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 ]

 

[original project start date: July 25, 2005 ]

[original project complete date: October 17, 2005 ]

 

 [ director’s cut project start date: November 7, 2006 ]

[ director’s cut project complete date: November 27, 2006 ]

[ proof read by Michelle Gardner ]

[ final word count: 36,805 ]

 

[ 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 – the director’s cut

 

 “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:

 

You may break

You may shatter the vase

But the scent of the roses will hang around it still

The scent of the roses will linger forever.

 

 

Four hours later Michael was in one of the Montecito’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 thrust the phone into 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 figured Lonnie ran the car off the road, and prayed she didn’t hurt herself in the process.

 

Michael pressed the gas pedal harder, but had to quickly slam on the brakes as he reached the Z sooner than he anticipated.  He barely put the cab in park before he scrambled out, almost losing his footing, and ran to the Z, which was laying on its roof.  It looked like it had skidded a few yards.

 

“Lonnie!” Michael yelled, dropping to his knees and sliding towards the driver’s side.  He grabbed the phone out of his pocket, which he had left connected.   “Agent down!  Agent down!” he barked into it.

 

Michael flattened himself to the ground to attend to his fallen comrade, “Talk to me Lonnie,” he said.  But something was wrong.  Terribly wrong.

 

Agents go through a rigorous training program designed to teach them how to drive, how to crash, and how to survive.  Regardless of the Z being a sports car, Lonnie should have survived this if she had run the car off the road on purpose to disorient Wilson and Gray.

 

Unless…

 

“Lonnie?” Michael asked again.  Still no response.

 

She looked so enigmatic being upside down, suspended by her seatbelt, but still twisted in an odd form.  She should have been conscious.

 

Breaking all the rules, Michael reached in to touch Lonnie’s head.  He jolted when his hand touched very warm liquid.  It was Lonnie’s blood.  Among other things.  He looked closer, turning her head because he knew damn well it was too late now.

 

One bullet did the job.  Straight into her head.

 

Agent down…

 

Michael looked into the car.  Wilson and Gray were gone.

 

Where the hell was the backup?

 

Where the hell were Wilson and Gray?

 

Michael then knew that he and Tanya were in the very worst situation imaginable, “Tanya,” he yelled, “stay in the car!”

 

He pushed himself upright, and spun around, intending to run back to the cab and make sure Tanya was OK.

 

But before he could move an inch further, a violent white flash and searing pain consumed Michael’s entire world.  The sound of the gunshot blasted through his ears a split second later.  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 inverted, open door of the Z.  He felt his back crack, if not break, and fell forward onto the desert floor, blood draining from his massive bullet wound into the sand.

 

 

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…

 

“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?”

 

Tanya Walker was the mastermind.

 

How the hell could he have missed such a thing? 

 

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.

 

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

 

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… he couldn’t remember.  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 a very long time. 

 

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.”

 

“She?” Michael asked, confused, “what the hell are you talking about, Mr. Knight?  We’re after Fred Wilson.”

 

Wilton raised his eyebrows.  “You really believe that?”

 

“I’ll stake my life on it,” Michael said, “we’ve been tracking him and his outfit for months.”

 

“Then you’ve come to know Wilson very well, I assume.”

 

“Down to his favorite food and how he wants it cooked, Mr. Knight.”

 

Wilton nodded and walked towards a railing that was separating them from the cliff-side drop to the ocean below, “I’ve come to know him rather well, myself, Michael.  And his outfit.  I’ve had a keen eye on them for quite some time, much longer than you.  We both know that Wilson has no charisma.  He is a hot-head.  Unpredictable.  Will say something one minute, and do the opposite the next—“

 

“You’re telling me nothing new,” Michael said.

 

“I don’t expect you to learn something new, but I would expect you to use that mind of yours that works in Intelligence,” Wilton replied, “With a man like Wilson, do you think he can truly worm his way into a company and get so far in to steal their secrets?”

 

There was some time of silence before Wilton turned around to face Michael.

 

“Tanya,” Michael replied.

 

“She’s involved in this more than you know.  She calls the shots, not Wilson.”

