K N I G H T   R I D E R
eclipse of the knight
written by Scott Kirkessner

 

[ rated PG-13 for some violent content, sensuality and adult language ]

 

[ based upon “Knight Rider” aka “Knight of the Phoenix” by Glen A. Larson ]

 

[ project start date: July 25, 2005 ]

[ project complete date: October 17, 2005 ]

[ proof read by Michelle Gardner ]

[ final word count: 32,770 ]

 

[ Knight Rider and characters are © 1982, Glen A. Larson and NBC/Universal ]

[ Las Vegas and characters are © 2003, Gary Scott Thompson and NBC/Universal ]

 

r e b o r n

 

 “Big Ed” Deline tried his best to navigate the casino floor without his hosts or Miss Mancuso seeing and stopping him.  There was way too much on his mind to deal with comps or the new owner’s bullshit. 

 

Not only was the Montecito playing host to the United States Defense Contractors Conference, an absolute security nightmare that spelled out many long shifts for Ed and his staff, but the FBI, not the most favorite people of his and the feeling was definitely mutual, came to him a week ago and informed him they were planning a sting in plain sight in the middle of this damned conference.

 

He had to run that through his mind once more.  In the midst of the Defense Contractors Conference, a national security event at his casino where he had to work with the Secret Service to ensure complete security, the FBI was planning a sting to bust a group of people with their minds set on industrial espionage.

 

The new Montecito had been stretching her wings and getting back on her feet since her rebirth.  Thanks to new owner Monica Mancuso, this hellish event was thrown onto Ed’s plate as she decided such a conference would breathe new life into the Montecito.

 

Yeah, great event.  The casino had virtually been taken over by the Secret Service to prepare for the conference, and during the conference, all attendees had to wear computerized badges, and any public patrons of his casino had to pass through metal detectors and were subject to random searches.

 

Ten floors of the resort were closed and reserved for conference attendees.

 

Worst of all, the topless pool was going to be closed down during the conference.

 

Ed dealt with people scrutinizing the security of his casino, despite millions of dollars worth of security, surveillance, anti-theft and other pieces of equipment that made the Montecito the most secure casino on The Strip.

 

That wasn’t good enough for the Secret Service.

 

And now… the FBI was here to conduct a covert mission in the middle of it all to prevent the leak of sensitive information.

 

How could this day get any more hectic?

 

“Ed!” yelled a voice he was trying his best to avoid.  He looked to his left and Monica was hurrying to catch up to him, “I got wind of something big going down in the middle of the conference,” she said, “do you know anything about that?”

 

“I am on my way to find out now,” Ed lied, “An agent from the FBI is waiting for us.”

 

“That’s where I’m going too,” Monica said as they walked, “where’s Danny and Mike?”

 

“Dealing with something, they’ll meet us there,” Ed said.

 

Monica stopped Ed, “Dealing with what?  I thought we agreed I would be kept in the loop when I took ownership.”

 

Ed turned to Monica trying his best to keep an annoyed look off of his face, “I’ll keep you in the loop, Monica.  I will forward every incident report to you my staff deals with, from purse thieves to old ladies falling down the brand new stairs that are claimed to be up to code.  Shit, I’ll even give you the reports that come out of the new parking garage you built that is supposed to be safer with wider spots.  You know we’re holding bets to see if dings or bums rank higher in the garage?”

 

Monica looked at Ed straight-faced.  With that face, he knew Danny would want her on his poker team, “Well it looks like we have everything under control,” she said.

 

“Yes, we do,” Ed replied beginning to walk again, “although it seems the Secret Service has all but fired us and taken over my facilities.”

 

“Oh relax, Ed, I gave up ten floors of rooms, the topless pool, most of the casino and our new conference center, you can stand to share your surveillance office,” Monica said.

 

“That reminds me,” Ed said before going into the conference room, “I’ll be sure to give you a report of any illegal activities my team might have missed because we are baby sitting the nation’s secrets.”

 

The two were at a standstill for a few moments before they walked into the room.

 

Two of Ed’s staff, Danny McCoy and Mike Cannon were already sitting in the room watching the FBI agent begin his presentation.

 

Ed eyed the FBI agent suspiciously.  One would think an FBI agent in charge of a security sensitive mission in the middle of one of the nation’s most public places would be in a suit with his badge proudly hanging from some piece of cloth.  Instead, the man was in business casual attire with a hairstyle that might be reserved for someone ten years younger.

 

Next to the man, on the massive screen on the front wall of the room was the face of a middle-aged man with a rough-and-tumbled look.  No smile, if there were any muscles in such a hardened face to produce the expression.

 

“This man,” said Agent Paul Taylor speaking with a slight Southern drawl, “is Fred Wilson, the chief of security for Northrop-Grumman, which just happens to be one of the Armed Forces defense contractors.  Wilson and his staff will be accompanying Grumman’s CEO, Mr. Charles Acton to the conference to provide security.”

 

Taylor pressed a button and a picture of a man and woman came on the screen.  “The man here is Acton.  The girl in the picture is his new girlfriend; a girl named Tanya, we believe. 

 

“Unfortunately, Wilson isn’t interested in any kind of security at all, instead he is infiltrating the company from the inside out.  He’s hired his own staff and after tomorrow night’s opening ceremonies for the Defense Contractors Conference, him and his staff will rip designs for the Tomcat-X, Grumman’s newest jet-fighter to replace the Navy’s Tomcat fleet.”

 

“What the hell is going on, Ed?” Danny whispered, “don’t we already have enough going on?”

“We have too much going on,” Ed replied, “This is going to be a nightmare.”

 

“A small team of agents from the Bureau will be conducting the takedown tomorrow night,” Taylor said, “We plan to allow Wilson’s staff to carry out the theft and we will conduct the take down before they leave the resort.”

 

“Where will you be taking them down?” Ed asked.

 

“Two of our agents have been able to infiltrate the team.  According to their intelligence, Wilson and his staff will have a limousine waiting for them at the main entrance.  We will take them down before they get to the limo.  Six agents from the Vegas field office will be waiting in taxicabs for one of our agent’s signal.  Their fare lights will only be half lit, so warn the bellmen not to hail these cabs.

 

“You can’t miss Wilson’s staff, he will be giving them orders the entire night.  Warn your teams not to approach Wilson or his staff.

 

“If all of you understand tomorrow night’s operation, I expect you to field out the necessary information to your teams,” Taylor said, “Do not tell the bellmen who is in those taxicabs, just make sure they don’t hail them.  Do not approach Wilson and his staff, and for the love of God, do not get in the way.”

 

Ed shifted in his seat and was about to say something.  Monica placed a hand on his shoulder and looked it him.  It was obvious she hated that comment as much as Ed did.

 

Taylor continued, “In addition to the two undercover agent’s on Wilson’s staff, there will be one more agent in the resort in the guise of a support staff member, and I will be going back and forth between the casino floor and the surveillance office.  Are we all clear?”

 

Everyone nodded.  Ed was fuming.

 

“My team and the agents have already been briefed, and consider yourselves briefed on the information you need to know.  Dismissed.”

 

“Dismissed,” Ed whispered to Danny and Mike, “it’s like we’re in the friggin’ military.”

 

“That briefing makes me feel a hell of a lot better,” Mike said, sarcastically.

 

“Are they crazy to be doing this now?” Danny asked, “Why does it have to be during the conference?”

 

Ed watched Monica leave the room, “I think Miss Mancuso is having second thoughts.  Look, we’ve had our share of attempted scams during conferences before—”

 

Danny interrupted Ed, “But we were the ones that stopped them.  Working with the Secret Service to provide security for the conference is one thing, but now the FBI is here and they are ordering us to allow a scam to take place?”

 

“Any other day and any other conference, Danny, I’d tell that bastard up there to go screw himself, but I don’t want to think what would go wrong if we took control.”

 

“Nothing would,” Mike said, “that’s the whole damn point.”

 

Ed looked out at the busy casino floor and let the noise fill his mind for a bit, “I hate the government.”

 

 

Michael Long walked into his bedroom and dropped his empty duffel bag on his bed.  Quickly on his heels was his live-in girlfriend Stefanie Mason.

 

Stefanie, whom Michael liked to call Stevie, sat down on the bed and looked up at Michael.  If Michael did not have his back to her, he would have quickly noticed a definite sparkle of fear emanating from her striking blue eyes.

 

Michael was filling his dopp-kit and did not look at Stevie once as he turned to place it in his duffel bag and moved over to his closet.

 

He was in his early 30s, and standing at 6’2” moved gracefully with long strides of legs Stevie playfully said never ended.  He kept his light-brown hair well-trimmed and spiked, never once letting go of the military hair regulations that seemingly followed him since his discharge from the Army four years after the first Gulf War ended.

 

He had a chiseled face, as if Michelangelo sat down and spent three decades crafting it himself.  His facial features were imposing, giving a natural glow of leadership and authority.  He had piercing green eyes that would often change to grey when he was either angry or concentrating…

 

Concentrating on anything.  Which is why Stevie would often request illumination during their love-making.

 

Her eyes followed Michael as he darted around the room in preparation for his red-eye flight to Las Vegas.  It was a full five minutes before he noticed her sitting there.  By the time he did, he could see the look in her eyes.

 

“Stevie?” he asked with a touch of concern in his voice.  Michael loved her – it was obvious.  In his heart, he knew he would do anything for Stevie.

 

Almost anything…

 

“I don’t want you to go to Las Vegas,” Stevie said, looking at him while slowly spinning the diamond-ring Michael placed on her finger two weeks ago.

 

“I can’t do that Stevie,” Michael said as he packed his bag, “we’ve been working too hard on this case,” he stopped and turned to her, “We’re going to break it wide open tomorrow night.  We are going to catch them.  Besides, I don’t have a choice.  I’ve been in communication with the criminals for a few weeks now, and I am supposed to meet them in Vegas to be one of their new musclemen.”  He flexed and Stevie laughed.

 

Michael grabbed his wallet and dropped it.  The outer flap flipped open to reveal his FBI identification.  Stevie picked it up and looked at it.

 

“When we first met I had you pegged as a loser… a career Army man with nothing left after the service.  No good ole war for you to serve in, the glory days spent in the desert over… I couldn’t have been more wrong.  I never would have thought that you were a G-Man,” she said.

 

“You never were good on first impressions,” Michael teased, “you thought my brother was my father.”

 

Stevie laughed again.  She stood up to face Michael, despite her forehead just reaching his nose.  “I have a bad feeling about this.  You know I have these sixth sense feelings about things.”

 

“One visit to a soothsayer at the Delaware State Fair and you are convinced you are one,” Michael said, smiling.  This time, Stevie wasn’t.

 

She put her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly.  “I still don’t want you to go.”

 

“I know,” he said with a voice that melted her heart, “but we can’t afford to lose this case.  There is too much riding on it.”

 

He kissed her.

 

“What am I supposed to do while you are gone?”

 

Michael picked up his full duffel bag and stood in his bedroom doorway.  “Well when you go into work at the Pentagon on Monday, tell those generals not to let the defense contractors have conferences in Las Vegas.”

 

“Just barge right into the general’s office?”

 

“This isn’t the 80s, babe.  Send an email,” Michael said with a wide smile.

 

Stevie grabbed Michael’s backpack and walked with him through their Victorian-style townhouse and out to the street.

 

Once his car was packed, he went to her for the dreaded traveling-goodbye.

 

“I love you, Michael.  Please be careful,” she said while hugging him tightly.  She could feel Michael’s head pull back in a way she knew he would exactly tell her that he would be fine and for her to not worry.  Before he could, she stopped him.  “Please Michael… please be careful.”

