Shakedown, Breakdown, Takedown by Martha marthalgm@yahoo.com --- The Takedown --- Monday 3:20pm Lone Gunmen Headquarters He could hear a brief pause, that slight catch from the back of her throat as if determining, once again, the Gunmen were teasing her. "You must be joking." "No, Yves, it's not a joke." Byers switched the receiver to his other hand so that he could turn away from Langly, who was making faces at him. It would not help their cause if Byers were to start laughing during the phone conversation. "You'll be arrested. You would simply disappear for quite some time." Yves' crisp British tones echoed in his ear. "There is no bail that I could pay this time for your little escapade." "We don't have any intention of being caught." "Area 51? Groom Lake? Seriously, you boys are so far out of your league here . . ." "Yves, listen; this is a courtesy call - nothing more." Byers turned back towards Frohike for encouragement, who was giving him the signal to hurry it up. "We're going out there, and we're going to get inside and get our story. We may have found something that they will want to negotiate for and we're basing our plans on that. We'll be leaving in the morning. If you're interested, let us know." He quickly hung up before she had the time to respond. "Think she'll take the bait?" Frohike called out. "I hope so. Actually, I would count on it." Frohike was beaming. "Nothing like showing her how disinterested we are in her cooperation to make her come running to participate." "Yeah, if she doesn't totally emasculate us when she finds us out." Langly, grateful that Yves had tagged along on some of their adventures to bail them out, did not appear to be looking forward to her vision of revenge if she caught on to their plan. Byers tapped the receiver a couple of times before rejoining the others. "If we can convince her to help us out, it might be worth it." ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Lone Gunmen Headquarters 8:02pm The quick double-buzzer sound coming from the front door got Frohike's attention, and a peek at the monitor confirmed his suspicions. "Right on schedule." Byers shot Frohike a stern look to settle him down as the locks were undone. "Yves. Come on in." "I just came by to see if you've come to your senses." Yves walked through the open doorway, sidestepping several canvas bags as she made her way to the central working area. "Obviously, I'm mistaken. I was really hoping on a burst of common sense on your part, Byers. Your trip will be total folly." Byers had followed her down the maze of shelving after securing the door. "We believe otherwise." "So, what is this bargaining chip you plan to use?" Yves looked around at the Gunmen as the three looked to each other to begin the routine. "We'd rather not say just yet." Byers stuck to the scheme. "Until we put the plan into action, the less people who know, the better. You understand." "I see." Yves crossed her arms and shifted her weight from one foot to another. "You really must think the worst of me to believe that I would steal that data readout for some secret military aircraft that uses a questionable fuel source right out from under your noses." Frohike was incredulous. "Where did you come up with that information?" An eye roll accompanied a tapping of her foot. "Hmmmm." "Damn it, Yves. I thought we had an understanding." Frohike rounded the table to confront her. "You need to quit bugging our offices." "What I understand is that you think that just because I'm a woman that this Fletcher character can somehow be led around by his unzipped trousers." Yves stared down Frohike and continued. "Though, with most men, that is hardly a revelation. How do you know that a nicely pressed suit isn't more to his tastes?" Frohike was becoming uncomfortable with her staring and with the way she was fiddling with the top button on his vest. "He's a notorious skirt chaser. We've had him checked out." "And so I'm to be the bait? What's my cut in all of this?" "It always goes back to `what's in it for me', huh, Yves?" Yves was tiring of toying with Frohike and turned to the other two. "Why don't you just publish that information in your newsletter? You already have a story to tell." "An eyewitness account from Area 51 is an even bigger story," Byers offered. "How many people can honestly say that they've been there?" "And lived to tell?" Yves' words hung in the air as she eyed the three. "What I don't understand is this - why have you not done anything with this information before?" "We've never been able to confirm it," Byers began, "and quite honestly, we're not certain how it got into our files in the first place." "Come again?" Langly finally spoke up. "Almost two years ago, I stumbled across some files I don't even remember downloading. Of course, I recognized right away what it was, and the only place that it could have come