “Fareeq Azulea” 

“Excellent, don’t forget it. He is a trusted operative and someone you can rely on if the situation gets iffy. Now, be sure to maintain radio silence until you are settled in.  Good luck.  Make Cobra proud son!” 

He extended his armored plated hand and grasped the forearm of Ghost Bear.  The two shook on it.

          “It will be my honor to complete this mission and further the reach of the Cobra nation.  Hail Cobra!” 

          The supreme commander observed the entire interaction from the confines of his private quarters.  There were no areas in the Cobra compound that did not have audio and video access other than the commander’s private quarters.  In that situation, the recordings were made by tiny cameras and microphones concealed in the inner working of his chromed face mask.  He was happy with his selection and satisfied that the good major had provided enough of the intel to get the new operative to agree to the mission. What Ghost Bear didn’t know however was that the entire operation was designed to simply test his loyalty, and that there was no imminent danger. He was being sent in to oversee a squabble over the amount of  commission being collected for armaments provided.  The assignment was all a ruse.  Cobra Commander had been unsure of Ghost Bear’s intentions as he was afterall the son of Kwinn, a Cobra traitor, who had died several years earlier. He clicked out of the screen after the two parted ways, and turned his attention to another more urgent matter involving another alleged allied group known as the Red Shadows.  The group had been making what they thought were secret arms deals with aspiring warlords for several decades now, and were not welcoming of the sometimes overly eccentric commander. 

Bribery had yielded only temporary alliances with Baron Ironblood and the Red Laser, but the commander wanted more than makeshift arrangements.  He needed a way to ensure their loyalty, and the only way to do that, was to create a common threat.  His exploits on the African mainland had exposed the G.I.Joe team to the world.  While his mind probing experiments had made great strides into understanding the inner workings of the top secret military strike force.  Some properly planted clues could lead the Joes right to the Baron’s back door.  Leaving the Baron with two choices: accepting the Cobra nation’s help in deflecting the attack and admitting their military shortcomings, or being promptly eliminated from the playing field.  Quite honestly, the commander didn’t care which scenario played out, either way, he would emerge victorious with new field operatives or a new area of the world to exploit and control. 

          He flipped the computer monitor to a screen showing the egomaniacal hypnotist, known as Crystal Ball.  He had trusted the carnival charlatan to infiltrate the minds of his recent prisoners and the Joe team member chosen to infiltrate his Kenyan strike team.  He watched intently as the strange man entered into a trance  employing the circular motion of his shield which created an unseen barrage of magical waves.  Not wanting to interrupt the man’s concentration, or be hypnotized himself, he switched off the video feed leaving only the room audio on.

          “You are nothing more than a pawn for the collective political warship.  G.I.Joe has no real need for you.  To them, you are nothing more than an expendable asset.  Your only choice is to desert them.  Let go of your loyalty to the bureaucratic machine. Tell me everything you know about your captors, I alone can free you from your oppressors.” 

The commander could only imagine the havoc being wrecked upon the mind of the Joe known as Pathfinder.  

          Many months had passed since the staged coup in Kenya, and the hypnotist had been slow and methodical at extracting information from his test subject’s mind.  He started with getting his real name, his mother’s maiden name, bank account routing numbers, and even his first pet’s name.  He commonly entered the soldier’s mind while he slept in the form of his dreams.  The little bits of intel extracted helped pave the way to obtaining bigger and better information.  Cobra  now knew the location of three G.I.Joe mobile bases, the names of the generals placed in charge of the organization, and the primary military specialty of at least four dozen previously unknown military operatives.  However, he continued to hit a wall of resistance when he inquired about the location of the Pit and the location of top secret special missions currently underway.  Oh, it was possible that the joe didn’t know the information, but Crystal Ball needed to be certain.

          Crystal Ball smiled after his final question received a revealing response.  The commander would be pleased with this new piece of the puzzle.  He switched off his computer and the oscillating hypnoshield.  Almost immediately the intercom on his desk flashed.  He reached forward to answer the beacon.

          “I trusssst you have some interesssting news to report.” 

The psychic smiled and looked up at the hidden camera in the corner of the ceiling.

          “Of course Commander.  I do. Indeed.”

Advanced Dungeons and Dragons 1980s

Hello all,
     Thought I would share an oldie but a goodie with all of you.  This is a picture from my toy collection that dates back about twenty years now.  I spent about three years on Ebay hunting down all the above figures in order to recreate an homage to the original cartoon series.
     For anyone not familiar with the 80s Saturday cartoon series, pictured above are the main characters and their nemesis.  Eric, the cavalier, is front and center with his magic shield.  Behind him is Hank, the ranger, and his magical bow.  Shiela, the thief is to his right with her magical cloak of invisibility.In front of her but blocked by the Dungeon Master's hands are Bobby, the barbarian, and his pet unicorn, Uni.  Their nemesis, the evil wizard, Venger, is in the background.  All of these PVC figures were released by Schleich, a German toy company, in the 1980s and were not easy to come by. There were several different poses available, but I don't know which were more common or rare.  I do know that a set of four alternate figures were offered with the Dungeons and Dragons board game, Fantasy Forest.  These were of Presto the magician, Hank the Ranger, Uni the unicorn, and Sheila the thief.  I was able to find sealed samples of these much easier online.
     The other monster figures pictured were from a separate toy line manufactured by LJN.  The heroic bronze dragon is on your left and his rider, the good paladin, Strongheart .  To your left is the series two five-headed evil dragon, Tiamat.  Tiamat appeared quite regularly in the cartoon.  Strongheart, however, only ever had one cameo and the bronze dragon never appeared.  Behind Tiamat is the evil Nightmare and his rider the warrior, Warduke. (Blocked in the photo)  Warduke and the Nightmare appeared in two memorable episodes, one in which he captures the Dungeon Master and offers him up for ransom to Venger.  The last creature pictured in the rear is the bipedal, lion-headed Dragonne.  He also never appeared in the cartoon, but was one of my favorite monsters from the LJN series.
     I hope you enjoyed my short banter on the above characters.  Please let me know if you'd like more pictures or information.
Cheers!
Drakov

