Knight Rider 2000

 

No Beginnings

 

 

Written by

Scott Kirkessner

 

 

Based upon KNIGHT RIDER

Created by

Glen A. Larson

 

Original KNIGHT RIDER 2000 Concept by

Rob Hedden

 

New concept by

Scott Kirkessner

 

 

 

Follow Mr. X from his escape to present day and an endless month in 1999 as he was pursued by FBI Special Agent Natalie Markins…

 

Rated R for language, extreme violence and sexual situations.

 

 

September 12, 1999

1139 Hrs PDT

 

Erewhon Prison.  500 miles off the coast of California.  It looked like an oil rig, but was far from being one.

 

One thousand federal inmates called this place home; a home of no escape.

 

There was no guard tower.  No stockade.  The warm, shark-infested waters of the Pacific Ocean surrounded the prison.

 

No inmate knew where he was.  They were blindfolded before taking a long and noisy helicopter ride to their final destination.

 

The United States Government officially disavowed the prison.  The only people who knew about it were its operators and inmates.

 

Wearing electronically magnetized boots, equipped with tracking devices, the prisoners were tracked by the guards who observed their every move.  The boots supplied their own electromagnetic field, which secured the prisoners to the floor, but allowed for small steps and movements.

 

Baxter Lex, known to everyone as ‘Mr. X’ was sitting down in his cell, reading a book.  The bulky and awkward boots were no matter to Mr. X.

 

Security meant nothing to him.  In fact, he found the boots to be rather stylish, and deemed that they would look great with his navy-blue bulletproof vest.

 

Mr. X had been in prison since he was arrested in 1986 by the San Francisco Police Department, per the Foundation for Law and Government.  First, he was in a maximum-security prison in Texas, but when this place went up in 1996, he was transferred.  It was a long, hard, brutal, tiresome three years.  Just how Mr. X liked a situation.

 

The day was same as the one thousand ninety days prior, but this day was special.  This day was the day where everything would change for the best.

 

A mechanical buzz was heard as the cell door opened.

 

“Let’s go X. One hour break,” the guard said.

 

It was the only break that Mr. X got. He wasn’t too thrilled about the break because he didn’t care. Getting up in the clumsy, but stylish boots, he walked with the guard to join the other inmates, who were taking part in the Walking Circle, which provided the inmates with their daily exercise.  He looked at the giant television screen, broadcasting the Discovery Channel.

 

Another inmate cut in line behind Mr. X.  The nametag on his issued shirt read Slater.  “So did you mail your letter out the other day?” he asked.

 

“Yeah.” simply said.

 

“Well, what’s the story? Is it going to get you out of here?” Slater questioned.

 

“I’m pretty sure it is.” X said. 

 

X had managed to get a letter dropped into the outgoing mail bin.  All inmates were prohibited from contact with the outside world, but the guards that were housed on the rig, had mail sent out daily.  It wasn’t hard to manipulate a rookie and unsuspecting guard into dropping the letter.

 

“When?”

 

X looked back at Slater and smiled.  “You’ll find out.” He then looked at the giant clock on the wall.  It was ten till noon.  As the line kept moving, X kept getting closer to one of the guards closest to him.  It was the rookie guard who didn’t know better.

 

X despised people who could be manipulated.  He was actually surprised he was able to sway this guard, mainly because all guards for this hellhole went through a rigorous training program.

 

He waited for the right moment, then knocked the guard to the ground and started hitting him in the face.  The inmates around him started yelling and cheering.  Another guard took out his ultrasound and fired it at Mr. X.  The world around him went totally black.

 

 

When he opened his eyes he was sitting in a chair.   The boots were removed, and there were several guards around him watching his every move.  He realized this was the ECT chamber, where prisoners were administered shock therapy.

 

“It’s a real shame that the ECT malfunctioned and Mr. X was electrocuted, isn’t it?” A guard asked.

 

“It sure is.” Another guard replied, preparing the connectors for Mr. X.

 

Before the guard placed the helmet on X’s head, a loud noise was heard from outside the prison. The noise was almost deafening, even to Mr. X.  He fought as hard as could to withstand the noise as the guards folded. 

 

He put the rest of his energy into grabbing the guard and snapping his neck.  He grabbed the guard’s Uzi and wasted no time in taking out the remaining guards in the room.  The lockdown alarm went off as he took out the last guard.

 

It was just mere seconds before more men burst into the room.  However, these men belonged to Mr. X.  He eyed them and smiled.  Good men.  Good as money can buy.  “Let’s go.”  They all began to exit the room before X turned around.  “Someone grab the boots.” He ordered.

 

It took no time for the men to reach the roof where a running Black Hawk helicopter was waiting.  The helipad and other areas of the roof were strewn with dead guards.

 

Mr. X and his men climbed into the helicopter and it took off.  X turned towards the window and smiled as he looked out.  “Take me home.”

 

1412 Hrs EDT

Federal Bureau of Investigation

J. Edgar Hoover Building

Location: Washington, DC

 

Assistant Director James Raleigh walked down a corridor towards an office.  In his hand was a red folder.  He walked through the open door and tossed the folder on a desk.

 

“Got a case for you, Markins.” He said.

 

Natalie Markins looked up at the man through her reading glasses.  “What is it, sir?”

 

The man seated himself on the corner of her desk.  “Ever hear of a genius bomber named Mr. X?”

 

“Yeah, he detonated a few bombs at Disney World in 1986.  Killed about a hundred people.”

 

Raleigh nodded.  “He was busted by the Foundation for Law and Government shortly after the incident.  Ever hear of them?”

 

Natalie shook her head.  “No, sir.”

 

Raleigh nodded again.  He always had the habit of nodding and then repeating his confirmation with a verbal answer.  “I want you to rework his psych-profile for our agents in the field who are gonna be looking for him.”

 

“Looking for him?” Natalie asked.

 

“Yeah,” Raleigh said, “he escaped from Erewhon Prison about an hour ago.”

 

“Erewhon?  You mean the disavowed prison that Amnesty International doesn’t know about?”

 

“And probably don’t want to know about it either.” Raleigh added.

 

“How did he escape?” Natalie asked.

 

“Apparently, he started a fuss with a guard that got him sent to the ECT chamber.  He attacked another guard in the chamber, managed to kill every person in the room, and shot his way to the roof, where he boarded a helicopter and left.”

 

Natalie nodded, writing it down on a notepad.  “Couldn’t they track the helicopter?”

 

“Of course not.  It disappeared from radar and headed out towards the Pacific Ocean.”

 

“Towards the ocean?”

 

“That’s strange.” Natalie said.  “Shouldn’t we contact FLAG?”

 

“That’s not necessary, we can handle it.  Our field agents are going to be dispatched in the country to search for him.  Everything about him is inside that folder.”  He turned to leave, but Natalie stopped him.

 

“Sir.  I can’t just sit behind a desk and rewrite a criminal profile.”

 

“Why? You write them from behind a desk.”

 

“True,” Natalie said, standing up, “but I need to rework it to see how this guy works.  I need to be on the manhunt.”

 

“Out of the question.” Raleigh said, immediately.

 

“I can write profiles based on case reports, no problem, but without seeing how he works for myself, I can’t rewrite it while I am cooped up in Washington, sir.” She said, protesting.

 

Raleigh stood there thinking over his decisions.  Damn it all, she was right.  “All right.  But no Jodie Foster shit.  You’ll be teamed with the San Francisco office, that’s where he was arrested and where his mansion was located.”

 

“Thank you sir.” Natalie said, returning to her desk to prepare to leave.

 

1318 Hrs PDT

 

Mr. X walked through the doorway to his new house located right in the middle of San Francisco along Nob Hill.  Mr. X always liked to believe that the best place to hide was where everyone can see him.  He liked it that way.  It gave him a sense of a challenge.

 

“This is nice,” X said, looking around at the house, “I could definitely retire here.”

 

“If you ever retire.” Eric Johnson said, standing in one of the hallways, with a cocky grin.

 

“Eric.” X said with an equally cocky grin.

 

“Great to have you back sir.” Johnson said, producing a navy-blue bulletproof vest from behind his back.  “I figured this would suit you.” He said, moving out of the way of the men moving some things in.  One of the men handed him the pair of boots Mr. X wore just hours earlier.  Johnson was not prepared for the weight of the boots and he almost dropped them, on the three million dollar hardwood floor.  “What the hell are these?”

 

“Style items which may be marketable.  Put them somewhere on display.” Mr. X ordered.

 

Johnson carefully set them down and looked back at Mr. X.  “Everything is equipped for your liking.  We used about a quarter of the Disney World money to furnish everything you requested.”

 

“Very good,” X said, taking a look around.

 

“So what is our next move?”

 

“The Feds will be after me, that is a given.  I figured they would so I came up with a plan.”

 

“Of course.” Johnson replied.

 

2028 Hrs PDT

 

The small Lear Jet registered to the FBI landed at San Francisco International Airport and taxied up towards the Executive Terminal.

 

Natalie exited the plane with her attaché case under her arm.  A young man wearing a blue FBI jacket walked up to her.  “Agent Markins?” he asked.

 

“That’s me.”

 

“I’m Agent Bentley from the San Francisco office.  I was told to meet you here and bring you to headquarters, also get you up to speed on our leads.”

 

“Throw all your leads out the window Agent Bentley, they are all false.” Natalie said.

 

“Ma’am?” he asked.

 

“I read over the history on this guy,” she said, waving the old case report in the air, “he is great at covering his own ass and often tossed out false leads to sway investigators.”

 

“All right, then where do we start?” Bentley asked.

 

“Is this your car?” Natalie asked, walking over to a tan Crown Victoria.

 

“Yes.” He said, following.

 

Natalie got inside as Bentley hurried to follow.  “We have to start over and begin to find out how this guy operates, how he thinks,” she said while fastening her seatbelt, “more importantly, think like him.”

 

“And how do we do that?” Bentley asked, driving out of the airport.

 

“We immerse ourselves so deep into the past of this guy, we feel like we’re becoming him.”

 

2032 Hrs PDT

 

Mr. X put the vest on and tugged at it.  He had lost quite a bit of weight in Erewhon.  “Believe it or not, I need to lay low for awhile.  These agents now-a-day’s take no shit and aren’t loosey-goosie like they were 15 years ago.  Besides, I need time to plan out things.”

 

Johnson was not surprised.  Mr. X was always planning things.  “What are you planning?”

 

“My come back party.” He said, smiling.

 

“Striking against the Foundation for Law and Government?”

 

“Of course, if they are still in business.  What the hell has happened since I have been gone?”

“Plenty, sir.  And yes, FLAG is back in business.”

 

“I didn’t even know they shut down.” Mr. X said.

 

“Yep, in 1991 or so.” Johnson replied.

 

“Wow.  But they are back right?”

 

“Of course, in a sense.  The Knight Industries 2000 is gone, and the 4000 model is close to completing prototype production.  Devon Miles is still in charge, with a new right-hand man in training.  Some District Attorney shithead named Russell Maddock.”

