Deckard Blaine and Channel Kitka will be back in
Intrigue Submarine
Read a sample from the newest Deckard Blaine and Channel Kitka adventure:
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Deckard and Kitka sat at the window watching the rain pound down. The sky was lit with streaks of lightening, and punctuated with low rolls of thunder. It had been six months since the incident on the Orbital Space Satellite: Dog Green. It had been a year altogether when the harrowing events sent Ultra team 7 from one end of the country to the other, facing corporate assassins, mob bosses and their underlings, insane armies of the past and finally, almost their match in genetic science gone horrible wrong. Their former boss and his hideous snake beast had played a game of literal cat and mouse to lure them into his deep space stronghold. Once there, he had made a deal that Deckard and Kitka couldn't refuse. But they had, and had survived, but just barely. Their injuries had been massive, Kitka had been savaged by the reptilian Stoltz, and Deckard had been poisoned with Goramund's nerve numbing venom.
Hallucinating that he and Kitka had died and passed beyond the veil, he was puzzled to find himself awake in a hospital berth on a United States Space Corps space craft. It was rocketing back to earth, where more than one thing had changed. Kitka was resting on his left side, nearly as covered in bandages as he was. The damage they had sustained defeating Stoltz and his monster snake was repaired and was healing. Bowden was in command of the newly formed USSC. It seemed that his I'm-just-an-ignorant-grunt was just that: an act. After he had retired from the Section, he began to look more closely at it and other world events. He had quickly realized what was going on and why. That's when the mission to go after the plans for the Impulse Cannon had dropped neatly into his lap. He deferred the mission to Deckard and Kitka, who he knew would not fail. At the end, he was there to scoop them up and save their lives. Deck realized he had been manipulated again, but Bowden had come clean about the entire thing. He couldn't risk flipping his hand. But now that was all over with. Deckard and Kitka had been nearly recovered by the time that they had arrived back at Earth. They spent some time in the hospital, mostly sleeping, and then went home. Monica had been informed of their injuries and had come to see them in the hospital, a little red eyed and weepy. She petted them both, and told them she was glad they were home. The doctors, who Blaine had been expecting bad news from, told him while his augmented form had shorted his lifespan dramatically, he had been able to stave off those effects with his adopted metabolism. In short, he was able to slow his aging due to his relaxed feline nature.
Now they both sat, watching the rain tumble from the sky. At times like this, Deckard's heart rate fell to less than 55 beats a minute, his breathing slow and constant. His metabolism sank into serenity, along with the slow purr of Kitka. Then a loud knock at the door shook them both out of their state. Deckard could hear the tension behind the pounding. He jerked the door open. There, drenched with rain, was Jack Haining, without a jacket or a tie, his tears mixing with the rain running down his face.
"My daughter," He croaked. "They took my daughter." He looked desperately with red rimmed eyes at Deckard. Deckard took him in and got the whole story. Jack Haining was the town's resident celebrity billionaire and Deckard owed him one.
After the assassination at Haining's Midwinter ball, where Ultra Team 7 was present, he and his wife Tracy had been shocked into a revitalization. Their marriage suddenly improved and things were confessed and forgiven on both sides. Just about the time that Deckard was slipping into Texas, Tracey became pregnant with their first child, to the delight of both of them. Jack went into proud father mode, instantly, attending to his wife's every whim, telling everyone that he could the good news. When asked if it were a boy or a girl, Jack stated he would be happy with either. It didn't matter, he and his wife were in love like never before and now his life would be complete. The child was born, a girl, and christened Vesper Lynn Haining at about the time that Deck and Kitka were trapped by the mob boss Sissy Mawson at her Houston HQ. The entire town celebrated along with Jack and life continued. Until tonight. Jack had arrived home to find his wife unconscious on the floor, his child gone. He had called for the doctors who had to sedate Tracy once she discovered what had happened. Jack had got a text on his phone with a picture of little Vesper: One million by midnight.
Jack had attempted to get the money, but the lightening had knocked down key elements in the grid, making the electronic transfer impossible. He could not get the money, now with four hours to go, he stumbled into the rain and wound up at Deckard's house.
"You've got to get her back," Jack cried out, his tears boiling out and over. "If something happens to her..." The thought was too terrible and was dismissed by Deckard.
"Don't think about that. Go home and take a sedative. I'll go get her and bring her to you by the morning, okay?"
"Just like that?" His voice quavered, but had a touch of hope in it.
