Chapter Seven

 I'm beginning to notice a pattern in my chapter beginnings and ends. I should find a way other than Stranger fainting to dramatically end a scene. On the up side, I managed to restrain myself to four instances only two four letter words, one nine letter word, and one off-color joke, which is an improvement.

Less funny this time and more DRAMATIC NINJA KIDNAPPINGS. Although that's funny too, I suppose.


When Stranger came back to his senses, he was lying in a comfortable bed, tucked in nicely, still fully clothed, and - as he discovered when he craned his neck to see where he was - Ladyguard was sitting in a chair across from him. "Oh, goddammit," he said, letting his head fall back against the pillow. "I was hoping George had been a dick and slipped me something."

"Unfortunately, this is still your life, Mr. Stranger," she said, leaning back and crossing her very nice legs. "Your little excursion to the fair was a bit inconvenient."

"I'm very sorry about that," Stranger told her, with a complete lack of remorse. "But considering how you'd sort of kidnapped us, I find it difficult to care about inconveniencing you after we were abandoned at the scene of a bus crash."

"First of all, you were not kidnapped," she said, smoothly. "You came of your own free will. We did not force you to get on the bus, and at no time did you ask to be let off, therefore you were not kidnapped."

Stranger wanted to object to that, but she held up a hand and kept going. "Second, you were not abandoned on purpose - you two were simply out of sight of the officers who arrested six of my agents, and therefore out of mind. The pair of you had the uncanny luck to wake up in the fifteen minutes between shifts and so disappeared unnoticed. Third," and here, for a moment, she became human and confused, "How the bloody /hell/ did you end up in Wisconsin with a dead prostitute under George's bed and you passed out in the room of a Hell's Angel?"

"Oh, didn't you piece that together already?" Stranger asked spitefully, sitting up. That was a bad idea, he discovered, because the aches of the bus crash, compounded by the hours spent walking the fair, suddenly hit, and he groaned. "Do you have an aspirin?"

"I've got ibuprofen," she said, "and no, we've not pieced it together. The only reason we found you is because someone realized that you have the strangest luck, and put a watch on any strange police reports coming in."

"You have someone in government?" he asked.

"I didn't say it was technically legal. Now how did you do it?" she asked, impatiently.

So he told her the story of his life for the past day or so. She looked disbelieving at the bit about the car, disapproving at the bit about phasing the cashier, and just started SHAKING HER head when he tried to explain how they ended up at the festival. "You, the pair of you, should not be allowed to go anywhere unattended," she said. But he suspected she was suppressing a smile. "You've left a trail of destruction behind you."

"It's not destruction," he protested. "It's just the one car. And the one body, but he was only unconscious."

"Two bodies," she told him. "You can't forget the prostitute."

"You keep bringing that up," Stranger said. "Please don't."

"Whyever not? Although tragic, I think it's one of the funniest things I've heard in a while."

"Because a woman died," he said. "And because it's going to be a joke soon enough. Just leave it alone, give her some respect, just for a while."

Ladyguard's eyes softened, barely, but he noticed it. "Alright, then, I'll stop." Then, business once more, "George's minders have been placated and all reference to the pair of you finding the body has been erased. Even Jack's stay here tonight has been taken off the books, and he's been sent home to his boyfriend to talk about that strange couple he met on the road. So now we go back to Boston and see if we can keep the pair of you from doing anything preposterous for the next week and a half."

"Good luck with that," Stranger muttered, and pushed himself upright again. "Does this room have a shower? Is it less than completely disgusting? Because if I don't shower soon I'm going to start causing birds to fall from the sky if they fly downwind of me."

"Just through that door," she told him, and he got up and went.

It turned out that his sideburns were even immune to soap, water, and scrubbing. Not that he tried to remove them or anything.

----

They took another bus back to Boston, one that could have been the clone of the firs, although this one seemed to travel at a more sedate, sane, law-abiding speed. Even the sleek, evil-looking coffee machine was the same. MacAlleister and Big'n'Burly weren't there, and Stranger wondered how long it would take the unnamed to extract six of their own from the bureaucracy of an inter-state car chase terrorism case.