 

Michael’s face contorted with the range of emotions that shot through his heart and mind.  How could he have missed what was so obvious?  How could Muntzy, or Taylor, or Lonnie?

 

Wait a second…

 

Lonnie.

 

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.

 

“No,” Michael said, “no way.”

 

“How do you mean, Michael?  ‘No way’ as in you don’t believe Tanya’s in on it, or ‘no way’ as you can’t believe how bad you messed up.”

 

“The hell with you, Old Man!” Michael yelled, holding back as much as he could to avoid punching the frail man, “I’m good at what I do.  I’m the best!” he yelled, anger overcoming his expressions.

 

“If we all tried to be perfect and the best, all we do is eventually set ourselves up for failure,” Wilton said, “You are good—“

 

“Not good enough!  I poured my heart and soul to become a good investigator, sacrificed everything to get where I am today,” Michael said as he talked through his teeth, and almost snarled, “The way I see it, I blew it back there.”

 

“You weren’t in charge of the mission—“

 

“Don’t drag Taylor into this, or anyone else for that matter.”

 

“You can’t blame yourself, Michael.  You all were operating on incomplete intelligence.  Tanya and her crew are so good at this, there was no way of—“

 

“Why the hell didn’t you tell anyone?” Michael yelled, edging closer to Wilton’s face.  “How could you sit here in your castle and let us go in?  Did you know?”  Wilton didn’t immediately reply, so Michael yelled, “Did you know we were planning a sting at the Montecito?!”

 

Wilton nodded, slightly.

 

Michael spun around, unable to face Wilton any longer.  He grabbed the back of his neck and cradled it in pain and agony.  How could Wilton not say a word to the FBI?

 

“It took awhile to rebuild,” Wilton said, “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,” Wilton continued, “The law enforcement agencies were helpless.  These were 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.”

 

Michael stood there, letting the information absorb.  He could almost sense the statement or question The Old Man was about to throw his way.

 

This time, he was going to intercept it.

 

“Shove it up your ass, Old Man, I’m out of here.”

 

 

Michael had the luck of the draw of an early fog rolling through the city.  It blanketed the moon and made his moves much more covert.  He knew what he had to do.

 

It took just a few seconds to pop the cover off the control box.

 

Bingo.

 

Michael took out a kitchen knife he held onto from dinner and began working to reroute some wires.

 

Just a few adjustments and he would be long gone from Knight’s prison of paradise.

 

“Going somewhere, Michael?” a voice asked.

 

Michael jumped and dropped the knife.  He spun around to face Wilton and Devon sitting on a golf cart.

 

“Away from here, gentlemen.  It’s time for me to go,” Michael said.

 

“Go where?” Devon asked.  He got out of the cart and surveyed the damage to the control box, glaring at Michael all the way.  He picked up the knife and held it in Michael’s vision, “And use this as your only line of defense?”

 

“I may be a little sore, but I heal better in action, not being held prisoner,” Michael replied.

 

“You aren’t a prisoner here, son,” Wilton said, “You don’t have a cell, or a curfew.  The only lock and key you are under is the gates of the campus.  And that is because I don’t feel you’re ready to leave yet.  You are free to roam the campus as much as you wish.  There are many facilities all at your disposal, both in the estate, and in the Knight Industries complex.  The estate staff is up 24 hours a day and can prepare any meal for you if you like.”

 

“I, however,” Devon said, interjecting, “am not up all hours of the night.  So do refrain from contacting me at midnight.”

 

I probably should refrain from contacting him anytime after 9pm, Michael thought.

 

“Don’t think of the fact that you aren’t able to leave just yet as a negative thing.  We’re here to help you, Michael,” Wilton said.

 

“I don’t trust you one damn bit.”

 

Wilton looked at Michael with a tiny bit of surprise.

 

But not much…

 

“Why’s that?” he asked.

 

“Because there was a time when I sure as hell could have needed your help, and you sat by and did nothing,” Michael said.

 

“How do you think you got here?” Wilton asked.  “How do you think you made it out of a university hospital and out here under my care?”

 

“I don’t see you in a doctor’s outfit.  I just see you barking orders.”

 

“Someone has to,” Wilton said, “besides, you spent a month here unconscious.”