 

“So they’re kinda sitting on their asses and not driving around, huh?” Mr. X asked.

 

“Correct.  Of course, soon enough, they’re going to be looking for a driver.” Johnson confirmed.

 

“Great.  I have a plan, of course, for their first run in of fun.  After the driver has a few months to get situated.”

 

“Do you care to tell me about this plan?”

 

“Of course, I am going to need you to secure most of the equipment anyway.”

 

 

Natalie and Agent Bentley were still on the road, en-route to the FBI San Francisco office.  After re-reading the case file to Bentley, she eyed over what the San Francisco office had been working on since Mr. X’s escape.

 

“You’re going about this all wrong,” Natalie said, “we need to get you to see a new perspective.”

 

“All right,” Bentley said, “go for it.”

 

“Say you’re walking through a Bullseye-”

 

“Bullseye?” Bentley asked, confused.

 

“Yeah, you know, the store with the trendy commercials, white puppy dog with a bullseye over its eye?”

 

“Oh I gotcha.”

 

“Say you’re walking through the store in the shower curtain department.  You pick up a CD.  What CD do you find?” Natalie asked.

 

“Uhh… Eminem, the Marshall Mathers LP.”

 

“All right, you find an Eminem CD over in the bathroom department in the store.  What does through your mind first?”

 

“Uhh… why is the CD there?”

 

“That’s a good start.  What is the answer?”

 

“It was left by a customer.”

 

“Right,” Natalie said, “what else do you think about?”

 

“How did the CD get there?”

“Not bad, but we already determined that it was left by a customer, don’t you think that is the same question?”

 

“Well was it carried in the customer’s hand or a cart?” Bentley asked.

 

“Very good, now you are on the right track.” Natalie said.

 

“I would also wonder who listens to Eminem.  Probably a teenager.”

 

“Possibly over 17. Most people know that Bullseye refuses to sell a CD that has explicit lyrics to anyone under 17.” Natalie added.

 

“And it could be closer to maybe someone who is 20-something, living by themselves looking for stuff for their apartment.” Bentley said.

 

“Very good,” Natalie said smiling, “and finally, why did they ditch the album?”

 

“Not enough money?  Maybe there was something in the shower department that he really needed over a CD.”

 

“Could be.  All of these conclusions we came up with are just assumptions.  But it’s these kinds of assumptions that can lead us closer to our suspect, because it is the most logical assumption.” Natalie explained.  “And that is how we have to be thinking when we’re on the tail of this asshole.” She said, poking Bentley in the chest.

 

Bentley nodded.  This lady was smart.  “All right.” He said.

 

“All right, AD Raleigh told me that Lex escaped in a helicopter from the prison.  Why wasn’t it tracked on radar?”

 

“The helicopter quickly disappeared from radar screens and was seen headed out towards the Pacific Ocean.” Bentley explained.

 

“Right, but why in the hell go out further into the ocean?”

 

“Maybe his base of operations is out there?” Bentley asked, turning a corner.

 

“No way.  Lex is useless in the ocean, he needs to have quick access to any target he eyes.” Natalie said.

 

“So maybe we should check San Francisco docks?”

 

“That could be a start,” Natalie addressed her new partner, “but that would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

 

 

“Agent Markins, you’re looking for a needle in a haystack!” one of the dock workers yelled at Pier 39.  “We get hundreds of commercial and personal ships in and out of this whole stretch day after day.”  He went back to his work and left Natalie and Bentley to themselves.

 

“What are we missing here?” Bentley asked.

 

“Good question.  This has even me stumped.” Natalie said.

 

“Do you think he had a boat with helicopter landing capabilities?”

 

“Not likely,” Natalie said, “he escaped in a Black Hawk.  That could flip most boats over, save for aircraft carriers.”

 

“Should we check Alameda?  He was former military.  Maybe he was buddy-buddy with a captain of a ship.” Bentley suggested.

 

“It’s not impossible,” Natalie said, “but let’s get to the office and learn more about this guy.”

 

September 16, 1999

0828 Hrs PDT

 

The waters were murky and cold, Johnson noted, as he took in oxygen from the breathing apparatus in his mouth.  However, his three million candle-power underwater searchlight led the way for him and his men on their dive.  Of course, the GPS unit mounted on the arm of his suit helped as well.  The unit blinked a red light, which was their destination.

 

It was about fifteen minutes since they broke the surface of the water by one of the many cliffs bordering the Pacific Ocean near the Los Angeles area.  Finally, the spotlight broke through the clouds and focused on an object.

 

It appeared to be grey metal with sea stuffs growing on it, but also remaining intact.  Johnson could make two big doors on the object.  One of them was sitting open, wrapped around the side, with the other still closed.  What was left of a small computer lock, very outdated, was sitting on the door.  Johnson was surprised at the shape of the trailer after all these years.  The MBS had remained intact, and saved the trailer from any damage during the impact with the ocean and the rocks below.

 

The object Johnson was looking at was what was left of a trailer.  But where was the cab?  That was the part he was looking for.  The GPS showed him to be right wherever the cab had landed at the bottom.  Damn it all, he had to go looking for it now.

 

Or not.  His attention was caught by one of the men assisting him.  The man was pointing downward.  Johnson looked in the direction and saw what appeared to be a tire.  Moving closer, it was revealed to be the cab.

 

As with its trailer counterpart, the cab was still intact.  He signaled a thumbs up to the other men that this is what they were looking for.  However, the water did take its toll on some parts of the cab.  The massive square grill was in pieces on the ocean floor, the truck’s tires were rotting, and served as a home or a playground for the fish.

 

The four extra men surrounded the cab and looked inside.  It was somewhat of a grisly site as the crew of five looked in to see two skeletons.  The remains were in bad shape, even for being reduced to skeletal.  The force of the impact broke and shattered many bones, and reduced the occupant’s skulls to pieces.  Not much was left of them.  The passenger’s skull was crushed beyond the point of any recognition.  If the crew didn’t know better, medically, they would have thought the passenger to be decapitated.

 

But it wasn’t the passenger that concerned Mr. X’s crew.  The driver was the focus of this mission.  Johnson nodded to the men as they began the tedious process to remove the driver’s remains from the cab.

1203 Hrs

 

“Guess what just came into our office.” Bentley said, smiling with a file folder in his hand.

 

“Humor me.” Natalie smiled back.

 

“A shop on the Wharf sold a whole lot of SCUBA gear a few days ago, and guess who was the buyer?”

 

“All these guessing games aren’t good for a criminologist.”

 

Bentley set the folder down on Natalie’s desk and opened it.  “Sold to Lex’s right hand man.” He said, pointing to a black and white picture of Eric Johnson.  “The store’s security cameras captured this image.”

 

“SCUBA gear?  What the hell does Lex want with that?” Natalie asked.

 

“I don’t know, but he purchased fifteen thousand dollars worth of it.” Bentley said.

 

Natalie whistled.  “Holy shit.”

 

“I think he is planning to go for a little swim.”

 

“What could he be after in the ocean?” Natalie asked.

 

“The Disney World money, perhaps?” Bentley asked.

 

“No, Lex is smarter than that.  He would keep the funds in a place that we can’t find, but not impossible to access.  He must have the money somewhere in a middle-east account.” Natalie said.

 

“There are a few middle-east accounts that the Bureau can’t gain access to.  Most of the users are terrorists- foreign and domestic, and mafia based criminals.” Bentley said.

 

“What cities?”

“Mainly Beirut and Rhyadh.” Bentley replied.

 

“We need to get our people to do their damnedest to scour those accounts.  This bastard is smart enough to know we can’t possibly touch those accounts.”

 

 

Johnson walked into the basement where Mr. X was working on a bomb.  “The remains have been retrieved.”

 

“Good.” X said, not looking up from his soldering.  “The driver only, correct?”

 

“Yes, sir.” Johnson replied, holding up a still drying duffel bag.  “Where do you want them?”

 

Mr. X was silent as he fixed a wire to the detonator.  He looked up at the literal bag of bones.  “Take them below to the sub-basement, that is where our research and project will soon begin.”

 

“Great to hear,” Johnson said, “and when do we secure the doctors?”

 

“Soon, Johnson, quite soon.  We first need the technology, which is what this little beauty is for,” X said, pointing to his bomb, “How is the crew coming along with the lab in the sub basement?”

 

“They’re working hard.  It should be finished soon.”

 

“Good.”

 

“How long will this project take?”

 

“I don’t know,” X said, “I’ve never cloned anything before.  Let alone an entire human being.”

 

“Is it even possible?” Johnson asked.

 

“Of course it is.  They’re cloning sheep with no problems.  The technology exists,

 

Johnson, but people are afraid to harness it.  Moral issues and shit like that.”

 

 

“Check this out,” Bentley said, picking up a folder that a secretary left on his desk.  “It turns out Lex did some more time than we thought.”

 

“Where?” Natalie asked.

 

“Juvenile Hall.  We got his Juvy records unsealed.  Lex did time in Adobe Mountain Detention Center for five years for shooting a man.”

 

“How the hell old was he?” Natalie asked.

 

“He was thirteen.  Here’s how it went down.  Lex was in a verbal argument with a bully at his high school, well until the bully hauled off and punched him.  Lex just stood there and took the punch.  He turned around and began to walk away when the bully asked him if he was going to fight back.  Lex replied ‘I don’t fight back,’ and turned around and shot the kid in the neck with a .32.”

 

“Holy shit.”

 

“The kid lived, which is what left Lex with such a short time in Juvy.  He was paroled just a few weeks before his 18th birthday, which would have required his transfer to prison.  Guess who arranged for his parole?”

 

“His hot shot lawyers bought by daddy?”

 

“Exactly.” Bentley said.

 

“What have you found out about his father?” Natalie asked.

 

“His name was Giovanni Lex and was one of the hot shot mercenaries in the country up until his death in 1979.”

 

“1979?  Lex was… 19, right?”

 

“Yeah.  He was killed in an FBI raid when he was caught in a sting.”

 

“And in the case report from FLAG, it said that Lex was seeking revenge on the government for killing his father, and against his ex-wife.” Natalie said.

 

“This is crazy.” Bentley said.

 

“Lex is driven on revenge, it’s his only reason to get up in the morning.  His escape from Erewhon means he is coming back and planning something big.  Which means we have to find him before he hits again.”

 

“I think we need to intercept his right hand man.” Bentley suggested.

 

“Do you think he will lead us to him?”

 

“Probably not,” Bentley said, “but what do we have to lose by trying to talk to him?”

 

“Our lives… field agents…” Natalie said.

 

“What about Eric Johnson.  What do we have on him?”

 

“Nothing except a name,” Natalie said, looking at the computer screen and adjusting her glasses, “it’s in with Lex’s file as he was captured shortly after Lex was.”

 

“What were the charges?”

 

“Mainly conspiracy and collaboration charges.” Natalie read.  “He went to a maximum security prison in Terra Haute for awhile and was released about a year ago.”