 

Michael kissed her on the forehead.  “If I got out of Desert Storm alive, I am sure I will get out of an FBI sting in Las Vegas.”

 

He got into his car and started the engine.  Stevie quickly kneeled beside the driver-side window with a look of concern still in her eyes.

 

“I left something for you in the kitchen.  I’ll be back in a few days.  I love you, Stevie,” Michael said.

 

Stevie put her hand on the door in a last ditch attempt to somehow stop Michael.  Or at least slow him down.

 

“I’ll be back.  I promise,” he said.  He kissed her again, a few seconds longer, and put the car in gear and drove away.

 

Stevie let a single tear escape her eye before she walked up the stairs to their Georgetown home.

 

Sitting on the kitchen counter was a bouquet of fresh roses of all different varieties and vibrant colors.  On their third date, Stevie told Michael she never could pick a single rose to enjoy and loved them all.

 

Also on the counter was a slim white box.  Stevie opened it and gasped.  Inside was a gold heart-shaped necklace.  On the inside of the lid, Michael left a note for her:

 

Something to remember me by.

The scent of roses lingers... always.

 

 

Four hours later Michael was in one of the Montecitos’s standard hotel rooms overlooking the Las Vegas Strip.  He was the last agent to arrive to the sting as Lonnie was already in place with their target, Muntzy was undercover with the resort staff, and Taylor was the agent-in-charge, coordinating their operations with hotel security.

 

Agent Lonnie Sullivan was the first to know the main details of the operation.  She was the first to infiltrate Wilson’s team once the FBI heard of the planned coup from a Grumman insider.  The Bureau hadn’t heard from Lonnie in a month before she sent a quick text message to Taylor, warning him to get ready.  She was going to be the one responsible to steal the designs for the Tomcat-X.

 

That was two weeks ago.  Lonnie was easily able to pull Michael into the organization to be part of Wilson’s security staff.  No one on Wilson’s staff except for a man named Gray, Lonnie, and Wilson himself were to know about the operation.  Michael and the other security officers were supposed to be extra beef to give the illumination of a security officer caring about protecting the company.

 

Michael looked out the window at the Strip.  He could make out the Luxor beam amid the neon glow of resort hotels.  He took an assortment of cards out of his wallet and studied his new credentials.  He checked into the hotel and was known among Wilson and his staff as Michael Roesler, an ex Green Beret turned mercenary of fortune.

 

Michael just settled in to fall asleep when a heavy knock sounded on his door.  He quickly got up and grabbed his FBI issued Beretta 92FS and walked over towards the door.  He looked through the peephole and saw Lonnie standing outside with another man.  It was Wilson.  He stuck the handgun behind his back through his belt and opened the door.

 

“Michael!” Lonnie said, bouncing in and giving him a big hug.  “Play,” she quietly whispered in his hear.  She released him and looked at Wilson.  “Mr. Wilson, this is Michael Roesler, your new security guard.”

 

Michael nodded and looked at Wilson.  “Good to see you in person, sir,” he squarely said.

 

Wilson, to Michael’s surprise, extended his hand.  Michael shook it.  “Shaking this hand, Mr. Roesler, you’ve just accepted a contract and agreed that the only orders you follow come from me, and just like the Army, you follow the orders without question.  Understood?”

 

“Clearly, sir,” Michael said, tempted to salute.

 

“Good,” Wilson said, “The conference’s opening ceremonies begin at 6 tomorrow night.  From there on, everyone will be mingling about in the casino.  Your job is to work with Gray and the rest of the security staff keeping a close eye on Acton and looking around for anything suspicious.  Also, Mr. Roesler, Acton hates to cash in his chips from gambling if the casino is crowded, so if he insists on taking them up to his suite, you stay on his heels until he does, understood?”

 

Michael nodded.

 

“We begin tomorrow, report to me in room 3019 for a final briefing with the security staff,” Wilson said.  He turned to leave and took Lonnie with him before Michael had a chance to speak with her.

 

Michael hated the fact that Lonnie had been out of touch for so long.  She must have been kept so close to the operation, or had the feeling she was being closely watched, she couldn’t have given them any more information than what they were working from.

 

He had half a mind to go look for Muntzy, but decided against it to avoid blowing the agent’s cover.  Muntzy would be in place in front of Acton’s suite to keep an eye on Lonnie as she went in for the theft.  He would give her a two-minute head start before he moved to the casino floor to assist in the bust.

 

Once Lonnie had the Tomcat-X designs, she would return to a specified meeting point with Wilson and Gray, and they would leave the casino, ditching Acton, his girl, and the oblivious security staff.

 

Michael, Muntzy, and Taylor would be in communication with each other on a coded frequency.  Once they found Lonnie, Muntzy would tail her while Taylor and Michael would wait at the front entrance.  When they reached the limo, Michael would give the signal to the agents waiting in the cabs and the operation would be over.

 

Michael went to sleep that night thinking the operation would be absolutely fool proof.  He didn’t know he would be completely wrong.

 

 

After the opening ceremonies of the conference, there was a mad dash to the casino floor, mainly poker tables, craps tables, and blackjack tables. 

 

Michael walked around the casino and observed the action at the tables.  The essence of the conference was a poker game in itself as there were many players from either side trying to be dealt in, some begging to be dealt out, and others just simply watching.  Contractors from numerous companies mixed business and social talk with representatives from the Department of Defense as they played a few hands of the games.

 

Agent Jordan Muntzy was a short black man around the same age as Michael.  He wore maintenance clothes and carried a toolbox in one hand, and a ladder in another.  He was walking down the hallway when he noticed a security guard standing in front of Acton’s suite.  Unwavering, he kept walking until he reached a lighting fixture one door in front of the suite.  He flashed a smile to the guard and began to set up shop.

 

“That light looks fine to me,” the guard said with a suspicious tone in his voice.

 

“It looks just fine to me too,” Muntzy said, “but we’ve had reports on it flickering over the past few days.”

 

“I’ve never noticed anything,”

 

“I’ve been up here five times to fix it and it looked just like it does now.  It must be an electrical problem, so I may as well look at it before it turns into something worse.”

 

The guard grunted.

 

 

Michael found Wilson and Lonnie, walking the casino arm in arm posing as a couple, and keeping a close eye on Acton and his girlfriend who Michael met earlier that night.  Her name was Tanya Walker and there was an air about her Michael couldn’t place.  He looked at them again and noticed Lonnie was watching Tanya more than Acton himself.

 

“What’s going on, Michael?” Taylor asked over Michael’s virtually hidden earpiece. 

 

Wilson’s security guards did not have any kind of communication equipment, as they were all watching Acton in close or distant proximity.  Michael had to turn a certain way and pretend he was examining a slot machine to reply.  He looked up and saw Wilson whisper to Lonnie.  He handed her a card-key and a piece of paper.  Within seconds, Lonnie left his side.

 

“Wilson just sent Lonnie somewhere,” Michael quietly said, “can you get her on camera?  Where is she going?”

 

“She’s headed towards the elevators, I think she is headed your way, Muntzy.”

 

Michael looked up and saw Wilson put away a cell-phone.  “I think Wilson just called someone.”

 

There were a few seconds of silence before Muntzy’s voice came over the band.  “He must have called the security guard in front of Acton’s door, because that dude just left.  Said something about going to the casino floor.”

 

“It’s happening,” Michael said, “Wilson just cleared the way for Lonnie to get the designs from Acton’s safe.”

 

“Be careful down there Michael, you’re in a bed of snakes,” Muntzy said.

 

“Not as much as Lonnie is, Muntzy, keep an eye on her.”

 

 

Lonnie felt overdressed for such an occasion, but nevertheless, looked stunning in her violet gown.  She had long flowing brown hair that ended in curls and was accented against her white skin.  She saw Muntzy working on the light in the hallway but didn’t say anything–didn’t even look at him as she opened Acton’s suite and entered.

 

She quickly moved to the safe in the walk-in closet.  She took out the piece of paper Wilson handed to her and entered the combination.  The safe instantly popped open.  She took out four mini CD-ROMs from the safe and set them on a shelf.  She opened her purse and grabbed a portable CD scanner/data storage.

 

It took her just a few minutes to scan the discs and save the data.  She put the discs back into the safe and made sure she didn’t disturb anything.  She took out a cell-phone and called Wilson.  “I scanned the discs, I have it all.”

 

“Excellent work, Lonnie.  Did anyone see you?”

 

“There’s no one around except for an electrician in the hallway.”

 

“An electrician?” Wilson said with alarm.

 

“It’s fine, I’ve seen him around here before, don’t worry,” Lonnie replied.

 

“Okay, well meet me at Acton’s craps table, you can’t miss it once you get to the casino.  The bastard’s winning big.”

 

“See you soon,” she said.

 

Muntzy was still working on his light when Lonnie left the suite.  “Nice night, isn’t it?”

 

Lonnie smiled and looked up at him.  “You could say that,” she replied, walking down the hall.

 

Muntzy wasn’t comfortable giving Lonnie the original two-minute head start, so he counted a few long seconds before he started to follow.  “I’m on her tail,” he said.

 

“Be careful, Muntzy, I lost Wilson,” Michael replied.

 

“Relax, Agent Long, I’m the original man of steel,”

 

“Wilson’s at the craps table with Acton and Tanya.  Acton’s winning big, look for the giant cheering crowd,” Taylor said.

 

 

Lonnie showed up by Wilson’s side at the table.  Michael started to make his way over.

 

“There’s been a change of plans, Lonnie.  Take these keys and go to the top level of the parking garage.  There is a silver Z.  Get into the car and wait for us to show up,” Wilson said.

 

Lonnie nodded and started walking towards the parking garage.  Michael passed her as he just arrived to the craps table.  She looked at him and then back at Acton… or Tanya.  Before he could process it, Wilson approached him.

 

“Acton’s winning big,” Wilson said to Michael, “so stick with him.”

 

“All right,” Michael replied.

 

The table cheered as Acton rolled a seven.  “I can’t lose tonight,” he said.

 

Acton’s girlfriend, Tanya Walker, a platinum blonde stunner with dark-brown eyes that looked out of place, warned him against jinxing his luck.

 

“I make my own luck,” Acton said, kissing her.

 

Wilson stepped away from the table and began walking towards the parking garage.  Just ahead of him, he saw a black man in a utility jumpsuit dash out of an elevator and into the parking garage.  “Damn it.  Gray, they burned her.  A maintenance man is on her tail, take care of him.”

 

 

Michael watched Wilson disappear around the corner.  Apparently Taylor watched the same thing on the cameras.  “All units, get ready.  We have a broken play; they are headed towards the parking garage.  All other agents, wait for my signal.”

 

Michael was anxious to run to the parking garage to back up his team, “Muntzy, be careful, I think they’re on to you,”

 

 

Lonnie opened the car door when someone called out her name.  It was Muntzy.

 

“Lonnie!  It’s time, we have to—” Muntzy was cut off by a gunshot.  He fell to the ground, dead with a bullet in his back.

 

Lonnie screamed and looked up.  Gray was standing behind Muntzy, holding a gun.

 

 

The gunshot came over loud and clear over the radio.  Michael flinched well enough for a few people to notice, including Tanya.  There was too much at stake for Michael to remain undercover, and he blew it in front of Acton and Tanya by speaking to the agents on the other end of the frequency.  “Muntzy?  Muntzy!”

 

“Man down!  All agents to the top level of the garage, man down!” Taylor yelled.

 

Michael wasted no time in ditching Acton and Tanya and darted off to the garage.

 

Acton looked pissed.  He yelled after Michael.  “Where the hell are you going?” 

 

Tanya took off, running after Michael.

 

By the time they got to the garage, Lonnie, Gray and Wilson had just sped out. 