"Just like that." Deckard helped him up and took him to the front door. "Go home and see to your wife. Everything will be okay. I'll be at your place a little later with Vesper. She'll be just the way she was this morning."
Jack smiled under his grief ridden face a little, then frowned. "How do you know? If anything happens to her, anything..." He broke down again. Kitka wound around his legs and Deckard put his hands on his shoulders.
"Because that's the way it is. These guys are not pros. Pros would've come to you first, and if there were pros, I would have known they were in town and dealt with them already. Here's what's going to happen: You're going home, taking a sleeping pill. When you wake up, your wife will be holding your baby daughter again. Believe me?" As Deckard said this, Kitka wound tighter about Jack's legs and began to purr loudly.
Jack nodded. A look of dark danger pervaded his features. "If they hurt her, or, oh, God," the thought was too horrible to contemplate. "Kill them. Make them SUFFER." He choked these last words out.
Deckard nodded. "Okay, I will. But it's not going to come to that. Go home, I got work to do." Jack nodded again and stumbled off to his car. After a lengthy pause, it started up and drove slowly off. Deckard closed the door and went to his office, where all of his monitoring equipment was. After a brief bit of thought, he zeroed in on the time he wanted. It was true what he said. They were amateurs. Pros knew that a person couldn't get that much money in that amount of time. It just wasn't done that way. It had to be someone who was local and was on the inside. Deckard ran the camera feeds from inside the Haining Manor from noon to present. Ultra team seven had long ago put down heavy surveillance on the major spots of interest in the town. That included the Haining estate.
The house was empty except for a maid and Mrs. Haining. The maid went home at three. Tracey Haining and her daughter were the picture of family bliss. Tracey was fed and changed and played with and then put in her crib for a nap. Tracey lingered until her daughter fell asleep and then went downstairs. Then a white truck pulled up, a diaper service. Two men got out, and one went to the back of the house. While Mrs. Haining oversaw the diaper delivery and takeaway, the other man waited. The delivery man tipped his hat and left the house, driving away. The other man slipped upstairs and nabbed the baby. He then left the house and got into the truck that waited by the gate. It was at least thirty minutes before Mrs. Haining went upstairs to check on her daughter. Finding that she was not there, Mrs. Haining screamed and screamed. Then as a result, passed out, striking her head on the marble floor. Deckard observed all this in fast motion with no sound. The delivery service had an address that he crossed checked when the van had pulled up.
Deckard sighed. "I told him to fire his security company," Grabbing his black outfit designed for mobility, comfort and concealment, he flung his clothes away and dressed on the way to his own car. The equipment was in each pocket, and Kitka galloped after him. The car started with a roar and sped out into the night.
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The Burpee diaper service was in an innocuous buildi
ng on the west side of town. The two kidnappers sat, apprehensively. Another two were around, one outside, smoking and another wandering the building. One fiddled with a phone while the other shifted his weight. Both of them looked up and the faint cry of a baby could be heard. An argument insued and the smaller of the two went to attend the crying child. Deckard watched all this with his scopes from a second story ledge. The rain had let up slightly, but was still failing. Close ups of the windows revealed the contents of each room. Deckard used his Multi-integrated Link to call up the floor plans from the infranet.
"Kitka, I want you in the room with Vesper. The closer the better. When I make my move, if one of them even turns towards her, kill them." Deckard stroked her back and tail. Kitka vanished under her stealth collar. Deckard slid off the ledge and walked silently up to the one outside with deadly intent. Deck could feel the man's collarbone break as he slammed his fist on the side of his neck. He dropped in a heap. Deckard glanced at him dispassionately. Blood was trickling out of his nose and one of his eyes opened with the pupil dilated to the max. Deck waited near the back entrance of the Burpee diaper service for Kitka's signal. The back entrance was a solid door, with a deadbolt that was not thrown. When his watch face flashed three times, signaling the Kitka was in position. Deckard knocked as loud as he could. Using a fiber optic camera, he watched the larger of the two men approach the door cautiously. A third hung back, near the door where little Vesper lay.
"Yeah," a deep voice sounded.
"Hey, open up." Deckard said quietly.
"What?" The man asked harshly., moving closer to the door. The camera showed the other man in the room, standing up and half turned, as if to go into the other room.
"OPEN. UP." Deckard said loudly.
"We're closed." The harsh voice said.
Deckard took a lunge back and planted his foot above the door knob, slamming it open and off it's hinges slightly. The man was knocked over and Deckard was through the door, pointing both wrist guns at each of the men closest. The one man near the door bolted. Deciding that he hated child-nappers, Deck shot the man left standing through the throat, severing the spinal cord. He gurgled and fell to his knees and toppled over slowly. Deckard focused his attention on the downed man.