from was Area 51. We were hoping to get some answers when we were at Def-Con shortly after that, but we . . . kind of got sidetracked." Both he and Frohike looked over at a blushing Byers. "And now we find out that the guy who's been after this friend of mine works at the place so we can go to the horse's mouth, so to speak." "And you're quite certain that no one planted this information in your files - for you to miraculously find at your leisure?" It sounded to the others that Yves was becoming genuinely concerned for their welfare. "You are certain that this friend of yours - who has shown up unannounced after all this time - is completely unaware that you have this information?" "How would he know?" "Have you considered asking him?" Langly wanted to further argue the point with Yves, but Byers stepped between the two. "How about helping us out, Yves? I feel sure that a tour of that little military installation should be worth something to you." Yves gave them all a quick little smile, whispered a breathy, "We'll see," before turning sharply on her heels to head back out of the offices the way she came. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Rachel, NV Little A'Lee'Inn Saturday 2:23pm Yves was scowling at her reflection in the mirror, aware that the five men in the room were closely scrutinizing her form as well. She rolled up the sleeves of the shirt and decided to tie the shirttails at her midriff. "I should like to register my total disgust at having to debase myself this way." "Now, now," Langly scolded, "you don't give yourself enough credit. We all know that you've debased yourself before this to get what you want and then laughed at us about it behind our backs." "Oh, come on, Yves." Frohike circled behind her, making sure that there were no visible folds in the fabric of her jeans that would act as a distraction - or at least, not *that* kind of a distraction. "I've put out plenty of times to get intel on a story. After a while, you begin to think of it as one of the perks of the job." She slapped at Frohike's hand as he reached to straighten out a belt loop. "I have no intention of `putting out', as you call it, or in letting Fletcher get close enough to make those kinds of demands." "Well, we need for you to let him get a bit close, but Jimmy will be right there with you in case you need any help with this guy." Yves looked over at Jimmy, who was still practicing - unsuccessfully - some of the rope knots that he had learned when he was a Boy Scout. "That is not a comforting thought." Frohike sympathized with that comment, having already escaped from Jimmy's rehearsals earlier that day. "Just get Fletcher back to the room, and we'll take it from there." Langly, who had been keeping watch at the front window, gave them a heads-up. "Okay, guys, five minutes to curtain. He just pulled up." ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Yves entered the bar, pausing just long enough at the open door to make sure that every man would notice her entrance. In those seconds, she scanned the area for the occupants to determine if Jimmy had favorably positioned himself, and she was pleased to see that he had taken Frohike's instruction to heart. She slowly strolled across the room towards the bar, looking into her purse, giving Jimmy just enough time to be the first one to approach her. "Hey," Jimmy greeted her with a slow Oklahoman drawl and hoisted his Pabst Blue Ribbon longneck bottle to his lips for a quick sip. "Can I buy you a drink?" Yves paused before answering, caught off-guard by the exaggerated accent and Jimmy's wink. "No, thank you. I'm waiting for someone." He was getting into a real feel for the character he was playing. "Well, I can wait with you, little lady." Yves wondered if he was perhaps pushing it just a bit too far but stuck to the script. "No." She made little gestures with her fingers to send him on his way. "Shoo, now. Go." Jimmy looked so dejected when he returned to his barstool that she almost felt sorry for the whispered comments about his failed attempt that she was picking up from the vicinity of the bar. He probably did not have much personal experience with such rejections, she thought, but he was carrying the burden beautifully for the spectators. Of course, a showy public rejection would only feed the ego of their intended target, and she could sense his approach in three, two, one . . . "You're not from around here, are you?" Yves settled into her barstool before turning to acknowledge his presence. She reached up to flip her dangling curls over her shoulder before replying. "That's hardly an astute observation." Morris Fletcher was not going to be that easily dissuaded. "And you're not waiting for someone." He placed his beer bottle on the bar and took the seat next to her. "I'm not? Are you clairvoyant as well?" Honey replaced her usual acerbic tone