Brady Carmichael and the Poodle of Mass Destruction - The Kachina Shaman Read online

  As the suspect drew close, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a small object. Then he started doing a twitchy, rhythmic dance. Brady and Fifi watched the video both horrified and fascinated. The bird’s eye satellite view allowed them to see hundreds of snakes slithering out toward the unsuspecting guard from the surrounding rocky desert landscape. The snakes were pulled as if by a magnet directly toward the guard. The poor guard wasn’t even aware of their approach until the first one bit him.

  Within thirty seconds he had hundreds of rattlesnakes surrounding him with more quickly approaching. The moment he turned toward one attacker he was bit from behind by another. Soon he stopped trying to fight. He slumped down to his knees and just fell over, his eyes rolling back in his head. After that the snakes swarmed all around him, biting and rattling as if in some kind of frenzy.

  The dancing cloaked figure stopped his dance and on cue the snakes ceased their venomous frenzy. They slithered away, melting back into the underbrush as if they were never there.

  “Wow,” said Fifi. “Now that’s creepy.”

  “Yeah, I’ll say.” replied Brady. “That guy must be a shaman who has figured out a way to tap into the powers of those Kachina dolls.

  “Computer, rewind to the beginning of the creepy snake dance.” Brady waited for the computer to roll back to the correct spot in the video. “There it is, now stop. Zoom in and focus.”

  The screen zoomed in to a slightly blurry image of a Kachina doll with snakey hair and fangs.

  “It is obvious that he has plans for the new one that has been stolen. It’s the spirit of fire right? What do people do when they get a new toy?” Brady asked.

  “They play with it.” Fifi said.

  “Yep” Brady nodded, “So what do you wanna bet that we’ll be able to find him if we look for strange fires in the area? Computer? You been listening?”

  “Affirmative, Mr. Carmichael,” the computer answered promptly.

  “Let’s scan for fires with unusual heat signatures. These probably aren’t going to be your normal barbecues. Take us up in the air and maximize sensor radius, 1000 miles around our current location. Pinpoint any high temperature hot spots and show us on a map on screen.”

  Brady turned to Fifi, “Shall we buckle-up?”

  “Let’s go!” growled Fifi. “It’s been a long time since I’ve eaten snake. You know it’s a delicacy in Thailand? I hope that creepy masked guy brings it on. Those poor guards, what a way to go. Let’s see that shaman dude try to sneak up on us like that. I bet I can make him dance…”

  Brady rolled his eyes.

  --

  “Mr. Carmichael and Ms. Fifi, we have another potential match. This reading is statistically different from the others. We have a number of very hot small fires with strange chemistry, a remote location, high mobility, and numerous small animal readings.”

  Brady and Fifi looked up from the game of chess they were playing. “Mate in four anyway Brady,” said Fifi smugly.

  “That might be true, Feef, but I’ve got mate in three,” Brady replied.

  Fifi growled, “No way, this isn’t over.”

  “You’re not going to beat me up again, are you?” Brady asked, chuckling.

  “I might, I just might…” Fifi growled, pretending to be angry.

  Brady stretched his arms up and rolled his head in a wide circle, loosening up. He clicked on the screen and looked at the new potential target. “Computer, take us in. Use full stealth and give us a concentrated scan of the area. I want to know the lay of the land, how many hostiles, what kind they are, and what they had for breakfast.”

  --

  As the data came back, Fifi and Brady drew up a quick plan, both stepping back to the operations center and selecting their weapons and armor.

  Fifi’s paw lingered on a pair of steel nunchucks, perfectly sized and weighted to fit her. “Hmmmm,” She growled to herself thoughtfully, “This guy likes to dance. You know who was a good dancer? Bruce Lee. I think it’s time for a Chinese-style dancing lesson for the creepy doll guy.” She picked up the nunchucks and tucked them into one of the many utility pockets sewn into her armor.

  Fifi’s armor was pretty interesting. She spent a lot of time in her off hours making sure it expressed her personality. Typically she read through the latest fashion magazines like Vogue and InStyle. Then she would sketch different outfit ideas in a little black sketchbook she kept in her studio.