A day or so later, they were back. Not back at George's apartment, unfortunately for him, but rather a hotel. No, a Hotel. It needed the capital letter. The place wasn't a Hilton or any of those big chain things. It was an old-money hotel. It was a classy hotel. It was the kind of hotel where 'swanky' was both an understatement and too vulgar to apply. It was the kind of hotel that the Antichrist would stay in and Buddha would refuse to stay at, should either of those fine gentlemen come to Earth. It was really, really nice. Presidents had stayed there. And now, George and Stranger were up in the Presidential Suite, which managed to make George's penthouse look tacky(er).

Yes, the outer room had two guards posted, there were people on the roof, and the window washer seemed to be communicating with someone on his headset, but Stranger was pretty sure the place was designed for this sort of thing. Although he wasn't sure how many were here for him and how many were for the VIP who was staying on the floor just below them - considering the fanfare when the limo had pulled up outside, half the people roaming the halls in black suits and glasses could be for them.

But he and George ignored that in favor of playing with their fancy new cellphones (which even had their old numbers) and raiding the minibar, the first one Stranger had ever seen that was worth raiding. Out of an unspoken agreement, both of them ignored the gourmet cheeses in favor of the chocolates, fruits, and alcohols that filled the rest of it. Then they got themselves nicely tipsy and watched Mythbusters on the eighty inch flat screen television while slumped on a couch that definitely cost more than Stranger's last car - and that was counting the Caddy (may it rest in peace). Stranger felt himself relax. It was nice. On a whim, during a commercial for a beer that, in his highly educated opinion, would never cause women to think a man was as interesting as it seemed to be making them, he called up Malcolm.

"Stranger, I told you, the bar's closed," came Malcolm's voice, crackly with static. "And just because you need inspiration for the next short story so's you can make rent is not going to change that."

"You're no fun," Stranger told him, feeling his tongue clumsy in his mouth. "You're sure? I'm back'n Boston right now, and a nice lager would be appreciated. This place just has champagne. Too fizzy."

"Where are you, right now?" Malcolm asked, tiredly. "Do you need someone to come bail you out in a bit?"

"Nope, I'm legal, one hunnndred percent," Stranger told him. "An' George is here, so bail's not a problem. But everything else is classified, so I can't say anything else."

"You're sloshed, Strange. Go sleep it off and don't call me."

"You're a gooood friend," Stranger said, using as much sarcasm as he could muster in his inebriated state.

"I am, and that's why I bothered to pick up the phone and talk to you at ten a.m. Now start paying attention to the little letters on the clock and stop drinking and don't call me." There was a click on the other end of the line.

"He hung up on me," Stranger said, with all the outrage of the righteous and drunk. "I'm gonna.. I'm gonna," he glanced at the television, "Did that car just blow up?"

"Yeah, watch, they'll do a slow-mo replay," George said, eyes glued to the screen.

Stranger promptly forgot whatever it was he was going to do, and watched cars explode in the name of science and truth for the next three hours.

----

When Ladyguard came back, she found the pair of them making jokes about walruses and sprawling all over the couch. With a single, elegant roll of her eyes, she conveyed the exact depth of her disdain for their entire existences, and specifically for their current indolence. What she said, however, was, "You two gentlemen are, of course, free to continue doing whatever you wish. However, it is suggested that you come downstairs to the intelligence meeting, so you have at least a vague clue of what's going on."

"That's awfully nice of you," Stranger told her, struggling to get his elbows beneath him so he could look at her properly. He was still more than a little drunk, at this point, but fast on the way to recovering due to his long-built-up tolerance. "But I have two questions for you, ma'am."

"Oh?" She was projecting amused tolerance and patience to the point where even he could sense it.

"One, is knowing what's going on further than what we were told by the lovely Agent MacAlleister going to, in any way help us to protect ourselves if you wonderful people should, god forbid, not manage it?" he asked. George looked up, apparently affronted that Stranger had the temerity to call MacAlleister lovely within his hearing, but was distracted by further big booms on the screen.

"Not... necessarily," Ladyguard said, "but -"

"And two," Stranger said, speaking over her, "If, god forbid, we should be successfully kidnapped, would knowing the big picture be in any way a help to us, other than perhaps a slight consolation that, as we are likely tortured for further information we can't supply, it wasn't on purpose?"

"Not particularly," she said. She was looking at him warily now. "Does this mean you don't want to come downstairs?"