 

“And no doubt busted Mr. X out of the un-escapable prison a few days ago.” Bentley added.

 

“But I wouldn’t call him the brains of the outfit.” Natalie said.

 

“Just an errand boy, huh?”

 

“Exactly.” Natalie confirmed.  She looked at the report with Johnson’s picture on it and got an idea.  “Was it mentioned in the report from the dock if Johnson paid cash or any kind of charge?”

 

“Uhh, no.” Bentley said looking through his copy of the report.

 

Natalie got up and grabbed her coat and sunglasses.  “Good, let’s go.”

 

 

Bentley was chomping down on a hot dog as Natalie talked to the shop owner.

 

“Yeah,” the owner said, “the guy paid with a credit card.  I remember it because, well first, no one buys fifteen thousand dollars worth of SCUBA gear.  I asked him what he needed it for, you know?  He said he was just going into his own backyard!  I asked if his backyard was the God damn bay, ya know?  He handed me the card, oh yeah, that’s how I remember the card, it had weird writing on it, but it had the Visa logo, so what the hell, I take any thing Visa, ya know?”

 

“Yeah.” Natalie said, looking behind her to find the Visa logo in the window.  “Go on.”

 

“All right, so I swipe the card and the transaction goes through, no big deal.  He gives his John Hancock and leaves with his shit.” The owner continued.

 

“Can we have the records of the transaction?” Bentley said, when he finished his lunch.

 

“Yeah, no problem.” The owner said opening up the drawer.  “Who is this guy, some fugitive?” the owner asked while he was ruffling through the drawer.

 

“Nah,” Natalie lied, “just a guy we’re keeping tabs on.  No big deal.”

 

“Hey if this guy is some big asshole, I’m not going to be held to anything am I?”

 

“Of course not.” Bentley replied.

 

“Good.” The owner said, pulling out a small piece of paper.  “Here’s the credit slip.  Lemme make a copy for ya.”

 

“Great, thanks.” Natalie said to the man’s back as he disappeared towards the back area.

 

“Any plans on what to do once we find out the address?”

 

“Go get him, of course.” Natalie said.

 

“Got questions for him?”

 

“A whole damn list.” Natalie replied.

 

The vulgar salesman returned from the back with a piece of paper in his hand.  “Here ya go, agents.”

 

Natalie took the paper and walked out the door.

 

Bentley threw away his hot dog wrapper and left behind her.  “She says thank you.” He said before he walked out the door.

 

1902 Hrs PDT

Hope Street and Cervantes Boulevard

 

Natalie closed her eyes for a minute and listened to the sound of the light traffic passing her on the road.  She was with Bentley, apparently her new partner, parked outside of the address they got from the credit slip for Eric Johnson.

 

“You think he is going to show?” Bentley asked.

 

“Probably.” Natalie replied.

 

“Think he might give us some answers?”

 

“Hopefully.”

 

“If we bury him ass up can I park my bike?”

 

“Yeah.” Natalie said.  There was a moment of pause before she looked at him.  “What?”

 

Bentley laughed.  “What’s with the one word answers?”

 

“I’ve never been good with stakeouts when we’re just sitting here.  I’ve never been a social group person.” She said, sighing.

 

“Why not?”

 

Natalie shrugged.  “I’ve always been pretty much the exile with friends and even family.  I never had many friends through school or college.  When I got to the Academy, I had one good friend who was in it with me the whole time.”

 

“What was their name?”

 

“Julie Allison.” Natalie said.  “Julie and I were top notch.  I guess we were kind of inspired by The Silence of The Lambs, our favorite movie.  Heh, AD Raleigh told me ‘no Jodie Foster shit’ while I was out here with you.”

 

Bentley laughed again.

 

“She wanted to be a field agent in NYC, and I wanted to stay with the home base in DC.  She was pretty much my only friend…”

 

“You know, Nats,” Julie said, knowing that Natalie hated the nickname of Nat, “I’m thinking we need to do something wild after graduation.”

 

“Yeah, if we make it to graduation.” Natalie said, writing furiously on a piece of paper.

 

“Of course we will!  You and me!  Always.” Julie assured.

 

Natalie nodded and smiled.  “Any ideas?”

 

Julie stopped and thought.  “How about throwing a big post grad party and getting wildly drunk?”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Natalie said, “of course that’s gonna be a pipe dream unless you finish that report of yours.”

 

“You kidding?  I got mine done already.”

 

Natalie looked at Julie with a look of shock.  “No fair!  I’m only half done on mine.”

 

Julie smiled.  “Quick to finish, quick to party.”

 

The two women suddenly jumped when they heard gunshots.

 

“What the hell was that?!” Natalie yelled.

 

“I have no idea.” Julie said, standing up.  She walked over to the door and opened it.  Their fellow classmates were running down the hall towards the staircases.


“Gunshots!  Gunshots!” people were yelling as they ran down the hallway.

 

“Natalie!” Julie yelled. 

 

“Markins!” Bentley yelled, snapping Natalie out of her story,  “There he goes.” Bentley said, pointing to Johnson crossing the street.

 

“Let’s go.” Natalie said, starting the car and gunning the engine.

 

Bentley grabbed the red bubble light and stuck it on the middle of the dashboard.

 

 

Johnson looked behind him and saw the tan Crown Victoria speeding towards him.  He took off running and jumped into his black Jeep Wrangler.

 

 

“Hope the shocks on this thing are good.” Natalie said, speeding after Johnson.

 

 

The cars sailed over their first hill and landed with sparks, as they sped down the steep street towards the bay.  Johnson cut the wheel to the left and gunned the engine, bringing the small Jeep to close to 110 miles per hour.  Considering it was late at night, most of the roads were empty.  A good thing too, considering that how the two cars were driving, any car would be considered open season for getting ran off the road.

 

Natalie had the pedal to the metal as she focused on the road and trying to keep up with Johnson.

 

Johnson turned left again and sped up a hill.  The grade of the hill was of no concern, as the Jeep blasted up the hill at 90 miles per hour.  Natalie’s Crown Victoria followed quickly around the same pace.

 

A congested area on the road caused Johnson to swerve onto the sidewalk.  Pedestrians scrambled and ran to avoid being struck by the Jeep.

 

“Holy shit.” Natalie said, following the Jeep onto the sidewalk.

 

“Do we need backup?” Bentley asked.

 

“No, we’re fine!” Natalie yelled as she got back onto the road.

 

Johnson barreled ass through a red light and across a field until he found himself within the arches of the Palace of Fine Arts.  Late-night walkers ducked out of his way as he tore up the grass and cobblestone.

 

Natalie followed his path from the road.  “He’s crazy!”

 

“We need backup, Natalie!” Bentley yelled.

 

“Forget backup!  This guy is mine!” Natalie yelled, accelerating to catch up when Johnson returned to the road. 

 

He turned onto a road and sped onto the Golden Gate Bridge.

 

“If he gets to the other end he can lose us.” Bentley said.

 

“He isn’t losing us.  I’m going to speed up and block him.”

 

Natalie gunned the engine and began to catch up with the Jeep.  Right when she was close to 10 feet from the rear bumper, Johnson slammed on the brakes and spun around in the road.

 

“Shit!” Natalie yelled, cutting the wheel to avoid colliding with the Jeep.  The Crown Victoria hit the side rails of the bridge and sparks flew before she regained control and turned around on the road, chasing Johnson, who was now going the wrong way.

 

 

Johnson was on his toes now.  He hadn’t expected to be going the wrong way on the damn Golden Gate Bridge.  There were few cars to dodge, but those who had to get out of his way wasted no time in screaming obscenities and using hand gestures.  His cell-phone started ringing.  “Yeah?”

 

“I’ve got you on GPS,” Mr. X said, “head towards the Embarcadero and get into the BART system.”

 

“Can I lose them in the subway?”

 

“When I turn the tunnels into tubes of flame, you can.”

 

Johnson hung up the phone and tossed it into the passenger seat.  It bounced and landed in the foot-well.  Upon exiting the bridge and barely missing a van, he floored the Jeep to 110 miles per hour and hauled ass to the Embarcadero.

 

 

Natalie was barely able to make it off the bridge without hitting the van Johnson just missed.  She clipped the side of the van but sped on, almost spinning out trying to get behind Johnson again.

 

“This fool is going to kill someone.” Bentley said.

 

 

A car was in Johnson’s path as he left the road and cut over on the grass to get back onto Bay Street so he could get to the Embarcadero quickly.  “Oh shit!” he yelled as he saw a car accident blocking the road up ahead.  Running out of options, he held on and turned right, barely missing a tree.  More cars honked at his erratic behavior.  Looking in the mirror, he saw the agents in the Crown Victoria still in pursuit.

 

A street sign caught his eye and Johnson made a split second left turn, cutting off a milk truck.

 

 

“What street is that?  What street is that?”  Natalie demanded.

 

“Uhh… it’s Lombard.” Bentley said.

 

“Oh shit.” Natalie said.

 

“What.”

 

“He’s going to try to lose us.”

 

“How?”

 

“Lombard Street, you moron!  It’s that God damn winding street!”

 

“Oh great.” Bentley said.  “Should we try to go around?”

 

“No, we can’t go to another block, he might lose us.”

 

“I don’t expect him to slow to five miles per hour to get down the street.”

 

“Me neither.” Natalie said, shaking her head.

 

“Well can we make it in this thing?” Bentley asked.

 

“Damned if I know!  We’ll find out.”

 

 

Johnson ignored the signs alerting him to the curves and the grade.  He hit the four-wheel drive button and floored it.  The Jeep was sent airborne upon reaching the downgrade.  About halfway down the hill, the Jeep hit the road, bouncing along violently and tearing over the shrubs and bushes in the middle of the curves.  A final bounce sent the Jeep partially airborne again, but quickly returning it to terra firma.  Once on the normal road, Johnson floored it again towards his destination.

 

 

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!” Bentley said.

 

“Here we go!” Natalie yelled, slamming on the accelerator.  The Crown Victoria was launched into the air as well, but hit the ground sooner.  Upon hitting the first curb, the front bumper was completely sheared off and the pursuit sedan was sent slightly airborne.  The ride down the hill was much violent for the car’s occupants since it sat so low to the ground.  It hit most of the curbs spearing the curves and crunched the front of the car like it was a piece of paper. 

 

When the car finally hit the normal road, the front end looked like an elephant sat on it a few times.  Natalie was surprised the engine was still running.  She slammed on the accelerator again and quickly sped after Johnson.

 

“Holy shit!” Bentley said.

 

“I’ll be damned!” Natalie exclaimed in reply.

 

“Not every pursuer would do that every day!”

 

 

Johnson bounced over the cable-car tracks as he turned onto Columbus Avenue.  A delivery truck swerved out of his path and hit a fire hydrant.  Water blasted up from the destroyed hydrant offering a shower to the street and its pedestrians.

 

The cell-phone rang again.  Johnson searched to find where the ringing was coming from.  He saw the light coming from the passenger foot-well and bent over to pick it up, moving his eyes off the road.