  This season, embroidered flowers and a sixties look were back in style and she had dressed up her gear in a flowerchild, retro-hippie feel. She had sewn a faded denim cover over a bulletproof panel undersuit. Then she had flared out the legs to give the suit bell-bottoms around her paws and extra storage for various weapons. After that she embroidered pink, yellow and blue flowers around the neck and legs. Finally, she bedazzled “Fifi” on the back pockets – one “Fi” on each butt cheek. Her tail poked out in-between each syllable.

  “Not bad,” she said observing herself in a small mirror.

  “Nice outfit Feef. Ready?” Brady asked as he stuffed a couple of extra stun grenades into his shirt pockets.

  “All set.” Fifi said with a glint in her eye.

  “Computer, take us to the designated landing zone, 200 yards southwest of the compound. Silent landing, full stealth.”

  Number Eight flew silently over the ridges, passing low over the boulders and scrub brush typical of the mountain desert in northern New Mexico.

  It touched down gently, raising a small cloud of dust and loose scrub. The side hatch opened and a tiny, fast moving shape leapt out - moving as if it were the shadow of some bird of prey.

  Fifi was in full mission mode – she was the shadow, one with the landscape. Sprinting out from Number Eight, she took a defensive position behind a cluster of large boulders that had a good view of the compound. Brady followed, not as fast as Fifi, but with a fluidity and grace that is only developed by years of training and disciplined martial arts practice.

  A ten-foot tall fence topped with barbed wire encircled the compound. It gave off a persistent hum and crackled occasionally, smelling of ozone. Warning signs with lightening bolts stating “High Voltage – Do Not Touch” appeared every 30 feet or so.

  Inside the fence there were three buildings. A large four-story warehouse style building sat in the middle. It looked out of place in the desert mountain landscape. Nestled on either side were two residential buildings styled like military barracks, flat and wide, one story each.

  Looking off to the right the moonlight revealed the edges of a rough dirt road leading to a gate with a keypad and small security camera.

  “OK, Fifi, are you ready to execute Plan A?” Brady asked.

  Fifi responded, “Ready.”

  They both looked down at their comlinks. These tiny computers were state of the art control systems that ran the full length of their left forearms (or forepaw in Fifi’s case). They were made of bulletproof touch-screen glass that allowed them to communicate with each other and the central computer, control various smart weapons built into their armor, access mission data, adjust their camouflage, listen to MP3s, and surf YouTube.

  Brady whispered down at the sleek glass shield covering his forearm, “Computer, execute stealth protocol; Klaus von Hindenburg.”

  Their comlinks flashed an acknowledgement and the air shimmered around them. Within seconds, they were transformed.

  Fifi looked much like herself without her fancy fashion armor, with no visible gear or weapons of any sort, just a purple bow in her hair and pink collar with a small doggie bone medallion that said Fifi in scripted letters.

  With Brady the effect was more dramatic, transforming him from sleek, high tech ninja warrior to a blond haired, blue-eyed German tourist - complete with worn green lederhosen, a camera swinging around his neck and a knapsack on his back.

  “OK zere Fifi.” Brady tried on his German accent, trying to whisper. “You look wundabar. How do I look?”

  “You look
like you just auditioned for The Sound of Music. Can you sing Dream an Impossible Dream in B flat?” Fifi smirked, “I think you’d be better as that big nun in the movie. Oh do you remember that one scene when Julie Andrews -”

  “Danke schön, mein Leibchen.” Brady cut her off, “That’s ‘thanks a lot honey’ in German.”

  Fifi rolled her eyes.

  They walked up to the gate. On the keypad they saw a red buzzer under the typical grid of numbers.

  Brady buzzed it, really leaning on the buzzer for about 30 seconds. He called out “Gut morning. Anyone zere?”

  Fifi added to the noise by barking in her best annoying spoiled lapdog style. Lights came on all around the compound.