"Oh, no, I'll go," Stranger said, "if you genuinely want a sarcastic bastard with an ongoing drinking problem listening to all your secret plans and learning things he'll likely spill the first time he gets drunk."

"I resent that," George said, lifting his head from its place on the arm rest. "I'm not sarcastic."

"Make that two," Stranger amended.

She eyed him for a minute. "If I leave you here, will the place burn down?"

"Hasn't yet," Stranger told her. "And considering the amount of alcohol we've consumed and spilled, that shows actual effort on our parts."

She sighed. "Alright, I suppose you can -" and then the windows silently fell inward, and suddenly the room was filled with ninjas.

Stranger and George, whose tolerances for surprises were rapidly strengthening, simply lolled their heads back and watch the ninjas silently run at Ladyguard, though from an odd upside-down perspective. Ladyguard herself, however, pulled a phaser and started shooting indiscriminately, mowing down ninjas like an awesome ninja-mowing person. After a moment, George fumbled for his own phaser, and ended up stunning himself when the trigger caught on the material of the pocket where he'd stowed it. Stranger took it as a lesson in gun safety, until it kept firing as it slid from George's suddenly limp grip and phased him as well.

------

He woke up with a headache - not necessarily unusual - and tied up - rather more so - to an uncomfortable wooden chair - a first. He took this novel arrangement to mean that he'd been successfully kidnapped, that the unnamed has timed their meeting poorly, and most importantly, that he'd have to smack George next time he saw him.

He tried opening his eyes, but couldn't, because there was a thick cloth covering them. Also a novel experience, which reinforced his ideas. His ears weren't blocked, though, and neither was his mouth, so he said, "Hi. I'm awake, is that going to result in some sort of immediate termination?"

"Stranger, you're an idiot," George told him.

"Well, yes, I know, but I'd like to get it over with, if that's okay with you," Stranger said. "And I notice that you're talking, too."

"Because I already asked, and got no answer," George said, sounding prim.

"Hypocrite."

"Of the absolute best sort."

"Would the pair of you /shut up/," came Ladyguard's voice. "My god, do either of you realize the amount of danger we're in right now?"

"Hey, pretty lady," George said, then paused. "Wow, you must be tied up pretty tightly, I'm not even concussed now."

"You need to understand," Stranger told her, "For us, this is just a continuation of the natural pattern developed over the past couple of days. Despite all your well meaning words and reassurances that you're the good guys and what you're doing is necessary, we've honestly no reason to believe you. The hotel was very nice, granted, but we've spent all our time in the presence of you people alternating between terror and boredom. This just happens to be both terrifying and boring at once. By the end of whatever time period you've set up, I suspect that we'll be conniseurs in both."

"But why won't you just /stop talking/?" she asked him desperately.

"Because it relieves the boredom, makes the whole thing a joke, and, as an added bonus, annoys you and hopefully our captors, as well," Stranger said. "I like all those reasons. George, do you like those reasons?"

"I like those reasons."

"See, we're in agreement."

"Oh my god, this is what they're doing to torture me," Ladyguard said. "They're just going to leave me here with you two until I promise to tell them everything."

"Is it working?" came a very dramatic, highly snobby voice, booming from all around them. "Hello, my dear Elizabeth."

"Don't you dare call me that," came Ladyguard's voice, suddenly deadly calm. It sent a cold shiver down Stranger's spine. "I'm not your 'dear' anything, and I haven't been called by that name since I got rid of you."

"Well, you seem to have found me again, so I feel it's appropriate," came the voice. Stranger, as a writer, started trying to describe the voice in his head. Plummy, that was a good word, but it was a plum with a pit made of ice, an utterly cold thing that made you shiver to hear it. Very Bond-villainesque.

"Excuse me," he said, "but would you be Sir Roger?"

"Indeed," came the voice. "I suppose little Lizzy here has been telling you about me? She tells the most awful stories, you mustn't believe a word she says."

"Considering how you have us tied up in a dark room, blindfolded, at least some of them seem to be true," Stranger said.

"Oh, that's just for show - mustn't allow you to think you've got a chance now, can I?" Stranger's blindfold was ripped up and off. It didn't do him a lot of good, seeing as how the room was pitch black. "There you go, it's gone."