 

Michael was on the brink of losing his temper.  The Old Man was getting on his nerves, quickly.  “I would hardly call it unconscious.  Try having the same nightmare over and over again but you can’t wake up.”

 

Wilton smiled, slightly.

 

“I see nothing funny about this,” Michael said, straight lipped.

 

“Neither do I,” Wilton said, “but we have more in common than I originally thought.”

 

Wilton stared at Michael for a few seconds.  Michael hated it.  He felt that every single person in this damned place was observing him too closely.  And he felt there were many more watching that he couldn’t see.

 

The Old Man was right.  Michael had no place to go.  No money, or even ID.  Hell, according to The Old Man, he was pronounced dead a month ago.

 

How would a dead man get back into the FBI, and back into Stevie’s life?

 

How would a dead man get back at those who killed him in the first place?

 

On second thought, being a dead man for the latter seemed like an excellent idea.

 

Still, Michael wanted out.  He wanted to do this on his own terms, and under Knight’s helpful, yet unhelpful thumb, he couldn’t.

 

Knight was one of the reasons, not the only, as to why he was here in the first place.  And he definitely was the reason as to why Michael had a new face, had his identity erased, and… was still being held on the estate.

 

“I’m being held here against my will, don’t you see anything wrong with that?”

 

“If you need anything, talk to Devon,” Wilton said, “he’ll take care of you—”

 

“I don’t need taken care off, I need to get out,” Michael interrupted.

 

“He’s the Major Domo around here,” Wilton continued.

 

“Great, I have both Robin Masters and Higgins breathing down my neck.  When do I get the red Ferrari?”

 

Devon was about to say something, but Wilton subtly nudged him.

 

Michael realized that he wasn’t going anywhere.

 

At least not out the front door…

 

And not anytime soon.

 

 

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.

 

Devon hesitated for a second.  “I am assuming that’s up to you, he’s in the midst of his second month here.”

 

Wilton put down the binoculars and turned around, “I’m talking about the Knight 2000.”

 

Devon gave a big nod, and smiled.  “We’ll meet the deadline,” he said, “one more week.”

 

“You have 48 hours,” Wilton said.

 

Devon’s smile faded away and a look of utter concern swept over his 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.

 

“You’re one of the few who understands both terms.  Or have you forgotten that M.D. is one of many initials at the end of your surname?”

 

Wilton grunted, “There wont be much to that name if I can’t convince Michael to join us.”

 

“Have you spoken to him since last month?”

 

“No.”

 

“Do you plan to?”

 

“He’s a man not unlike us Devon—”

 

“I take light offense to that,” Devon interrupted.

 

Wilton ignored it.  “He can’t be pushed, cajoled or forced.  Michael Long has to come around on his own terms.  He’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,” Devon added.

 

“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.”

 

“He’s aggressive, confrontational and… primitive,” 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.  Wilton won this argument.

 

“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, speaking to the man for the first time in a month.

 

“I gotta keep in shape,” 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 gave you an offer weeks ago.  A chance to join 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, spending two months with you, I’ve come to realize that you’ve given me a second chance to live, and for that I am grateful.  But don’t sit there and ask me to join forces with you when you had the intelligence my team was looking for, and still refused to participate and give it up.”

 

Wilton was about to speak, but Michael abruptly cut him off.

 

“Save whatever you are about to say and offer me, Mr. Knight.  It didn’t stick four weeks ago and it wont now,” Michael said.  He walked away and shouted over his shoulder, “and start thinking of when you plan to let me the hell out of here.”

 

Wilton was left alone before a familiar British voice broke the silence.

 

“That went well,” Devon said.

 

“Eavesdropping isn’t the role of a gentleman,” Wilton said, obviously annoyed.

 

“I would hardly call it eavesdropping,” Devon replied, “why do you think he is resisting so?”

 

“What the hell do you expect, Devon?  Look at what he’s been through and what he is continuing to go through.  He needs his time, and some latitude.”

 

“This coming from a man on severely borrowed time,” Devon said.

 

“His time will come, I just hope that it will before mine is up.”

 

 

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.

 

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.