 

Michael ran over to Muntzy who was face down on the cement.  “Oh God,” his voice trembled as he approached his partner, “Muntzy?”  He examined Muntzy’s bloody wound and felt for a pulse.  He never found one.  “Shit!” he yelled, slamming his hand on the concrete.

 

At that instant, Michael knew Lonnie was in grave danger.

 

He leapt across the hood of a cab and flashed his FBI badge to the driver.  He got in and noticed Tanya was behind him in the backseat.

 

“All agents hold off pursuit, they’re mine,” he said.  Michael turned to Tanya, “Get out.”

 

“Michael, what the hell is going on, you’re being paid to protect Charles, not ditch him in the middle of a casino.”

 

Instead of replying, Michael opened his wallet, ripped out the phony credentials and held the window of his wallet with his FBI badge up so Tanya could see.

 

“FBI?  You?  What for?” Tanya asked, surprised.

 

“I’ll explain tomorrow, damn it, now out!”

 

“No, I’m going along, you may need some help,” she protested.

 

Michael sighed.  There was no time to argue, he hit the gas and hoped he could find Lonnie before it was too late.

 

“Tell me now, Michael.  What is happening?”

 

“Acton’s Chief of Security just ripped off Grumman of the Tomcat-X plans.  Or at least he thinks so.  Lonnie and Muntzy are FBI agents too, she infiltrated the team months ago on a tip we received, and he’s undercover as hotel staff.  We have six months in this and I was supposed to be right behind them,”

 

“No.  I don’t believe you,” Tanya said.

 

“Your boss killed my partner back there, I was supposed to be covering him, Tanya!  Add murder charges onto industrial espionage,” Michael yelled.

 

“There they are!” Tanya said, pointing at the windshield.

 

Michael could see the tail-lights of the Z in front of him.  They must have been caught in traffic considering the distance advantage they had over Michael, and now he was able to catch up to them in the Vegas outskirts.

 

Do something, Lonnie, Michael thought as he pursued them deeper into the desert.  Lonnie must have sped up or hit the brakes because Michael’s vision was obscured by a large amount of dust in front of them.  He had to squint to see through the cloud.  Michael knew he couldn’t catch up with her unless she slowed down.  His Dodge Caravan taxicab was no match for the Z she was driving.

 

His concentration was broken when his cell-phone rang.  Taylor was on the other end wondering where Michael was.   “I have Lonnie in my sights right in front of me.  Turn on the taxi’s GPS and send backup,” Michael said, not taking the time to talk any longer.  He put the phone in his coat pocket.

 

The tail-lights of the Z suddenly brightened and then went out.  But right before they darkened, Michael could see a slight swerve.  He knew Lonnie ran the car off the road, and prayed she didn’t hurt herself in the process.

 

When Michael reached the Z, he was relieved to see it in one piece and upright.  Gray was already out of the car, and Wilson was pulling Lonnie out of the car.

 

Michael hopped out of the taxi and raised his gun.  “Hold it right there.  If anyone moves, I fire.  Take out your weapons and toss them over here,”

 

The two men did as they were told and slid their guns towards Michael.  Wilson’s gun hit Tanya’s foot.  He tightened his grip on Lonnie’s arm.

 

“Looks like we made a mistake,” Wilson said.

 

“Just an underestimation,” Michael replied, “what did you plan to do with the designs?”

 

“Sell them to the highest bidder, of course,” Wilson said.

 

“I’d call that treason.  It draw’s the death penalty, you know,” Michael said.  He looked at Lonnie.  The light from the taxi flooded the desert scene, including her face.  There was a look in her eyes that made him think she was trying to tell him something.  He had a good idea that the two men were still armed, and it might be awhile before backup arrives.  “Tanya, pick up that gun.”

 

“No Michael!” Lonnie screamed.  Wilson punched her and threw her to the ground.  She was out cold.

 

“Not necessary, Michael.  I have my own,” Tanya said, taking a gun from her purse.  She stepped forward and aimed the gun close-range at Michael’s head.

 

Michael’s stomach dropped and his mind raced.

 

He looked at them again and noticed Lonnie was watching Tanya more than Acton himself...

 

Stevie laughed again.  She stood up to face Michael, despite her forehead just reaching his nose.  “I have a bad feeling about this.  You know I have these sixth sense feelings about things.”

 

Lonnie nodded and started walking towards the parking garage.  Michael passed her as he just arrived to the craps table.  She looked at him and then back at Acton... or Tanya.

 

“I believe the underestimation is on your head now, Michael,” Tanya said.

 

“Give me that gun.  If you all cooperate, I can pull some strings.”

 

“I’ve disappointed you, haven’t I?” she asked.

 

“Among other things, Tanya.  Give me the damn gun.”

 

Without a word, Tanya pulled the trigger and fired point-blank at Michael’s face.

 

A violent white flash and searing pain consumed Michael’s entire world.  He reached his hands up to his face only to discover he was clutching just muscle, blood and bone.  The force of the bullet pushed him back onto the hood of the taxi and he grotesquely rolled onto the desert floor, blood draining from his massive bullet wound into the sand.

 

Tanya tossed the gun onto his back.  “It’s all yours,” she said.

 

As he was losing consciousness, Michael could faintly hear the action around him.

 

“Where are the designs?” Tanya asked.

 

“She destroyed them.  Erased the data storage.” Wilson replied, “What should we do?”

 

“Get out of town quick,” Tanya said, “what other choice do we have?”

 

“And what about her?” Gray asked.

 

“Waste her,” Tanya said.

 

The last thing Michael Long heard was the gunshot that killed Lonnie.

 

 

Stevie’s tear-streaked face was seen only in the street-lights that danced through the windows of the car that was speeding towards the hospital.  “I told him not to go.  I told him,” she said in between sobs.

 

Taylor met her at the airport after the FBI rushed her to Vegas.  Stevie was easily in a state of panic when he gave her the news.  He would have preferred to wait to tell her what happened until they got to the hospital, but when he called her 5 hours ago, she screamed into the phone, demanding to know what exactly happened.

 

Taylor was left speechless in the wake of the tragedy, and tried his best to console her.  Word of Agent Muntzy and Sullivan’s deaths and Michael’s wounding reached the Bureau in no time, and everyone was shaken up.  Despite it being 4am in DC, a group of assistant directors called a meeting.

 

The attending physician in charge of Michael’s care was waiting for Stevie and Taylor when they arrived at University Medical Center’s ER.  He took the time to explain Michael’s grave situation. 

 

“Michael’s in critical condition.  We have nurses and doctors watching him around the clock.  He was shot point-blank in the head.  The bullet was on a trajectory that was headed right for Michael’s brain, but a metal plate deflected it,” the doctor said.

 

“He got that in Desert Storm,” Stevie said.

 

The doctor nodded grimly.  “That plate deflected the bullet through Michael’s face,”

 

“Meaning?” Stevie asked.

 

“Michael’s face was completely destroyed, Ms. Mason.  The bullet shattered several bones, damaged a number of arteries, caused extensive damage to his sinus system.  We don’t even know if he still has vision.  We speculate there is severe nerve damage but we can’t tell right now.  We can’t tell half of the trauma induced until his condition stabilizes.”

 

Stevie cradled her head in her hands fighting back her tears.

 

“Ms. Mason, I’m sorry to say this, but the odds of your fiancé surviving are less than 30 percent,”

 

That sent Stevie over the edge.  The lump in her throat swelled to an extent that the only thing she could do was cry.  She longed for all of this to be just a dream, where Michael would wake her up, kiss her and tell her everything would be OK.

 

This was no dream.

 

 

Michael was moved into the ICU 72 hours later.  Taylor walked in and found Stevie dozing at Michael’s bedside. 

 

It was hard to look at him.  For the first 36 hours, Michael needed constant watch as his facial wound kept bleeding and his dressings needed to be changed.  Tubes and machines were connected to him in every which way imaginable. 

 

Stevie looked horrible.  Taylor chided himself for thinking that, but she hadn’t slept since she arrived in Vegas.  He tried, but maybe caught 4 hours in the past three days.  Too much was on his mind concerning this case and Michael’s condition.

 

His bosses were not pleased that despite the fact Wilson and his team were foiled in their attempts, two agents were killed and another was seriously wounded. 

 

Michael left his cell-phone on the entire time.  Taylor heard everything, and was fuming to find out Tanya Walker was the mastermind behind it all.  His supervisors were just as elated as he was.

 

He kept wondering what the hell went wrong.  Had Walker and Wilson known all along?  Did Muntzy jump the gun by following Lonnie too soon?  Or were they never planning to meet at the front entrance, just in case?

 

Too many what-ifs were running around in his mind.

 

“Hi,” a voice said that broke him from his thought.  It was Stevie.

 

“Hi,” Taylor replied, sitting down across from her on the other side of Michael’s bed.

 

Stevie could sense something was wrong, “What is it?”

 

“I’ve been suspended,” Taylor said.

 

Stevie began to cry again, “No,” she said.  “You can’t be suspended, Paul.  Who is going to find them?  Someone has to find them!  You’re the only one who knows who they are.”

 

Before he could answer, the room erupted into chaos as a bunch of doctors and nurses burst into the room.  They pushed past Stevie and Taylor and surrounded Michael, all speaking at once.

 

A nurse quickly came and escorted Stevie and Taylor out of the room.  Stevie strained to try to hear what the doctors were saying, but all she could make out was medical terminology mixed around the words “crashing, trauma, bleeding out, emergency surgery.”  Before she could catch what was going on, the swarm of doctors was wheeling Michael out of the room.

 

“What’s going on?” Stevie asked, frantically.

 

“We got a signal at the nurses station,” a nurse said who Stevie didn’t recognize, “they’re taking him up to emergency surgery.”

 

“Oh God,” Stevie said, rushing after Michael.

 

A female doctor stopped her at the elevator doors.  “We need to take him upstairs right away,” she said, “the nurse will take you to the waiting room.  We’re taking care of him, Ms. Mason, I promise,” the doctor gave an assuring smile as the doors closed.

 

The nurse could see that Stevie was entering panic-mode.  She assured her that things would be just fine and walked her to another elevator to take her to the OR waiting room.  Taylor turned around and followed them.  Had he not turned around at that moment, he would have noticed Michael’s elevator skipped the OR-floor and went straight to the rooftop helipad…

                                                                                                                                       

 

Stevie sat at their dinner table staring at the folded American flag some unnamed Army general presented to her this morning at Arlington.  The gunshots from the 21-gun salute and the sound of bagpipes echoed in her mind repeatedly. 

 

The flowers he gave her eight days ago were dead, the necklace he gave her was still around her neck.  She fingered it absently as she read the note he left:

 

The scent of roses lingers... always.

 

“If I got out of Desert Storm alive, I am sure I will get out of an FBI sting in Las Vegas.”

 

“Why did you have to go, Michael?” she asked, halfway expecting a reply; instead the necklace felt warm.  Stevie looked up and around the house.  Their Georgetown home felt more than empty.

 

For the first time since she was rushed to Vegas, Stevie exploded in grief.  She grabbed the vase and tossed it across the room, screaming and crying as it shattered on the floor.  She cleared the table in one sweep of her arm, sending the jewelry box, the American flag, sympathy cards, and a plate of food she barely touched flying everywhere.  She tore off the necklace and fell to the floor, clutching the necklace as hard as she could.

 

This still was not a dream.

 

“I’ll be back.  I promise.”

 

 

Darkness.

 

“His scars are nearly healed,” a man said, with a clipped British accent.

 

“Mmm-hmm,” another man replied.

 

“Doesn’t it strike you that there is an uncanny resemblance between him and you as a young man?” the British man asked.

 

The other man grunted.