 

A blaring horn quickly caught his attention as he looked back up to the road and saw a Land Rover heading towards him.  He grabbed the wheel and quickly cut it so he could get out of the way.  He didn’t see the mailbox on the sidewalk as he plowed straight through it, sending the blue box airborne and then crashing onto the street.

 

 

Natalie swerved to avoid the new objects on the road.

 

“He’s racking up federal offenses now.” Bentley said.

 

“No shit.  He is going to kill someone.” Natalie said.

 

 

“What the hell is going on?!” X yelled into the phone.

 

“I’m trying to lose this bitch and stay alive!  I’m not too far from the Embarcadero, I’m turning on California Street.  Now tell me how the hell I’m supposed to lose these people in a subway when you blow it the fuck up?!” Johnson yelled.

 

 

“Is he on a cell-phone?” Natalie asked.

 

“It looks like it.”

 

“He’s gotta be talking to Lex.”

 

“What makes you so sure?” Bentley asked.

 

“He hardly does shit without Lex knowing or telling him to do so.”  Natalie stopped.  It hit her all at once.  “He’s trying to lead us away from Lex.  To throw us off our path!”

 

“So do we discontinue pursuit?”

 

“There’s still a chance we can get him.”

 

 

“You’re still about a minute or so ahead of them.  When you reach the Embarcadero Station, go down to the MUNI level and hop onto an eastbound train.  I’ll know once it is clear of the station.  Get off at whatever station you wish and come back here.  Simple as that.” X said, hanging up before Johnson could say anything.

 

Johnson could see the Embarcadero sign approaching quickly.  He blew through a red light and screeched to a halt in front of the elevator leading down to the station.  He jumped out and pushed through some people as he ran down the escalator.  He checked his watch.  The next MUNI train whould be ready to pull out of the station in a few minutes.

 

“Shit, he’s in the subway!” Bentley said.

 

“Call BART and MUNI and tell them to shut down all service.” Natalie ordered.  She stopped the car in the street and got out, quickly drawing her FBI issue handgun.

 

 

Johnson rode the escalator down to the concourse level.  He looked for the other escalator and saw workers standing on it, trying to fix some kind of a problem.  He dashed over to the elevator as it was about to close.  “Hold the doors!” he yelled.

 

A man held the doors for Johnson as he hopped inside.  “Ya just made it there, partner.”

 

Johnson managed to mutter a thank you as the elevator went down one more level.  It wasn’t quick enough, he noted.  When the doors opened he dashed out and eyed the MUNI train closing its doors.  He pushed people out of his way, knocking an old couple to the platform floor, and knocked a young girl out of his way as he slid into the train just before the doors closed.

 

 

“That’s right,” Bentley yelled into the radio, “stop all trains!”

 

“Agent Bentley, we can’t stop trains where they sit.  We have to bring them to a station.”

 

“Fine!  Just stop the God damn trains!”

 

 

As a BART train was leaving on the third level, a trashcan started beeping.  A station agent walking by heard the beeping and took the top off to find out what was making that noise.  He expected to find some kid’s toy or a cell-phone accidentally thrown away.  What he didn’t expect was a massive explosion that reduced his body to shreds.

 

The blast pulverized the BART platform and successfully brought down the MUNI platform on top of it.  Flames shot up the holes created by the explosion and destroyed the concourse level, sending it plummeting two levels down to what was left of the BART level.

 

Passengers not lucky enough to have been killed by the blast were sent with the concourse and MUNI levels to the flaming abyss below.

 

The explosion finally ruptured the street level, sending concrete and bricks up into the air and back down on the bystanders.  A large piece of concrete fell on Johnson’s Jeep Wrangler.

 

Natalie and Bentley ducked behind their beat-to-shit Crown Victoria as the explosion devastated the area. 

 

It was pure chaos on the streets.  Everyone was running around and screaming.  People were on fire, trying their hardest to douse the flames.  Natalie and Bentley kept their guns trained, but without a target.

 

Natalie looked at the devastation.  Things seemed to be going in slow motion for her.  Bentley looked like he was spazzing out… spinning around a bunch of times with his gun ready at a moment’s notice.  He must have thought there were snipers around.  But Natalie knew this was definitely Lex, to cover up the tracks of his errand boy.

 

Bentley ran over to their car and grabbed the radio and began screaming information and orders back to headquarters.

 

 

The MUNI train was unscathed from the explosion as Johnson sat back as it rode along the track.  He felt the train slowing down and eventually coming to a stop.  He looked at a sign outside and noted that he stopped at the Montgomery Street Station.  Before the doors opened, the train operator came on the intercom and informed them of the explosion at the Embarcadero Station.

 

Johnson noted the statement, allowing a small smile to form on his lips.  He exited the station via the escalator and wondered where the hell it was when he needed it at the Embarcadero.  He hailed a passing taxi and gave the driver his destination.  The taxi pulled onto the street as police cars, fire trucks and ambulances passed him on the road headed towards the Embarcadero.

 

2119 Hrs PDT

 

“What part of no Jodie Foster shit did you not understand?!” AD Raleigh yelled over the speakerphone.  “You’re lucky that shit didn’t bring down the whole Embarcadero!”

 

“With all due respect, sir, I wasn’t the one who detonated the bomb.” Natalie said.

 

“I know that!  You provoked Eric Johnson into a chase, allowing Lex an opportunity to show how powerful he is-”

 

“Sir, I still believe we’ve got the upper-hand-”

 

“Agent Markins, forty-five people died in that explosion tonight!  You call that the upper-hand?!”

 

The door opened and Bentley walked in with a bag.  He held up a dusty cell-phone.

 

Natalie stared at it with a smile on her face.  “Sir, I believe I have just found our upper-hand.” She said, hanging up the phone.

 

“That was your AD wasn’t it?” Bentley asked.

 

“Yeah.” Natalie replied. 

 

“Well along with the good news comes bad.  Our agents searched Johnson’s apartment.  It was empty except for his copy of the credit receipt.”

 

“Shit.”

 

“But we have his cell-phone.”

 

“Damn right.  Do you think the labs can trace the calls placed?”

 

“Hell yeah.” Bentley replied, grinning.

 

 

“You know how to use this shit?” Natalie asked, looking around the empty lab.  Hardly anyone was in the federal building around midnight.

 

“Yeah,” Bentley said, typing on a computer, “I messed around with this kind of stuff in the academy.  It was gonna be my field before I changed to anti terrorism.”

 

The cell-phone was hooked into the computer and Bentley was looking around its internal programs and memory.  “All right, this number appears twice, both incoming calls to Johnson’s cell.  415-555-1138.” Bentley read.

 

“It just came up like that?”

 

“Well no.  It was blocked by caller ID, I just had to use our systems to unblock it.” Bentley said with a smile.

 

“Nice work.  Can we find an address?”

 

“You know, I hope you will never have to work with a genius,” Bentley said, “I’ve already activated the tracing program.  We should have an address soon.”

 

“Good.” Natalie said.

 

There was a moment of awkward silence before Bentley broke it.  “That was a hell of a chase, wasn’t it?”

 

“It sure was.” Natalie replied, taking her glasses off to rub her eyes.

 

“You never finished your story.” Bentley said.

 

“What?  Oh…  You don’t wanna hear the rest of it.”

 

“No, no.  Go on.” Bentley encouraged.  “I want to know more about you.”

 

Natalie closed her eyes.  The gunshots echoed in her mind as if they were yesterday…

 

“Gunshots!  Gunshots!” people were yelling as they ran down the hallway.

 

“Natalie!” Julie yelled.  “What the hell is going on?!” Julie asked a classmate.

 

“There’s a gunman on the floor!” the classmate said, running away.

 

“Markins, move it!” Julie yelled, running out the door.

 

Natalie quickly ran after.  She couldn’t believe that gunmen had penetrated the security at Quantico.  The two women were only two months from graduation, and now they were thrown into a hostile situation, far too early.

 

“I don’t see anyone!” Natalie yelled.

 

“Let’s just get out of here!” Julie replied.

 

The two classmates quickly came to a walk and turned a corner.

 

“Did you get a look at him?” Natalie asked.

 

“No,” Julie replied, “did you?”

 

Natalie shook her head.  The two of them slowly walked down a staircase.  “This is bad.” She said.

 

“We’ve been trained for this,” Julie said.  “The only thing different is that we don’t have any guns.” She said, as she reached the bottom of the stairs.  Out of nowhere, an arm appeared and fired three shots in her chest.

 

Julie was thrown back onto Natalie, who fell onto the stairs.  “Julie!”

 

The gunman ran out a doorway.  Natalie was stunned, holding her classmate on the stairs.

 

The blood gushed out of Julie’s wounds.  She was dead in a matter of seconds.

 

Natalie’s head snapped up as she heard more gunfire outside.  The door slammed open again.  ‘This is it,’ she thought, ‘he’s come back to finish me.’

 

But, rather than an armed criminal, five armed FBI agents ran into the room, quickly scrambling to secure it...

 

Natalie opened her eyes only to see a blurred image of Bentley and the empty lab.  “What the hell?”

 

Bentley gently leaned forward and wiped the tears coming off of her cheeks.  Natalie never noticed that she was crying.

 

“I can’t believe I was crying.” Natalie said, wiping more tears away.  “It’s been so long… I really… really don’t know what it felt like.”

 

“To cry?”

 

Natalie nodded, sniffing as the tears caused her nose to run.

 

“I’m sorry.” Bentley said, placing his hand on hers.

 

“I know.  I am too.  Thank you for your compassion.”

 

“I never had to lose a partner like that.  I don’t know how I would feel if I did.”

 

“Sometimes it’s hard to trust anyone but yourself,” Natalie said, “When Julie died, I never trusted another person with my life.  Nor did I let myself take another person’s life into my own hands.  Having a partner… well, not willing to trust landed me a desk job as a criminologist.  I’d go out into the field, take a few shots, survey a crime scene, and then come back and work magic from behind a desk.  My profiles and insight to see into a criminal’s mind found kids, hostages… you name it.  I guess you can say, on my reviews, under ‘ability to work with others’ it’s a zero.  Or close to a negative number.”

 

Bentley remained silent, letting Natalie gather her thoughts.

 

“You got a first name, Bentley?”

 

“Daniel.” Bentley replied quickly.

 

“Thanks Daniel.”

 

“For what?’

 

“Being my partner.” Natalie said, still letting tears fall down her face.

 

Bentley leaned forward again and wiped more tears off of Natalie’s face.  Natalie touched his hand with hers as it was resting on her cheek.  She traced his fingers with hers noting every detail of his hand as she felt it.  They were drawn toward each other, as if a force of magic or fate was pushing them together.  Their lips met, carefully at first in a small kiss. Their foreheads touched as their eyes remained shut.  Natalie moved her hand from where it had been on his that was touching her cheek, around to his back.

 

Their second kiss was intensified.  The use of their tongues was involved this time around.  Bentley pulled Natalie off of her chair and onto his lap, kissing her more intensely.

