Bronze Refined

as Silver
Mark and Karen Eidemiller
skylab@e-z.net www.e-z.net/~skylab/BRONZE01.HTML

The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER A Doc Savage novel by Mark and Karen Eidemiller -------------------Writer's Comments This is a story about Doc Savage. There may be die-hard fans of Doc who will view this story as sacrilegious. But what I am striving for in this story is to set the character of Doc Savage in a direction he has never gone in before, an adventure that reaches beyond the physical and temporal. If this doesn't appeal to you, stop reading here. I make no apologies for the concept of what I write. THE DOC SAVAGE CODE reads: "Let me strive every moment of my life, to make myself better and better, to the best of my ability, that all may profit by it. Let me think of the right and lend all my assistance to those who need it, with no regard for anything but justice. Let me take what comes with a smile, without loss of courage. Let me be considerate of my country, of my fellow citizens and my associates in everything I say and do. Let me do right to all, and wrong no man." He would have expected no less of an effort here. Mark Eidemiller July 1996 / August 1998 -------------------Preface: Acts 8:26-40 "Now an angel of the Lord said to Philip, "Go south to the road-- the desert road-- that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza." So he started out, and on his way he met an Ethiopian eunuch, an important official in charge of all the treasury of Candace, queen of the Ethiopians. This man had gone to Jerusalem to worship, and on his way home was sitting in his chariot reading the book of Isaiah the prophet. The Spirit told Philip, "Go to that chariot and stay near it." Then Philip ran up to the chariot and heard the man reading Isaiah the prophet. "Do you understand what you are reading?" Philip asked. "How can I," he said, "unless someone explains it to me?" So he invited Philip to come up and sit with him. The eunuch was reading this passage of Scripture: "He was led like a sheep to the slaughter, and as a lamb before the shearer is silent, so he did not open his mouth. In his humiliation he was deprived of justice. Who can speak of his descendants? For his life was taken from the earth." The eunuch asked Philip, "Tell me, please, who is the prophet talking about, himself or someone else?" Then Philip began with that very passage of Scripture and told him the good news about Jesus. As they traveled along the road, they came to some water and the eunuch said, "Look, here is water. Why shouldn't I be baptized?" And he gave orders to stop the chariot. Then both Philip and the eunuch went down into the water and Philip baptized him. When they came up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord suddenly took Philip away, and the eunuch did not see him again, but went on his way rejoicing. Philip, however, appeared at Azotus and traveled about, preaching the gospel in all the towns until he reached Caesarea." -------------------Chapter One Sometimes, you never know what God has in mind until you get there.

The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER My name is Perry Liston. I'm a street preacher. I've been down here on the streets of Portland, Oregon for a good many years, and the people know me. I preach twice a week in one of the missions down near the waterfront. I've seen hundreds of men in my years, but Clark stood out above them all. Literally. I was at the mission, preparing for my evening sermon, when they opened the doors and the men shuffled in with their posessions in tow. They quickly claimed the seats closest to the kitchen, to be the first in line for the meal which followed the message. I looked them over as I had hundreds before them, trying to see beyond the facade of dirt and grime and tattered clothing, and see the hurting little child hiding inside. Then my eyes caught one man walking in, and I was momentarily transfixed. He stood over six feet tall. Both his skin and hair color was a deep golden tan. The texture of his skin was rough. His beard was unruly, and it looked as if he had never really dealt with a developing beard before. He walked slowly, deliberately, cautiously. There was a hesitancy in his step, as if he was sizing up each movement of his body before he executed it. He scanned the room, and his eyes briefly caught mine. His eyes -- never mind the fact that they seemed to sparkle with a golden quality -- were clear. This was a man who had never succumbed to the bottle or the needle. He nodded his head at me briefly in respect -- that was something I had seen before, but rarely in a first-timer. He took a seat in the back -- no surprise there -- and relaxed a bit. I have often referred to the accumulated presence of sin in a man's life as carrying a box of rocks on their backs, but I rarely saw such an example as was in this man. Inwardly, I started praying for this man specifically. I knew God had this tanned giant here for a reason, and at that moment I knew I was going to be a part of his life. I continued looking around at the men, and the few women, in the mission, greeting some, talking briefly to others I knew, giving hugs to several regulars. But that was all too brief, and I went to the podium to begin the services. The message was, as usual, straight and simple: sin in their lives has kept them from peace, and Jesus Christ died so that forgiveness could be made and they could find peace. Now it was time for the altar call. Corporate prayer for all that would accept the free gift of God's love, and turn from their former ways to a new life. I smiled when I saw the tanned giant stand up, and move towards the front. There was no hesitancy in his step this time. He knew what he wanted, and we were soon kneeling side-by-side at the front of the room. His voice was strong, but I heard the crack of emotion as he prayed for forgiveness. My eyes snapped open when he confessed to murder and violent acts, but my heart went out as I saw tears running down his cheeks and dripping onto his knees. This was a man with a deep past, and that past was now being cleaned up by the blood of the Lamb. Minutes passed. I heard the shuffle of men heading for the soup line. But we didn't budge from our spot. As he confessed and cried out for forgiveness, I put my arm around his massive shoulders and felt the love of God flow from me. I was also in tears, knowing that this man was being forgiven, and that all Heaven was rejoicing from it. When we finally stood up, knees and legs aching from the strain, he raised to his full height, took in a deep breath, and virtually yelled out, "PRAISE THE LORD!!" This exclamation brought a spontaneous silence to the room, and all eyes were suddenly upon us. I was not embarassed, because I knew the joy this man was now feeling, and my eyes misted over with wetness. He turned to face me, and suddenly leaned down and gave me a massive bear hug! I had the wind knocked out of me, but I wasn't about to say anything to spoil this man's moments of rejoicing.