 

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, the car’s headlights and fog lights 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 silver muscle car, yet modern.  Michael recognized the form.  He saw it months ago as a concept car in a magazine, what was going to be developed into the new Camaro.

 

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.  “You’ve had your fun with our guest,” he said.

 

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

 

“And it’s just as polite to keep me here when I want to go.  You are walking a thin line here, guys.  You give me everything, full use of everything, but I am still stuck here.”

 

“He’s guilty of breaking and entering Wilton, I don’t believe we owe any such explanations,” Devon said.

 

“Oh lighten up, Teabag.  You could put a small country’s food supply in here and still be a quarter full,” Michael said, “and you have swarms of people in and out of this building around the clock except for now.  Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”

 

“I’m an innovator, Michael.  I always have been, and I like my space,” Wilton said, as he walked towards him and limped heavier than usual on his cane, “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 Camaro, “I don’t get to put my hands in the action anymore,” he said, running his fingers along the car, “but I still need a place to dream, and a place to create my crowning achievement for my newest mission.”

 

“Here you go again, thinking I am interested in whatever you have your billion-dollar eyes on.  I’m not buying.”

 

“That’s ungrateful and selfish, Mr. Long,” Devon said, angrily, “for all we have done for you—”

 

“You’ve done enough as it is.  You may have shown hospitality but how in the world do you explain this?” Michael asked, pointing towards his new face, “How am I supposed to go back into the world and convince everyone that I am Michael Long?”

 

“Michael Long is dead, you have a new life now,” Wilton said.

 

“I don’t fucking want it!” Michael screamed.  His voice echoed through the garage and when it stopped, a highly uncomfortable silence fell upon them.

 

Wilton looked hurt. 

 

Devon looked astonished.

 

Michael was fuming.  His heart was racing.  He was waiting for it to explode from his chest.

 

It was the ultimate Mexican Standoff, sans weapons.

 

Wilton was the first to flinch by speaking.  But when he did, he barely could mutter a whisper.

 

“I think… it’s my bedtime,” Wilton said, slowly limping out of the garage.

Devon eyed the door as it shut behind his friend.  He waited for it to close.

 

“You arrogant, ungrateful, pompous son-of-a-bitch,” Devon said.

 

Michael wasn’t about to hear any of this, “Devon I don’t—”

 

“Shut up, Mr. Long, I don’t believe you have room for debate.  Wilton Knight is my friend and colleague, we’ve been such for the past 30 years.  He’s hard-headed, determined, and impossible to argue with.  But in all those years, I’ve never seen someone treat him as you have tonight.  You’ve just struck a dying man.”

 

Michael rolled his eyes.  He wanted no part of this lecture.  Dying or not, who the hell did Wilton Knight truly think he was?  God?

 

“Why go through the charade of falsifying your death if he did not have a specific purpose?” Devon asked, “or are you too self-removed to see that Mr. Knight has some immense plans that involve directly you?”

 

“What am I supposed to care, Devon?  My life is over.  I look in the mirror every morning, and a stranger stares back at me.  I get up in the middle of the night and lift up my shirt and wish that I still had the Screaming Eagles tat that I got in Iraq.  Every part of me aside from my mind is new, and I don’t know why or what to do next,” Michael said.

 

“Is that why you’re hostile?” Devon asked, “Because we intervened and are giving you a second life?  A life with limitless resources and support?”

 

“I’m hostile because I didn’t ask for this.  I didn’t apply for the job.”

 

“So you are a reluctant hero,” Devon said.

 

Michael rolled his eyes again, “I would hardly call myself that,” he said.

 

“Are you hostile to more towards Wilton, or to those who left you for dead?”

 

“Both.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because they took everything from me!” Michael yelled, “And you just sat around and watched them do it!  Then you bring me here, build me a new face that I didn’t ask for, and expect me to graciously join your Federation—”

 

“Foundation,” Devon said, sharply.

 

“Foundation,” Michael corrected, “Without a protest in the world!  You expect me to be grateful for everything you’ve done when it’s your fault I’m here?”

 

“Regardless of what went wrong, Michael.  The chance that you’ve been given is one of a lifetime.  Why did you get into law enforcement and intelligence?”