 

Natalie’s hands instinctively went for his tie, she undid it and tossed it aside.  Her hands worked the buttons on his shirt and it was removed without question or pause. 

 

When she broke the kiss to open his pants, she noticed her blouse was off, leaving the two of them in their undergarments for the top half of their bodies.  He worked quickly, she thought.

 

The bra was off in no time, along with Bentley’s tank-top undershirt.  They were starting a pile of clothes in the floor of the lab, where almost anyone could walk in at any moment.

 

Natalie had her head buried in Bentley’s shoulder.  She playfully nibbled and kissed it, alternating as the two were finally joined together on the chair.  Natalie was still on Bentley’s lap, now straddling him as they were rocking back and forth in a rhythm of their own, sans music.  Of course, one would think Stars and Stripes Forever was blasting in their minds as the two of them were deeply breathing.

 

She found his lips once again and they kissed as their motions grew faster.  Their tongues danced furiously as their movements increased and their passions took the better of them.  Natalie arched her back and neck, looking up at the florescent lights and hanging on to Bentley’s shoulders for dear life.  If she had fingernails, they would have been digging into his skin, but considering how often she bit them, Bentley was spared from mid-coitus wounds.

 

Their rhythm slowed down to gentle rocking as they kissed again.  Romantic post-coitus cuddle time was halted when the computer started beeping.  “What’s that?” Natalie asked, out of breath.

 

“The computer traced the address.” Bentley absent-mindedly said.  They kissed again and suddenly broke it.  “The address!” they both said in unison.

 

It was back to business for the two lovers.  Natalie got off of Bentley and found her bra on the floor.  She quickly snapped it on as Bentley took care of himself.  Within seconds, they were dressed and looking at the computer, closer than normal this time around.

 

“Here we go,” Bentley said, “1820 West Mason Street.”

 

“That’s near the intersection of Bush and Mason.” Natalie said.

 

“We got the bastard.”

 

 

Mr. X laughed.  “Don’t worry Johnson,” he said walking to a window, “you see that house across the street?”

 

“Yeah.” Johnson said.

 

“Our telephone is connected over there with a hidden second line.  When the FBI comes around, they’ll raid that house, take in whoever is living there, simple as that.”

 

“And if they find the second line?” Johnson asked.

 

“They will discover its fed through a number in an empty cabin in Big Bear.  If and when they head down there, they’ll be there in time to see a marvelous explosion, with a badly burned body whose dental records match mine.  I figure that will get the case closed, and our dear pursuers off our backs.”

 

“Did you download the pictures I took with the license plate camera?”

 

“Yes, I have,” X said, “Special Agent Natalie Markins, from Washington DC.  A criminologist… graduated the academy in June 1993, top of her class.  Assigned to FBI headquarters in Washington, DC.  Worked there ever since, mainly behind a desk working on profiles.”

 

“She was sent to re-profile you, no doubt.”

 

“Of course,” X said, “agents nation-wide are on the hunt for me.  In fact, this is the closest they have come.”

 

“Too close for comfort if you ask me.”

 

“Oh Johnson, that is why I have fail safes, fake locations and the like.  They won’t find us.  I guarantee that.  With the Knight Foundation in their program phase to make a new car… we’re fine.”

 

“I hope you’re right.”

 

“They found your empty apartment, right?”

 

“Yeah, while I was there!” Johnson said.

 

“Why were you there, anyway?” X asked.

 

“Planting my credit receipt.”

 

“We’re just fine, Johnson.  Trust me.”

 

September 17, 1999

0719 Hrs PDT

 

Fog rolled into the City By The Bay as first light appeared.  A light blue Crown Victoria followed by silver and tan ones traveled up Mason Street towards the address Bentley found.  A navy blue Chevy Suburban with inactive police lights in its grill led a grey twin of it down Bush Street.

 

They converged at the intersection and shut it off in both directions.  With silence and stealth, two agents from each Crown Victoria, Natalie and Daniel Bentley included, and four agents from each Suburban converged on 1820 West Mason Street.

 

Natalie and Bentley, along with four other agents were armed with shotguns.  The agents from the Suburban’s were armed with semi-automatic sniper rifles and began to take their positions on the rooftops in the area.

 

A hand opened the curtain and Mr. X looked out the window at the commotion in the street below.  He smiled, then looked up and saw a sniper on top of the roof next to his house.  He laughed at their set up… but admired the efficiency, and their persistence

 

 

Three agents on the ground picked up tear gas rifles and shot four cartridges into the house.  Everyone donned gas masks and blasted inside the house yelling and screaming.

 

 

Mr. X could not hear gunshots from his vantage point.  Pity, he thought, he would have rather seen some action.  Nothing like innocent bystanders killed so he could walk away for another day.

 

 

The six agents exited the house with four subjects in custody who were reacting to the tear gas.

 

Natalie tore off her gas mask and turned to Bentley.  “This is an innocent family, Daniel!  God damn Lex led us to another dead end!”

 

Bentley took his mask off.  “He’s playing us for a fool.  You’re the criminologist, Natalie!  Think like him!”

 

1129 Hrs PDT

 

“If I thought like him, how would I avoid us?” Natalie asked Bentley as they were sitting in Union Square.  “After we found his dead ends.”

 

“How far would you go to lose us?” Bentley asked, who was standing up, playing with a yo-yo.

 

“Set up lots of dead ends… false leads to throw our agents off.  He’s trying to lead us away from San Francisco.”

 

“Which means he’s here?”

 

Natalie nodded.  “He’s here.”

 

Natalie’s cell-phone started ringing.  She took it out of her coat pocket and answered it.  “Markins here… Yeah… What?”

 

Bentley looked up at Natalie and wondered what the person on the other end was telling her.

 

“All right… thanks.” Natalie said, hanging up. 

 

“What is it?”

 

“Apparently I was wrong… get ready, we’re going to Big Bear.”

 

1301 Hrs PDT

 

“Why are we going to Big Bear?” Bentley asked Natalie as they were sitting in a Gulfstream Jet en route to LAX.

 

“Apparently, our labs found a hidden phone line in the house,” Natalie said, reading a paper, “and traced it to a number in Big Bear.”

 

“This has to be a ploy of Lex’s.” Bentley said.

 

“Yeah, no shit.” Natalie said, taking off her glasses.  “I told them that, but they felt otherwise and shipped us off to oversee the raid.”

 

“When does the raid go down?”

 

“First light, tomorrow.  The LA Office is meeting us at LAX.”

 

“This is screwed up,” Bentley said, “they should listen to you.”

 

Natalie nodded.  “You know, there are a few things we should talk about once we’re off this case.”

 

“Yeah… I know.” Natalie said. 

 

The two agents held hands, interlacing their fingers, and remained silent for the rest of the 90-minute flight. 

 

September 18, 1999

0430 Hrs PDT

 

The alarm awoke Natalie first, whose head was lying on Bentley’s bare chest.  The beeping soon stirred Bentley awake.  He opened his eyes and stroked Natalie’s hair.

 

Natalie got up, revealing herself to Bentley, who was just starting to get out of the bed.  “Good morning.” She said.

 

“Good morning.” Daniel replied.

 

Natalie opened her garment bag and pulled out a suit.  She began getting dressed and ready for the raid that would happen in less than two hours.

 

Bentley followed suit and started getting dressed too.  He checked his FBI issue handgun and loaded the clip.

 

“Call me crazy, Daniel… but I got a bad feeling about today.  Like something is all wrong.”

 

Daniel walked over to her and turned Natalie around.  He kissed her deeply.  “I love you,” he said, “and we’re going to be just fine.”

 

 

It was a convoy this time around.  The sun was just barely beginning to rise as a line of FBI cars sped down a dirt road towards the enigmatic cabin they were led to after the trace was run on the hidden second line.

 

The family the FBI raided was issued an apology and $20,000 to repair the damages to their house.  They probably were going to sue anyway.  Not that it would make a difference in a court anyway.

 

Natalie squinted as the sun rose over the horizon and filled her car with light.  Bentley was at her side, as always now, and hopefully for a long time, she thought.

 

“The cabin is just a mile ahead.” A pilot said.  The FBI Bell 212 Helicopter was hovering over the convoy, providing them directions.

 

Natalie, who was leading the convoy, got on the radio.  “All units, prepare for an immediate assault, repeat, immediate assault.  Air cover, prepare sniper for escapees.”  She set down the radio.  “This is bullshit.” Natalie said.

 

“Don’t remind me.” Bentley said, arming a shotgun.

 

The helicopter hovered above the house, kicking up dust around the area.  The four Crown Victorias pulled up to the house, the agents ducked out and took positions around the cabin.

 

Natalie ran up to an open window and tossed a flash bomb inside.  She ran back to the cover of her car and waited for it to go off.

 

Despite the sun now pouring light on the San Bernardino Valley, the boom and the flash lit up the house for a few split seconds.

 

A team with a battering ram, busted through the door, yelling and screaming.  Natalie and Bentley stood by their car along with some other agents waiting for the call for backup or in case the subjects tried to run.

 

“The house appears to be empty…  Wait a minute…”

 

Natalie looked at Bentley and replied on the radio.  “What is it?”

 

“Agent Markins, you’d better come in here.”

 

Natalie took her shotgun off the roof of her Crown Victoria and walked towards the house.  When she approached the steps leading up to the porch, it hit her.  Not an epiphany or an idea… the explosion.

 

The instant devastation of the house threw Natalie back close to 100 feet.  She landed on her shoulder, dislocating it and breaking her arm.

 

Natalie looked up and saw Daniel running over to her.  She looked towards the house and saw it completely engulfed in flames.  Six agents were in that house when it exploded…  She looked back at Daniel and stared deep into his eyes… the black pupils of his eyes grew and eventually enveloped the world behind her.  Soon, the sounds of the fire were dampened out and there was nothing.

 

 

Her eyes slowly opened to see the only person she had ever loved looking over her.  Guarding her, remaining by her side, for always and forever.  “Hi.” Natalie managed to mutter to Bentley, whose concerned expression ruled the room.

 

“You’re okay.” He said.

 

“I hope so.” Natalie replied.

 

“You are,” Bentley assured, looking through her medical chart, “you’re going to be just fine.”

 

“What’s happened?” Natalie sputtered.

 

“You really want to talk about work?”

 

“Yes.” Natalie said, sternly.

 

“You’ve been out for four days, it’s the 22nd.  The house was rigged to explode if anyone forced entry like our agents did.  Lex was in the house.”

 

“What?!”

 

“He was.” Bentley repeated.  “Forensics found a seventh body in the house.  We compared dental scans with Lex’s military records.  They were a match.”

 

Natalie lay silent.  She stared up at the ceiling.  “I can’t believe it.  Why would he kill himself?”

 

“That’s for you to find out if you want to.  The case has been closed.” Bentley said, leaning over and gently kissing her.  His cell-phone started ringing in its coat across the hospital room.  He got up and answered it.  “This is Bentley… Right… You sure… Now… Okay.  I’ll be there.”