The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "What's your name, Brother?" I asked him, slightly out of breath. "Clark," he answered. "You got a place for the night?" "No," he answered, slightly embarassed. "You do now," I told him. "You'll stay with me. Where's your stuff?" "All I have is this," and he indicated the clothes he was wearing. I nodded. "OK. Let's see what we can do about getting you something better to wear. But first, let's get something to eat. When was the last time you ate?" He paused. "Yesterday." "OK. I know the guy in the kitchen. Let's see what I can do." I got us some hot soup and a couple of better-than-average sandwiches, and we sat down to eat. He had three bowls of soup to my one, and I split my sandwich with him after his was gone. He refused the coffee -- good choice! -- and went for water instead. The cook brought us over a couple of cartons of milk, and told us that they'd be closing up the kitchen in about ten minutes. I told him thanks, then turned back to Clark. "What's your last name, Clark?" He paused, trying to stuff his mouth with food so that he wouldn't be able to answer. Finally, embarrassingly, he relented. "Savage," he said softly. We continued to talk. As his background emerged, it was obvious that Clark had been all over the world. He spoke of exotic locations and faraway lands. But there was something about it all that didn't quite compute. And details that I could see were obviously left out. I didn't press it. However, suddenly, I stopped. Clark continued to talk about some area in the Pacific, but I wasn't listening now. Something had clicked. Clark noticed the change in my face, and stopped talking. "Pastor Perry? Are you all right?" My head was tilted slightly, and my mouth was open. Both of us were silent. Then a single word came out: "Junior?" Clark took a deep breath, exhaled, looked me straight in the eyes, and nodded once. My mind could not comprehend what I was concluding, but I spoke anyway. "Clark Savage Junior. 'Doc' Savage?" He tried downplaying things. "I have been called by that name." I looked around. "You are Doc Savage?" I asked, my voice now soft - not to be overheard - but intense. "Yes."

The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER

"But that was fifty years ago. I have read many of your adventures." "Thank you. I've been through a lot." The satire shook me out of my shock. "Well, that's an understatement of monumental proportions. Were they all true?" "Yes. Maybe some of the details were exaggerated, but the events occurred as reported." Questions flooded my mind. "The Doc Savage of the novels lived over fifty years ago. Yet you hardly look like a man of ninety." His face contorted as he struggled with his memories. "I am not entirely sure of what happened. I was in Maine. In the mountains." He paused, and corrected himself. "Actually, I was in some subterranean caverns under the mountains. I'd gone after....someone. Then there was a peculiar smell. I can only assume it was a gas of sorts, whether man-made or natural, I don't know. I succumbed to it. When I awoke, I discovered that several decades had passed, I had not aged physically, and I had somehow been transported to Oregon." I had heard a lot of things down on the streets, but this one took me by surprise. I leaned back in my chair. "No doubt, you experienced a massive culture shock." A small smile crossed his lips. "No doubt." "How long have you been....back?" "Two weeks," he answered. "Did you try and contact your base in New York?" He shook his head. "Yes. No use. The telephone numbers I knew had been either replaced or discontinued long ago. And I don't fully know my way around this time's information grapevine." He took a deep breath. "Besides, what would I tell them, if indeed they were still alive?" "Good point. You are a man out of his time." I paused. "But God has allowed it to happen, and there is a reason for it that we will soon know." "I agree." He nodded with confidence. -------------------Chapter Two My busted up green AMC Hornet had seen a lot of better days. But it still ran like a pro. As we drove back, we talked. I tried to piece together what happened to Clark. "OK, let me understand this correctly. You were in Maine, going after some bad guy, when you got knocked out. The next thing you knew, you were in Oregon, and it was several decades later. Am I right so far?"

The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER

"Yes." "Where were you?" Clark stared ahead and recollected. "When I came to, I was still in a cavern, but a different one from what I remembered. I had also been in a mechanical chamber of sorts, which I assume had kept me preserved all those years; the mechanism had broken, which is what caused my release. The cavern had a small opening, large enough to provide air and light, but too small to climb through. Therefore, I was still trapped. Beyond that, I discovered that my muscles had atrophied somewhat during my 'sleep,' making my means to escape even more difficult. "I spent hours in slow, progressive isometric exercise, sleeping as my body required it, until I had enough strength in my arms and legs to integrate working on my escape into my regimen. I was able to take parts from the chamber to utilize as tools, and further expedite my freedom. "When I finally returned to the surface, I found myself in a forest of sorts. And I could tell from the flora and fauna that I was not in Maine, but in Oregon. I 'camped' there for a day, taking advantage of the wild game for food, and continuing to regain my strength in preparation for my trek back to civilization. I determined the closest metropolitan center was Portland, so that was my goal." "And what brought you downtown?" I asked. "The buildings, and the river. By this time I knew I was not in my era, and that it wasn't a hoax or trick perpetrated upon me by one of my enemies. I sought out familiar landmarks, which brought me into the vicinity of what you call 'Old Town,' then wandered into the Mission." "Praise God you did," I said, smiling. "Well, here we are. Home." "Home" was an old two-story boarding house owned by the members of my church. The rent was cheap, and the fellowship was plentiful. We pulled up to the curb and got out of the car. Clark had a more difficult time getting out of my compact car; he had been used to vehicles with more room, and so it was an awkward struggle getting his large bronze frame out. I kidded him about being "born again," but he didn't seem to get the joke. We went up the walk, up the wide wooden stairs to the large covered porch that stretched along two sides of the house, and entered the front door. As we reached the stairs leading to the second floor, a drawling voice addressed us. "Well, hello, Brother Perry! How was the streets?" The voice came from Jack Heady. Jack was an elder in the church, and kept an eye out on the affairs of running the house. He'd come from North Carolina, and had done some prison time before he accepted Jesus into his life. He was a very personable man, but this was not the time for questions. "Hiya, Jack!" I responded. "The Mission was great. I'd like to introduce you to Clark -- he's a new brother. Just came to the Lord tonight, and I'm helping him out." "Well, praise the Lord!" exclaimed Jack with a big grin, and moved in to hug Clark. He took it reluctantly. Jack backed off, apologizing, "Sorry if I took you by surprise, brother! You'll find we're a huggin' bunch around here -- ain't that right, Perry?"