 

“To make sure everyone has justice,” Michael replied.

 

“But not everyone gets justice, do they?” Devon asked.

 

“Only those who matter in the eyes of society, or are in the public eye one way or another.”

 

Devon nodded, “What about the ones who can’t help themselves, who get swept under the rug and forgotten?”

 

“They don’t get what they deserve,” Michael said, solemnly.

 

“You’ve just found your new life, Mr. Long.”

 

“What was wrong with my old life?”

 

“You were killed,” Devon said.

 

“But I wasn’t.”

 

“But they’re convinced you were.  Don’t you see, Michael?  If you went back, you’d go back with a target.  They’d know you’re alive, and that makes you a liability.  These are the kind of people who would go through everyone you know and love just to get to you.  You would put everyone at risk, including yourself.  And they would stop at nothing to take you out.”

 

Michael stood there in silence.  It was the first time in two months that someone gave him a viable explanation.

 

“We just didn’t save your life Michael, we saved the lives of everyone around you,” Devon said.  He walked towards the door and stood there for a few seconds, eying Michael, who was infused with stunned silence, “Do lock up when you are finished.”

 

Devon turned out the lights of the garage and closed the door, leaving Michael alone in complete darkness.

 

 

5am. Michael had been awake the whole night since his run in with Devon and Wilton in the garage.

 

Billionaires are so enigmatic.  Why didn’t Wilton come right out and say it?  Why did he lose his temper in the garage before he knew what his purpose was?

 

Maybe Wilton tried to say it.  Maybe Michael didn’t want to listen.

 

Fred Wilson, Tanya Walker—whoever was in control had to be brought to justice.  They had their clutches on some big companies, and Michael knew they would continue raiding secrets until someone could bring them down.

 

It had to be him.

 

Justice for those affected by espionage.

 

Justice for him.

 

Justice for Wilton.

 

Maybe a tiny bit of revenge, too.  Why not?

 

Michael quickly got dressed and left his room in the Estate.  He had a hunch as to where he was supposed to be.

 

And definitely a feeling, finally, of what he was meant to do.

 

It took him a few minutes to reach the hangar.  Once he got inside, Michael noticed the Camaro was in the same place where Devon left it, but the hood was up.

 

He jumped slightly, when the door shut behind him, and a voice broke the silence and echoed.  “I’ve been waiting six years for this, Michael,” Wilton said, poking his head from around the open hood of the car, “Six long years.”

 

Michael walked towards the man.  He felt that he had a new sense of understanding than he had before, “Then you know what it feels like to have one single event consume your every waking memory,” Michael said, “you know what it’s like to relive that event over and over, praying that someone or something will send you back to right what went wrong.”

 

Wilton pushed himself up and picked up his cane, “When you get to my age, son, you’ll have many more, and be amazed that you are able to think of anything else.  But yes,” he said, walking towards Michael, “Tanya’s break in has driven every single event of my life since then.  We’re lucky this survived.  It was in design phase back then, but she saw it,” Wilton said, pointing to the Camaro, “she took almost everything else.”

 

“Ever since last night, something keeps telling me that me, this car, and your Foundation of Justice are linked.”

 

Wilton smiled, “It’s the Foundation for Law and Government, but close enough,” he said with a chuckle, “and you’re right.  If I have my way, you will be.”

 

“There’s no going back, is there?” Michael asked.  He looked down and frowned, “to life as Michael Long?”

 

“Sadly, no.”

 

Michael looked up at Wilton with a tear forming in his eye, waiting to fall, “I love her,” he said.

 

“I know,” Wilton replied, “and don’t you dare ever stop.”

 

“How am I supposed to move on with a new life, a new face?”

 

“I can only guide you, but I could never begin to tell you how to cope.  Nothing worthwhile is ever easy, Michael.”

 

“What am I here for, Mr. Knight?” Michael asked, with increasing urgency and curiosity.

 

Wilton smiled, “I’ll show you,” he gestured to the driver’s side of the car, “get in.”

 

Michael got into the driver’s seat and looked around.  At first sight, it was no ordinary car.  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.