 

“What is it?” Natalie asked.

 

“San Francisco called.  They need me back up there quickly.”  Bentley grabbed his coat.  “Listen, call me when you’re discharged, and I’ll come pick you up.”

 

“All right.” Natalie said.

 

“Love you.” Daniel said, leaving the room, quickly.

 

“You too.” Natalie said to the empty room.

 

1428 Hrs PDT

 

Bentley was driving down the road through the industrial area of Los Angeles on his way towards LAX.  He was tired, but wondering why the San Francisco Office needed him back so quickly.  Nothing was in the news that alerted him to a terrorist event.  Unless

 

Nothing in the news alerted him to a terrorist event, unless they received a tip.

 

The area was clear, save for a few semi trucks and vans making deliveries.

 

“Hello Daniel.” A voice said over the radio.

 

Daniel jumped, startled by the phantom voice.  What the hell was going on?  No one on radio frequencies addressed agents by their first names right off the bat.  He picked up the microphone.  “Who is this?”

 

“Oh I think you know who this is.”

 

“Lex?”

 

“Clever boy.  You and your lover agent girl came too close to me too many times on your search.”

 

“How can you be talking to me?  You’re dead.”

 

“You mean the body with teeth that match mine?  Interesting how far we’ve come in cloning, isn’t it?”

 

“What the fuck?” Daniel asked.

 

“Love the language.” X said.

 

Daniel tried to switch frequencies to alert the agents.

 

“I wouldn’t bother with that.  You’re radio is down for outgoing calls.”

 

“What do you want?” Daniel asked, stopping at a red light ahead near a train crossing.

 

“You almost made a mess of things for me, Daniel.  I can’t let you do it again.”

 

A jolt at the back of his car caused Bentley to look back.  A semi had struck him in the rear.  He tried to open his door but found it to be locked.  “What the hell?!”  He tried to gun the engine to move, but before he could touch the gas pedal, the car shifted itself into park.  “Shit!”

 

The semi truck began pushing the car through the empty intersection.  Daniel slammed his foot on the brake pedal but found the car’s brakes were no match for the semi’s power.

 

“What the hell are you doing?!”

 

“Daniel, Daniel.  You should know the answer to that question.  Do you think that after I contacted you, alive and well, I would let you go back to your girlfriend and your agency?  I don’t think so.”

 

The car rolled onto the train tracks and stalled.  The semi truck backed away as the warning signals and gates activated.  A train’s horn was heard not too far away.

 

Daniel was scared shitless now.  He tried his hardest to open his driver and passenger side doors.  He even tried to open the rear doors as well.  It was no use.  He was locked in.

 

He took out his FBI issue handgun and aimed it at the passenger side window.

 

“Daniel, I wouldn’t-”

 

X was cut off by the gunshot.  The bullet ricocheted off the window and ripped through Daniel’s shoulder and embedded itself in his bone.  He screamed in pain.

 

“As I said, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.  The windows are bulletproof.”

 

“Go to Hell.”

 

“Go to Hell?  You’re about to die at the hands of a genius and all you can come up with is go to Hell?  What a pity.  Lesser men had better last words.”

 

The train horn was louder this time around and closer.  Daniel looked and saw it headed towards his driver’s side.

 

“No matter, however.  I hear the chimes of your death, so I shall take leave of you.  Have a nice afterlife.”

 

Daniel heard a click over the radio and looked out the window again.  With his good arm, he struggled to open the door of the car, but to no avail.  This was it.  No glory, no honor.  A God damn train would be the end of him, and his end is murder…

 

Daniel screamed, to no one in particular, as the train neared his car.

 

The engineer sounded the warning horn to the obstacle in his path, hoping it would move.  It didn’t.

 

The five-mile long massive freight train shredded through Daniel’s Crown Victoria as if it was tin foil.  The fuel tank exploded, destroying whatever was left of the car just a split second after the train ripped through it

 

There was nothing left of Daniel’s body as the train had hit directly into his side of the car.

 

Sparks could be seen from the engine as it tried to stop in time.  However, it would be another five miles before it stopped… just enough time for it to clear the crossing and leave the remains of the car scattered on both sides of the track, exposed to the world.

 

September 23, 1999

1029 Hrs PDT

 

Natalie was packing a bag that Bentley had left for her.  She was glad she was being discharged from this damn place.  The food was terrible, and the place was full of sick people.

 

She picked up her cell-phone and dialed the number for the San Francisco Office.  “Yes, I’d like to speak to Daniel Bentley please… Thanks.”

 

“This is Special Agent Roth.” A voice replied.

 

“Oh… I was trying to reach Agent Bentley.”

 

“Who is calling?”

 

“Special Agent Natalie Markins.”

 

“Partner?”

 

“Yes.” Natalie replied.

 

“Then I am sorry to inform you of this Agent Markins, but Agent Bentley is dead.”

 

Natalie’s stomach dropped.  “H…how?”

 

“He was involved in an accident in LA.  A train collided with his car.”

 

Natalie hung up the cell-phone, and threw it down.  Her stomach hurt more…

 

The door opened up and a nurse walked in.  “Agent Markins, you’re ready to go.”

 

Natalie stood still, silent.

 

“Are you okay?” the nurse asked, helping Natalie put her coat on.  “You should be just fine, just take it easy on your arm, and that includes no shooting guns, Agent.”

 

“My partner was killed.”

 

“Oh my… I’m so sorry.”

 

“Thank you.” Natalie said, quietly.  She grabbed her bag and pushed past the nurse, walking out the door.

 

Natalie didn’t know it but as she got closer to the exit of the hospital she started moving faster.  She knew that the Bureau had left a car for her in the parking lot to get herself home.  She just wanted to get to the sanctuary of that car.  But the hallways seemed to be getting longer on purpose, mocking her, not letting her out.  She just wanted out!

 

Upon reaching the car, Natalie threw her bags in the car and slammed the door.  She was finally in the car, but wasn’t feeling better.  Tears were running down her face, non stop, and this time, there was no one there to stop them, or to kiss her lips and tell her she was going to be okay.

 

She turned on the engine and pulled out of the hospital and turned on to a long stretch of road.  She looked onto the road and continued driving… there was a future for her on that road ahead of her… somewhere…

 

November 22, 1999

 

The doorbell rang to Mr. X’s multi-million dollar home.  A butler opened the door to reveal a middle-aged dirty blonde-haired man standing on the porch.

 

“May I help you?” the butler asked.

 

“Yeah, I’m here to see X.” the man replied.

 

“Who may I ask is calling?”

 

The man smiled at the butler.  “Tell him Slater is here.”

 

 

X sat down at the marble counter and handed Slater a water bottle.  “How did you get out, anyway?”

 

Slater smiled.  “Turns out the arresting officers fucked up big time man.  My lawyers got everything revoked and I walked!”

 

“Congratulations.” Mr. X replied.

 

“Thanks.  Nice escape by the way a few months ago.  The inmates are still talking about it.”

 

Mr. X smiled.

 

“Hey, tell me something, X,” Slater said as he drank out of his bottle, “where the hell is Erewhon?”

 

“It’s nowhere.” X replied, smiling.

 

Slater, not as smart as Mr. X, failed to catch the anagram.  X was disappointed.  “Erewhon is located in the Pacific Ocean, close to 150 miles to the California coast.”

 

“That’s where it is?  Shit!  Those guys are smart, ain’t no one gonna swim from there!”

 

“Damn right.”

 

Slater laughed.  “I bet you know what I am here for.”

 

“You need something to do?  How did you find me anyway?”

 

“Your site on the internet man!  Great job disguising it as a fan site for that one show.”

 

“I know.  What kind of work are you looking for?”

 

“I don’t know,” Slater replied, “something fun.  Maybe I can blow some shit up?”

 

“You like cops?”

 

“Fuck no!”

 

X smiled widely.  “You wanna kill some?”

 

Slater grinned.  “Hell yeah.”

 

“Good,” X said, standing up, “Stand by, I’ll be in touch.” He said, walking out of the room.

 

March 10, 2000

 

“They got their driver.” Johnson said, walking in the room.

 

“FLAG?”

 

“Yep.  They’re back.  They just finished their first case in Seattle.  Some kind of gun running deal.”

 

“I’m impressed.  Who is their new driver?”

 

“Some girl named Shawn McCormick.  She was rookie Seattle PD, but she got shot in the head and had a memory chip transplant.  Guess who the chip belonged to?”

 

“The Knight 2000?”

 

“Correct.” Johnson replied.

 

“Even more impressive.  A sister-of-KITT, no less.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Anything else?”

 

“KITT is back, in the body of the new Knight 4000.  And…”

 

“What?” X asked, his interest increasing.

 

“Devon Miles is dead.”

 

“Really.  How?  Did the old man’s ticker finally give out?”

 

“No.  It was murder.” Johnson said, smiling.

 

Mr. X laughed.  “Get that man, Johnson!”

 

“Unfortunately, he was killed by Michael Knight, who returned to help FLAG.  The killer, Tommy Watts, was the co-mastermind of the gun-running.”

 

“Damn.  The best are always dead.” X said, leaving the room.

 

March 12, 2000

Union Square

 

Mr. X did not fear being captured by any authorities now that the case and manhunt for him had been closed.  He sat on a bench and watched people pass by, talking about their plans for the weekend, or their plans for that night.  He laughed, knowing some of them in a few minutes, would have no plans.

 

Slater appeared from the mass of pedestrians and sat down on the bench next to X.  “You wanted to see me?”

 

“Yes,” X replied, smiling, “you told me awhile ago you wanted to kill cops, correct?”

 

“God damn right.” Slater replied.

 

“Good.  I have a task for you.”

 

“Lay it on me, man.”

 

X removed a folder from inside his coat.  “Your new name is Walter Nelson, and in a few days you will take your position as the police commissioner of the Phoenix Police Department.”

 

“What the hell?  This is way out of my league.”

 

“Calm down and let me finish.” X said, his tone changing.  “Everything in this folder and on the CD-ROM enclosed will help you do your job.  You have two jobs, actually.  One is to serve as the police commissioner.  The other is to serve as a departmental leak.  You will anonymously provide information about Phoenix

 

Police operations to criminals, staging the scene for cops to be killed.”

 

“I love it already.” Slater said, grinning like an idiot from ear to ear.

 

“I knew you would.”

 

“But wait, how will cops take to me becoming their commissioner?”

 

X slapped Slater on his head.  “You damn fool!  You won’t go in with this face!”

 

“I wont?”

 

X took another folder out of his coat and opened it.  “This is the real Walter Nelson, taken just a few hours before his death.  His body is submerged in a cement block in San Francisco Bay just off of the east side of Alcatraz.  He has no family, save for parents in Chicago.  He rarely speaks to them.  He is transferring to Phoenix a week from today, which gives you just enough time to heal.”

 

“Heal?” Slater asked, not liking where this was going.

 

X stood up and motioned for Slater to follow.  He started walking towards the street.  “You need to have Nelson’s face, right?”