Enter the Headhunters Chapter 20

Chapter 20

The commencement ceremony was set for 1300 hours the following day, as was customary with the creation of all new sub-teams, the new recruits would be publicly sworn in before the entire team. Afterward, we would all be shipped out to a new base of operations where we would be briefed about our mission and receive any necessary additional training.  I was excited about my public appointment, but even more so about the importance of the task force.  My very selection was a rite of passage. It meant that the previous year of special ops training with the G.I. Joe team had been a success. That I had graduated beyond grunt status, but at the same time that my service to my country would be all the more difficult and important.

We waited patiently outside the auditorium for the procession music to begin. I've never been married, but I equated my nervous anticipation to that of a new bride readying herself to walk down the aisle. Each of us was dressed in our finest military attire. I had had my dress blues dry cleaned and pressed for the occasion. I was permitted to bring Dangerous in alongside me, just as Junkyard would be accompanying Mutt. As the music began, I felt the throngs of anxiety welling up inside me.  Every member of the Joe team currently not on assignment would be standing and saluting us as we marched to the front stage. For some of the veteran members, this was merely a formality for the brass and the paper pushers. After the ceremony, we would have to sign our name on some new, top-secret dossier, and after today, it might be a long time before I returned to my quarters in the Pit.

My current status would be recorded as enlisted and on assignment. My location would be disclosed on a need to know basis, and communication outside of my unit would be restricted.

I steadied my nerves and followed in behind Stretcher and Bombstrike. When we finally completed our procession to the front stage, we all saluted the members of the team standing before us. The entrance music ended and the commencement speaker directed our attention to Old Glory, as the “Star Spangled Banner” began to play.

There were only two other times that the chords of that song had meant so much to me. The first time was my commencement ceremony in the Marine Corps, the second was prior to being sworn in as an official member of the G.I.Joe team just over a year ago. They say the power of music is unpredictable and without limits. It can fully motivate a person to do the unthinkable or reduce someone to tears. “For the land of the free---and the home of the brave!” As the final words of the anthem concluded, I felt transformed. I felt empowered. I had found a new cause, and The DEF was destined to be its champion.

The room erupted in applause as the final notes of the band fell silent. General Hawk approached the podium and after a brief welcome, asked the congregation to please be seated.

“Good afternoon esteemed men and women of the G.I.Joe team. It is not every day that we get to induct members of our family into the ranks of a newly formed task force. So many times, we are simply called away on various assignments based upon nothing more than primary military specialty and overall availability. This can be the way our service to this nation occurs.  Today, however, is different. The G.I.Joe team, in conjunction with the federal government of the United States, has been petitioned to select and assemble a team of highly qualified and dedicated operatives solely to wage the war on opioid addiction and illegal drug distribution in our great nation.  As many of you may be aware, not since the 1960s has the influence of drugs threatened so many lives in the United States!”

The team members in attendance remained quiet and respectful. As I sat on the dais, I was able to view a wide array of emotion on the faces of all those in attendance. Some were filled with rage at the mere mention of the opioid epidemic while others showed empathy, elation, and hope.  Their reactions to our cause, only made me more proud to be there. 

“The fine men and women seated before you, have been selected to assist the United States at winning the war on drugs.  Nominees, when I call your man and rank, please stand.” 

The official moment was finally here.  My stomach was still tied up in knots, but I was confident that that would soon pass. 

“Lieutenant Junior Skip A. Stone, Cutter.  Sergeant Thomas Larivee, Stretcher.  Corporal Alyssa Renee Stall, Bombstrike. Sergeant Paige Adams, Mayday.  Private First Class Steven Kordos, Armed and Dangerous.  Sergeant Stanley Perlmutter, Mutt and Junkyard. Corporal Ross A. Williams, Muskrat.  Captain John Zullo, Claymore.  Not in attendance today, Corporal Jason A. Faria, Shockwave. Corporal Thomas P. Mangiaratti, Long Arm. First Sergeant Thomas S. Bowman, Mace, and heading up the Drug Elimination Force, Major Earl Morris, Bulletproof.” 

Two previously unseen and unmentioned members of the task force approached the stage from the back of the auditorium in full military regalia. Major Morris left his chair next to the General and the final three members joined us on stage, standing in front of the remaining three vacant chairs. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the Drug Elimination Force, please recite the oath of initiation with me.” 

Each of us had been handed a program on our way in.  The oath of initiation was printed on the second page after the commencement speech and introduction of candidates.