 

“Just my imagination, I suppose,” the British man replied.

 

“Stick to your task,” the other man replied with a gruff and raspy voice, “have you found them?”

 

“We’re still working on it, we’ve narrowed it down to three companies in two states,”

 

“And the Knight 2000?”

 

“It could be ready within a month,” the British man said, excitedly.

 

“Excellent!” the other man said, “I just hope I have a month left in me.”

 

“What have the doctors said?” the British man asked with a concerned tone.

 

“Never you mind what the doctors said, Devon.  I’ll worry about them… and Michael Long,”

 

Awake.

 

Who was talking?

 

Were there really voices or was it a dream?

 

He couldn’t figure out how long ago it was when his world plunged into darkness.  Today, it still was.  But something was different.  He could feel it.  Hell, he could actually feel for once.

 

Almost…

 

The last thing he saw was the explosion from Tanya’s gun.  The last thing he felt was unimaginable pain.

 

Indescribable.

 

Unbearable.

 

Not only did he feel the searing pain from the bullet exiting through his face, his head was throbbing from the impact his plate took from deflecting the bullet.

 

He reached up to feel his face not knowing what to expect.  The last time he felt his face, he could feel the edges of his skin where it was torn apart by the bullet, his muscles, bones… much more than a person is not supposed to feel.  This time, he felt… skin. 

 

Michael quickly sat up, opening his eyes and looking around.  He squinted, having not seen light in two weeks. 

 

He let off a quick scream, startled at the presence of two men at his bedside.

 

“Who the hell are you?” he asked.

 

“Hello Michael,” the first man said, “I’m Wilton Knight, and this is Devon Miles,” he said, gesturing to another man.

 

Both men were older than Michael.  The owner of the British voice, Devon, had to be in his late 50’s.  His grey hair was kept neat and he looked like he was born in the black and silver three-piece-suit he was wearing.

 

Wilton, looked to be 15 years older than Devon, his hair was sparse and he was dressed casually.  Had it not been for an oxygen tube feeding into his nostrils and a voice that made Michael want to clear his throat, he would have looked just as healthy as Devon.

 

Or anyone for that matter.

 

“How are you feeling?” Devon asked.

 

Michael was still rather disoriented to answer.  “How long have I been here?”

 

“About a month,” Devon replied.

 

Michael shot out of bed, and stumbled.  He had hardly any energy.  “A month?” he asked, irritated.  “I gotta go, I gotta get out of here.  I gotta get back to the Bureau, call Stevie—”

 

Devon looked at Wilton with a frown.  “Michael,” Wilton said, “there’s a great deal we have to explain to you—”

 

“Explain?  No,” Michael said, looking for his clothes and walking towards the sink.  He splashed water on his face and looked up, “I don’t have any time to—”

 

Michael’s blood ran cold when he saw the face staring back.

 

Michael couldn’t believe his eyes… literally.  Instead of his green to grey eyes, they were blue.  His eye sockets were slimmed down.  His hair was no longer light brown and spiky, instead it was dark brown, wavy and out of regulation.  His long cheekbones were more subdued, and his teeth were whiter.  The face in the mirror definitely wasn’t Michael Long.

 

“My face… Oh my God,” he said, “what happened to my face?”  He spun around to face Wilton and Devon. “What the hell did you do to my face?”

 

“I suppose you want some answers,” Wilton said.

 

“No shit, otherwise I wouldn’t be asking questions,” Michael replied.

 

“I promise I will tell you everything.  Trust me, son, we are not here to hurt you,” Wilton said.

 

“Not here to hurt me?  You’ve destroyed me!  What the hell have you done to my face?” Michael yelled, noticing his new eyes matched Wilton’s. 

 

“You’ll be much happier with this face,” Devon said, “unless you wish to walk around with the face of a man who could be killed… all over again.”

 

“What?” Michael asked.

 

“Everything will be explained to you in time, Mr. Long,” Devon said.

 

“I’m trying to tell you, I don’t have time—,”

 

“You do, Michael, more than you know.  Get dressed,” Wilton said, “and I’ll explain everything.”

 

Michael was about to protest when Devon cut him off, “You’ll find clothes and other necessities in the drawers.  I’ll take you downstairs when you are ready.”

 

The two men left, and Michael was alone again.

 

What the hell was going on?

 

Images flooded Michael’s mind from over a decade ago.  He was in Iraq as part of the 4^th Brigade Combat Team of the 101^st Airborne.  His battalion came under heavy fire as they went through what they thought was an abandoned town.  

 

A sequence of errors quickly followed, and Michael found himself captured along with some other members of the battalion.  They were merely hours away from one of Hussein’s torture camps before they were able to engineer an escape.

 

Him and a squad of 3 soldiers were able to overpower a team of Iraqi captors.

 

I’ll be damned if I can’t get away from here, he thought.

 

Then, in almost an instant of panic, he tore off his t-shirt and looked in the mirror.  His muscles were still there, but what was missing made his stomach drop and heart skip more than a few beats.  His Screaming Eagle’s tattoo was gone, completely erased from his body.

 

Michael sunk his head low, wishing it was all a dream.

 

 

“Where am I?” Michael asked Devon, as they left the hospital.  He squinted, having not seen sunlight for over a month.

 

“You’re in the Wilton Knight Hospital and Medical Center on the Knight Industries campus,” Devon replied, “Wilton was the man—”

 

“My face might be different, but my memory isn’t, give me some credit, Devon.  He’s also one of the world’s most richest men and popular philanthropist.  What does he want with me?”

 

“I’m afraid that is for Mr. Knight to explain,” Devon replied, as he walked over to a black golf-cart with the Knight Industries logo on the side.

 

The circular logo was the image of a medieval Knight’s head, set on an orange background with a black border.

 

“Nice wheels, Devon,” Michael said, sarcastically, “the old-man doesn’t pay you enough?” he said, getting in.

 

Devon shot a look at Michael.  “Dear boy,” he said half-laughing, “despite Mr. Knight’s generous philanthropy, I still get a paycheck, which is none of your concern, I may add.”

 

“Where are we?  How big is this place?” Michael asked, looking around.

 

“We’re across the bay from San Francisco,” Devon replied, “and we encompass a large number of acres with enough ‘breathing room’ if you will.  Plus, a view to admire.”

 

Michael looked across Devon and saw a sweeping view of the Pacific Ocean as they drove along a cliff side.  “Not bad.  Not bad at all.  What’s with the mansion?  Let me guess, the old man lives there.” he asked, gesturing towards a large mansion in front of them.

 

Devon grunted.  “Mr. Knight lives there, yes.  But that is also the headquarters for the Foundation for Law and Government, Mr. Long.  Your new workplace,” he said.

 

“I beg your pardon?” Michael asked, in an accent mocking Devon’s.

 

Devon grunted again as they approached the mansion.

 

During the final minutes of their trip, Michael tried his hardest to pull out information from Devon as best as he could, but Devon merely grunted and repeatedly told Michael that Wilton Knight would explain everything to him when he got there.

 

Michael hated being out of the loop.  Christ, that’s why he joined the FBI in the first place, to be on the inside, to be a part of the intelligence community.

 

Of course at that moment he realized the interrogation training he received too.  Not only was it his job to know information, but it was his job to retrieve information.

 

But before he was able to corner Devon into anteing up some answers, The Old Man was slowly walking out of the grand entrance to his mansion towards them.  Devon stopped and Michael got out.

 

“Good morning, Michael,” Wilton said, extending his hand.  Michael shook it.  “Glad to see you up and about.”

 

“Barely,” Michael replied, “I still need to get back in shape,” he said, stretching.  Michael had been nearly immobilized for the past month and felt the toll it took on his body.  He was definitely out of shape, as if he was in a body that was not his own… and definitely wearing a face that didn’t belong to him.

 

“You’ll have time for that,” Wilton said, “plenty of time.”

 

“What am I here for?” Michael said, narrowly escaping out of Devon’s way as he drove off.

 

Wilton looked out towards the sweeping view of the Pacific Ocean.  He looked up at the sky and inhaled.  “It’s a lovely day,” he said, “let’s take a walk outside.”

 

The two men started walking down the path running along the cliff.  Michael couldn’t help but look down on occasion at the mighty drop to the jagged rocks on the other side of the railing.  After a few endless seconds of not speaking, Michael began asking questions. 

 

Wilton, instead, shushed him off, telling Michael to enjoy the day and their surroundings, informing him that he would spend a great deal of time here.  Michael begrudgingly obliged.

 

After 45 minutes of walking the grounds of the estate, Wilton spoke.

 

“I suppose you have plenty of questions for me, Michael,” he said.

 

“Damn right,” Michael sharply replied.

 

“Well to start off, I am saddened to inform you that you are dead,” Wilton said, bluntly.

 

Michael stopped, grabbing the old man by the arm.  “What the hell are you talking about?” he asked, sweeping some wind-blown hair out of his face.

 

“Michael Long was involved in a shootout in Las Vegas during a botched FBI mission to prevent espionage within a defense contractor.  He died at University Medical Center in Las Vegas last month.  His funeral was held two days later.”

 

Michael gave a cheeky grin and turned his back to Wilton.  He grabbed the railing and looked out to sea.  “Unbelievable.”

 

“Don’t believe me, Michael?”

 

“No, I believe you.  I know what people like you can accomplish,” Michael said.

 

“People like me?”

 

“Powerful.  Rich.  Donated so much to the world, got power in exchange.  I just want to know how you did it.”

 

“And why, I assume?”

 

Michael nodded.

 

“You weren’t far from death, Mr. Long, I must say.  Your condition was all over the place, and doctors fought to keep you in an induced coma until the swelling around your brain subsided.  That metal plate in your head saved your life and bought us the opportunity we needed.”

 

“Opportunity for what?  I don’t know what you are going on about here, but I just want to get on with my own life.”

 

“Your own life, Michael?  What life?  You’ve been declared dead, given a few face…”

 

Michael turned to look at Wilton.  “Then what the hell am I here for?”

 

“A chance for a new life,” Wilton quickly said, “an opportunity that might be hard to refuse.”

 

“You sound like the Godfather,” Michael said, beginning to walk away.  Wilton hurried to catch up.

 

“You have the chance to walk away, Michael, but do you want to?  When your killers are still on the large?”

 

Michael stopped and spun around.

 

Wilton smiled.  “I knew that would get your attention.”

 

“What do you know about them?” Michael asked, as he began to pick up stones and throw them over the cliff.

 

“Enough to know how dangerous they are,” Wilton replied.

 

Michael rolled his eyes at that half-ass answer.

 

“First-hand knowledge, Mr. Long.”

 

“What?”

 

“Six years ago, Knight Industries was nearly destroyed by industrial espionage.  They single-handedly toppled everything I built, everything I worked for, stole multiple project designs and sold them off to the highest bidder.  I was in-line to become a defense contractor for the Armed Forces, but her espionage cost that contract.  And my marriage.”

 

Michael looked at Wilton with a tiny bit of sympathy.

 

“She wormed her way into me every-which-way possible.  I should have known better, I should have been smarter.  But I was 65, I was realizing the absolute terror that there were more days behind me than there were in front of me.  She was 28.  She was interested.  Interested in what?  Not some 65-year-old curmudgeon.  His money?  Perhaps.  What other reason was a 28-year-old woman doing with me?  My power?  My secrets?  She took it all.  Took the most powerful projects we’ve been developing—projects way ahead of their time, projects that could have revolutionized multiple industries.  In toppling my empire, she toppled me, and my projects made billions for someone else.

 

“It took awhile to rebuild.  She took my projects but she didn’t take my staff; the smartest people you’ll find on the planet.  We continued on, rebuilding Knight Industries, rebuilding our connections, reestablishing our trust in the private sector.  If she thought I was too scared to return, she was wrong.  I had my empire, I had my money, and I had everything you could imagine, but one thing.”