“Right.  But plastic surgery takes more than a week to heal.”

 

“We aren’t using plastic surgery.” X replied.  He stopped Slater and looked at a cable car running down Powell Street.  He took out a remote control device and pressed a button.  The cable car detonated.  Slater ducked, not expecting the explosion.  X stood still and stared at it, letting the heat from the flames warm his anger-filled veins.

 

“Let’s go.” X commanded, walking across the street back towards his house.

 

 

“Laser reconstruction is the way of the future.” X assured Slater, who was sitting in a reclined chair and being prepped by various doctors and scientists.

 

“I hope you’re right.” Slater said.

 

X turned around abruptly.  “I’m always right.  Don’t worry… Commissioner Nelson.”  Mr. X smiled before he left the room.

 

April 21, 2000

 

Numerous men and women, dressed entirely in plain white clothing, walked around a clean room, checking various stations and instruments.  At the far end of the room, was a stretcher, with the naked body of a man lying on it.  The scientists frequently checked the man, noting his vital signs, writing them down on their clipboards and entering figures into machines.

 

Johnson, dressed in a black and grey uniform, walked down the middle of the clean room towards the man.  Mr. X was behind him, impressed at the skill of the scientists.  “This technology is excellent,” X said, “flawless and skilled.  No one will ever know the difference.”

 

The two men looked over the body. 

 

“You do realize he is in his 50’s.  He could have a heart-attack once he is bounding around in that tank.”

 

X laughed.  “Please, Johnson.  These doctors have altered his DNA so he would appear older, but retain the same brute strength as he did before he was killed.”

 

Johnson was handed a paper and read off the reports.  “Memory restoration has been completed.  He has every memory up until the original’s death.” He informed.

 

“Good.”

 

“Any idea how we are going to explain the sixteen year gap?”

 

“Easy, Johnson.  Lie.” X replied, turning around.  “Call me when the new Mr. Knight is ready for society.” He said, leaving the clean room/sub-basement of his house.

 

Johnson nodded and turned back to the body.  He looked down at it and was amazed at the doctor’s capability of restoring the man, but also enhancing his age to explain away any continuity problems.  The new Garthe Knight would be unstoppable, this time.

 

May 5, 2000

1345 Hrs PDT

 

“Yeah this is Larson.  He’s heading for Seattle now.  Things are moving along wonderfully.”

 

“Glad to hear that,” X said into the telephone, “Does he still believe he is the original?”

 

“Yes,” Larson replied.

 

“Excellent work.  Contact me if any problems arise.”

 

“Do you expect any?”

 

“No.” X simply said before he hung up the phone.

 

May 6, 2000

1017 Hrs PDT

 

X had been wrong.  There were problems with a clone.  He should have known that copies would never be as good as the original.  He was sitting with the cell-phone to his ear as he looked out his window down Nob Hill.  He noticed a pretty redhead crossing the street.

 

His attention was brought back to the phone when he heard a slam and someone yell.  He listened as Larson chastised Garthe.

 

“We are wasting time here, Mr. Knight,” Larson said, losing his patience, “you no longer have a choice to accept your mission.”

 

“I am not amused.” Garth replied.

 

“Oh I don’t expect you to be.” X said into the phone.  “Mr. Knight, we have all come to the end of our ropes with you.  You’ve been resurrected from your ocean grave, given immense strength for a 54-year-old man, and yet you think you can just go and amble around and do whatever you want?  I don’t think so.”

 

“Who is this?” Garthe asked.  “I have no time for these silly games!” Garthe said.

 

X could hear Garthe’s chair scrape across the ground.  “Sit your ass back in that chair.” He demanded. “Garthe, you have a new objective.  I want the Foundation as much as you do, but this plan is fool proof, and if we can finish our objective, then we will have the Knight Foundation and the United States Government exactly where we want them!”

 

“The government is no objective of mine.  I would rather see my brother’s face ripped off.”

 

X laughed.  He found that comment to be rather amusing.  “You and me both, Mr. Knight.  But if we go after him, the Foundation will know it’s us.  I’d rather play mind games, because when you are in your enemy’s mind, you can do the greatest damage of all.”

 

“You are playing mind games with me, and I do not appreciate it.”

 

“Well I do not appreciate you stuck on your vendetta and not cooperating you pathetic copy!” X barked into the phone.  He then wondered if letting it slip would create more problems.

 

“I am not the copy!  Do not ever forget that!  My image was stolen from me, and given to that… that impostor!”

 

X held the phone away from his ear as Garthe screamed.  He was surprised Garthe didn’t ask for more clarification.  “I’m not... Never mind.  Are you ready to cooperate?”

 

X heard a loud slam over the line.  “I assume that’s a yes.”

 

“That is a no.” Garthe shot back.  Garthe’s footsteps could be heard over the line and the door slamming as well.

 

There were a few silent seconds until Larson spoke.  “Do you want to initiate destruction?”

 

“No,” X said, looking out the window for the red-head, “pack up shop, he’s on his own.  He’ll soon see what it’s like to be flying solo.  He failed the first two times.  Now that he has left us, he will fail again.”  X ended the call and tossed the cell-phone onto another chair.

 

Johnson, who was standing in the doorway walked inside the study.  “I don’t understand your reasoning, sir, you do want the Knight Foundation, don’t you?”

 

“Of course I do, Johnson, but with Garthe running around like a child who wants to kick his friends ass because he took his toy garbage truck, it’s not practical.  It’s downright annoying and Larson is getting pissed off having to look after him.” X explained.

 

Johnson stood silent, still confused.

 

X sighed.  “Look, I’ve learned that just going in straight ahead isn’t good.  Garthe had his chance with multiple straight shots, but the Foundation out smarted him.  We have to go to the bigger picture and outsmart them.”

 

Johnson nodded.

 

“We’re going straight to the top.”

 

“To the top.” Johnson repeated.

 

May 11, 2000

 

Mr. X picked up his cell-phone when it started ringing.  “Yeah?” he asked.

 

Johnson was on the other end.  “Sir, this is Johnson.  We’ve searched the wreckage, Garthe Knight is dead.”

 

X rolled his eyes, although he expected it since Garthe decided to fly solo.  Nevertheless, he was pissed.  “I can’t believe this.  Give a man the upper hand and he blows it.  Gather up the pieces of the tank, and destroy them later.  I have another plan in mind.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Johnson said before he hung up the cell-phone.

                                                                                              

X sighed and leaned back in his chair.  He took out a remote control and pressed a button.  Somewhere on the Oakland Bay Bridge, a car exploded.  He smiled, knowing his expertise in bombs could never fail.

 

June 7, 2000

 

Mr. X sat in his chair and had a bored look on his face.  He listened to the inept police commissioner whine in his ear over the phone.  “I’m telling you, you gotta get me outta here!”

 

“That was perfect bait to lure the Foundation and you screwed it up!  Dammit!  First the Garthe clone and now this!  I'm sick of all these failures!”

 

“Hey, with the way that car is tricked out, what else could I do?”

 

“For starters, you should have read through the memo more and not have been stupid enough to underestimate Shawn McCormick and her car.”

 

“I... I...” Nelson stuttered over the phone.

 

“You wanted your share of the money.” X simply said.

 

“Listen, just get me outta here.  Get me a new identity and put me somewhere else.  We can stop them another day.”

 

“No, you have failed,” he said, “I have another idea in mind, one which doesn’t require your attention!”

 

“What are you talking about?  Hello?”

 

Before hanging up the phone, Mr. X pressed a button.  “Useless piece of shit.” He said, getting up and walking out the room.

 

May 11, 2001

Ghirardelli Square

 

“What is in it for me?” a British man asked Mr. X as they were sitting on a planter under a tree.

 

“Two million dollars, no questions asked upon delivery of the weapon.” X said.

 

David Dayne nodded, being sure to hide his enthusiasm for the job.  “I will need to assemble a team.”

 

“I don’t deal with teams, nor do I pay them.  Assembling a team and then paying them will be your sole responsibility.”

 

“I’ll need more money then.” Dayne said, standing up, ready to walk out of the negotiations.

 

“You drive a hard bargain, David,” X said, “but how will four sound for you?”

 

“Adequate.” David crisply replied.

 

“Good.” X replied.  “Sit down.” He commanded.

 

David complied and looked up at the sky.  “How will I be able to steal the weapon out of the lab?  I assume it is heavily guarded.”

 

“It is,” X said, “but close to a year ago, a crime organization usurped me and was able to plant an insider into that corporation.  I decided to follow suit and plant one of my own.  You will make contact with her and have her assist you as much as possible.  Her name is Cynthia Weiss, here is her phone number and address.” X said, handing over a piece of paper.

 

David took the paper and stuffed it into his pocket.  “Pleasure doing business with you.”

 

“Likewise.” X said, despite the fact he wasn’t the one who obviously closed the negotiations.

 

David stood up and began to walk away before X grabbed his arm.  “What?”

 

“Read the file that I sent you earlier… and do not underestimate the Knight Foundation.”

 

David smiled.  “I don’t intend to.”

 

June 12, 2001

 

Mr. X quickly clicked the mouse button on his computer.  The screen displayed the words: Email intercepted and terminated.

 

He clicked on the email and viewed Natalie’s case report.  No way in hell her added speculation would ever make it to the Bureau.

 

“Johnson.” He said.

 

Johnson walked into the room.  “Yes sir?”

 

“Get me David Dayne.” Mr. X said.

 

“No problem.” Johnson said, leaving the room.

 

A tap on the keyboard quickly changed the image to the security feed from the Knight Industries garage.  He watched Bonnie Barstow and Kevin Williams work on repairing KITT.

 

Johnson quickly returned with a cell-phone.  “Here you are.”

 

X took the phone and held it up to his ear.

 

“This is Dayne.  And hurry it up too, these wardens aren’t too happy I’m getting a call.”

 

“Yeah, well who cares?” the man said.  “I must say, however… Nice going you worthless piece of shit!  You screwed up the whole operation!”

 

“Cut the crap man.  How was I supposed to know that they were able to shield themselves and disable the weapon?”

 

“By being as smart as I paid you to be!” the man yelled into the phone.  “Have fun rotting away in your cell.”

 

“You aren’t gonna get me out?”

 

“Why should I come to the rescue of someone who screwed up?” the man said, hanging up the phone.

 

“What now?” Johnson asked.

 

“What now, indeed, Johnson.  What can I say?  If you want a job done right, you have to do it yourself.” He said, zooming in on the feed of the Knight Foundation garage.

 

X sighed and stretched in his chair.  He was surprised how hard it was to keep up with the Knight Foundation.  “Failure is never an option, Johnson.  What kinds of dipshits are coming to work for us?”

 

“Bad ones, sir.”

 

“Fuck it,” X said, standing up, “I’m going to blow something up.”

 

“And forget FLAG?” Johnson asked, confused.

 

“Of course not, but I need something to do to take my mind off of this.” X said, leaving the room.