“Please raise your right hand.” 

We all did as instructed.

“I, Steven Kordos, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. I most humbly accept this appointment to the Drug Elimination Force and will carry out my assignment while maintaining the level of secrecy this mission entails. So help me God." 

“It is with great pride that I now present...the members of the D.E.F!” 

The room erupted into applause as the letters D.E.F left the general’s lips.

After the oath was complete, all were all invited to sit. Major Morris returned to his place next to General Hawk then approached the podium in order to introduce a guest speaker, a senator from the state of Connecticut.  He was a homegrown public servant from the Northeast, which was my part of the United States.  He didn’t speak nearly as long as General Hawk and simply congratulated each of us for accepting this difficult, yet rewarding assignment.  I looked over to my fellow task force members as his final words rung out through the auditorium. 

“And together, we will defeat this threat!”

All in attendance applauded. 

Upon completion of the senator’s speech, the official anthem of the G.I.Joe team began to play indicating that it was time for our procession out of the auditorium.  Light food and refreshments were made available for all at the Pit Cafeteria, but this would be our last night on base.  A private Humvee would be sent at 0800 hours to take all the new members and their necessary belongings to our new undisclosed base camp. Wherever that might be. 

I walked around the cafeteria of the Pit and shook the hands of just about every person in the room.  In addition to the congratulations and well wishes, several team members offered advice as well.  I listened to all the kernels of wisdom tossed my way and after an hour of socializing, I excused myself and Dangerous from the festivities.  In all honesty, it’s not easy maneuvering around a congested room with an adult cheetah at your side and free food being occasionally dropped on the floor.

After stopping back at my quarters to give my furry companion a break from all the excitement, I decided to do some light packing before checking back in on Pathfinder.  Doc had said that there was really no improvement to his condition even though the all the recent medical tests revealed no distinguishable underlying cause.  He remained in a deep sleep most of the time with bouts of vivid nightmares.  He would wake only briefly. Sometimes speaking screaming and at other times speaking some garbled nonsense before falling back into a catatonic trance-like state. There was clearly something wrong, but no one could pinpoint the reason for his sudden unusual behavior. 

“Alright Kitty, it’s time for a little timeout.” 

I opened the door to his crate and Dangerous happily walked in and laid down on his comfy cat bed.  He was clearly wiped out from all the goings on and was napping within a few minutes time.

“I know, I really tired you out.  Get some rest, my furry friend.  Tomorrow will be the dawn of a new adventure.” 

I rubbed him gently under the chin before closing the latch on his cage door.  I then proceeded to do some more packing, throwing a few more pairs of socks and shirts into my oversized duffle bag.  Looking at the clock on the wall, I decided it was time to head over to the infirmary.

It was a short walk there and when I arrived, Pathfinder appeared to be resting comfortably.  I sat down in the chair next to his bed and started a conversation, not sure if he could hear me.

“Hey, buddy.  How are you feeling?  You’ll be happy to know that I am now an official member of the Drug Elimination Force.  The ceremony just ended a little while ago, and I will be heading out to my new base camp tomorrow morning.  I just wanted to stop by and check in on you before I left.” 

There was little response from him as I spoke.  Occasionally he grunted or sighed loudly, but there were no audible sounds that indicated that he knew I was even there.  I reached out in order to clasp his right hand.

“I couldn’t head out without thanking you again for all you did for me over the past year.  I never would have gotten out of Kenya if it wasn’t for you.”

He tightly squeezed my hand and sat up abruptly pulling me in so his face was near to my ear. 

“You gotta help me, the waves keep pulling me under and I can’t swim bro.  Save me and the rest of the team!” 

The words were mostly whispered, but his eyes were wide open when he spoke them.

 “What waves?  How can I help you?”

I wanted to help him.

“Make them stop!  They’re in my head!”

He was screaming loudly now. Then his grip relaxed as his eyes rolled up into his head and he fell back onto the bed in a fit of convulsions.  He began foaming at the mouth and his heart monitor alarm sounded.

“Help! I need help in here!” 

I immediately ran to the receptionist just as Lifeline and a nurse ran past me with a crash cart.  Apparently, all the commotion had already alerted them to the goings on in the room. I attempted to follow them back into the room, but they closed the door behind them leaving me out in the hallway.  I walked to the reception area and took a seat, nervously awaiting news of his condition.  The whole situation was so odd, and it seemed to all begin after the completion of our mission in Kenya. 

Could he have picked up an unknown parasite that was now starting to affect his brain?  Could he have been exposed to a mutagen while serving in the Cobra ranks?  These and other thoughts flooded my mind as I worried about my friend’s well-being.  Then it struck me.  The hypnotist, Crystal Ball had attempted to control my mind during my imprisonment. Could he somehow be controlling Pathfinder’s mind now?  And if he was, how could I prove it and prevent him from continuing? 

The clock continued to march forward and about an hour later Lifeline emerged from the room and approached me. 

“We managed to stabilize his vitals and he is resting comfortably now.  Can you tell me what happened before his episode?”

I thought back to the conversation and detailed how I was telling him about my recent assignment and morning deployment.  I went on to tell him about the voices in his head and about how he gripped my hand and pulled me in close to ask for help.  Lifeline took some notes and nodded.

