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

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