The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "Sure is, Jack," I agreed. "But take it easy on Clark -- he's been....away. He's trying to get used to a lot of things." Jack nodded understandingly. "Gotcha. Glad to have you in the family." He paused, then asked, "If you're interested, I think there's an empty room upstairs down the hall from Perry." "Thank you," he said, grasping Jack's hand, "I would appreciate it very much." Then he walked up the stairs. I hung back just long enough to add, "I'll check with you about the room in about an hour," then followed Clark. -------------------My room wasn't large, but it was well-organized. In one corner was my computer layout. I sat down at the desk and powered it up while Clark looked around, then sat down on the bed and looked intensely at my PC. As I dialed up my ISP I explained a little about how far computers have come, and what the Internet was. Clark was fascinated, and grasped the concept easily. I got online, switched over to my search engine, entered his name, and let it loose. It took a couple of minutes and a few combinations to find the right information. "I seem to remember some sort of scandal during the 1950's that involved you and your group. I'm not sure on all the details but I think....yeah, here we go. Quote: 'Savage, Clark, Junior. Born 1901, died - question mark. In the early 1930's and 1940's, Clark Jr. ("Doc") Savage was thought to be an adventurer and crimefighter. However, because of the Murrow expose into the so-called "Crime College" and subsequent 1952 Kefauer and Nixon investigations, the picture of the "Man of Bronze" became a major event in the battle for civil rights in America. Savage himself was never personally brought to justice, but was rumored to have fled the country in disgrace. His death has never been recorded, but rumors of appearances continue to make headlines in the tabloids.' "End quote." I looked over at Doc. As I suspected, he was not taking this well. "What happened?" he growled slowly. I didn't answer him directly, but returned to the screen, scrolling through and reading bits and pieces to form a picture. "It seems one of your Crime College "graduates" was killed in 1951. He had been a highprofile criminal, and there were things about his death that came to the attention of journalist Edward R. Murrow. Murrow looked into it, and came out with an expose of the College. The immediate result was a Class Action lawsuit against it, charging it - and you - with 'gross acts of brutality'.....'an abominable lack of respect for civil rights'.....'akin to the atrocities of Nazi Germany.'" I paused, and looked over at Clark. He was on his feet, his large bronze fists clenched in rage. I silently prayed that peace would return to him. "They compared my curing of criminals to Nazi Germany?" he snorted, eyes flaring. I paused. "Yes. Would you like me to continue?" He stood silently, eyes closed, his breathing becoming slower and deeper. Finally he nodded.

The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER I read on cautiously. "Kefauer and Nixon jumped on the bandwagon. There were Senate investigations. It was an ugly battle. The College was closed down, and your holdings were liquidated for compensations to...." I braced myself. ".....the victims. Clark's frustration blasted loose. "Victims? Victims?" he spat. "These were criminals! They were murderers and thieves! How dare they be called victims!" Then he stopped and looked right at me. "What about my team? Monk? Ham? Renny? Long Tom? Johnny?" He paused, softening a degree. "Pat?" "Doesn't say here. I can look into it, but it'll take time," I said. "In the meantime, you get some sleep." "How?" he asked, incredulously. I stood and walked over to face this man who had the power to cause me serious physical harm, put my hands on his massive arms, and looked up into his gold-flecked eyes. "Clark.....I hope you look at me as a friend." I paused; his eyes softened briefly. "You're a man of action. But right now, the best action for you is on your knees. The Bible says, 'Cast all your cares on Him, because He cares for you.' You need to understand what that's all about. Let me check with Jack about that room, and maybe some clothes. In the meantime, you take a long overdue hot shower. Then spend some time talking to God, and get some sleep." I paused again for effect. "I'll work on this, and we'll see how we are in the morning." I paused once more, then whispered a sincere plea: "Please?" There was silence for almost a minute. "Very well," he conceded. I smiled. "Thank you. I'll be right back." I went downstairs to find Jack, and found him in the clothes room, trying to find something big enough to fit Clark. I laughed and praised God that we were in one accord. Jack handed me a beach towel, a fresh bar of soap, and as large a pair of pants and shorts as he could find on short notice. "I'll keep lookin', but this should get him through 'till the mornin'," he drawled. I thanked him, and went back upstairs. Clark and I walked down to the bathroom, where I showed him the shower. I wished him a pleasant sleep, and told him I'd wake him up in the morning for breakfast. Then I left him, and returned to my room. I sat in silence for a few minutes, praying for wisdom and guidance. Then I stuck a classical CD on the player, cracked my knuckles, announced, "Surf's up," and got to work. -------------------He'd never thought a simple hot shower could feel so wonderful. What he found particularly interesting was the attachment to the nozzle which caused the water to come out in an erratic pattern. The result, whether deliberate or accidental, was that the water lightly buffeted his body, a very pleasant effect which loosened some of the tension in his muscles. It took him almost a half hour to fully remove the residue of four decades of -- imprisonment -- from his body, but the result was a marvelous refreshing feeling as his skin was able to breathe once more. He donned the shorts and pants, stretched with relief, and walked down the hall to the room Jack Heady had secured for him.

The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER Inside, he closed the door, switched on the overhead light, and looked about at his sparse lodgings. Not bad, actually. A bed, dresser, small study desk with chair. A lamp was attached to the desk. Dotted around the walls were various hand-printed Bible verses, a reminder of his new Christian surroundings. But inside, he was uneasy. He was still a man out of his time. A look of inward struggle distorted his countenance, as he made no effort to conceal it in the solitude of his surroundings. His body was somewhat relaxed, but he was not sleepy. He entered into his ritual of exercises, trying to restore some of the muscle tone he had lost. He did this for only a few moments when he suddenly stopped, and unexpectedly found himself on his hands and knees. His eyes were moist in inward pain, and the words of Pastor Perry echoed in his head: 'Cast all your cares on Him, because He cares for you.' He cares for ME. The words resounded over and over within him. And the mighty Man of Bronze became as a simple child, and talked to God. -------------------Six o'clock came too soon for me. I had spent almost all night online, minus bathroom breaks and a halfhour catnap sometime in the middle of the night. I was determined to find the answers for Clark. To find his links to his past. Doc Savage was a part of history. As I poured through the online pages, I came to know closer the exploits of the Man of Bronze and his team of five -- six, if you count his cousin Patricia Savage. They were the stuff that legends were made of. But by 1952, the legend was dead. It had been whipped, beaten, dragged through the streets, and then hung up to dry. I didn't know why God brought me and Doc Savage together. But He had. The first step had been to bring the man to Jesus. The next step would be to restore the man with his past. I walked down the hallway and knocked at Clark's door. After a couple of moments, the door opened. His face was very peaceful. God's peace. But, by the look of the tracks of dried tears on the tanned face, it had not come easily. "Good morning," I greeted, "Breakfast time. You're probably hungry." "Yes," he said, "I am." I handed him some clothes. "Here." I glanced into the room and observed that his bed had not been slept in. With the evidence of the tears, I knew what had happened. God had busted the mighty Man of Bronze down to his socks last night. I grinned and praised God. I had been busted a lot since I came to know Jesus, so I knew the results of this brokenness of spirit. Like a wild horse can only be taught once it knows who's in control, so we can oftentimes be best taught after our spirit is broken. "What did you find out?" he asked. "I'll be honest. Not a lot, sorry to say. Let's talk over breakfast." I started walking away. "To the right at the bottom of the stairs. Dining room. I'll meet you there." "Okay," he responded.