“Is it possible that he could be suffering from some type of mind control or probing?  When we were being held in the captured marine outpost in Africa, one of Cobra’s operatives probed my mind using some type of wave creating hypno-shield.  Pathfinder wasn’t interrogated as far as I know, but he was posing as a Cobra officer. Is it possible that he could have been brainwashed unknowingly as a result of infiltrating the terrorist coalition and now they are using his mind to glean information about the G.I.Joe team?”

The medic took down my concerns and offered a response. 

“I’ve never seen this type of behavior in any other patients, but Cobra is unconventional and has been known to push the envelope when it comes to mind control experiments.  Typically mind control is short-term and should have worn off by now, unless they got inside his brain and are somehow still bombarding his thoughts with subliminal waves.  Thanks for the input, I’m going to contact Psyche Out and Doc and discuss this further.  In the meantime, there is really nothing else that you can do for him today and it might be better if you go and prepare for your deployment tomorrow.”  I grimaced at his request, but I really did not want to leave my teammate’s side. 

“But... I can’t just leave him like this.”  

Lifeline held up his hands to quiet my protests. 

“I promise if there is any change in his condition, you will be one of the first people I contact and I will ask General Hawk and Duke if I can provide you with updates even after your relocation.  Now please, go, get some rest.  Your friend would expect no less from you.” 

I nodded in understanding, shook his hand in thanks before reluctantly walking out the door towards the Pit Pub.  I needed to see my friends for at least a little while before turning in for the night. I wanted to make Mainframe and some of the others aware of my concerns even though I knew, that my friend was in the very capable hands of the Joe doctors.  As I entered the pub, I immediately noticed Mainframe sitting at a side booth with Clutch and DeeJay.  I walked over in their direction confident, that they would mirror my concerns.

“Hey, guys.  Got a second? I need to run something by you and get your opinions.” 

Clutch waved the waitress over and ordered another round of drinks. 

“Have a seat buddy.  What’s on your mind?” 

An ice bucket filled with five beers was placed on the table before I could even take a seat. 

“Grab a cold one broski, you look like you need one, or five.”

I grabbed a beer and began to explain my theory.

Enter the Headhunters Chapter 19

Chapter 19

The pirate known as Zanzibar was happy to get some well-deserved rest and relaxation.  The street harlot lying in the bed next to him wasn’t the prettiest streetwalker he had ever been with, but she was fun and filthy in the sack.  It seemed a shame that he would be kicking her out soon.  He briefly entertained the idea of having one more go at her, but the clock on the wall reminded him to not only check out but of his morning meeting with Zandar. It had been three days of nothing but gluttony and lust for the privateer.  Such had been his way of life for the past ten years.  His ship, the SS Chameleon, would be heading back out tomorrow, and the second in command of the Dreadnoks had requested his presence at the Soda Factory so they could go over the workings of their plan to deal with Declan Mann and the so-called Headhunters. Not much had been specified yet, and the pirate did not want to get himself into a dangerous situation that could put his life, or those of his crew at risk.

He glanced once more at the digital clock on the nightstand which read 9:35am. Then without much thought, he sharply poked the harlot in her ribs.

“Let’s go, deary, time to check out!”

The scantily dressed girl in the bed scoffed and attempted to wave him off with her hand, demanding that he give her a break already and let her sleep.  He responded in turn by pulling the sheets clear off the bed and exposing her half-naked body.  The force of the tug dragged her clear out of the bed and onto the floor.

“Hey! What gives ya sot!”

“I said get your arse up! It’s time to check out.”

He threw a wad of money in her lap which she quickly scooped up and placed in between her cleavage.  She then stood up and looked around for her clothes.

“Don’t I even get a shower?”

The pirate could be merciless, but even he wasn’t that cruel. 

“Go on then. You got ten minutes before they’re knocking on the bloody door looking for another night’s wage.” 

He lied of course.  This particular hotel was owned by the Dreadnoks and he could stay as long as he liked, but he had already been up for two hours and had grown tired of staring at her lifeless, half-dressed body.  He could hear the shower turn on in the loo, and took the opportunity to open the drapes and to stare out over the marina.  Several large ships had come to port since he docked three days prior, and two large freighters awaited access anchored further out in the open sea.  The rules of the port were simple, ships could stay docked for no more than four days after which time they would need to be moved. 

A short time later the door to the loo opened and his escort appeared dressed, but with wet hair.  She walked over to the pirate one last time and caressed his face and the side of his leg.

“Don’t forget to look me up when you’re next in port.”

She smiled and giggled then turned, grabbed her bag of belongings, and slipped out the door.

Zanzibar was happy to see her go.  He wasn’t much of a conversationalist beyond the bedroom and had more important affairs to tend to than his sexual desires and those of a simple street whore.  His philosophy had always been the same:  Pay for their “company,” then send them a packing.  This latest one happened to be one of his favorites, as he would regularly allow her to stay the night, sometimes even taking her out for dinner or ordering in.  However, as the end of his reprieve approached, it was always the same.  The pirate would return to his one and only true love, the open sea.

As he prepared for his meeting with the second in command, the phone on the nightstand rang.  He picked up the receiver and heard a familiar voice.  It was one of his preferred shippers, Ethan Jones.  Ethan was a miner specializing in iron ore and coal, mostly for export to China, Japan, India, and the United States. 