 

“Justice?” Michael asked.

 

“Exactly,” Wilton said, half-heartedly punching the air, “Tanya and her force were off somewhere and the law enforcement agencies were helpless.  They were too big.  The kind of criminals who operate above the law, nobody could touch them.

 

“Instead, I sought to create something powerful, something to make a difference, a way to fight in the world of criminals who operate above the law—to champion the cause of the innocent, the helpless, the powerless.  I created a private arm of Knight Industries, utilizing technology that is beyond state-of-the-art.  A firm that would not be controlled by our board of directors, nor influenced by government or politics.  It would be a way for me to continue philanthropy work in no other way imaginable.  A free-lance law enforcement agency called the Foundation for Law and Government.”

 

No doubt, Michael was impressed, and was finally able to relate to The Old Man.  “So how do I fit into all of this?” he asked.

 

“That’s up to you Michael,” Wilton said, “you’re here for a reason, it’s up to you to figure out what you want to do,” he walked away and Michael was left in thought, looking out to sea.

 

This still was not a dream.

 

 

Four weeks later, Wilton looked out of binoculars from his rear patio towards a track.  Michael was running laps.  “How much longer?” he asked Devon, who appeared behind him seconds earlier.

 

“We’ll meet the deadline,” Devon said, “one more week.”

 

“Put the crews on around the clock I want it done within the next 48 hours,” Wilton said.

 

An alarmed look flashed over Devon’s face.  “48 hours?  Wilton, what have the doctors—,”

 

“Doctors say their normal medical terms and give deadlines, much as I use technical terms and give deadlines as well.  Don’t worry about them,” Wilton ordered.

 

“What have you told him?” Devon asked, as Michael came closer on the track for another pass.

 

“I told him he fits into my equation one way or another, and it’s up to him to decide how he wants to,” Wilton said, “I told him he’s safe.  In the eyes of the law, Michael Long is legally dead.”

 

“Stealing a body from the morgue, shooting its face off, replacing its teeth and fingerprints, placing Mr. Long’s identification on it and overnighting it to Las Vegas is not exactly playing by the rules in the eyes of the law,” Devon said.

 

“That body was donated to the college of medicine anyway, they can get another one.  Besides, I make my own rules.  If the criminals we are after operate above the law, why can’t we?”

 

“All right, but why him?”

 

“That’s our man, Devon,” Wilton said.

 

“How can you be so sure?”

 

“He has the drive.  The dedication.  His entire world was destroyed, far different than mine.  He’s felt he’s failed his mission.  He’ll want to pick it up,” Wilton said.

 

“I still question your choice, Wilton.  He’s rather young—”

 

“He needs to be young.”

 

“And inexperienced.”

 

“You’re grasping at straws that aren’t there, Devon.  He has the law enforcement background necessary for this kind of job.  We couldn’t ask for someone better experienced in surveillance, research, and pursuit and capture.  Desert Storm was no Vietnam, but it still wasn’t a cake-walk.”

 

“He was captured there.”

 

“He survived.  He kept fighting.  It kept him living, just like me.”

 

“How did he take the fact that we knew Tanya Walker was involved the whole time?”

 

“He was angry, no doubt.  How would you feel, Devon, if you found out you were chasing the wrong person for months?”

 

“Rather upset, I suppose.  I assume Mr. Long’s reaction was triple that, however.”

 

“It was,” Wilton said, “but still understandable.”

 

“He’s aggressive,” Devon said.

 

“He’ll need that.  I doubt our adversaries will be inviting him to talk out their troubles over a spot of tea, Devon,” Wilton said.

 

“I’ll give you his ability to work in a team,” Devon said, “but the majority of his work will consist of him on his own.”

 

“Every man has the ability and preparedness to work on his own.  Michael knows the value of a team, but knows the value of one man can be a force greater than any army put together.  Michael Long is our man.  He will be the proof that one man can make a difference.”

 

Devon opened his mouth to speak, but was left speechless.

 

“On your way Devon,” Wilton said as Michael approached.

 

Michael dashed up the stairs and collapsed on the stone bench, wiping sweat away from his brow.

 

“Aren’t you pushing it a bit, Michael?” Wilton asked.

 

“I gotta get in shape real fast,” Michael said, “I’ve been sitting around too long.  I got one last score to settle,” Before Wilton could speak, Michael added a powerful blow.  “Alone.”

 

“Revenge?”

 

“Pursuit and capture.  I have a mission to finish.”

 

“You aren’t an agent anymore.  You aren’t even Michael Long anymore.  In a matter of speaking, you aren’t even alive anymore.  I told you weeks ago that it’s up to you how you want to fit into the Foundation,” Wilton said, “What if I told you that by working together, we can take down Tanya and her friends.  But they’re just the tip of the iceberg—”

 

“Mr. Knight, you gave me a second chance to live, and for that I am grateful, but now comes the time where we have to part ways.  I blew it in Vegas; I got my team killed.  You of all people should understand I can’t take responsibility for anyone’s life but my own any longer.”

 

 

Michael checked his watch.  It read midnight.  Despite the cold, he made his second pass through the campus, a five-mile run, and planned to take two more.  He passed by a building that resembled an aircraft hanger.  Last night, around this time, the hanger was busy with activity, and stayed busy throughout the night.  During his first run tonight, he noticed a small amount of activity.  It looked like people were wrapping up their work.

 

This time, the hanger was dark and empty.  Whatever they were working on, they finished.

 

It was Michael’s instincts that told him to check it out.  He walked towards the large set of hangar doors and approached a nested-personnel door. 

 

After picking the lock, Michael entered the dark building.  The door closed behind him and the slam echoed throughout the edifice.  It also plunged him into almost complete darkness.

 

A lone, dim, spotlight shone on the floor in the middle of the warehouse.  Michael stepped forward into it, looking around.  “Hello?” he asked, his voice booming in the building.

 

Off in the distance… or was it behind him… Michael heard a faint whirring noise.  He squinted ahead of him and saw narrow red lights chasing each other, as if they were scanning the building.  They appeared as if they hovered in the middle of the warehouse.  The whirring noise seemed to correspond with the mini-floating-light-show.

 

Suddenly, without warning, four lights, two on either side of the scanner, turned on and nearly blinded Michael.  An engine roared to life and what appeared to be a car began bearing down upon him.

 

Michael stood his ground.  The car screeched to a halt just inches from his legs.

 

Bathed in light, Michael could see he was looking at a sleek black sports car.  A Cadillac XLR, to be specific.

 

The massive halogen lights in the hangar illuminated, and Michael was able to finally appreciate the size.  The building was large enough to encompass an Airbus 380 and seemed wasted on the car.  A retro corporate jet sat in the far corner.

 

“Enough Devon,” a voice said, echoing throughout the hangar.  Michael looked behind him.  Wilton was standing at the door and turned on the lights.  “You’ve had your fun with our guest,” he said.

 

Michael looked back towards the Cadillac.  Devon got out of the car with a smug grin.  “It is impolite to sneak around uninvited,” he said.

 

“Be gracious, Devon,” Wilton chided, “I think it’s time we explained ourselves.”

 

“You’re damn right it is.  What’s going on here?  What is all of this?  You could put a small country’s food supply in here and still be a quarter full,” Michael said.

 

“I’m an inventor, Michael.  I like my space.  That jet you see will revolutionize the corporate jet industry.  Your former agency is in line to buy six, I believe,” Wilton looked around, and began walking towards the Cadillac, “I don’t get to put my hands in the action anymore, however,” he said, running his fingers along the car, “but I still need a place to dream.  A place to create my crowning achievement for my newest mission.”

 

“So this is why people have been sneaking in and out of here at all hours of the night,” Michael said.

 

“Look who’s talking,” Devon said.

 

“Enough, both of you.  Let’s face the facts, gentlemen.  My clock’s ticking.  The car is ready for Michael.  He’s back in shape and healthy enough to carry on—”

 

“Carry on what, Mr. Knight?” Michael asked, slightly annoyed, “I thought I made it clear that no matter how much I appreciate your hospitality and saving my life, I need to get out there and restart it.  Not to mention find those who meant the most to me and convince them I am someone who has been killed.  How in the hell did you ever think of that when you built this face for me?”

 

“That’s not very grateful,” Devon said, “downright selfish.”

 

“How can you stand there and say that when I had no control over what you did?  Mr. Knight, thank you for the second chance at life, thank you for offering your protection and a chance to work for you.  But I need to piece together my life and go after those who tore it apart,” Michael said, “If you got this car for me, I appreciate it.  I’ll pull out of here tonight and pay you back—”

 

“Dear boy,” Devon said, laughing, “there’s no possible way you could ever repay us for this car.”

 

“It looks like a 2006 Cadillac XLR to me,” Michael said, trying not to eye and drool over the car too much.

 

“From this angle, yes.”

 

“Fine, keep the car, loan me bus fare.  Whatever you want to do, I owe you my life, Mr. Knight, but it’s time to go.”

 

Wilton looked anguished but kept his poise.  “Prepare the car for him, Devon.”

 

A dumbstruck look crossed Devon’s face.  He stood there for a number of seconds before he could manage: “But… sir…”

 

“I said prepare the car, Devon.  There’s a great deal he needs to know about it before he can drive it safely,” he stumbled and caught his balance on his cane.  “I must go to bed.  I’m not… feeling well,” he said, trying to walk quickly out of the warehouse.

 

Michael felt like he knocked the cane out from under the old man.  Neither men spoke until Wilton was gone.

 

“You just struck a dying man,” Devon said, angrily.

 

“I like that old man,” Michael said, defensively, “I owe him my life—”

 

“A small price to pay for what he offered you,” Devon shot back,” you wouldn’t even have a life if we hadn’t brought you here—”

 

“And left Lonnie to die.”

 

“Your partner was killed instantly, Mr. Long, there was nothing we could do.  What we were able to do was save you.  You do realize there are people out there who will kill you if they know you are still living?” Devon said, “Anyone who has met you, I imagine.”

 

Michael shot a disdainful look at Devon.  “I’m legally dead, Mr. Bond,” he said with a mocking-British accent, “I don’t even know myself with this face.”

 

“So you plan on running then, laying low and not avenging your own death?”

 

“Now wait a minute.  I never said that.”

 

“That’s what it sounded like to me.”

 

“Then get your hearing examined.  I plan to take out Tanya and her friends out.  My way.”

Devon rolled his eyes.  “Your way, Mr. Long?  If I recall correctly, your way got you and two other FBI agents killed, and destroyed the career of your team leader.  If ruining multiple lives in multiple methods is your way of doing things, Mr. Long, then good luck.”

 

“You know where they are, don’t you?” Michael asked.

 

Devon stood silent.  “We begin our work tomorrow.  6am.”

 

“6am, Devon are you nuts?” Michael asked, looking at his wristwatch, “it’s midnight.”

 

“Then you should get some sleep, shouldn’t you?” Devon asked as he walked towards the exit, leaving Michael alone with the car.

 

 

5:45am.  Michael had been awake the whole night.  He strongly believed he could go it alone, but knowing Tanya and her friends, would that be wise?  How long could he last if he didn’t use the Foundation’s resources?  Suddenly, The Old Man began making a hell of a lot more sense.

 

Michael quickly got dressed and left his room in the Estate.  Devon was already waiting for him downstairs with the XLR already running.  “Good morning,” he said with faux energy.  He got the impression Devon did not get much sleep either.

 

“Good morning,” Devon replied, handing him a small thermos.  “It’s a blend of tea I use to wake up.  Discovered it in Greece.”