The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER At this time of the morning, the men in the house who had to get going early were busy stuffing their faces. I entered the dining hall and spotted an empty area at the far end of the large wooden table. As I moved through the room, I greeted the other brothers, most I knew by their first name, others I knew just as a face. From a set of wide display shelves, I grabbed a couple of prepared breakfast plates that were set up for the men in the house. Then, thinking about it, I went into the kitchen and talked to the cook, Karen. I told her that there was a new brother in the house named Clark. I asked for an extra portion and got it, then gave her a good-morning hug and returned to the table. I gathered up some silverware and some water and juice to drink, and sat down to wait for Clark to appear. It didn't take long. I knew Clark was coming before he stepped into the room. And, judging by the reactions to the sound of heavy, slow footsteps approaching, so did everybody else. Unprepared for the unusually-heavy plod on the wood floors at this hour, some of the men cocked their heads or shifted their glance towards the doorway. And when he was first seen, he was an impressive sight. The flannel shirt and jeans were not revealing, but he looked like a lumberjack, muscles strong in his arms and chest. He paused, looking around the room to find me, then moved in my direction. There was a distinctive creak as his feet descended on the wood floor planks. He knew he was being watched, but he had been used to that. He didn't react to comments like, "Who's he?", "Whoa...", "Big dude." He made his way to the seat across the table from me and sat down. Then I stood up. "Guys," I addressed the men at the table. "This is Clark. He's a new brother in the house. Just gave his life to the Lord last night. Be easy on him, but introduce yourselves and love on 'im." There were reactions of grins, comments of "All right!", "Praise the Lord!", "Welcome, brother!" and then a few of the closer men moved in, to say hello, to introduce themselves, and to ask questions. There were the obvious queries into how Clark got all those muscles. Clark kept his answers simple but truthful. While we ate, we talked and fellowshipped. Right now, this was what Clark needed. He needed love. I saw the interaction. They did well. They were friendly but not pushy, curious but not interrogative. It was a good start to a long day. I had been right about Clark's appetite -- breakfast vanished as easily as last night's dinner at the Mission. By the time it was all done, everybody else had left for work, and it was just Clark and me alone at the end of the big wood dining table. "I can't believe how friendly these men are," Clark marveled. "They don't even know me." I smiled. "They don't have to. You see, you're in a whole new family now: the family of God. And that family is made up of misfits, oddballs, and outcasts from the rest of the world. I'll be honest, if it wasn't for Jesus Christ, I wouldn't have anything to do with some of the men here -- but, now, they're my 'blood brothers' by the blood of Christ. And you're part of it. Enjoy." Clark nodded understanding, and downed the last of his third glass of juice. I took the plates back into the kitchen. When I returned, I reported on what I found out, reading from a small notebook. "I'm rather surprised that I came up with so little on your group. I ran into a lot of dead ends. But here's what I did find out: "It looks like Monk, Pat, Long Tom, and Johnny are possibly still alive. Renny died in the '89 California earthquake, and Ham killed himself in '53."

The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "Ham killed himself?" asked Clark incredulously. "Yes. I wasn't able to get the complete story, but it looks like he was disbarred from legal practice during the Congressional hearings, and killed himself shortly thereafter. I'm sorry." Guilt and sorrow mirrored in Clark's eyes. "If I had only been there...." I put out a reassuring hand to his shoulder. "Look, it's over. It's history. There's nothing you can do about it but let it go." We were silent for a few moments. "You say Pat's alive?" he finally asked. "Yeah. Actually, I'm surprised you didn't see any of her stuff around. The name Pat Savage is synonymous with big-name cosmetics giants like Revlon and Chanel. She lives in seclusion on her own Greek island. Her daughter Penelope took over the empire back in the '80s." He nodded. "A daughter?" "Yeah. Penelope Savage. Sometimes called the 'Copper Penny.' She's gorgeous -- been on the covers of lotsa magazines: Fortune, Entrepreneur, Vanity Fair. She made People's 100 Most Influential list a couple of years ago." "Interesting. And in exile?" I nodded. "No one's seen her in years. Reminds me of how Howard Hughes ended up," I mused aloud. "What about Howard?" he suddenly asked. "You knew Howard Hughes?" "Yes. He helped me with some of the air-seacraft I used. What happened to him?" I sighed, regretting what I had to report. "He became a total recluse. He was so afraid of germs that the only people he'd allow around him were his bodyguards. He became a paranoid old man and withered away to nothing." I shook my head slowly. "It was not the best way to go." Clark nodded agreement. "I definitely need to know what's happened since I've been gone," he said with resolve. I looked back at my notes. "I couldn't find anything on Monk, Johnny, or Long Tom. But that doesn't mean it's not out there -- just out of my reach. I'm planning on checking out the library. I think I can find a next of kin through Ham's obituary, and go from there." Just then, they heard an exclamation of surprise from the kitchen. Jack Heady rushed out, his eyes wide. "Monk? Long Tom? Johnny? Ham?" He looked straight at Clark, his jaw loose with amazement. "I thought you looked familiar! You -- you're Doc Savage!" -------------------Chapter Three