 

There were hardly any curves or rounded surfaces either.  Everything matched the outside of the car to reflect very sleek edges.  The steering wheel wasn’t spared in the massive redesign either.  Instead of a complete circle, it took the form of a wing with handles at the top for the driver to hold on to.  It had a sharp, curve-less design.

 

“Welcome aboard the Knight 2000,” Wilton said.

 

“This certainly isn’t stock,” Michael said.

 

Wilton smiled, “Far from it, and more than you know.  But it is a dream.  One come true.  Mine.  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 complex computerized intelligent system that prohibit the car from being involved in any kind of collision or mishap, unless specifically ordered by the you.”

 

“The car thinks,” Michael said.

 

Wilton nodded, “That’s the tip of the iceberg.”

 

Michael looked around for the ignition, “How do I start this thing?”

 

Wilton pointed to a set of four buttons under the twin plasma screens.  One of them read POWER.

 

Michael pressed it and the car came to life both inside and outside.  The whir of a staring turbine engine filled the warehouse, and the gizmos inside the car lit up, similar to plugging in a Christmas tree.

 

There was a definite power surging through the vehicle.  Michael could feel it easily.  He glanced over at Wilton, who seemed to be enjoying the very moment.

 

“How long has this been in the works?” Michael asked.

 

“The intelligence systems have been in development for over a decade.  I had the dream and the vision, and had to invent the technology along the way to make it happen,” Wilton replied.

 

“What about the car itself?  Last time I saw this, it was just a concept car,” Michael said.

 

Wilton chuckled and shook his head, “No.  Actually, we designed this car from scratch a few years ago, and then sold the designs to General Motors.  That way, when the Knight 2000 was finished, it would blend in on the street, while still keeping a classy and cool appearance.”

 

“Clever,” Michael replied.

 

“It’s official public unveiling will be in January at the North American International Auto Show.  You’ll start seeing it for sale 2009.”

 

“That’s in four years,” Michael said, “You said this will blend in.”

 

Wilton nodded, “You’ll be surprised how easily the public can be impressed and then easily forget.  Besides, GM will be testing models on the road over the next few years anyway.”

 

“Do you have an answer for everything?” Michael asked.

 

“I do.  Now, are we going to sit here and chat, or hit the road?” Wilton asked.

 

“I think you know the answer to that,” Michael said, “buckle your seatbelt.”  Michael reached for his and noticed there wasn’t one.

 

“Seatbelts aren’t necessary in here, Mr. Long,” Wilton said.  He then altered his voice, just a tad, to give off a commanding tone, “Activate Passive Laser Restraint System.”

 

On the central monitor, the words PASSIVE LASER RESTRAINT ACTIVATED appeared.

 

“Do I even want to ask?” Michael said.

 

“Just drive,” Wilton replied.

 

Michael grinned, put the car in gear, and pressed the gas.

 

The power that came from the Knight 2000 was amazing and Michael was nowhere near prepared for it.  The car launched forward in the hangar and plowed through the giant metal doors.

 

Michael slammed on the brakes.  He was too caught up in the collision to notice that neither he nor Wilton moved an inch when the car came to an abrupt halt.  “I thought you said it couldn’t get into a wreck,” Michael said.

 

“That’s my fault,” Wilton said, “I had the system in standby mode when I was working on it earlier.”  He pressed a sequence of buttons on a center console sitting between him and Michael, “It’s activated now.”

Michael scrambled out of the car to survey the damage.  He looked at the prow of the Camaro and his mouth dropped open.  Despite crashing through a large door, 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,” Wilton said, “or metal, or fiberglass, or anything you would be familiar with.  It’s a finish bonded to the molecular surface of a new substance.  A specialized formula, developed right here at Knight Industries.”

 

“That’s amazing,” Michael said, “why not market it to the public, or military?  It could save tons of lives, especially the guys over there right now.”

 

“I agree,” Wilton said, “yet even if we hold the sole patent, we risk ourselves to another espionage attack, and this is something we never want the wrong side to have.  Imagine if this was bonded onto a missile?  For the good uses the Molecular Bonded Shell has, there is double the evil.  I could never live if the wrong people got this formula.  And we are damn lucky Tanya didn’t.”