“G’day mate, what’s the good word, Ethan?” 

The exporter commonly contacted Zanzibar as his rates were more competitive than some of the other shipping vessels and much more discreet.

“I’m in need of a delivery of iron-ore to India. They are requesting 50,000 tons of the stuff.  Do you have room in your cargo hull? And when are you putting out to sea?  I noticed the old SS Chameleon at the port just yesterday.”

Zanzibar knew that the ship was half full in terms of the upper deck’s twenty and forty-foot canisters.  He usually was not the one to deal with filling the vessel’s hull. That job fell to his second in command John-boy Smith.

“Have you spoken yet to John-boy?  He would know better than me.  I’m just the cap’n.”

“I am quite aware, but this is a special shipment that needs to get there as soon as possible.”

  The pirate recognized the emphasis on the word special, to mean that he was also in need of shipping some type of contraband as well. 

“What are we talking here? And be blunt.”

“I’ve got half a container of fur seal hides that I need to be gone. I have a buyer on a small island in Indonesia.  If you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

So there it was.  He needed him to fence a large amount of semi-illegal furs.  The Australian fur seal, Arctocephalus pusillus doriferus, was a controversial species among conservationists, and a large shipment of the animal pelts might raise some eyebrows on a more legitimate shipping vessel.

“How much is my cut?” 

The receiver when silent for a moment and he could hear the keys of an adding machine clacking in the background.

“I can give you thirty percent and still make a marginal profit.”

 The pirate figured the man could afford to pay him more but opted to address the iron-ore shipment instead.

“And what’s my cut on the iron-ore?  Make it good.” 

The man on the other end of the line was quiet for a moment and once more the sounds of an adding machine could be heard.

“I’m already paying you the cost of shipping the iron ore.  The most I can tip you and the crew is ten percent.” 

The pirate held his tongue, sighed audibly into the receiver and waited.

 “O.K., O.K., I’ll give you fifteen percent on the iron ore, and thirty on the furs.  Do we have a deal?” 

“Pleasure doing business with you, Ethan.  I’ll let John-boy know to handle the matter discreetly, and to expect your cargo this afternoon.” 

Captain Teach hung up the receiver. After securing his cutlass to his belt and putting on his trench coat and sunglasses, he exited his room and headed to his meeting at the Soda Shoppe.  The weather was 65 degrees and sunny out.  It was before midday, and the pirate thought to remove his long coat, but it was a light enough material to not seem completely out of place.  Zandar had requested that he meet up with him by eleven for brunch.  He had heard that the second in command had exquisite tastes, and the pirate would not miss the meeting, or the opportunity to fill his gullet with some free food before shipping out to sea once more.  The restaurant was a mere fifteen-minute walk from the hotel, and the weather being what it was, made for a pleasant stroll.  The streets were a bustle of activity with tourists and townies alike.  He kept his eyes ahead of him but was more than aware of his surroundings.  He made it to the Soda Factory without any incidence and entered the front door.  Oddly enough, the same hostess he had been greeted by a few days prior in the afternoon was working the morning shift.

“G-day mate! Back again are you?”

The pirate eyed the woman curiously and thought it a bit strange that she actually remembered him, or cared to acknowledge him. 

“The boss is in the back room Captain, and sure to be awaiting your arrival.  I highly recommend the Aussie Breakfast.  Just got in a fresh order of eggs this morning we did.  Straight from the farm.  Bacon is perfectly crisp today.  Stay away from the vegemite sandwich, unless you like that sort of thing.” 

The pirate after further processing felt he had figured out his dilemma.

“Thanks for the tip.”

He leaned in a bit closer and whispered close to her ear.

“Zarana.”

It was now the hostess’ turn to eye him.  It was the only explanation that the pirate could come up with for the uncanny way in which the woman not only remembered him but knew where he was going.

“Alright, ye bloke! Good call.  Gotta say I’m a bit surprised as I haven’t seen you that often, and yet you knew it was me, mate!”

The pirate was content that his intuition had been correct and he smiled at her.

“Sorry, Luv, was the only option in me mind that made any bit of sense.”

“Fair enough. My brother will see you now.”

Zanzibar walked to the back of the room and opened the door leading to the private back room.  Upon entry, he was surprised by the number of his Dreadnok brothers who were in attendance.  The six foot six hulk of a man, Road Pig, stood at the doorway acting as the bouncer. Ripper, Buzzer and Torch, the veteran members of the gang, sat to the right of Zandar. Some of the more senior recruits were also in attendance. The green-haired driver of the Thunder Machine, Thrasher, sat to the left of Zandar.  While the explosives expert Monkeywrench sat next to him. The only senior patch member absent from the room was the poacher, Gnawgahyde, but most knew that he was currently on assignment somewhere in or around Kenya. The pirate had expected this to be a more private meeting, but as relieved as he was, the presence of so many senior members assembled in the same room raised other serious questions. 

“Welcome Zanzibar.  So good that you could join us.  Please have a seat.  Our waitress will be around shortly to take your order.  In the meantime, have a mimosa.”

Zandar addressed him from his seat at the head of the table and was dressed in civilian blue jeans and a leather jacket.  He wore his signature blue bandana and orange war-paint face makeup.  The pirate often times wondered if these were actually tattoos since they always appeared so perfectly applied to adorn the sides of his face and under his eyes.