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER

Just then, they heard an exclamation of surprise from the kitchen. Jack Heady rushed out, his eyes wide. "Monk? Long Tom? Johnny? Ham?" He looked at Clark, his jaw loose with amazement. "I thought you looked familiar! You -- you're Doc Savage!" Then he paused. A shadow of doubt crossed his expression, and his tone softened. "You ARE, aren't 'cha?" Clark looked back and affirmed, "Yes, Jack. I am." Then, suddenly, Jack got the biggest grin I'd ever seen on his face, and said, "My God, man, am I ever happy to see you!" And he reached out his hand to the big bronze man. "If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't even be here. Can I sit?" We both indicated in the affirmative, and he took the chair next to Clark. Fascinated, we both listened to Jack's narrative. "We've met before," he started off, grabbing our interest. "It was Arizona, 1931 -- June, I think. I was with my papa, and he was part of the Mountain Desert Construction Co., working on a dam in -- " He struggled with the name. " -- the Red Skull Canyon! They'd'a killed us all if it hadn't been for you and your men." He paused. "You remember it?" Doc thought a moment, then his eyes glinted with recognition. "George Heady," he spoke slowly. Jack smiled proudly. "That's my papa." "Little Jackie?" ventured Clark. "Ain't been for some time," Jack replied with a grin. "You used to play around the worksite." "Yep. It's been awhile, and y'all took off before I could properly thank you for saving my papa and me." He reached out and took the bronze man's hand in both of his. "Praise God you're still alive. But how come you haven't gotten older?" Then, suddenly, he turned and looked me in the eyes. "Perry! When you said he'd 'been away', I thought you meant prison!" he barked half-sternly. Clark answered him. "In a sense, I was in a prison. Trapped in time, trapped in a cave somewhere." Then he added thoughtfully, "Trapped in my own sin." He smiled. "But now I'm free," he said with finality. "Amen," Jack and I said in unison. "So now what?" asked Jack. I answered him. "Clark's looking for the answer to the missing years -- what happened to his team while he was 'out.' Where are they now? And, God willing, an answer to how and who pulled this little Rip Van Winkle job on him." Jack nodded. "OK. That's good for long-range goals. But let's cover what'cha need at the moment?" Clark took a deep breath, exhaled it slowly. "As I explained to Perry, my time in the cavern caused my muscles to atrophy. As much as I may look to the contrary, I am not as strong as I should be. I am in need

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER of physical conditioning. Beyond that, I am new to this culture, and I need to know more about this world and how it operates. And, since I don't have access to my funds anymore, I need a job." Jack turned to me. "What'cha come up with, Perry?" "Nothing much. But I'm going to be checking at the library. I'm not working this week, so I've got the time. I think I'll start with Ham Brooks' obituary, see if they listed any survivors, and work from there." "I tell ya, that was a shame," Jack reflected. "During those hearings they took him apart -- and they darn near crucified you, Doc. They could say anything they wanted, cause you weren't around to defend yourself. When Ham killed himself, it just kinda put a cap on the whole thing. Didn't hear much about it in the news after that -- except, of course, the tabloids." He lifted his hands as if framing the headline of a newspaper. "'Doc Savage And Elvis Meet In Secret Summit With JFK'." Clark looked blankly. Jack realized something and corrected himself. "That's true -- you probably don't know who Elvis or JFK were?" Clark smiled with a nod. "Like I said, I have much to catch up on." And we all laughed; it felt good. Jack stroked his chin thoughtfully. "A job...." Then he snapped his fingers. "Yeah! Of course! Brother Verner!" I nodded and agreed with him, then explained. "Verner Victor. He's one of our church brothers. Owns a tree service. He's been known to help out brothers once in a while -- including me, last year. Excellent exercise." I smiled. "How do you feel about dragging tree limbs?" Clark smiled back and nodded. "Do we tell him who I am?" "I think it'll be safe," Jack replied. "Verner's a good brother." We talked for awhile longer. Jack volunteered to show Doc around the area, and act as tutor to bring him into the 90s. I would contact the library and get cracking on research. Jack also volunteered to introduce him to Verner. We all agreed that Clark needed to do something to change his appearance. "The hair," I observed. "What if you let it grow out a ways? Pull it back into a ponytail?" Clark shook his head. "I've never been comfortable with long hair. Gets in the way." "Beard?" asked Jack. He nodded. "That I'll accept. But no long hair." I came back with a counter-offer. "Okay. How about the opposite -- keep the beard and shave the head? It seems to be popular, as well as practical." His eyes opened at the thought. He nodded. "Yes." Jack squinted as he pictured it. "Bald with a beard -- you'll hardly resemble your old image. I think you'll fit in quite nicely. What about a different name? You can't go by 'Clark' all the time." Thinking aloud, I asked, "How about the name of that guy that wrote the books? Dent?"

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER

Clark repeated the full name. "'Clark Dent'?" We all grimaced at the unintentional pun. "'Faster than a speeding bullet....,'" I quipped, which started us all laughing. It was unanimous. "Besides, the more people are distracted by the name, the less they'll be making any connection with Doc Savage," rationalized Jack. It seemed to be a good plan for the time being. We prayed before splitting up, then I went upstairs, leaving the two elder men to talk. -------------------The next three weeks went by quickly. Jack introduced Clark to brother Verner, who recognized potential immediately, but also recognized the need for concentrated muscle improvement in key areas -- which surprised and impressed Clark. He started the next day, helping Verner by cleaning up debris from completed tree jobs. When I talked to Verner at church Wednesday night, he spoke of how well Clark had been doing, and how honored he was in actually working alongside the famous Man of Bronze. Two more brothers, who were into physical fitness, took Clark to a local gym where he could work out while getting some fellowship. This was very good, and it was encouraging to see Clark growing, talking about Jesus with the two brothers as they sat on the porch after workout nights. Clark and I had our times also. It had been a long-time agreement to keep the house free of the distraction of television, with the exception of the occasional video. This left several evenings open for Bible study and discussion. Clark had learned a lot from gurus and mystics all around the world, and had explored some religions but, he admitted, all their wisdom was empty next to what God was showing him in the Word now. They never seemed to satisfy him before, but, with the Holy Spirit within him, a lot of things now came alive. We didn't keep this to ourselves, but took it to the streets, back to the Mission -- the 'Scene of the Crime' as Clark jokingly called it -- on the nights I was allowed to preach. He sat in the front row this time, paying rapt attention to the words from the pulpit. He was always in the kitchen afterward, helping dish out food, and then sitting with the men, talking about what God was doing in his life. It was magnificent. The love of God was especially evident here, where it all began, and Clark was eager to be used of God to bring others to the Cross. One thing which was a special blessing to the older men was the way that Clark could relate to them from having lived back in that time. He could speak to a gent who had gone through the Great Depression of 1929, and relate to them in a living way, although he hardly looked like he had been that old. He never explained how he could relate so closely, but just reached out to them and did it. It was interesting seeing him rekindle the hope of someone who -- as he had -- remembered the times long gone, and then praying with them. I praised God to see what He was doing with Clark. But we were not without our struggles. Clark had been uneasy returning to the Mission, being around people who could possibly remember Doc Savage, and make the connection. I graphically reassured him that he was safe, by taking him to a mirror, showing him his image, and comparing that to a picture I had printed off the Internet. As he looked at the shaved, bearded head in the mirror, highlighted by a large