"Give it up." He shook his head. "I'll let you live." This guy was too stupid. He would make a move.
"If I were you," The man said angrily, "I'd be thinking how I was going to explain how you let my partner shoot the Haining brat." He nodded. "He's going to come back in here with her and then we're going to leave. Then the price tag will be two million. If you're lucky, I'll keep that pervert off her as well." He smiled with malicious delight. The smile faded as a strangled scream echoed throughout the building.
"Your partner is dead." Deckard stated dismissively. "Give it up or I kill you where you lie."
The man's body became a blur of motion, quicker than Deckard would've thought. But still way too slow. As the glint of steel flashed in his hand, Deckard squeezed the trigger and shot the man between the eyes. The man's head thudded on the pavement with a wet smack. Blood began to quickly pool around. Deckard let his wrist gun snap into its housing and went into another room. It was all dark. He could see the body of the other man, his throat torn out. Close to that was a large wicker basket. Inside was Vesper, sound asleep, with Kitka curled up close, her bright eyes glittering out, her tail wrapped around one of Little Vesper's arms. Kitka began to purr deep and loud . Vesper woke up and looked at him, yawned and then went back to sleep. Kitka yawned even wider, causing Deckard to yawn too. Deckard checked his watch. It was an hour and a half until midnight. He picked up the basket with them both in it and walked to his car, leaving the grisly scene for the police.
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Jack Haining woke up in his darkened bedroom. He could see a dark figure walking away from the bed, toward the window.
"Hey!" He meant to shout, but all he managed but a short grunt. The figure turned around. It put a finger to it's lips.
"Shhhhhhh." Deckard Blaine's face became visible in a faint flash of distant lightening. He turned and went out the window without a sound. For a moment, Jack thought that he could see the faint outline of a cat. She flicked her tail and then was also gone.
Jack looked to his wife, who was asleep on her side, where little Vesper had been placed, twined in her arms, also asleep. His face split with a wide grin and tears and he hugged his wife with a happy sound. She woke, with a puzzled forlorn expression, but then realized her daughter was back. Tracey gasped and looked at her husband. He shook his head and no more words were needed. The Haining family was back together and safe, thanks to their phantom protector.
.
Monica Domentta studied the canvas. She was a photographer that specialized in antiquing portraits. She would take a portrait photograph, then transfer the image onto canvas. With a few touch-up, it looked like an oil painting. She did all other types of photography, but that was what paid the bills. She also freelanced for about three different papers and magazines. Her studio was right on the town square. The large picture window held some of her most impressive work. The face of a child gasping up at red balloon in a field of green grass, a large and stately bridge lit up for the night, with fireworks above it, and the top of a building, covered in fog, with a concealed figure, his back to the camera, looked as if he were thinking about jumping off, all filled the windows. Inside, the finished portraits of this man or that woman, or a family, or their children and sometimes a pet hung on the walls, ready for pickup. She inspected the canvas, making touchups here and there. The bell in the door tinkled softly. She looked up to see an elegant looking woman, looking somehow out of place in such casual clothes in the store. Monica smiled and said hello, then it was back to the subject at hand. The woman took a good look around the store, inspecting every photograph. Monica rubbed the bridge of her nose and looked up. The woman was mesmerized by a shot of an assembly of townspeople during the millennium celebration. It was in black and white and the shot took place in the town square. Monica went to stand by her, as she looked at the shot.
"It's so detailed." She murmured. It was then that Monica realized she had a baby cradled in her arms. The baby was wide awake, looking about curiously, stopping to blink and smile at everything.
"Yes, I love that shot. It was taken about 85 years ago. I found it when I bought this old camera store three years ago."
"Was it that big?" The woman could not take her eyes off it. The crowd was very animated and every face had an expression of amazement of something that was taking place just off camera.
"No it was a snapshot, about 8 by 12. It was old and stained, but it just seemed to call out to me. So I enlarged it, cleaned it up, clairifed it, fixed it."
The woman turned to her for the first time. "It's gorgeous. You have real talent I can see." The woman shifted her weight to support the child and held out a hand to her. "I'm Tracey Haining."
The two women shook hands. "Monica Domentta," Monica said, dazed. She knew of Tracey Haining, but never met her. Gosh, everyone knew the wife of the richest and most well known figure of Jack Haining. Jack Haining, who turned a small town into a cultural mecca, that had also retained it's small town feel.