when dealing with men so full of themselves. The trap was now baited. "No. Only a dumb boy would fall for that line." Morris gave her a long lingering look from top to bottom to top again before continuing, "Because you, my dear, you should not have to wait for anyone." She smiled and graciously accepted the easy lob before sending the ball back into his side of the court. "Well, then, I guess that I'm no longer waiting." The return volley went right by him, and he never even saw it coming. Advantage Miss Harlow. Yves ordered herself a Miller Lite, refusing the bartender's offer of a glass and taking the cold bottle. Since the only options in the establishment appeared to be beer or some dull house wine, she chose what Morris was drinking. She deftly steered the conversation with Morris away from her story of traveling across the country to the Arizona Diamondbacks - St Louis Cardinals baseball game that was on the wide-screen television to help pass the time. The last-minute coaching by Frohike on stats and the correct way to fill out a score card were coming in handy. She asked a few nominal questions of her new companion, knowing that he could not possibly give her a straight answer about his work or his personal life, but she knew that it would only feed his confidence level before she could go for the kill. Yves looked at her watch. "Damn," she whispered. "What's wrong?" Morris asked. "I was supposed to call my roommate over twenty minutes ago. She's going to be worried if I don't let her know that I made it here safely." She took a long last draw from the bottle before gathering her purse. "You're not leaving us already, are you?" Morris sounded heartbroken. "The game's not even over." "Sorry. I need to make a phone call." "There's a pay phone near the ladies' room." Morris was trying to be helpful. "No, I really should go back to my room." She took the motel key out of her purse, making sure that he saw it and knew that she was staying nearby. "For the phone call. My roommate will hear all of this noise and believe that I am up to no good." She gave him her best I-really-hate-to-do-this look before turning back to the bartender, ordering a six-pack to go. "Is it possible to charge this to my room?" she innocently asked, already knowing the answer, and made sure that Morris heard the number before making her exit. Morris Fletcher would be one of those men, she reasoned, who, while he might not want to follow through on all the bravado that he projects, would at least make such an attempt while the eyes of the other men gathered in the bar were still upon him. She was not disappointed when she noticed his reflection in the sideview mirror of one of the cars as she made her way across the parking lot to the motel. He quickly caught up to her and made some small talk about making sure that she got back to her room safely. He seemed genuinely surprised when she handed him the key so that he could unlock her door. Yves gazed back across the parking lot while inviting Morris inside, wondering when Jimmy was going to leave the bar. She quickly closed the door behind her while the others tackled Morris. She had just enough time to place the six-pack out of the way on the floor before the lot of them bounced off one wall and crashed onto the bed. Morris ended up lying on his stomach with Frohike sitting on his legs. Byers had already situated a strip of duct tape across their target's mouth and Langly was straddling Morris' back while trying to tie his wrists together. "Can't you do that any faster?" Frohike was having trouble keeping his balance with Morris thrashing about. "I thought that you grew up doing this." "I told you guys a hundred times before. I used to *milk* the cows, not *rope* them," Langly muttered. "We shoulda brought the handcuffs. Where's Jimmy?" As if on cue, Jimmy slipped into the motel room and joined the group on the bed to help subdue Morris. After Langly had securely tied the wrists, Jimmy got their prisoner back into an upright position and prevented him from leaving the bed. The rest scattered themselves around the room. Yves was somewhat upset with Jimmy. "What took you so long?" Jimmy looked up at her with confusion on his face. "McGwire was up at bat." "Who?" "Mark McGwire. Gee, Yves, you sat through most of the game, and you don't know who he is?" "Thanks for remembering the beer, Yves." Frohike had picked up the six-pack, withdrawing one bottle before placing the rest in the room fridge. "Okay, now we can do this the easy way," Yves sauntered across the room, "or the hard way." She then showed Morris the roll of duct tape and a tennis ball in one hand while she reached with her other hand to slowly peel away the tape across his mouth. "Which will it be?" Morris licked his lips in an effort to return some moisture to that area. For the moment, he had few choices. "The easy way." "Good