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER metal cross hanging from a leather strap around his neck, and compared it to the photo of "the adventurer Doc Savage," he smiled, then cracked up laughing. I didn't need to say anything more. We'd also made an important decision with regards to Clark's quest for his past. He would not go alone, as he had originally intended. I would go with him, as friend and helper. I pointed out, he needed someone out there, because there were those who would still wish him harm. He also needed a friend he could talk to -- it was a good Biblical standard, being sent out two by two. He hardly needed to think about it -- the Lord had brought us into one accord for some time. It just had been a matter of voicing it. -------------------I was right about finding more information through the library. The research was slow, and sometimes trails ended a decade ago. But I refused to give up, and came away with some successes. I confirmed the death of 'Renny' Renwick. I found his obituary in both Time and Newsweek. He had been among those killed in the 1989 Loma Prieta Earthquake in California, when sections of Interstate 880 collapsed. He left behind no known survivors. I thanked God for professional magazines and trade journals. I found many of my leads through them, through the avocations of 'Johnny' Littlejohn, 'Monk' Mayfair, and 'Long Tom' Roberts. The dates of the articles showed me that they were alive at that time, and there had been clues to their locations, past and/or present. 'Long Tom' Roberts was the hardest to find anything on. The last article written by him had been in the early '50s, then it looked like he had simply vanished off the face of the Earth. On the other hand, 'Johnny' Littlejohn had been a professor in a small California university for several years. There were unsubstantiated reports that he had traveled to the Middle East in 1994. 'Monk' Mayfair's contributions to chemistry periodicals included two references to 'his home in Oklahoma.' Otherwise, he also vanished without a trace. I found a few interesting references with the last name 'Mayfair' in the Oklahoma area, but I couldn't tell anything more without visiting them -- and that was not something I had a peace about. On the other hand, Pat Savage was the easiest to get information on, although most of it was corporate PR. In 1971, during the height of the Women's Lib Movement, Patricia, Inc. was conceived. It began small, from the Greek island of Caroline, tested in Europe, and expanding to the U.S. West Coast. Their motto, 'For the Savage in all of us....,' became a brief rallying cry during that turbulent decade. The events of twenty years earlier had faded, and Patricia Savage returned, making her mark once more on the world. She appeared in person at the start, then exiled herself to her island, where she nurtured her daughter Penelope to take over the empire. Penelope Savage now represented the ultimate woman -- beautiful, youthful, strong, secure, powerful, and brilliant. And admired by millions of men and women around the world. Finally, I was correct in finding leads on 'Ham' Brooks. His 1953 obituary listed a wife, Dorothy, and a son, Donald -- and were shown as having lived in New York City. A quick visit to the library's Metropolitan New York phone directory found a current listing for a Dorothy Brooks. I hoped it was the same one. --------------------

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER I sat in one of the video viewing booths at the library, bathed in a black-and-white glow from the largescreen set before me. The opening credits appeared on the screen: Edward R. MURROW SEE IT NOW Then the title of the program, which caused me to groan inwardly. TARNISHED BRONZE I faced the legendary journalist Edward R. Murrow. He stood casually, facing the camera, his omnipresent cigarette in his hand. "This is Doc Savage: The Man of Bronze." While Murrow's voice spoke in the background, they showed stock film footage of Doc -- in action, in person, wherever he had been caught by the camera. The hero. "To the world at large, Clark Savage Jr. is a towering figure of virtue and strength, loved and admired by millions. "However, there is a dark side to the hero. A dark side we will explore in the next half hour." The scene shifted. Murrow stood before a hardware store, microphone in hand. It looked like rural America, straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting. "We begin by taking you to the little hamlet of Antioch, North Dakota -- population: 2,302. It was here, in this spot, where Matthew Sellers was struck and killed by a hit-and-run driver in late June of this year. Sellers was described as a 'friendly' and 'trustworthy' man who 'went to church every Sunday' and 'never had a bad word towards anyone.' "However, eighteen months earlier, Matthew Sellers did not exist. He had a different name, and a different life. The image shifted to a series of police mug shots. The face had a four-day beard, and disheveled sandycolored hair. His expression was mug-shot standard -- he wasn't liking this. "Matthew 'Big Matt' Sharp. Criminal and racketeer. Wanted in seventeen states on charges ranging from arson and robbery, to assault and murder. The last time he was seen was almost two years ago, in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. In June of 1948 he met up with Doc Savage." Switch to a series of images, which must have been the Crime College. Some of the pictures were closer than others. Most were taken from a distance. "This structure in the hills of upstate New York may appear to be only an innocent -- albeit isolated -building, but it is a place known only as "the College" -- and it is where Matthew Sharp was delivered from Louisiana, unconcious and restrained. "This "College" is a private hospital and sanitarium, owned and operated by Clark Savage Jr., for the purposes of rehabilitating criminals through radical surgical procedures.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER

"Matthew Sharp -- without due process of law, and without his consent or approval -- underwent brain surgery at the hands of Doc Savage himself. Savage performed a partial lobotomy on the racketeer, a procedure he had performed countless times over the years, intending to rehabilitate the criminal by removing the sections of the brain that held "wicked thoughts" and wiping out all knowledge of their past. Then, like Sharp, re-educate them to be returned to society. "Matthew Sharp was given a new name -- Matthew Sellers -- and brought here to Antioch. He was given a place to live, and provided with a job as the janitor at this hardware store. He was given a new lease on life. And, according to his fellow townsfolk, he was a model citizen." Murrow looked thoughtfully out at the camera. "This is a question of 'the end justifies the means'. Is it right for one man to violate the rights of another, kidnapping him, transporting him across state lines, and, without his consent, cut up his brain -- take away what he was and replace it with a fabrication?" The image switched to a man in a suit. The caption identified him as Eric Leroy Williams of the American Civil Liberties Union. The look on his face was pure disgust. "Of course it's not right! What this man Savage is doing is just that -- Savage! It's tanamount to barbarism in the guise of justice!" Back to Murrow's face. "We have documented evidence of over one hundred individuals who have undergone such surgery. These "rehabilitated" criminals are scattered throughout the United States -maybe living in your state, city, town, or within your own neighborhood. Or just possibly, you yourself are one of those who are "graduates" of Doc Savage's "College" -- unaware of what has happened to you. "For weeks we tried to locate Clark Savage Jr. for interview. All our requests were refused. Savage himself has not been seen publically in months." Murrow looked out with stern dark eyes and said slowly, "What are you afraid of?" "However, we were able to interview some of Mr. Savage's associates --" Ham Brooks appeared first. He was cool, but the stress in his face was obvious. Diplomatically, he kept his comments brief. "These accusations are preposterous! Mr. Savage is on business in Australia -- that's why you can't talk to him. But I'm sure he'll be happy to address your concerns once he returns. No, I don't know when that will be." Monk Mayfair appeared next. He was definitely ruffled, and, by the look in his eyes, I was surprised he didn't toss the camera out the window behind him. "It just ain't so! Doc don't work that way. And, if he did, it wouldn't be any more than they deserved. Heck, most'a them criminals would'a gotten the chair or the gas chamber for what they'd done." Back to Murrow. "There you have it. The information you have just witnessed has been turned over to Senator Estes Kefauer, and his investigation into organized crime." He paused, taking a brief pull on his cigarette, and releasing the smoke from his lips. His head was slightly cocked to one side. "When I first received the documented evidence that prompted this program, a simple note was attached to the package: 'Let justice be done.' "We shall see." "This is Edward R. Murrow for See It Now. Good night."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER

The screen faded to black as the closing credits appeared on the screen. I stopped the tape, pressed REWIND on the vcr, and let out a deep breath. "Oh Lord," I prayed under my breath. "That's what started it all." I held the ejected tape in my hands for a moment -- as if it were some holy relic, as well as being a piece of history -- and then returned it to the library's video desk, accidentally bumping into a man in a park ranger uniform. We exchanged apologies, and I crossed over to the exit door. The park ranger headed for the telephones. -------------------That night I presented Clark with the details I had found, and we contemplated our next move. "But to just knock on their door and surprise them -- wouldn't that put us in danger?" offered Clark. "Not necessarily. Let me run this past you." I held up one finger. "Let's say we call or write this Dorothy Brooks. We tell her who we are and what we're after. If she's a total stranger -- and if she believed us -- she might be mercenary enough to bring the police and the media down on our heads the moment we get within range. Not exactly my idea of a good time." I grimaced at the thoughts. Clark nodded silently in response. I held up two fingers. "Let's say that she is Ham's widow. What if she blames you for Ham's death? She could be nursing a forty-year-old grudge against you -- and I don't even want to think of what could happen there. "In both scenerios, it's bad for us, and for others." I held up three fingers. "However, let's look at the third possibility. Let's say that we go there without announcing ourselves. Let me scout it out, and determine that it's safe or not. If it's not, we're outta there, and we move onto the next lead. But if it is safe, we can approach comfortably and introduce ourselves." He nodded. "Yes. You're right. From a tactical position, it would put us -- me -- in the least vulnerable position." "Now, all we have to do is afford to get there." We talked about what finances Clark had accumulated, which, we both agreed, were still too low to work with. We prayed for God to provide for our needs in this mission, then decided to call it a night. -------------------I was awakened at 3:35 in the morning with a rapid tapping at my door. I got to my feet and dragged myself towards the sound. "Who is it?" I mumbled sleepily.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "It's me," answered Clark in a low urgent whisper. "I need to talk to you, now!" "Yeah. Okay," I responded more out of reflex, as I unlatched the door and Clark slipped inside. He swung my desk chair around and straddled it, facing me. "What's up?" I asked, looking at my clock and adding with astonishment, "Do you know what time it is?" Disregarding my comment, Doc asked quizically, "Perry, does God ever speak to you through dreams?" Still half-asleep, I thought he was asking about examples from the Bible. "Yeah, you know he does. Daniel, Joseph.....remember?" "No, I mean, has He ever spoken to you in a dream?" This broke through my stupor. "Yeah. Couple of times. Why?" "Because I think He just showed me where the funding is coming from." My eyes snapped open and my jaw slackened as he explained. -------------------Chapter Four "I think God just showed me where the funding is coming from." That got my attention. "Come again?" "I had a dream about Ham Brooks. We were talking. He said something about his old law firm, and then gave me a name: Silas Poteet. I asked him what the name meant, but he just smiled and put a brightlywrapped package in my hands. Then I woke up." Clark paused, looking at me. "I think God was giving me a vision." "Could be. Have you ever used the name Silas Poteet before?" "Not that I recall." "OK." I didn't doubt the possibility; I had seen it in my own life. "Looks like a good lead." I wrote down the name, and a few notes on the dream. "Let's get some sleep and give them a call in the morning." "Yes." -------------------The next morning we got the number for Ham Brooks' former law firm in New York, and called it. Clark spoke to several people before he got the attention of one of the senior law partners. Sure enough, the name Silas Poteet got their attention. They transferred us through to the senior partner, Douglas Martin. Martin explained that years ago, shortly before his suicide, Ham Brooks entrusted a package to their hands. Out of respect to the man, they accepted the charge, and the cryptic instructions to turn it over only