 

“Simply amazing.  Those doors should have torn through us.  Instead a convertible sports car tore through them,” Michael said, getting back behind the wheel.  “The system is running now, right?  No more surprise accidents?”

 

“I am sure there are surprises along the way, Michael, but collisions, no.”

 

“Good, then let’s roll.”

 

The Camaro 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, Old Man,” Michael said gripping the steering wheel harder and hitting the gas.

 

“Please do,” Wilton 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 Camaro 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.  “Wilton, the car just took control and steered itself!  It drove itself through the curve!”

 

“Yes, it did,” Wilton said, with a small element of surprise in his voice.

 

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

 

“The intelligence 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,” Wilton explained.

 

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

 

Wilton sat silent.  Michael could tell that he was pondering an answer, or a possibility.

 

“Mr. Knight?  Why did the car speed up?  Did I just find a flaw in your perfect machine?”

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

 

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

 

“The only deduction I can figure out is… it was showing off for you.”

 

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

 

“Don’t blame the Knight 2000 completely,” Wilton 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.” Wilton said.

 

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

 

Wilton nodded.

 

“It’d suck to be working under it.”

 

“It wouldn’t do anything to harm you.  I wrote a specific line of command code that requires it to preserve human life, and most importantly, your life,” Wilton said.

 

“By me, you mean anyone driving it?”

 

“No,” Wilton said, “I mean you.  Michael Arthur Long.  I wrote the code just about an hour before we met in the garage.”

 

 

Devon jogged up to the wreckage of the garage doors that were already being handled by Knight Industries technicians.

 

He peered into the garage and saw the Knight 2000 was gone.

 

Somehow, he knew that it wasn’t just Michael Long that had a part in this.  And he had a very good idea as to where Wilton was.

 

“Madness,” he said, “both of them.”

 

 

Sweat was all but pouring down Michael’s face as he got the Camaro 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 Wilton’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,” Wilton said, chuckling. 

 

Michael began driving again, at a more normal speed.  “So, we’ve been on this nice joy-ride, and I still don’t entirely know why I am here, Mr. Knight.”

 

“You’re sitting in it,” Wilton replied.

 

“I’m sure there’s much more to it than that.

 

“There is.  It was no random choice we saved your life, Michael.  I’ve been watching Tanya Walker and her associates for some time now, trying to gather enough evidence to put them away for good.  We only needed to 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,” Wilton said, “I saw something in that broken man laying in layers of bandages in that hospital.  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.”

 

“If life was perfect, Michael, my team would have found a cure for this cancer that’s killing me.  You would catch the bad guys on the very first try.  And parents of people like Wilson and Tanya would have had abortions,” Wilton said, “But 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?”

 

“I almost did,” Michael said.

 

“Yes, almost.  I’m afraid I might have contributed to it.  I’m 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 face and 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.”

 

“Heir to the mighty throne?” Michael asked.

 

“Agent and Operative for the Foundation for Law and Government.  You have endless resources at your disposal, and the Knight 2000 to aid you wherever you go.”

 

“How do I suddenly become Michael Knight?”

 

“I put the ball in motion, but you set it up yourself, Michael,” Wilton said, “You have an urge to break through my gates and go it alone and that 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 sit 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 find Lonnie’s body, and I was just ten seconds away from helping her.  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 couldn’t finish.”

 

“The world needs more people like us,” Michael said, “but as you said, it’s not perfect.”

 

“All it takes is one man to stand up and change that,” Wilton said.

 

“One man can make a difference?” Michael asked.

 

Wilton smiled, “Now you’re on the right track.”

“Finally, right?” Michael asked with a laugh.

 

Wilton squeezed Michael’s shoulder and smiled, “Yes, and it’s about damn time.”

 

Both men laughed as the Camaro rocketed down the road into the sunrise.

 

 

A few days later, Michael watched as the pallbearers removed the casket from the hearse and carried it into the mausoleum. 

 

“He waited for you, you know?” Devon asked, walking up to Michael, “He held on until you came around.”