“Thank you Zandar for the invite and for the brunch.  I’ll be heading back out to sea tomorrow, and this will be a welcomed treat that my stomach will not soon forget.”

The acting leader of the organization nodded, then motioned for him to take a seat to his left.  As he made his way to the chair, a blonde-haired waitress handed him a champagne flute filled with a fruity, bubbly concoction.  The pirate accepted the glass, then held it up as a toast to his host before downing the carbonated drink.

  “My compliments to the bartender!  Excellent drink!  May I have another?” The waitress smiled and handed him a second while removing the empty from his other hand.  Zanzibar made himself comfortable at the table just as a second waitress with purple hair came by to take his order. 

“What can I get for you?” 

The pirate remembered the recommendation his hostess had suggested as he entered the establishment.

“I’ll have the Aussie Breakfast with extra crispy bacon please, and if you could send over a couple more mimosas.”

He winked at the young lady whose arms were almost completely covered with elaborate colorful tribal tattoos.  She was most definitely a patch pledge at the least, although he did not recognize her from his previous time home.

“An excellent choice sir. My name’s Heartwrencher.  I don’t believe we’ve met.” 

The pirate looked her over once and licked his lips.

“Why yes, yes you are.”  The spirited waitress responded by slapping him hard across the face.  The sound silenced the room and everyone paused for a second to see the spectacle, and to have a good laugh.

“Yes, I am, but not for you. Unless you’d like me to wrench your heart clean out of your chest while it’s still beating!”

Zanzibar could do little more than rub his cheek as he noticed the switchblade that had appeared in her left hand.  The room remained quiet as everyone waited to see what would happen next.

“And I don’t doubt that you could sheila.  Was only paying you a compliment. Please accept my humblest apologies.”

 Heartwrencher slowly placed the blade back into a sheath on her leg and leaned in close so the rest of the room could only wonder about to her response.

“Next time I’ll cleave your balls off, mate!”

She smirked, looked down towards his groin, and then laughed.  Zanzibar swallowed hard, and the color drained from his cheeks.  She then slapped him hard on the shoulder.

“Oh relax mate! I’m simply messing with you.  You really need to learn how to take a joke.”

The scowl on the girl’s face vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared.  Zandar lifted his glass and toasted it at the pirate as if to say, We’ve had this discussion before.  As the color began to return to the Zanzibar’s face, he too laughed although not as heartily as everyone else in the room.

“You got me good.  I’ve learned my lesson. I have”

 As the spectacle came to an end, the Dreadnoks in the room returned to their normal conversations.  Heartwrencher winked at Zanzibar before returning to taking the rest of the tables food orders. A few moments later the door opened and two addition club members entered. The pirate recognized them as Crusher and Demolisher, two newer, but trusted members of the gang.  With the arrival of these two, he almost expected to see all six Dreadheads walk in next.  The room was bustling with conversation when the second in command finally stood up to address them.  Everyone respectfully fell silent in anticipation of what was to be revealed. 

“Good morning and welcome my fellow patch brothers and sisters.  It has truly been too long since so many of us have been in the same room together.  Business has been most prosperous, and I wanted to thank each and every one of you for your contributions and commitment to the Dreadnoks.  Without your loyalty and hard work, none of this could have been accomplished.  Here’s to you!” 

Zandar lifted his glass in a toast to those in attendance and the room erupted in hoots and hollers. 

“There now, I do appreciate your enthusiasm, but please, please do settle down.  There are others matters that require your attention.”

 The room of bikers once more quieted down. 

“I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’ve asked you here today, and as much as I’d like to say that this is an early Christmas party, that is not the case.” 

The members of the notorious motorcycle gang looked puzzlingly around the room at each other not knowing what was coming next.

“As many of you are aware, Zartan is on a special mission which requires him to remain under deep cover.  In his absence, I have been granted the mantle of leadership. The position requires that I handle and oversee all matters of trade negotiations, membership and...” He paused briefly before completing his sentence. “Partnerships.”

The room began to buzz with questions at the mention of the word. He held up his right hand up in order to silence his constituents.

“I understand that some of you may have heard rumors and others may have questions.  In order to sure up our trust and to set the record straight, I decided to share this information with you in person.  I recently returned from a meeting with the leader of Cobra.  After careful consideration and several private meetings, I am happy to announce that the Dreadnoks have been given an employment opportunity to serve as private mercenaries within the organization for a substantial amount of pay.”

The senior members in the room erupted in grumbling.

The Dreadnok known as Ripper addressed Zandar rather sternly. 

“Why were we not been made aware of this earlier?  The Dreadnoks have always been a private organization.  We have always been self-sufficient and independent. What makes you think that any of us want to work for this upstart, Cobra?”

 Ripper spit in disgust after his proclamation.

“Yeah!  What he said!”

The members of the room became a bit rowdy and to this, the second in command once again held up his hand. 

“My dear Dreadnoks, I understand your concerns, but the arrangement has not been finalized, and the reason for you being here today is so each and every one of you has an opportunity to look over the proposed contract and to vote. This is not a dictatorship! We are as democratic as the next biker organization.  I, and I speak for Zartan, would never enter into such an important partnership without consulting each and every one of you.  The proposed wording of our agreement is being passed around the room. No formal accord has been struck and will not take place if the majority of you feel it be in poor judgment.”