"This shot is amazing." She turned to look at it again. "How much are you asking?"
"I've never thought of a price, it's just for show mostly. You're the first person to even ask."
"Well, then think of one, because I surely want it. I don't know if I want to hang it in the lobby of Jack's office, or keep it for myself. It seems a shame to have it all to myself, but right now I feel like I want to look at it everyday!" Tracey gushed and the quickly changed the subject. "But that's not why I'm here. You know Deckard Blaine, right?"
Monica was taken aback. "Yes, he's, well, he's my boyfriend." She didn't think anyone but her knew Deck.
"Well, he did a giant favor for me and Jack." Here, she looked at the child in her arms, and her eyes glistened for a moment.
"But since then, he's disappeared. We can't get him on the phone, he doesn't answer his door and he doesn't have an email or MIL address that we can find,"
"He sometimes can get preoccupied." By which I mean he can sleep for days on end, if the favor that he did for you is like other things he's done. "But if you need to get a message to him, I'm your girl."
Mrs. Haining dipped a hand into the giant purse that she had around her shoulder and came up with an envelope. "We want him to come to dinner on Friday night, at our place. Nothing fancy, but it's important to Jack and me. And this includes a guest, too, so be sure and point that out to him."
Monica took the envelope. "I think I already know who he'll take." She grinned wryly, without remorse. Kitka and he were a team, she knew and accepted that.
"Oh, no, it's an invitation to both Deckard and Kitka," Tracey smiled conspiratorially. "So you see, you can come too, if you want. And I sure would like you to." Monica reeled with that sentence. Clearly, whatever the favor that Deck did for the Hainings had been VERY big indeed if they knew about Kitka. Deck tended to keep to himself and Kitka never showed herself to strangers, which at last count was everyone but three people.
"And if you have other plans, don't worry, it's all casual. Jack and I are very Casual these days." Tracey put an accent on the casual like it was an inside joke. "But whatever you decide, I still would love to have this photograph. So starting thinking of a price, or I'll have to." She made some more small talk with Monica and then breezed out of the store and across the street. It was lunch time and the building across the way was where Jack Haining's office was. To think of having one of her photographs in that building! VIP's and celebrities were in and out of there all day. It could mean a lot. But what price? She had done it merely to stretch her abilities. It was a hard project, and for a while had had the original next to it in the window. But she had the other photographs. But what about Deckard? What was the thing that he had done for them?
.
Deckard droused on the sofa, supine and breathing slowly. Kitka was slapping something across the kitchen tile. Her ears pricked up and she ran to the front window and looked out. Monica stood there and waved at her. Kitka jumped down and pawed the door control so that it unlocked. Deckard had everything rigged so that she could operate it. Monica stepped in.
"Hi, Channel baby," Monica knelt and exchanged courtesies with her. Kitka bumped her shin with her head then looked over to Deckard then back to Monica.
"Sleeping huh?" Monica looked down at her. When she looked up, Deckard was standing in front of her in a flash, scratching sleepily. "Hey, what's up." He hugged her, leaning on her too slightly, and kissing her neck. He then stood up.
"Is it morning?"
"It's night." Monica followed them into the kitchen where she explained her meeting with Tracey Haining, while Deck drank a glass of water, a glass of milk, a glass of soda, and another glass of water. She looked at him expectantly. He blinked.
"You want to go? Because if you don't want to go, then I don't either. But if you want to go, then I want to go."
"Well, yes I want to go. The Haining mansion is supposed to be breath taking. Tracey Haining has flawless taste and decorated it along with a majority of the town. But that's not what I want to hear about. I want to hear about the favor you did for them."
Jack blinked again. "Oh, that." He began to fill up a glass of water. "I can't really say. I mean that." He looked right at her, his eyes suddenly steel. "The situation is complex and you don't want to know about it. I don't think the Haining's would want me to say. BUT, I think I can tell you that it involved the safety of their little girl."
Monica thought briefly for a moment. She read the papers and though it was downplayed in the news, she thought she could figure it out. "Okay. But now I want to go shopping for a new dress to wear on Friday." She took his hand and led him into the bathroom. There she began to take off all of his clothes. When he was naked she turned on the shower and put him in it. He took a face full of water and opened his eyes, now quite awake. She was in the shower with him.
"But, first," She wrapped herself tightly about him with a wide smile.
.