  Dogs started barking in answer, a lot of them. Then they heard roosters joining in, crowing like crazy.

  Brady and Fifi looked at each other in surprise. Brady mouthed to Fifi, “Dogs and chickens?”

  Their attention was pulled back to the gate when a crackling voice answered. “Who is this? It’s four a.m. It better be important.”

  “Ah Allo,” Brady answered. “I am named Klaus von Hindenburg and ve are here on behalf of ze Society for Children Vidout Lederhosen. Did you know that 99.9999% of all children in the world do not have lederhosen to call zere own? Ze Society aims to stop zis terrible problem. Ve are looking to collect, your donation today of two hundred and fifty dollars vill buy a lederhosen for underprivileged lederhosen-less child. Vat do you zay, can we count on you to donate today?”

  “Wait there,” the crackly voice responded, followed by a burst of static and then silence.

  Brady looked at Fifi and gave her a see-I-told-you-so look. Fifi just shook her head. She already knew the speech Brady would give her later about how all criminal masterminds secretly love lederhosen.

  --

  They didn’t have to wait long.

  Five unshaven, dirty looking men in rumpled military fatigues shuffled out of a small door in the front of the warehouse style building. The men slowly walked toward Brady and Fifi. A cool night breeze carried the stink of beer, dirty clothes, and cigarettes wafting from the men. Evidently good personal grooming was not a hiring requirement for the Kachina shaman. As they drew closer, the men spread out, creating a semi-circle about 25 feet around the fence gate. Each of them held rifles casually pointed toward Brady.

  One of the men continued closer, walking up to where Brady and Fifi stood at the gate.

  He looked at them and spit on the ground near their feet. His bottom lip stuck out where he had tucked a huge wad of chewing tobacco. He smiled, showing stained yellow teeth with little pieces of chewing tobacco speckling his lips. He had a wrinkled, blotchy face with uneven grey stubble on his chin and cheeks, short grey hair, and beady eyes. He slowly reached into the breast pocket of his camo coat and pulled out a device that looked like a garage door opener. He pressed the button and the gate clicked, then slowly creaked open.

  “Why you’re simply hilarious.” He said in a slow drawl and spat again on the ground right in front of them, “The boss doesn’t like people pokin’ into his business and comin’ ‘round here uninvited, but since you’re here…” He paused then got an evil glint in his eyes and said, “Why don’t you come on in and we’ll extend some of our special hospitality.”

  “Does this mean zat you will be donating to ze Lederhosen Society?” Brady asked hopefully.

  The man turned back to them, “Oh you’re a funny, strange little guy aren’t you? What’s with your stupid lookin’ dog. What is it – a poodle? Foo-foo, fancy French dog. Worse than useless.” He laughed and spat again, this time landing a big goober that splashed onto Fifi’s foot.

  All the guards chuckled along with their leader.

  “Come on ya’ll, let’s escort our new friends in and make them comfortable. Why, they can just join the party in the big house. The boss is still celebratin’.” The man motioned with his head toward the big building in the center of the compound as he said big house. “This leder-hose-a-whats-it guy and his stupid dog can be part of the entertainment.” He made a motion to bring the rest of the goons in closer.

  Brady interrupted him, “Ah, she may look stupid, as you zay. But look, she can do a fancy dance and tricks!” He signaled Fifi and began to clap a steady rhythm while dancing a little jig in his lederhosen.

  Fifi stood up on her hind legs and began to dance along with Brady, really hamming it up. She did somersaults and spinning circles. She even threw in a couple of back flips and tried to bark the Benny Hill theme song along with Brady’s clapping.

  The guards all stood still, evidently stunned speechless and mesmerized at the sight of a smiling, clapping lederhosen wearing young man and his happily dancing and singing poodle.

  Fifi slyly closed the gap between herself and the spitting lead guard, spinning, twisting and flipping in the air. Brady smiled to himself as he saw how carefully she avoided the wet goober spots all over the ground. She noticed glancing back that Brady had danced along with her just inside the gate.