 

“Why can’t he be like most men and get laid?” Johnson said to himself, once Mr. X was long out of earshot.

 

September 12, 2001

 

“What?!” Mr. X yelled into the phone.

 

Johnson took a step back.  Despite Mr. X’s temper, he had never heard him yell that loud.

 

He knew the source of X’s anger, however.  The money was gone.

 

Mr. X slammed the phone down and held his head.  “I can’t believe this.” He said calmly.  Then he stood up and kicked over a table.  “I can’t fucking believe this!”

 

“All of it is gone, I can’t believe that all of it is gone.” Johnson said.

 

“Son of a bitch terrorists!  We had that money over there since 19-fucking-86!  And now these motherfuckers bomb the tits off the fucking country and our money disappears in the fucking process!”

 

“What the fuck are we supposed to do now?!” Johnson asked.

 

“How in the hell should I know?”

 

“Can we hang on with what we’ve got?” Johnson asked.

 

“Hang on?!  How the fuck can we do that?  That’s ten million fucking dollars that disappeared in Rhyadh!  I can’t even find the fuck-head who ran the bank we shoved it into!”

 

“He probably got the hell out before shit hit the fan.  Took the money and ran.” Johnson suggested.

 

“Yeah, I hope it’s that.  Because that’s ten million dollars we God damn lost!  That little shit-face cocksucker better hope he got out before he got nailed by a terrorist because if I find out that God damn al-Qaeda used my fucking money, my fucking money to do the chickenshit stunt they pulled yesterday… Jesus Christ, I don’t know what the hell I’ll do.”

 

“Go up against Osama?” Johnson asked.

 

“That’ll be the day.” X said, laughing.

 

February 20, 2002

 

Mr. X walked into the room and shut the news off of the television that Johnson was watching.  “I’ve almost forgotten about the business deal we made two years ago.”

 

“Medallion?  God knows I haven’t.  Walter Anderson has always been bugging me for the God damn payment.” Johnson said, sitting up.

 

“Medallion is fighting against FLAG for a contract with Homeland Defense.  Seems that there is an unsolved murder in the mid-west and whoever can solve the murder, gets the contract.”

 

“Okay?” Johnson said, unsure where Mr. X was going with this.  Johnson had become tired and burnt out of Mr. X’s wild plans that seem to just be head games with FLAG.  But he wouldn’t dare say that, of course, considering how well he was paid.

 

“If Medallion gets into the federal government, we can give them some money for once, and use them for our purposes.  If we give them the one up on FLAG, then they could definitely win.  Not to mention, if they manage to screw up, we have an impossible-to-fail-backup plan.”

 

“And how are you so sure it is impossible to fail?” Johnson asked.

 

“Because this time, we’re doing it all ourselves.”

 

“About damn time,” Johnson said, “smart mercenaries are hard to find nowadays.”

 

“And the dumb ones are too much of a God damn waste of money.  We’ve been down and dormant for too long, Johnson.  This is our comeback call.”

 

“How much do we have left?” Johnson asked.

 

“How much what?”

 

“Money.”

 

X grabbed a beer bottle and took a gulp.  “Enough.”

 

“How much is enough?  Dammit, Baxter, I’m your closest friend.  Are we dying?”

 

“We have five million dollars left.  That’s more than enough to satisfy us until we can secure more funds.”

 

“Do you think Anderson will cooperate?”

 

“He doesn’t have a choice.” X replied.  “I want you to be the median with him.  Keep tabs on the operation and report to me.  And once they screw it up, it’s our turn.”

 

“Do you think they will screw it up?” Johnson asked.

 

X scoffed.  “With my luck?  Of course.”

 

March 20, 2002

1000 Hrs PST

 

The redhead crossed the street again, in a hurry.  She was obviously late.  X watched her with wide-eyes and wondered if she lived or worked near him.  One of these days he would make an effort to speak with her.  Once the Knight Foundation is off his mind.

 

The cell-phone rang.  People always have such wonderful timing, X thought.  He picked it up.  “Yeah?”

 

“This is Johnson.  Joe is starting to piss me off.”

 

“Don’t you worry about him, he’ll screw himself over soon.  It’s the Knight Foundation we should keep an eye on.”

 

“The virus worked?”

 

X tugged on his navy-blue bullet-proof vest and ran his free hand through his dirty blonde hair.  “It did what it needed to do,” he said, “it took KITT out of the equation.”

 

“Are you positive?  You do realize how many times he was damaged and repaired.  Even the Garthe Knight clone couldn’t finish KITT off with his tank.” Johnson protested.

 

“Johnson, you are one of my most trusted friends, and you know how my mind works just about as well as I do.  If FLAG does manage to get KITT online, Medallion would have won the contract and the Foundation would be too far behind.  But don’t worry, Eric.  I have a back up plan in the works as well.  Just in case.” X replied, hanging up.  He realized he has an affinity for hanging up on people.

 

He looked out the window again and the redhead was gone.  “Damn.” he said.

 

March 21, 2002

0101 Hrs PST

 

The ringing cell-phone did not awaken Mr. X because he was already up.  The redhead was sleeping, naked under the sheets and X had just flicked a cigarette out his window to the street below.  He casually walked over and picked up the phone and noticed it was Johnson.  “Where are you?” he asked.

 

“Somewhere outside Cheyenne,” Johnson replied, “I should be there by tomorrow evening so we can finish this whole mess.”

 

“What about Medallion?”

 

“Heh, FLAG will probably nail them soon, we’ll let them be tossed to the dogs.”

 

“Good, it saved me 250 million dollars.”

 

“It cost me enough, those guys are clowns.” Johnson said.

 

“Don’t worry.  Soon everything will fall into place.” X said, hanging up on Johnson once again.  He didn’t care this time around.  He needed action and he got action.  He gently woke the redhead by kissing her shoulders, alerting her that he was ready for more…

 

March 23, 2002

0719 Hrs PST

 

Natalie looked up at the bright light, wishing she could wipe the beads of sweat off of her brow.  The room she was kept in was blazing hot, around 92 degrees, she estimated.

 

She hadn’t been fed, nor watered by her captor or captors.  She didn’t face any of them either, as she was spoken to by a voice booming from a PA system in whatever room she was in.

 

“Good morning, Agent Markins.” X said through a microphone.

 

“What the hell do you want?”  Natalie asked.  “You bring me here, tell me to sit tight at wait, and now it’s morning.  Not to mention my back is killing me because you have me tied to this God damn pole!” she yelled, tugging at the ropes.

 

“So sorry, Agent Markins, my apologies, I guess you expected being kidnapped as staying at the Hilton.”

 

“Up yours, you cock-sucker.” Natalie yelled.

 

“Now, now, now,” the voice scolded, “I don’t like you using foul language.”

 

“Who in the hell are you?”

 

“Why Agent Markins, you disappoint me.  You rewrote the case file on me not so long ago.  You have to remember my escape from nowhere.”

 

Natalie closed her eyes and tried her hardest despite her thirst and hunger to search her mind.  The voice had just given her hints that she had either encountered or studied it before.  Then it hit her… Nowhere.  “Erewhon.” She said, referencing the disavowed floating prison in the Pacific Ocean.

 

“Clever girl.”

 

“Mr. X, I presume.”

 

“Correct.” X replied, smiling.

 

“What do you want?” Natalie asked.  “Why the hell am I here?”

 

Natalie jumped when X spoke into her ear from behind her.  “Because you’re a prime target.” He said, grinning.  He walked around Natalie and faced her.

 

“How have you been, Agent Markins?  It’s been so long.”

 

“Not long enough.  You’re supposed to be dead.” Natalie growled.

 

“Yes, that was a clever trick, three years ago, wasn’t it?”

 

“If you say so.  How did you do it?”

 

“Advances in cloning, Agent Markins… technology is such a beautiful thing!” X said.  “In fact, I remember a young agent named Daniel, who found out the truth… just before he died.”

 

Natalie’s eyes almost bugged out of her head.  “You?”

 

X nodded.  “Train crossings are such a bitch aren’t they?”

 

Natalie wanted to kill Mr. X right there, but due to her horrid restraints, she couldn’t.  Her anger boiled inside of her veins, and she knew sooner or later she would get the last laugh.  If she survived.

 

“Don’t worry, Agent Markins, I don’t intend to kill you.  You are much too valuable.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

X paced the room.  “You’re my little telegraph, honey.  You’re being spared so you can forewarn FLAG that I am coming to get them.  I’ve sent out another warning, but I think it’s only fair for a hunter to chase his prey.”

 

Natalie rolled her eyes at X’s euphemism.  “You’re going down, pal.”

 

“No, pal,” X said, mocking Natalie and producing a needle, “you are.”  He stuck it into Natalie’s bare shoulder and watched her slowly slip away from consciousness.  “Pleasant dreams, Agent Markins.”

 

March 24, 2002

2319 Hrs PST

Knight Foundation Storage Facility

Location: Los Angeles, California

 

There was a guard on duty as a black mini van drove up to the gate that was surrounding the old cold storage facilities. The window to the van rolled down as the security came up to it. The man in the driver’s seat looked at him with a smile.

 

“Authorization please?” the guard asked.

 

Eric Johnson looked at the inquisitive guard and smiled.  “I got my authorization right here.” He said, reaching into his coat.  He pulled out an ID card and showed it to the guard.

 

The guard eyed the ID card, nodded, and returned it back to Johnson.  “You’re clear, sir.”

 

Johnson smiled as the gates opened.  He drove the van through the gates and up to a warehouse.

 

The front and side doors opened, and four men exited the van.  Mr. X walked over to Johnson, looking at his watch.  “All right, I want the heist done in five minutes.”

 

Johnson nodded.  “Let’s go.”

 

A man walked over to an electronic keypad and took out a laptop.  He stuck a card, with wires connecting it to the computer, into the slot.  He opened up the laptop and began typing.  The five-digit combination appeared on the screen.  He pressed the numbers on the keypad and a mechanical buzz was heard. 

 

Mr. X walked over to the door and opened it.  He walked in with the men following.

 

They proceeded down the hall until they reached a door marked Laboratory 3. With their equipment they managed to open the door to the room. Inside, everything was in covered in cloth. The men immediately began taking the cloth off until they found a Brinks Personal Security Safe sitting on the ground.

 

Another man sat down on the ground and listed to the lock as he turned numbers.  It took no time for the safe to be opened.  “Mr. X, I believe we have the CPU.”

 

“Good, hurry up!” X said.

 

Johnson walked over to the safe cracker.  “Here’s the replacement.” Johnson said, handing a box to the man. 

 

The man took the box, placed it inside of the safe, and handed an identical box, which he removed from the safe, to Mr. X.

 

“That’s it. Let’s get to the van and get the hell out of here,” X said.  The man locked the safe and joined the others. 

 

They ran back towards the van but were challenged by four guards.  “Freeze!” the head guard yelled.

 

Mr. X produced a World War II German Luger, one of his favorite handguns and smiled evilly.  “Drop ‘em!” he ordered.

 

 

 

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