As he said this, Buzzer, passed a pile of stapled contracts around the tables to all in attendance.

The contract was roughly twenty pages and detailed a partnership in which the Dreadnoks and their agents could willingly enter into the employ of Cobra in order to complete specific missions.  No patch brother would ever be forced to accept a mission or be assigned to one.  All willing parties would have their pay deposited into a private, untraceable, offshore account.  However, if a member accepted an assignment, they would be expected to report to the subsequent commanding officer in the Cobra organization, and treat him or her with the same respect paid to the leader of the Dreadnok nation. 

The wording seemed more than fair, and most of the room seemed willing to sign off on it, but clearly, this wasn't the only reason for the assembly of members. After the contracts circulated and everyone had time to review them, the second in command stood once more. 

“Now that we have that situation addressed, there is one more development that requires our attention.”

The pirate put down his contract and gave his undivided attention to the speaker, as did everyone in the room.

“It seems that we may be on the verge of a turf war in the good old US Of A, with one Declan H. Mann.  The Headman, as he likes to be called, has been building up a substantial drug empire over the past five years and one of his stooges, a chump by the name of Gristle, has made an open threat against our organization.”

The members of the room began to grumble at the alleged proclamation.

“You want I should remove his head from his shoulders boss?”

The huge, muscular man known as Road Pig cracked his knuckles loudly before punching his clenched fist into his other open hand several times.

“As tempting as that may sound, no Road Pig, not at this juncture.  But thank you for offering your services. I propose something a little less physical and more covert.  I need someone to infiltrate this “Headman’s” empire and gather some much needed Intel. At the moment, I cannot do this because of Zartan’s absence, but many of you in this room are more than qualified for the assignment. Once inside, we can determine the best way to undermine his organization, or simply take it over for ourselves. I have done some initial investigating and some of my sources have informed me that the once lowly drug dealer has established extensive connections in both North and South America. He has also amassed a bit of a following in Europe and Asia, where the bulk of his raw materials are currently being mass produced.”

“Blimey! How did this bloke get so established?”

The blond pony-tailed member known as Buzzer posed the question.

“He got there by not raising eyebrows and making many allies. If his second in command had kept his ego in check, we probably wouldn't even be having this conversation until he was even more entrenched.  We can't afford a direct assault on the man, his unraveling will require tact and patience, and you can almost guarantee that he is expecting retaliation from the Dreadnoks already.”

The pink haired Zarana, Zartan and Zandar’s younger sister, walked alluringly to the front of the room amongst the hoots and howls of the other gang members. One threatening look from the woman silenced the room.

“I can do it, brother, every man has got a weakness for a pretty face, and a hot ass.”

The acting leader shook his head.

“No my dear sister. Although I don't deny your powers of carnal seduction, Declan Mann is not one who has been known to promote gender equality in his ranks. He treats women as if they are merely disposable playthings. Your lustful allures might work if we were trying to assassinate the man, but not at infiltrating the Headhunters organization.”

“Do you want to bet some money on it brother?”

The room broke out into a taunting of “Oos and Aas.”

“There'll be no wager sister. You're not going.”

His stern demeanor spoke volumes, and she wisely backed down.

“Besides, I have something more worthy of your talents that we can discuss later. It’s sure to entertain you. ”

Zandar didn't often deny his sister any outside opportunity, but this time he had to insist.

 “Well? Who else is interested?”

The room was silent for a few tense seconds before a voice emerged from the back wall.

“I'll do it. I've been meaning to take a trip back to the states for about a year now.”

 A tall African-American with dreadlocks and a New York accent stood up began to approach Zandar.

“Besides, I remember this punk Mann from a few years back. He used to roll in my old neighborhood, real pretty boy with a proclivity for exotic cars and fast women.”

“So he knows you?”

Zandar’s face showed a hint of uncertainty, but the speed demon was quick to set his mind at ease.

“I never said that. I said I knew of him. A friend of mine back in the day may have sold him a car or three. Might still be around is all I'm saying. Couldn't hurt to check in with him and the old gang.”

The second in command took on a pensive posture and considered the presented information. After a couple moments of silence, Zandar addressed the room again.

“Looks like we may have a winner, boys. Enjoy the luncheon everyone, Zarana will collect your signed Cobra contracts. He then motioned for Burnout to follow him into the back room.  Zanzibar handed the unsigned contract back to Zarana.

“I am quite happy in your employ and my time at sea leaves me little time for side work, in fact, I'm heading back out tomorrow, but thanks for the offer”

“Fair enough love. Don't forget to pick up the shipment for Declan Mann, and do remember that the next time you make contact with his organization it needs to appear as if everything is perfectly fine.”

“Will do. It will be business as usual.”

The pirate grabbed his coat, finished his mimosa and headed out the door of the private room, through the bar, out the front door and made a right onto the street. He stopped at the corner and hailed a taxi to take him back to Darling Harbor. John-boy Smith had been instructed to bring the SS Chameleon back to port in order to collect the iron ore as well as the seal pelts.  In a few short hours, he would be back out in the salty ocean air doing what he loved once more. 