"You're speaking through some sort of microphone system," George said, quietly. "Speakers in the walls, maybe the walls are the speakers, and that's why there's the coming-from-everywhere effect. It's a very nice setup, it must have been hell to calibrate it so it would sound the same in three different locations. From the placing of Stranger and Ladyguard, I can assume we're all facing the same way. That, compounded with the general calculated atmosphere of the whole thing, means that you're gearing up to make some sort of presentation to us. Please just get on with it. Bond villainry is entertaining only up until the third or fourth time you see it. Then it's just silly. I've have the misfortune to have something along these lines happen to me nine times, and it's honestly very boring at this point."

There was a moment of silence from Sir Roger, and Stranger said, "You know, I knew there was I reason I kept you around."

Then, in front of him, the blackness was shattered by lights that, objectively, weren't that bright, but to eyes long adjusted to the dark, were the sun. Stranger winced, and when his eyes ceased watering quite so badly, saw an ominous figure silhouetted in them. "I'm Sir Roger Stomcock," said the silhouette. "And you three are my current guests of honor."

"You're still a pompous ass," Ladyguard said, disgustedly, from her place to Stranger's right. "Somehow, this whole setup is not making me reconsider that opinion."

"It's the supervillainry," Stranger told her. "It goes right to a certain kind of person's head."

"Silence!" said Sir Roger. "I weary of your insolence."

For a moment, the three of them were silent. Then George started snickering, and Stranger lost it, and then all three of them were completely cracking up. "You honestly just said that?" Ladyguard asked, trying to catch her breath.

"Look, Dick," George said, "Can I call you Dick? I think I will. Dick, the thing is, you're overcompensating. Something in your childhood damaged you - maybe your daddy's thirst for glory? Did he ignore you in favor of this search? - and now you're trying to prove to yourself that you're better than him, a bigger, better Stomcock. The dramatics are just a Stomcock measuring contest."

"You bore me," said Dick, his voice shaking. "It's time to be quiet." He raised a hand, and even as Stranger noticed - too late - that he held something there, an electrical crack filled the air and George yelled.

Stranger craned his neck to see where George sat, and saw him hanging limp in the ropes that held him. He felt himself go cold, and hard, and still.

"You bast-" Ladyguard began, but she was cut off by another crack, and she screamed. Stranger didn't even bother to turn to her. He just looked at the man who'd just - made his friends go limp, with all the sudden cold deadness he felt.

It was a bit of a revelation, really. He hadn't admitted to himself he was worried, and he especially hadn't admitted that he was worried about how he'd react if something went wrong. A small part of him was consoled by the fact that he hadn't melted down, that he was, if anything, more focused now than he had been. The rest of him was shut down, except for some icy portion of his brain that was calculating odds that he could get out of this alive, or that he could take out this bastard, or maybe even both. He didn't think the odds of the either of the first two were good, and the last was downright negligible.

To hell with it, he decided. "You fucking bastard, of the three people you manage to kidnap, you kill the two most likely to be able to give you what you want. You're not even bright for a Bond villain."

"They're not dead," said Dick serenely, his reserve back in place. But Dick he would be forevermore, to Stranger. "Simply stunned. Some scientists with a better sense of self-preservation than your dear old uncle reverse-engineered the structure of those wonderful energy weapons your friends had, and that was a demonstration of one of our early prototypes for a new and improved version. The old design was a bit, how shall I say, passe?"

It was slightly reassuring that Dick hadn't necessarily meant to kill anyone with those shots, but the coldness didn't abate. This man had had the temerity to not only kidnap them, but to try and overawe them with this stupid display and then /shoot two people/ with an untested prototype energy weapon. This man was, as far as Stranger could tell, his exact antithesis - well-mannered, poor-moraled, showy, old-fashioned, and fucking scary.

Scratch that last, Stranger was beginning to feel pretty damned scary himself.

"However, you are still the person I want to talk to, Charles, and the chance for an opportunity to talk alone is exactly what I was looking for," Dick continued. "This is more along the lines of a warning than anything else. Just know that as good as the unmentionables, or the nameless or whathaveyou are, I'm better. When we want you, we'll take you, and there's nothing you can do about it. Quite unfortunate, from you perspective, I suppose."

Then Dick stepped forward and raised his arm again. "Good night, sweet prince," he said, and then Stranger felt a lot of pain, and knew nothing else.