boy." She turned on her heels and passed the baton to the others. "Gentlemen, I give you Morris Fletcher. Go on, ask him your questions." The three Gunmen gathered near Morris, each looking to the other as to where to begin. When Morris looked at the three of them together, it slowly dawned on him as to who they were. "Hey, you're The Lone Gunmen. You publish that crap in that newsletter. I love you guys. If you boys only knew how many of your stories I dreamed up while sitting on the pot." As the words spilled from Morris' mouth, the three men in front of him appeared confused and looked to each other in puzzlement. Yves noted the exchange. "Frohike? Byers? What's wrong?" Byers was the first to recover. "I'm not sure, but I have the distinct impression that we've had this conversation before." "I have no idea what you're talking about." Morris struggled against the ropes and against Jimmy, who still had a hold on him. "Now, untie me before I start to get really mad." "Come on, Brian," Langly coaxed. "Here's your chance. Ask him." "Ask me what?" Morris spit out. Roedecker finally removed himself from the wall that he had plastered himself against when the whole ruckus had started and approached the bed. "Why have you been stalking me? You've been calling me, threatening me. I had to move because of you. Tell me how you got my information without even signing up for the game." A look of relief crossed Morris' face. "Is that what this is all about? So you're Brian Roedecker?" He shrugged his shoulders in resignation. "Okay, look, you got me. The takedown is now complete. But I do have one question to ask: You rented `Battlefield Earth' more than once - what *were* you thinking?" "Not good enough," Brian demanded. "Why did you do this? I didn't agree to play this game." Morris suddenly turned serious. "You did when you got on the newsgroups and started talking about how you had access to reports on readouts about techyon fluxes and experimental aircrafts and left big hints as to how you could get your hands on the real thing." He looked around the room at the reactions of the other occupants. "I bet that he left that little detail out of his sob story. I just wanted to see how much smoke he was blowing up people's asses. These things don't exist. He deserved to be hounded." Frohike was getting pissed. "Are you telling me that this whole thing between the two of you is some sort of bluff?" "You mean you're not in any real danger?" Jimmy innocently asked of Brian. Morris could feel the sympathy waning away from his accuser. "Where would you have gotten that kind of information? From the back issues of that crummy newspaper? Ha!" "So, techyon fluxes, gravitational displacement, these experimental planes." Byers positioned himself directly in front of Morris before continuing. "You're saying that they don't *really* exist." "I know a place in town where you guys can get great discounts on aluminum foil caps. It would really cut down on these delusions." Byers was not easily deterred. "Is it possible, just possible, that you haven't told the whole truth yet? That the reason you went after Brian the way you did was because you thought that he was telling the truth on those newsgroups. That he actually had access to reports and data and just possibly the real thing." Morris challenged him. "What if I told you that I made the whole thing up?" "What if I told you that the headline in our next issue will be about a government employee who lost an important piece of hardware, oh, about two years ago that contained data on such an experimental plane? And that that government employee was attempting to shift the blame of that loss to someone else?" Byers' stare left little doubt in Morris' mind that this was no bluff. "And you would print the name of that government employee?" "Well, I think that our journalistic integrities would be tarnished if we did not report the name, along with *how* we found out who that employee was." Byers moved in for the kill. "And we would of course have to publish the data that this employee lost, just so our readers would not get the idea that we were making all of this up, along with making certain that a piece or two of the missing hardware somehow found its way home." Frohike turned to the bureau that displayed his photographic equipment. "We would, of course, also include photos with that article." Morris leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and sighed loudly. Chuckling to himself, knowing that he was beaten, he sat straight up and proceeded to deal. "So tell me, what would it take for that headline to never appear in your newspaper?" Byers looked to Frohike. Frohike looked to Langly, and they both nodded in agreement and gave Byers the go-ahead to seal the bargain. "Mr. Fletcher, I understand that you just love to give personal tours of your place of employment." end