Zanzibar greatly enjoyed the time he spent at his home in Sydney, but the open seas would always be his mistress and only true love. The cab ride back was uneventful, the cabby didn't even initiate any small talk.  Before exiting, he generously tipped the driver and thanked him for the silence.

The docks at Darling harbor were a bustle of activity and it was good to place his tall leather boots back on the gangplank of the old Chameleon.

“G’day Captain. You're just in time. There's a gentleman asking to see you.”

 Zanzibar reached in his pocket and pulled out his trusty eye patch. He positioned it over his left eye before climbing the ladder to the upper deck and his private office. As he reached the top of his ascent, he noticed the middle-aged gentlemen pacing outside his office.  He recognized the man to be Ethan Jones and had totally expected the nervous exporter to be awaiting him, as he had indicated in their earlier phone exchange.

“G’day Ethan. Everything ok mate?”

The man stopped abruptly and started anxiously waving his hands motioning for the privateer to take him inside his office.

“Alright, give me a minute. These old bones ain't what they used to be.”

The pirate spanned the distance to his office and used a key from around his neck to unlock the door. Ethan Jones followed him inside and continued to pace back and forth.

“Ethan, sit down will ya? Your crazed pacing is making me seasick!”

The older gentleman took a seat and crossed his left leg up and over his right. His left foot rocked back and forth frantically while his the index and middle finger of his right hand tapped on the desk.

“Ethan, you need to relax. What is it that has got you all worked up? I told you earlier that your shipment is safe with me.”

“It's not that.”

Zanzibar was starting to lose patience with his guest the longer he remained cryptic.

“Well? What then?”

“I received a phone call shortly after speaking with you. The caller warned against me shipping those seal hides.  He said that someone would sink your freight liner as soon as you're out of port if they were on board. Oh please Zanzibar, I need to get rid of those blasted things! And I can't risk our friendship and your safety. Please don't be mad at me, I've got a truck standing by to remove them.”

The pirate was not about to lose his commission to a little phone threat. He sat for a moment silently considering his options.

“Now, just hold on a second, I may still be able to help you out. Let me make a call. The pirate got up from his desk and opened an old wooden cabinet on the side of the room to reveal an ancient-looking ham radio. He flipped on the switch and dialed in an upper channel.

“Gnawgahyde, do you have your ears on?”

There was little more than static before he tried again.

“I repeat mate. Gnawgahyde, do you have your ears on?” 

There was more static and some humming, but then the radio crackled to life.

“Yeah, who wants to know?”

The voice sounded groggy and annoyed, but he did respond.

“It's Zanzibar. I have a question about some pelts. Australian ones.”

“How many you got? And when can I get them?”

“Well, that's the problem. They're here in Sydney and I've had me ship threatened to be scuttled if I leave port with them aboard.”

The radio went eerily silent for a few moments.

“Well that's a bit of a problem ain't it? Can you get the furs off your ship and contact a guy named, Rasputin? I'll send you his contact info. He's not afraid of nothing. Guy has had his ship torpedoed twice, and actually installed anti-torpedo sonar to sink them before they sink him. He’ll be able to help you for a nominal fee. Mention my name.  He still owes me a favor. I'm sending you his digits now.”

The pirate’s phone pinged a moment later.

“Alright, I got it. Thanks mate!”

The channel remained silent for a few until the poacher transmitted a final message.

“You owe me and Bacon an Aussie dinner next time I'm in Sydney. Don't contact me at this frequency again, you know the drill.”

The final word indicated the future contact channel. The captain jotted down the word then pressed the dial button on his phone. The line trilled twice before a raspy and slightly garbled voice answered.

“Who’s calling?”

Zanzibar didn't hesitate to respond.

“The name’s William Teach. I'm a close associate of Gnawgahyde. I've got a haul for you. Are you interested?”

“Depends what you got?” The man cleared the phlegm in his throat and then continued much more clearly now. “And how many you got.”

“Arctocephalus pusillus doriferus, at least 20,000.”

“Now you're speaking my language Teach. Where and when can I get them?” 

Zanzibar looked to Ethan Jones, who grabbed a pen and paper to scribble down an address and time.

“48-7 Dorchester Heights. 1600 hours.”

“I'll send an emissary in a red hat. His name’s Butch. Bring the furs and 25000 pounds.”

The phone clicked and Zanzibar looked over at his guest.

“You owe me once again mate, and I'm going to have to ask for fifty percent of our original agreed to price.”

“But you're not taking them to Indonesia anymore!” Ethan Jones seemed as irate now as he had been anxious before.

“A deal is a deal. You wanted then gone, I found you a buyer and let's not forget the threat to sink my boat.” The pirate stared at the man who was now standing. “Or, I can seal you in the container with those ratty furs and sink you both to the bottom of the bay! Any questions?”

“No, sir!”

 Ethan pulled out a blank check and frantically began writing.

“No checks, electronic transfer only! You know I'm pushing off in two hours.” 

The man put down the pen and retrieved his cell phone instead to make the appropriate transaction. Zanzibar’s phone pinged. He read the notification then turned to Mr. Jones.

“A pleasure doing business with you mate.

“You're a crook!”

“Easy now Ethan, it's only business, and I'm not a crook, I'm a pirate.”  Zanzibar broke out into a laugh as the man exited his private office clearly not amused.