 

“I wish I did sooner,” Michael said, undoing his tie and taking off his black jacket, “Dammit, if I hadn’t blown him off… There’s so much he could have taught me.”

 

“The night you found the Knight 2000, two days before, he ordered the car and its systems to be completed within 48 hours.  I checked with his doctors: that morning, they gave him just around that enough time to live.”

 

“He held out for about two days longer than that,” Michael said.

 

“I’m convinced he could have held on for much longer.  He was just waiting on you so he could finally be free,” Devon said.

 

“He didn’t look like he was in any major pain.”

 

“Wilton always believed it was a situation of mind over matter.  He knew the cancer was attacking every last inch of his body except his brain, he just refused to acknowledge its existence.”

 

“I wish I was that brave…  That strong,” Michael said, watching the pallbearers.

 

Devon placed a hand on Michael’s shoulder, “So do I.”

 

Michael took a deep breath and sighed as it exhaled, “I’m ready to go, Devon.  I’m going after Tanya.”  He spun on his heels and began walking back towards the hangar at a quick pace.

 

“What?” Devon asked, obviously not expecting Michael’s revelation, “Michael…”

 

“Spare me with whatever protests you have Devon, the Old Man spent two months working on me and now that he finally has be convinced, no one is going to stop me,” Michael said over his shoulder.

 

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

 

“I know you do,” Michael said.

 

“How in the devil would you know that?”

 

“When I was first waking up, I heard you and the Old Man talking that you had it narrowed down to two locations.  It’s been two months Devon, I know you haven’t given up on finding them.  I need to know where they are.  Here are your choices; I leave with the Camaro and roam the country aimlessly until I find them, or you make it easy for both of us and tell me where you found her.  I’d rather your help with this one, Devon, and you know he would,” Michael said, stopping long enough to turn and point towards the mausoleum.

 

The two mean reached the garage shortly and Michael continued towards the car while Devon tried to catch his breath.

 

“What’s it going to be Devon?” Michael asked, opening the Camaro’s trunk.  He pulled out a pair of blue-jeans, red shirt and a black jacket and began to change out of his funeral attire.

 

“You’ve already packed?  When?”

 

“Last night.  I realized that I had to hit the road after The Old Man’s funeral.”

 

The silence between the two men continued for awhile as Michael finished changing.  He was wondering if Devon was apt to give up the info that he needed.

 

In this case, he had to be.

 

“We’ve tracked her and her staff to Goodyear, Arizona, working for a corporation called ComTron.  She is the executive assistant to the CEO, William Benjamin,” Devon reported.

 

“ComTron?  Sounds like a rip-off of a Disney movie,” Michael said, closing the trunk.

 

“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.”

 

“He warned me,” Devon said.

 

“About what?” Michael asked.

 

“That you’d be like this.”

 

Michael smiled, “How long ago?”

 

“The day you got here.”

 

Michael finished changing and tugged on a pair of black boots, “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.

 

“And you’ve had it out for me the whole time,” Michael said.

 

“It’s my job to provide my friend with his options.”

 

“Options is one thing, acting like a dick is another.”

 

Devon stood there and straightened his already straight tie.

 

“Sorry, maybe I can put it into your terms,” Michael said, “Let me think… You’re acting like a royal bugger,” he said in a British accent.

 

“I understood you the first time,” Devon said, sharply.

 

Michael nodded 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—”

 

“I can take care of it, besides, the car may have been built by Knight Industries, but it’s in my name.  Wilton said so.”

 

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

 

“Michael Knight?”

 

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

 

“The Old Man was serious when he talked about this?”

 

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, closing the door to the car.

 

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.”

 

“That’s my kind of plan,” Michael said.  He looked over at Devon, unsure really what to say.  The two of them were anything but bosom-buddies these last two months.  “Devon, I know we don’t see eye to eye, but our goals are the same.  We share them with that man who is being interred behind a marble slab as we speak.  We want to bring those to justice, those who the Feds could never put their hands on.  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.

 

Michael stuck his hand out the window and Devon shook it.  “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 let go of Devon’s hand, put the car into gear and sped out of the garage.

 

There was no turning back now…

 

 

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 Satellite Radio, and play discs through the DVD-ROM Drive