  Brady and Fifi’s eyes met and they silently signaled each other - now!

  Fifi bared her teeth and let her temper loose. Growling, “Ki-yaaaa!” She drew her nunchucks and came up fast and hard, striking the sweet spot right between the spitting guard’s legs. The nun chuck impacted perfectly, sounding like a wet cantaloupe dropping onto pavement.

  The guard grunted, squeaked a little feeble “Ouch,” and fell down to his knees, holding his hands over his newly tenderized region.

  Fifi place her paws on each of his shoulders and looked directly into his beady, watering eyes. She said slowly and deliberately, “All that spitting is just gross and disgusting. Don’t ever spit like that around a lady like me. Your mother would be ashamed. Have I made myself clear? Are you understanding me here? And I’m not Foo-foo, I’m Fifi.”

  The guard squeaked and nodded, then toppled over.

  Brady looked down. “Easy there girl,” he said quietly. “Let’s not be impolite.”

  “OK, now where’s the creepy dancing guy!?” Fifi turned and asked the stunned guards surrounding them.

  Fifi’s question seemed to wake the remaining goons up. They started bringing their guns around to fire. But it was too late. They hadn’t noticed the gas grenades that Brady rolled in front of them during Fifi’s little speech. They went off with a flash, suddenly releasing huge clouds of knock-out gas that was specially formulated to not effect Brady and Fifi.

  When the smoke cleared, the four guards were laid out on the ground, unconscious.

  “See,” Brady said to Fifi, “The lederhosen trick always works.”

  Fifi just shook her head and rolled her eyes.

  --

  They tied up the guards and left them in a heap next to one of the barrack buildings. Then they quickly snuck over to the big warehouse.

  As they drew closer they could hear applause coming from inside.

  “Fifi, let’s scout around. The computer detected a couple hundred life forms, that must’ve been the crowing and barking we heard. There’s definitely something very weird going on here. Let’s circle the building.”

  As they went around the far side, they saw a fenced-in area with a huge variety of animals. There were chickens, dogs, cats, snakes, spiders, and scorpions all penned inside rows of cages lining the side of the warehouse.

  “Hmmm,” Brady shook his head, “Poor critters, they must be what the Shaman practices on. What do you think Feef, shall we go front door or back door?

  Fifi was staring at the animals. She hated to see animals of any kind caged and mistreated. She looked up at Brady, bared her teeth and growled, “Front door. I really don’t like this guy.”

  They circled back around to the front of the warehouse to the small door the guards had originally come out of. Next to it was a huge sliding door similar to an aircraft hangar entry that covered the front half of the building. It was shut tightly now.

  There was a small keypad and a security camera mo
unted next to the door.

  Brady altered settings on his comlink, going full stealth so he was virtually invisible. Fifi did the same and they snuck up to the key panel near the door. Brady popped the panel cover and looked inside. He grunted, looking down to where he knew Fifi was watching his back, “Pretty standard stuff, I’m going to patch in a control buster and we’ll take over the building electronics.” He opened a tool kit built into his thigh armor and starting disconnecting wires and reconnecting them to a small black box he had taken from his tool kit. Within thirty seconds it was done.

  “OK Fifi,” Brady said, “It’s front door time.” He lifted up his arm and spoke into the comlink, “Number Eight, come around and give us back-up. We need a full light show. We wanna dazzle and shine.”

  Within ten seconds Number Eight silently appeared, hovering behind them like a protective mother eagle over her nest. Eight turned on its bank of floodlights, brilliantly lighting up the front of the building. The ultra bright lights hung from hidden panels that had opened on the sleek underside of the hovering egg.

  “Ready weapons,” Brady triggered the PODS. Fifi braced herself.

  “Computer, open the big door.” Brady ordered.

  “Number Eight, play Thus Spake Zarathustra as the door opens. Super loud.” Fifi added.

  Brady looked at her. Fifi shrugged her shoulders and growled, “Music adds to the dramatic effect.”

  The door began to open, brilliant light streaming into darkness.