The doorbell sounded and Jack Haining, dressed in kakis, sneakers, and an untucked blue Oxford, swung the door open wide. Deckard stood there dressed all in black, as usual, hands in pockets. His expression was one of the ultimate predatory cat: Alert and deadly, but at ease. A slim tall girl, with slight oriental or Arabic features, had her arm hooked on his elbow. She was dressed in an elegant summer dressed, silk and colorful, her face was alight with excitement and she was nearly exquisitely beautiful. Jack took a step forward, grinning, noting how the two of them went together very well. Tracey had said Deck may have a surprise for them. After shaking hands and introductions, Jack led them into the large kitchen that had somehow become the center of the Haining home. It was big enough for a small living area, as well as a porch entrance and a wetbar. Tracey was there, stirring something in a large pot. Vesper was in a crib nearby, with a Doberman pincher lying underneath it. Tracey looked up as they entered.
"Deckard! Monica!" She crossed the space, arms open for greetings and hugs. She hugged Monica first, kissing her on both cheeks, European style. Deckard had heard she had spent the first part of her life abroad. "I am so glad that you came! There is so much I want to talk to you about! And Deckard!" Tracey hugged him slowly, kissing him on both cheeks as well. "Deckard, forever our friend. But where's Kitka?" At this Jack coughed, as if to point out his wife's faux paux.
"No, it's okay," Deckard looked sleepily over at Jack. "She's already here. Kitka," He called, as he looked over to the crib. Kitka appeared like turning on a lamp. She was sitting in it, washing her ears. The Doberman thumped his tail on the floor a couple of times.
"Sorry about that. Ever since, well, that night, she's grown fond of little Vesper. She thinks she's her kitten," Deckard shrugged as Kitka bounded over to him from the crib. Jack and Tracey giggled at the imagery.
Jack ushered them to seats at a round tile table and gave them both a glass of red wine.
"New dog, eh?" Deck asked. It seemed that Kitka and the Doberman had already met and come to an understanding.
"Ajax. Yes, well, it seemed logical after what happened. I got him from the shelter. He was a guard dog in a warehouse that went out of business. I went in for a puppy, but he needed a home. I don't know, it just seemed..." As he said this, the dog came over to Jack and put his head under his hand, as it sat on the arm rest. Jack scratched his ears.
"Yes, I understand. Believe me." Monica watched as the three of them exchanged an understanding.
"But enough of our sorrid family past!" Tracey said. "Monica, tell me that you've reached a price for the picture for your work. I've thought of little else. I'll want it reframed, something to match the interior of Jack's foyer. Be sure and include that in the price. Just tell me when you can get it done, but I'll like it as soon as possible."
Deck looked at Monica and then Jack, who shrugged.
"As a matter of fact, I haven't thought of a price. I went from my shop to Deck's and then we went out."
Tracey pulled out her purse and handed her an envelope. "I thought as much. Sometimes artists just don't think about these things, so here."
Monica opened the envelope and gasped. She made to protest, but was stopped by Tracey.
"No, I have an idea of what you were going to say, and I say you were even thinking about just giving it to me." Monica's expression gave her away. "Ha, as I thought. I can tell you that price is the price I would gladly pay in New York or even Paris for such a work, a bargain, in fact. We cannot have our local artists working for nothing. It would give the whole town a folk art name."
Monica appealed to Jack. "Mr. Haining, do you know how much of your money your wife is about to spend?"
"Call me Jack. No, I don't know, and I don't care. Trace has been going on and on about it since she saw it. I have absolute faith in
her judgement. Her talent and eye for talent has made this city what is it today. If she is prepared to spent one dollar or a million, then it's worth it, I'm sure."
"Deal, then. I'll have to look at the lobby and see what will work. Then I can get you some samples and you can decide from there." Monica shrugged. Appetizers were served and then some light appertifs. The main course seemed to come and ago admist light talk of the new shows, Jack's work in town, and all the details. Deckard's vanishing act was carefully not mentioned, as well as anything about him. Deckard nodded and listened, and occasionally brought out some stories of his own, with names and dates omitted, of course. He and Kitka enjoyed themselves immensely, it was rare for them, almost unique, to have such a domestic evening. Monica was led away to examine the house in detail, as well as the number of art works. Jack drew closer to Deck.
"Deck, I want to talk to you about something. You too, Kitka." He looked around for her, and she leapt up on the table.
"One of my business partners died recently and left me all of his old business contact and files. I've been going through it bit by bit, but it seems that at some point he worked for your old company." At this he raised an eyebrow. "The same one as Les Paul,"
Deckard leaned in. "I'm listening,"
Jack Haining leaned closer. "What do you know about Ultra Team Four?"
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