Damn the man!  He knows about Majestic 12 and he's still alive - almost a contradiction in terms for those not under the heel of that fell organization.  He must be killed, but discreetly.  What do I do?

Joseph Manderley strode the length of his office.  Damn the man!  He forces my hand.  He turned, advanced again.  He was seething with rage - he had lost three excellent soldiers in the firefight and five more in the explosion.  Investigators had come and gone and told him the blast was the result of a rocket-propelled grenade launched from a nearby building, and the dead agents were already interred in the mortuary.  He spun, snatched a small trophy with the words "Perfect Attendance, 2005" in faded gold off his shelf and hurled it at his wall.  The brittle yellow-colored ornament shattered slowly, showering the couch with fragments of flaking monkey-metal.

Janice Reed poked her head in.  "Sir? Is everything... oh.  I'll send a cleaner bot."

"Thanks, Janice."  She withdrew.  Manderley sat and cradled his head, sighing.  A shrill buzzer sounded in his ears and he quickly rose to answer the holocommunicator.  The familiar UNATCO green uniform appeared in front of him.  "Any news?"

"Agent Murphy is on his way in a transport van as you requested, sir."  The soldier saluted.

"Thank you, Sergeant.  Manderley out."  He punched the red button and the image froze and faded.  Turning toward his desk again, he suddenly stopped and his eyes opened wide.  He jumped forward, opened a desk drawer, scrabbled through manila folders and finally pulled one labeled "Arrest Warrants."  He slid out a crisp sheet of official document from the file and hurriedly filled in the fields.  On the Name line he wrote "Jonathan Murphy, UNATCO Agent Special Forces" and under Reason for Warrant scribbled "Gross insubordination; attempted to murder his colleagues and fellow agents by means of an explosive device."

He finished the paper, signed the bottom line, and scanned it into his communicator.  It printed a barcode on the sheet.  The warrant had been logged.  Manderley sighed a breath of relief and stood, flexing his hand.  This solved his problems - he could wrap up the case and get rid of Murphy with one stroke.

He rubbed his hands, sat down, and wrote an email to Walton Simons.

*            *            *

"Get off me!" Murphy bellowed.  He thrashed, kicking his legs to stop the black-uniformed men who had entered the van.  The soldiers grabbed him bodily and threw him to the riveted floor.  He felt the cold metal handcuffs close around his wrists and then his head was forced back mercilessly.  "What happened, why am - what the hell is going on here?" he howled.

Through the red mist rising in his thoughts like so much marsh gas he could see the upside-down face of the commanding officer.  "We have a warrant for your immediate capture and arrest."  Murphy was pulled harshly to his feet.

"But why-"  He was cut off by the ball stuffed in his mouth and the hood slipped over his head.  The world was black and he was silent.  One soldier extracted a hard leather cosh from the recesses of his armor and hit Murphy very hard on the head.  The hooded man slumped into a uniformed pair of arms, which dragged him away across the cool soft grass - down some steps, and through a metal door with UNATCO stenciled in the concrete above.

*            *            *

Steve was roused from a sleepless night when he heard the commotion.  "Put him in cell three," said the all-too-familiar voice of the cell warden.  There was the pneumatic whoosh and click from a cell door, a sound like a steak slapping on stone, another click and nothing more.  All was silent again.  He cautiously peered out his window, seeing only a black hood and red rubber ball carelessly tossed on the warden's desk.

He wondered who the poor prisoner in the cell next to his could be.  Maybe he'd have a chance to see him sometime.

- Ion