 

“Thank you,” Michael said, taking a sip, “Not bad.”

 

“Why are we standing around?  Get in,” Devon said, gesturing towards the driver’s side.

 

Michael got into the driver’s seat and looked around.  The dashboard console had been heavily modified, if not completely replaced.  Digital readouts were in front of Michael displaying multiple types of information.  In the middle, five buttons on each side bordered a blacked out vertical rectangle.  Bordering the bottom of the rectangle was a lighted yellow square reading “Normal.”  Under that, a medium-sized plasma screen was displaying a camera angle from the front of the car.  Below the screen was a DVD-ROM drive.  The modified dashboard curved around so two small plasma screens and multiple buttons faced the driver.

 

The steering wheel wasn’t spared in the massive redesign either.  Instead of a complete circle, a gull-wing wheel was in its place.

 

“This isn’t your ordinary Cadillac,” he said to Devon who sat down in the passenger seat.

 

“You’re correct, Mr. Long.  Welcome aboard the Knight 2000.”

 

“Thank you.  What is all this?” Michael asked, gesturing towards the dashboard, “It looks like Darth Vader’s bathroom.”

 

“You’re sitting in the crowing achievement of Knight Industries.  It is a one of a kind car, Mr. Long, it is the most technologically advanced car in the world.  It is faster, safer, and stronger than any car you have ever seen.  It is virtually indestructible and completely operated by a series of microprocessors that prohibit the car from being involved in any kind of collision or mishap, unless specifically ordered by the driver.  In essence, the Knight 2000 can deduce predicaments that might cause harm to the vehicle or the driver and avoid those situations.”

 

“You’re telling me this Caddy thinks?  My car thinks?”

 

“We like to think of it as our car,” Devon replied, reaching over.  “Now, to propel the car forward, simply—”

 

“I know how to drive, Devon, thanks,” Michael said, pressing the gas pedal.

 

The power that came from the Knight 2000 was amazing and Michael was nowhere near prepared for it.  The car launched forward down the driveway and crashed through the metal gates.

 

“Holy shit!” Michael said, slamming on the brakes.  “Oh God,” he said, scrambling out of the car.  Devon got out too.  Michael ran to the front, looking at Devon, “I’ll pay to get it fixed, I will.  It got away from me…” he trailed off, looking at Devon, who was grinning from ear to ear.

 

Michael looked at the prow of the XLR and his mouth dropped open.  Despite crashing through a large gate, the car was untouched.  There was not a single scratch, or dent, or chip of the paint.

 

“What the hell?” Michael asked reaching forward and feeling the paint.  “What kind of paint is this?  It feels like baby skin.  What’s this car made of?”

 

“It’s not paint,” Devon said, “and it’s not fiberglass.  It’s a finish bonded to the molecular surface of a new substance.  A specialized formula, developed right here at Knight Industries.”

 

“It’s great the car is indestructible, but you also said it couldn’t get into an accident,” Michael said, getting back into the car.

 

Devon sat down next to him.  “Only when the system is operating, Mr. Long.  And for that, you must turn it on,” he said, as he pressed a series of buttons on a console between them.

 

“You’re telling me I can’t hit anything,” Michael said.

 

“Trust me,” Devon said.

 

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Michael said, pressing the gas again.

 

The XLR launched forward again, this time streaking out of the Estate and quickly off the Knight Industries campus.

 

The sun was just rising as the car streaked along the Pacific Coast Highway.  The ride was so smooth, Michael hadn’t noticed he was handling the break-neck curves at 80 miles per hour.

 

“I’ll be putting this car to the test, Devon,” Michael said gripping the steering wheel harder and hitting the gas.

 

“Be my guest,” Devon said, leaning back into the seat.

 

Michael eyed an intense curve in the road instructing drivers to slow down to 30 miles-per-hour.  He kept his speed at 80.

 

As he neared the curve he could feel the XLR taking some control.  He felt it speed up.  The square reading “Normal” changed to “Auto.”  He looked at the digital speedometer and saw it reading 100.  He then felt the car begin to steer itself.

 

“What the hell?” he said as they navigated the curve.  “Devon, the car just took control and steered itself!  It drove itself through the curve!”

 

“Splendid, isn’t it?” Devon asked, smiling.

 

“I hate it!” Michael said.  “I like to make my own decisions.”

 

“The computer systems deduced you were acting in the contrary to your best and safest interests.  It evaluated the appropriate measures to maneuver through the curve and executed them,” Devon explained.

 

“Yeah, but why speed up, why not slow down?  It would have been a lot safer that way.”

 

Devon sat silent, obviously trying to think his answer.

 

“Devon?  Why did the Cadillac speed up?  Did I just find a flaw in your perfect machine?”

“No… no flaw, I assure you.  The car had complete control, we both felt that.  It’s just…”

 

“It’s just what?” Michael asked, anxious.

 

“It was showing off for you,” Devon said, simply.

 

“What?!” Michael said, stopping along the side of the road.

 

“Don’t blame the Knight 2000 completely,” Devon said, “I had a small part in it.  I could have set the system for certain conditions.  Such as actual road driving, pursuit driving, or…”

 

“Or what?” Michael asked.

 

“Or setting it to react to a complex network of road conditions.  Any conditions imaginable.  It can drive itself, without an operator, if necessary.” Devon said.

 

“So this car can take off on its own just like that?” Michael asked.

 

Devon nodded.

 

“It’d suck to be working under it.”

 

“It wouldn’t do anything to harm you.  One of Mr. Knight’s commands for programming the systems was the preservation of human life.  More specifically, your life.”

 

“By me, you mean anyone driving it?”

 

“No,” Devon said, “I mean you.  Michael Arthur Long.”

 

 

By 8am, Wilton was walking the grounds of the Estate, enjoying the day’s crisp weather.  The Estate was just out of view as Wilton walked along the cliff side, watching the ocean.  Then he suddenly stopped, and gripped the railing along the wall.  He was running out of breath, feeling dizzy.  His right arm refused to let go of the railing, as the rest of his body seemed to fail and fall out from under him.  As he was slowly falling to the ground, he reached around with his free hand to his neck and pressed a button on his necklace…

 

 

Sweat was all but pouring down Michael’s face as he got the Cadillac XLR up to 200 miles per hour.  He looked at the red glowing rectangle reading “Pursuit” under the mysterious black square.  A tense look crossed his face as it was nearing 220.  He was annoyed at Devon’s comfortable look, as if he did this every single day.

 

By 225, Michael flinched and hit the brakes.  “Two-twenty-five,” Michael said, “it wins.  How fast does it go?”

 

“You don’t want to know,” Devon said, chuckling. 

 

Michael began driving again, at a more normal speed.  “Why am I here, Devon?” he asked.

 

“It was no random choice we saved your life, Michael.  We had been keeping our eyes on Miss Walker and her associates for some time now.  We were trying to gather enough evidence to put them away for good.  Catch them in the act,”

 

“Is that why I’m here?” Michael asked, “You wanted to use me to get them?”

 

“Don’t think of yourself as a pawn, Michael,” Devon said, “we saw something in you.  It wasn’t your fault the intelligence was wrong—”

 

“Lonnie knew.”

 

“Your partner was in a dangerous situation where she could not tell you that Miss Walker was involved—”

 

“She tried to send me signals.  I should have known them better.  I underestimated Tanya and her team.”

 

“You had drive and dedication to take them down against all odds.  You still do.  The operation went wrong, yes.  Your partners lost their lives, yes.  But you were spared for many reasons, Michael.  Do you want it to go to waste?”

 

While Michael was thinking, Devon’s cell-phone began to ring and he answered.  A grim look crossed his face.  “We must get back to the campus immediately.”

 

 

Michael and Devon rushed to the Estate and into Wilton’s dimly lit bedroom.  He lay on his bed with his eyes closed.

 

“My God, we’re too late,” Michael said.

 

Wilton’s eyes opened slowly.  They focused on Michael.  “How was the car?”

 

“Amazing,” Michael said, “that needs to be on the market.  It could save hundreds of lives.”

 

“No!” Wilton wheezed, “I have other plans for that car.  Besides, the corporations would do everything in their power to keep that car off the market,” Wilton said, angrily, and coughing in between words.

 

Wilton took a deep breath and looked at Michael again.  “Michael,” he said, “I am sorry for my distrust of your organization.  It’s that distrust that inadvertently set you up for disaster.  But please think of the chance you have.  You do not exist, you are legally dead.  Your fingerprints have been altered, and no one can trace the source of your funds or your identity.”

 

“But who am I?”

 

“You’re Michael Knight.”

 

Michael stood still staring at the dying old man.  “You set this up?”

 

“I put the ball in motion, but you set it up yourself, Michael.  Your persistence to go it alone establishes your faith that one man can make a difference.  Keep that spirit with you.  Make it your obsession as much as it is mine.”

 

“Mr. Knight…  I wish I could stand here and tell you I can take on the world.  But I don’t know… How am I supposed to stop them?  I had a whole team back there, Mr. Knight.  Lonnie was killed.  Muntzy was killed.  Hell, I was killed.  My life is over, my friends and fiancé think I am dead.  I wake up in the middle of the night soaking wet and shaking.  I see that gun going off in my face over and over.  I hear the second shot that killed Lonnie.  I watch my world blow up again.”

 

“That’s what you need, Michael.  Don’t you understand that memory is what kept you alive?  It is your baptism by fire into this new life.  Don’t turn in fear.  Remember what you are here for.  Tanya Walker and her group are just the beginning.  There are many more like them out there, and it will be up to you to get them.  It’s up to you to continue what I started.”

 

A smile crossed Wilton’s face and he reached out his hand.  Michael took it and fought back emotions.

 

The life was obviously slipping out of Wilton.  “One man can make a difference, Michael.  My adventure is over… Yours has just… just begun.”

 

Wilton closed his eyes.  His smile faded to a look of peace and comfort.

 

 

Days later, when the media frenzy surrounding Wilton Knight’s death finally subsided; Michael was virtually racing Devon to the large garage.

 

“Slow down, please?  I’m puffed,” Devon said, out of breath.

 

“The Old Man could keep up with me, Devon, and he was 15 years older than you and dying of cancer,” Michael said.

 

“Where are you off to in such a hurry anyway?  You don’t even know where you are going.”

 

“I suppose you do?” Michael asked.

 

Devon stood for a second, obviously contemplating his next course of action.  “She’s in Goodyear, Arizona, working for a corporation called ComTron.  She is the executive assistant to the CEO, William Benjamin,” Devon reported.

 

“ComTron?  Sounds like a Disney movie rip-off,” Michael said, opening the door and entering the garage.

 

Devon ignored Michael and followed him inside.  “ComTron is another defense contractor specializing in communications equipment.  It is currently developing a communications system for the next generation of Army tanks.  The system is also being designed to be adapted for civilian use.  A change that would revolutionize mass communications.  We believe Tanya and her staff are after it.”

 

“If she’s in Arizona, that’s where I’m going.  Today.”

“Absolutely not,” Devon stated.

 

“Are you forbidding me?” Michael asked, mocking Devon’s accent.

 

“You bet,” Devon replied.

 

“You can’t forbid me to go,” Michael said.

 

“I’ll take away the car.”

 

“I’ll find another one.  Besides, The Old Man said last week this car is for me,”

 

“Not exactly,” Devon said, reaching into his coat pockets.  He handed Michael a car registration slip.  The owner of the Cadillac was listed as Michael Knight.

 

“Michael Knight?”

 

“Michael Long is dead.  I doubt you’d want to die a second time with that name.”

