Brady Carmichael and the Poodle of Mass Destruction - The Kachina Shaman Read Free Page A

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