 

“How do I suddenly become Michael Knight?  I mean The Old Man said it, but—”

 

Devon handed Michael a black wallet.  Michael took it and opened it, thumbing through the contents.  “Drivers license… credit cards…”

 

“All on Mr. Knight’s orders,” Devon said, “You will need to sign the credit cards, however.  Be sure you use your new moniker.”

 

“Good to know Michael Knight’s credit score is higher than Michael Long’s,” Michael said, opening the door to the Cadillac.

 

Devon grunted.  “There’s one possibility I’ve been reluctant to mention.  It could be extremely dangerous.”

 

“What?”

 

“We’ve been speculating that Tanya might not be the mastermind behind these thefts.  There might be a chance she is working for someone more powerful.”

 

“Who?  What’s his name?” Michael asked.

 

“We don’t know.  All we do know is that our criminologists are observing a pattern she might not be, how you say, large and in charge.”

 

“You want me to find out who it is?”

 

Devon nodded.  “And stop Tanya.  Putting her and her team behind bars is your first priority.  After that, we can interrogate them.”

 

“The Old Man had something long term in mind when it came to me, didn’t he?” Michael asked.

 

“Against his better judgment, yes,” Devon replied. “You are to be the operative for the Foundation for Law and Government.  The Operative Program is a project Wilton was creating simultaneously with the Knight 2000.”

 

“And he wants me for the program?  That’s a hell of a job offer, Devon.”

 

“I urge you to think about it while you are after Miss Walker,” Devon said.

 

“I will.”

 

“Good, and I will use the time to hold on to the thought you will decline.”

 

Michael ignored him and got into the car.  He pressed the POWER button on the dashboard extension to his right and the car came to life.

 

In a last ditch attempt to protest, Devon spoke.  “Please, there are so many systems of the car you don’t know yet.”

 

“That’s all right,” Michael said, “I am a fast study.  I’ll learn them on the way.  I have a long drive ahead of me.”

 

“That’s very foolhardy—”

 

“We don’t like each other, it’s obvious.  But it was The Old Man’s wish we at least work together cordially to take out Tanya.  I can be polite, how about you?”

 

“Naturally,” Devon said through grinded teeth.

 

“Then get off my back, Devon.  The Old Man must have known something when he picked me as his operative.  He trusts you Devon, completely.  Maybe it’s about time you trusted him,” Michael said, putting the car into gear and sped out of the garage.

 

 

After fighting traffic for more than an hour, Michael finally was on open road headed towards Bakersfield.  He was examining the elaborate dashboard and all the functions.

 

The one thing he couldn’t figure out a use for was the black square above the central monitor.  He hadn’t seen it light up or do anything since he began driving.  The button below it read Normal, and the only time he watched that display change was when the car took over and drove itself around the curve.

 

“All these expensive gadgets and they don’t give you a stereo or a clock?” Michael said, believing he was speaking to no one in particular.

 

“The time is currently 8:45 AM, Pacific Daylight Time,” a voice said.

 

Michael jumped and hit his head on the roof.  His heart must have skipped four beats.  Who the hell was in here with him?  “What the hell was that?”

 

“You may access my stereo functions through the touch screen on the central monitor,” the voice said as a feature appeared on the monitor, “I am equipped to receive standard AM and FM radio signals, in addition to XM Radio.  If you have a peripheral system such as an mp3 player, you may plug that directly into my port system located underneath the dual monitors to your right.”

 

Michael was left speechless for a few minutes as he drove.  As the voice spoke, three bars, composed of tiny rectangles, moved up and down in the once-unknown black box.  They moved from the center out in both directions in conjunction with the voice.

 

“Who the hell are you?  How are you listening in?” Michael asked, loudly.

 

“I am reading your multiple interrogatives quite satisfactorily, there is no need for raised volume,” the voice said.

 

Michael pulled the car over to the side of the road.  “Who are you?” he asked calmly, his heart still racing.

 

“I am the voice of the Knight Industries Two Thousand microprocessor.  K-I-T-T for easy reference.  You may call me KITT if you prefer.”

 

Michael watched the bars move as KITT spoke.  “KITT?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You’re the car?”

 

“I am the voice of the centralized system that operates this vehicle,” KITT replied.

 

What the hell was going on, Michael asked himself.  Devon said to trust him.  Michael determined at this moment he would never trust anyone again.

 

“You’re a computer?”

 

“I am many things,” KITT replied.

 

“Well that’s great KITT,” Michael said, sardonically, “but I don’t quite fancy driving around a car that can talk back to me, so either clam up or get yourself a new driver,”

 

“I’ve not been programmed to overrule your wishes, Mr. Knight,” KITT said.

 

Michael noted the distinct sound of KITT’s voice.  Annoying as it was that the car could carry on a conversation with him, it still was a soothing voice, with a slight touch of a Boston accent.  Michael appreciated the detail that went into the programming.  But…

“Good to know, because I don’t wanna hear a peep out of you until I can find the mute button,” Michael said.  He noticed a small bar light up on KITT’s voice display.  He interrupted it.  “And don’t think of offering any musical suggestions.”

 

The voice display went blank.

 

“A car that can talk back to me.  What else did The Old Man think of?” Michael asked, half expecting KITT to reply.  When he didn’t, he started breathing easier.  “Good night.”

 

“Good night.”

 

 

Running.  Michael was running somewhere, but he couldn’t tell.  He was running at top speed, apparently trying to reach something, quickly.  He couldn’t see where he was going.  He couldn’t see where he was. 

 

Soon, he reached a pair of doors, and burst through them.  He recognized where he was immediately, but how the hell did he end up in the Montecito?

 

He looked behind him and the doors were gone.  He was standing with his back against the wall.  He partially jumped when something in his ear squawked.  He reached up and felt his earpiece.

What the hell?

 

The casino was packed.  People were looking at him as they passed.  He began to slowly walk forward, looking for something.  Anything.

 

Wait a second.

 

Stevie?  What was she doing here?

 

Michael watched as Stevie coasted through the crowed.  She stood out above everyone else.

 

Michael followed her as she disappeared into an excited crowd at a craps table.  After he gave up trying to find her in the mess, he spotted Acton and Tanya, with Wilson close by their side.

 

“Looking for someone?” a voice said from behind.

 

Michael spun around.  Gray was standing there with his usual smug grin.  He also was holding a gun.  No one seemed to notice this gun in plain sight.

 

“Just your boss,” Michael coolly replied, turning around to watch the crowd.  Tanya had gone.  Stevie was in her place.  “What the hell?  What do you want with her?”

 

“Don’t ask us.  You’re the one who brought her here.”

 

“Me?  No.  I told her to stay home.  I knew this would be too dangerous.”

 

“Did you?” a different voice asked.  It was Tanya.  “Did you truly know the outcome?”

 

Michael watched Stevie blow on the dice right before Acton tossed them.  “How could I know?”

 

“You didn’t,” Devon said, “it wasn’t your fault.”

 

Stevie looked up across the craps table right at Michael.  The entire casino quieted.  Half of the crowd was looking at her, while the other half was staring at Michael.  “You said you’d be right back…” Stevie sobbed.

 

Michael’s first instinct was to walk towards her.  It’s not fair.  He was going to be right back.  That’s what he intended all along.  Someone grabbed his arm before he could move.  It was Wilton.

 

“You have a new life now, son.  Going after her would only put her in danger.”

 

“I don’t care,” Michael said pulling away.  He started running towards the craps table, pushing the crowd out of his way.  The table seemed farther and farther away with each step he took towards it. 

 

Suddenly, Michael stopped.  Gray was standing behind Stevie.  His gun aimed at her back.  Michael screamed her name, but no sound came out.  Gray fired and Stevie fell.

 

“Stevie!” Michael yelled again.  Only this time, he was standing behind the wounded body… at the parking structure.

 

Michael ran forward, falling next to the body.  It was Muntzy.  He was dead.  Again.  Only this time, blood was pouring out of his wound.  If the blood was coming that quickly, he might be alive after all.

 

Michael pressed his hardest against the wound, trying anything to stop the bleeding.  Somehow, it only made Muntzy bleed faster and harder.

 

Under his own energy, Muntzy turned around to face Michael.  He reached up and grabbed Michael’s shoulder.  “Go after her, Michael.  Don’t let her get away.”

 

“Who?  Who, Muntzy?”

 

Muntzy gestured over towards a silver Z.  Stevie was sitting inside of it.

 

“No…” Michael said in anguish as the Z sped off.  Stevie pressed her hand against the window, calling out to Michael.  “Muntzy, you gotta hang on!” Michael pleaded.  But Muntzy vanished.

 

Another gunshot got Michael’s attention.  This time, it was right in front of him.  Tanya killed him again.

 

Michael felt himself thrown against the hood of the car, but this time, did not feel any pain.  He was still conscious and alert when he hit the ground, but couldn’t move.

 

“Where are the designs?” Tanya asked.

 

“She destroyed them.  Erased the data storage,” Wilson replied, “What should we do?”

 

“Get out of town quick,” Tanya said, “what other choice do we have?”

 

“And what about her?” Gray asked.

 

“Waste her,” Tanya said.

 

Michael watched Gray take out his gun, aim it carefully at Lonnie’s head and fire.  But a split second before her brains were blown out, her face transformed into Stevie’s.

 

“NO!” Michael screamed.  His eyes flew open.  He was still inside the car.  Sweat was pouring down his face.  Tears were pouring out of his eyes.  He couldn’t breathe.  He couldn’t focus.

 

He slammed on the brakes and the car stopped.  He looked over and saw it was in Auto Cruise.

 

Not knowing how long he slept, or where the hell he even was, Michael got out of the car and walked down the empty roadway, wiping the sweat off his brow and catching his breath.  “Oh God,” Michael said, “What the hell am I doing here?”

 

He stopped, letting loose a barrage of expletives out loud and in his mind.

 

This wasn’t supposed to happen, Michael thought.  It should have been an in and out operation.  All they needed to do was to catch them with the evidence and arrest them.

 

Michael kept seeing Lonnie’s non-verbal cues over and over again.  She might as well place a neon sign over Tanya’s head.  How could Michael have missed those?

 

He was better than that.  It was his entire fault.  If he had been paying more attention instead of…

Thinking of Stevie…

 

No.

 

No.  Michael refused to blame her for what happened.  It wasn’t her fault she was on his mind.  They were in love.  Excuse me for having emotions, he thought.

 

But she did cloud his mind.  His mind was not focused on the mission.

 

But he loved her.

 

But he was supposed to be paying more attention.

 

“Shut up!” Michael yelled out loud to no one.

 

Michael finally stopped walking and calmed down.  Everything would be ending soon.  He was going to get Tanya.  No matter what.

 

He turned around, expecting to begin walking back towards KITT, but found the damned car right behind him.  He semi smiled.  He took a step backwards.

 

The car moved forward.

 

He took a few more steps backwards.

 

The car moved forward more.

 

He took a step to the right. 

 

KITT’s wheels turned to the right.

 

He took a few steps to the left.

 

The wheels turned left.

 

Michael laughed and walked towards the driver’s side door.

 

It opened for him.

 

“Thanks,” he said, getting in and sitting down.  “Where are we?”

 

Instead of the car replying, an image was displayed on the central monitor.  Michael saw they were just outside of a town called Wickenburg.  He didn’t know how long he was asleep, but knew he slept through Las Vegas.

 

How fitting.

 

Michael pressed the Normal Cruise button and slammed on the gas.  He had one hour left to drive and found himself more focused than he ever was in his life.

 

 

A few miles down the highway, two policemen sat in their cruiser, obviously bored.

 

The cop in the passenger side seat was halfway snoozing, while the cop in the driver’s seat was fiddling with a radar gun pointed at the road.  He dug a cell-phone out of his trousers and dialed a number.

 

“Hey hun, it’s me… It’s James, who the hell do you think it is… No… no one today… What can I say, it’s a boring town… I don’t know when I will be up for promotion, you ask me this every damn day… I’ll get off when I get off… No, I probably wont meet my quota… I can’t make em… Yes I am hiding…”

 

A beeping sound stirred the cop out of his conversation.  He looked over at his radar gun.  “I’ll call you back,” he said, examining the readout.

 

He nudged his partner awake.  “I got something here,” James said.

 

The partner woke up and grunted.  “What?”

 

“I got something down the road.  It’s at… whoa… 80 miles an hour!”

 

“Damn kids think they own this road,” the partner said, rubbing his eyes.

 

“Good god… 160.  190?  225?!  It’s off the scale!”  James tapped the radar gun lightly, thinking he was seeing things.

 

The two cops got out of their cruiser and looked down the road.  A black form was bearing down upon them, and the only thing they could hear was a faint hiss.

 

“Maybe it ain’t a car,” the partner said.

 

The black form zoomed by at such a high rate of speed; it blew off their clip-on ties.  They watched the car speed away.

 

“What was that?!” the partner asked.

 

James turned to his partner, a blank stare in his eyes.  “A Cadillac.”

 

 

“Show me ComTron,” Michael said as he passed a Goodyear Town Limits sign.

 

The dual monitors to his right came to life.  Their current position was shown on the left monitor, while ComTron’s location was shown on the right.  It was only a few minutes before Michael arrived at the plant.

 

“Looks like nobody’s home,” Michael said, checking the time.  It was 8pm, “time for some recon,” Michael looked at the multiple buttons on either side of the steering wheel.  One of them said Silent Mode.  “What’s Silent Mode?”

 

Nobody responded. 

 

Michael waited a few seconds before he asked again.

 

Still nothing.

 

He began to wonder if he dreamed the entire conversation with KITT.

 

“KITT, you there?”

 

“Where else would I go?” KITT replied.

 

Michael shot a ‘smart-ass’ look to the car, but then wondered if it could see.  “KITT, is Silent Mode what I think it is?”

 

“If you think Silent Mode is a system that can dampen and virtually eliminate the sounds emitting from the vehicle, then you are correct,” KITT replied.

 

“Good,” Michael said, pressing the button.  Three LED lights were above the button.  A green LED lit up to signify the function was activated.  In addition to the dampening of KITT’s engine, his lights turned off as well.  “So we’re totally silent?”

 

“Aside from our voice communications, yes.”

 

“Good,” Michael said, driving onto the plant’s property.  He intended for a look around.

 

Michael was able to pull the silenced XLR around to one of the plant’s loading docks and stopped.

 

“Might I remind you, Mr. Knight, the legal ramifications of breaking and entering?”

 

“No.”

 

“I would also like to inform you that penalties are more severe for those who break into and enter the premises of a federal—”

 

“Shut up, KITT,” Michael said, getting out of the car, “go hide somewhere.”

 

KITT drove away as Michael climbed onto the loading dock platform.  He put on a pair of gloves and quietly examined the many doors on the platform, looking for a way in.  All of the doors were alarmed with what appeared to be a time sensitive alarm.  Probably armed at a certain hour, Michael figured.

 

He needed a diversion.

 

Michael turned and ran towards one of the loading doors.  He took out his lock-picking tools and picked the lock, quickly and quietly.

 

He opened the door and violently kicked it in.  He grabbed one of the poles to a light and swung himself above the door and out of sight.

 

A ComTron guard with a flashlight and a very small gun appeared in the doorway.

 

Michael swung from his hiding spot, landing squarely on the guard.  The guard struggled and tried to throw Michael off.  Michael kept a hold around the guard’s neck as they both fell to the ground.

 

He pulled them both to his feet and slammed the guard into a wall.  The guard’s gun was knocked out of his hands.  Michael grabbed it and aimed it at the guard.  “Shut the alarm off,” he said with his face obscured in shadows, “Shut it off!”

 

The guard slowly reached into his pocket, and flinched as Michael closed in on him with the gun.  He took out a remote control and shut off the alarm.

 

Michael handcuffed the guard upside down to a pipe and ran off into the dark factory.

 

 

Not too long after, Michael came upon a lighted office in the corporate area of ComTron.  He quietly moved around the sea of cubicles and edged closely to the open door to eavesdrop.  From what he could tell, there were three women in the office.

 

“I told them to meet us at the House of the Rising Sun in a few minutes,” a woman said.

 

“Our usual stomping grounds,” another replied.

 

“Stick to business,” the first woman said, “those guys are one of the last few problems we need to get through.”

 

“Do I need to get a sitter tonight,” a third woman asked.

 

“More than likely,” the first replied, “we have to get the information out of them tonight.  It doesn’t matter how we do it, just get it done.  $10,000 to each of us if we get what we’re after.”

 

“Definitely wont be an orgasm,” the second woman said, sarcastically.

 

Michael rolled his eyes.  Using sex to get intelligence during pillow talk or climax was one of the oldest tricks in the book, he thought.  No way in hell three loose women would be able to pull the information out of three ComTron executives.

 

They obviously were after some sort of information stopping them from completely stealing the designs.

 

But what?

 

Michael passed the bar they were talking about on his drive into town.  He probably could beat them there.

 

He quietly made his way back the way he came in when his watch began beeping.  He knew he didn’t set the alarm.  He didn’t know how.  It was given to him by Devon shortly after The Old Man’s funeral.

 

He found a button on the watch and pressed it.  Nothing happened.

 

Almost.

 

“I probably should inform you that the guard you have incapacitated has been freed and is looking for you with backup,” KITT said over the watch.

 

Michael looked at the watch and brought it to his mouth, “Can you hear me too?” he asked.

 

“Yes.  This is an open communication line,” KITT replied, “but you must exit the building quickly.”

 

“Do you know where they are?”

 

“They are still in the production section.  I’ve scanned a side exit not too far from your location that is not alarmed.  Head to the end of the hallway ahead of you and turn right.  There is a janitor’s closet on your left.  The door is in there, but it has been boarded up by plywood.”

 

“It will do the trick, KITT, thanks,” Michael said, running off.

 

 

 Not too long after, Michael parked into the crowded parking lot of the bar.  Many of the cars in the lot had ComTron parking stickers on their windshields.

 

“Social gathering places where alcoholic beverages are consumed in excess create an environment in which indiscretion becomes commonplace,” KITT said.

 

“Wanna try to translate that?” Michael asked, annoyed.

 

“You’re here for business, not pleasure,” KITT replied.

 

“I would have never guessed, KITT,” Michael said with a more angry tone to his voice, “You’re about as much fun as a divorce, which is not a bad idea for this partnership,” he said, getting out of the car.

 

“I demand custody of myself.”

 

“I wish I never turned you on, because now I can’t shut you up!” Michael yelled into the car.  He looked up and saw he attracted the attention of a small group, including the loose women from ComTron, “Good evening, ladies.”

 

“Start early, don’t you, blue eyes?” one of the women asked him.

 

Michael smiled and noticed another girl jab the first woman gently in the ribs.

 

The three women went inside the bar, on the heels of three men who went in ahead of them just seconds earlier.

 

An hour later, after watching the three women work to seduce the men, and making eyes at the woman who spoke to him, Michael had a small buzz, and a large tab.

 

What’s next?

 

Michael got this far and was so close to Tanya he could smell her annoying perfume.  He was fighting the drinks he consumed and was trying his best to work out a plan.

 

Not too far away from him, someone dropped broke a glass.

 

Michael’s entire world silenced.  He looked around.  The bar was empty.

 

Breaking glass was the last thing he heard before…

 

A bullet ripped through the windshield sending glass everywhere.  Without notice, a huge explosion obliterated the APV.  It knocked Michael and the other soldiers off their feet.

 

He tried to stand, but his balance and orientation were completely eliminated.  A drone sounded through his ears and he could barely see.

 

A warm liquid was flowing freely over his face.  Soon, he felt his body give out, and he was face down in the sand…

 

“Unless you want to end up sucking dirt, I wouldn’t get involved with anyone at that table,” a voice said, snapping him back.  The voice sounded alarmingly familiar, but Michael thought he was imagining things.

 

“What?” Michael asked, turning to face the person.

 

He didn’t expect that person standing at his table to be Paul Taylor.

 

Michael tried his hardest not to be alarmed or startled.  After all, he was dead.

 

The disgraced agent sat down at Michael’s table as Michael looked at him with wide eyes.  “Do I know you?” Michael asked.

 

“I’m with the FBI.  Or at least I was.  And I just saved your life, so I think you owe me a drink,” Taylor said.

 

Michael gently eased back from the man.  The alcohol coming off of his breath was staggering.  He was surprised Taylor had the energy to walk over.

 

He was even more surprised Taylor was drinking.  He never drank.

 

“What are you doing here?” Michael asked, signaling a waitress.

 

“Saving your ass, what does it look like?”

 

Taylor used that line on Michael before.  What the hell was going on?  How could Taylor know who he was and where he would be?

 

“Couldn’t save the other guys, last month.  Damn shame,” he said.  The waitress came over and Taylor ordered an expensive shot.  He made sure to tell the waitress to put it on Michael’s tab.

 

“What other guys?” Michael asked, “What’s going on here?”

 

“More than you know,” Taylor said.

 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Michael said.

 

“Oh really?  Then who are you, and what are you doing here?” Taylor asked.

 

“I’m looking for someone,” Michael said, with an idea that Taylor was looking for the same thing, “someone important in this town.  She works at ComTron,”

 

“Most everyone in this bar does,” Taylor said.  He licked his lips as his shot arrived.

 

“Do you work for them?”

 

“No.  I stay as far away from them as I can.  You should stay farther.”

 

“It’s not gonna be that easy,” Michael said, “I’m here to put a few people away, for good.”

 

“If you’re after, who I think you are after, don’t bother,” Taylor commanded, downing his shot without flinching, “I’m on it.  It wont be long before the FBI makes their move,” Taylor slowly stood up.

 

“If they didn’t make it in the past two months, when do you think they will, Paul?” Michael asked.

 

Damn.

 

Taylor turned around and looked at Michael.  “How the hell do you know my name?”

 

“You told me,” Michael said without missing a beat.

 

“The hell I did,” Taylor yelled, getting the attention of people in the bar, “stay away from them and Tanya Walker unless you want to end up dead!”  Taylor stumbled a bit and caught his balance, but not for long.  He fell face first onto the table Michael was sitting at, out cold.  The drinks on their table flew everywhere, some landed on Michael.

 

The bartender rushed over and picked Taylor off the floor, “This happens sometimes,” he said apologetically.

 

“It looks like it,” Michael said.  He was annoyed Taylor created such a scene, but more annoyed to see how badly his former boss deteriorated, “I guess I should get out of here before anything else rains down.”

 

Michael scrambled out of the bar and walked over to the XLR when one of the girls stopped him.  It was the same girl who flirted with him outside of the bar.

 

“I heard your drunk friend told you to stay away from Tanya Walker,” she said, “if you’re looking for her, she’s already seeing someone.  Me however—”

 

“I’m not interested in her body,” Michael said, interrupting, “I’m interested in her money.”

 

“Excuse me?” the woman asked.

 

“I got something on the market.  Worth a lot of money that would interest her and her friends,” Michael said.

 

“What’s for sale?”

 

“That’s between her and I,” Michael said, getting in the car.

 

“Who should I say is calling?”

 

Michael smiled at the woman.  “Tell her it’s an old friend,” he said, starting the car and driving away.

 

The woman grabbed a pen out of her hair and wrote down the license plate.

 

 

“You aren’t sober enough to drive,” KITT said, taking control from Michael.