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER to Silas Poteet. They asked Clark a few questions of confirmation, then got our address, informing us that they would send the package via Overnight Express. That aside, Martin stated he wanted to speak privately with Mr. Poteet. We were put on hold for a minute, then Martin picked up the conversation. He informed us that he was in his office, and that the door was locked. "Sir." He paused, reluctantly. "I have to ask....," Martin's voice suddenly quavering with uncertainty and doubt. "Are -- are you -- him?" Clark paused. "Am I....who?" "Doc Savage." He said the words in hushed, reverent tones, as if he was afraid of being overheard. Clark's voice remained calm and level. "He hasn't been seen in many decades. He's probably no longer alive. Why do you ask?" "Mr. Brooks was a good friend to me when I was just a legal aide new to this firm. He took me under his wing and helped me. I owe much to him. I know he was very loyal to Mr. Savage." He paused, ashamed. "I-I'm sorry, Mr. Poteet. I have wondered for years about that box, and who it was for. You can understand, it's easy for an old man to speculate." "Yes, it is." Clark paused. "Have you ever met Doc Savage?" He seemed to relax in his memories. "Once, many years ago. During the holidays." Clark suddenly smiled. "Christmas party. Nineteen forty-three," Clark ominously remarked. "You smoked a pipe with Latakia tobacco." There was an audible gasp at the other end, then a pause. "Thank you," he said solemnly. "Is there anything else I can do for you -- sir?" "Would you allow me to utilize your firm's services, should I need it?" You could hear the beaming smile on the other end. "Why, of course, sir! I would handle the matter personally." "And I can be assured of your confidentiality?" "Without question," he answered, slowly and in dead seriousness. "Good." He paused. "Ham chose wisely, and correctly. I shall be in contact. Thank you. Good bye." He hung up the phone. I cocked my head slightly. "Are you sure that was a good idea?" Clark looked at me and smiled. "Without a doubt. Like I said, Ham chose his associates wisely." "Okay." I nodded. That was good enough for me.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "Now we wait," I concluded. "It'll be here tomorrow." -------------------By noon the next day, we were looking over the package. But it was more than just a package. It was a large steamer trunk, and took both of us to carry it upstairs to my room. He estimated it to be over a hundred pounds. The sturdy trunk contained two built-in combination locks, which I looked at with resignation. "Oh, great. We can't get in without the combination." Clark looked it over for a moment, then smiled. "Wait. Let me try something." He quickly spun a series of numbers, and pressed the locks. They popped open with a smooth double click, and Clark opened the trunk down the vertical separation. I looked dumbfounded. "The one on the left, my birthday. The one on the right, his birthday," Clark explained. "Well, of course," I said with exaggerated nonchalance. I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. "Praise the Lord." The inside of the trunk was quite elaborate, with drawers on either side. Each drawer contained thin velvet padding separating layers of what appeared to be rows of one-ounce gold ingots. If my suspicions were correct, we were looking at a small gold mine. "I'm no expert on the price of gold, but I think we're looking at considerable nest egg Mr. Brooks provided." I paused, then ventured, "Millions?" My eyes glazed over at the thought. But Clark wasn't concerned about the gold. When the trunk was opened, two envelopes fell to the floor. The smaller one was inscribed 'To Doc,' and Clark was reading the handwritten note that had been inside. "It's from Ham," he said, soberly, then read it aloud: "Doc - If you are reading this then you have indeed returned from the dead as we had all presumed these many years ago. In the hope that you were yet alive, I have prepared this for you. Considering the events of the day that are a monstrous whirlwind moving far too fast about us all and threatening our very lives, these preparations are far from what I would have preferred, but it should advance you in continuing your life and mission. In this you will find sufficient funds to work with, and instructions on contacting Hidalgo. In anticipation of the events that have unfortunately come to pass, I have taken the liberty of modifying the manner of accessing the gold in the Valley of the Vanished. The flow will only continue on strict obeyance of the instructions inside this package. My time is short. I have failed you, Doc. For this I am deeply sorry. I hope that, by this action, this may serve some penance against my wrongs. Your humble servant and friend, Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks." I placed a hand on his shoulder. He looked back at me, his eyes sad. "I'm sorry," I offered in empathy. Clark nodded silently, then walked over to a chair and sat, still holding onto the note. I opened the other envelope, and looked over the contents. I blinked at the characters on the paper, then handed it to Clark. He smiled. "It's written in Mayan," he explained. "Ham, you rascal! You knew only a few of us could read this -- it would be gibberish to anyone else, and would keep the instructions safest. Very good, brother."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER Clark read through the documents. They included instructions on contacting Hidalgo, via shortwave radio at a specific time of the day, on a specific frequency. There was a list of coded phrases and passwords. It identified where the gold would be deposited, and the account names and numbers. I observed that it would be then a simple matter of withdrawing the funds from the account via electronic funds transfer. -------------------Within the hour, Clark and I were sitting offside, discussing our next move. I had a steno book for notes. It was obvious that we would soon have all the funding we would need, assuming we'd be able to establish the Hidalgo connection. And even if Hidalgo was a dead-end, we estimated that Ham's litte 'Care package' gave us a good half million dollar bankroll. Therefore, we were off to an excellent start. Considering all the major moves we were making, it had become almost a natural thing to pray together before we did any discussing. So, once more, we were down on our knees in supplication for wisdom, to be worthy stewards of that which He had provided, and to make the Hidalgo connection come together for His glory. Then, with a collective deep breath, we began looking over the situation. Noting that large influxes of currency might arouse Federal suspicion, we prayed over the matter, then sought the advice of Mr. Martin in New York. He made some suggestions on financial institutions which Mr. Brooks had utilized in the past, and were quite discreet in this regard. We contacted the local branch, and opened an account with them. They were able to convert the gold into currency. A modest backup went into my home checking account, then half was converted into traveler's cheques, and the rest was deposited into the new account. Next, we worked on our shopping list. The first two items were obvious. A first class shortwave radio, installed if need be. Then clothing for Clark. I commented, "You have an unusual tendency to rip through shirts." I thought of the seventeen garments that were now shredded in the rag bin. Clark just grinned innocently. I wrote 'CLOTHES: EXTRA-STRETCHY SHIRTS', and underlined it. Then we discussed our traveling itself. This trip was more than just getting from Point A to Point B -- it that were the case, we could take a jet and be there in hours, not days. This was to be a ministry outreach, a way to expose Clark to what God wanted of him. Besides, there were several advantages to having a vehicle rather than flying and renting vehicles: costs, accessability to the public, the advantage of having a 'mobile command base' from which to operate from, and freedom of mobility itself. At first we talked about just a converted van, but that idea grew into a van camper, just a bit bigger and able to live in during the 3,000-plus miles from Portland to New York City. I took our notes and would run them past some RV places over on 82nd. "Also, I'd like to get a cell phone to have a way of keeping in touch with us wherever we are. And perhaps a notebook pc for the road -- I could use it to keep in touch with Jack via email, check on things ahead of us, and hold all my research in a small portable package." Clark nodded. "You know more about that than I do. But I do understand about keeping lines of communication open."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER We talked for almost an hour, taking notes and discussing strategy and logistics. We got an early night's sleep, because tomorrow would be a busy day. -------------------The installation of the shortwave was done by early afternoon. With Jack and I looking over Clark's shoulder, he worked the controls like a pianist at a Steinway. It only took a few minutes to establish contact with the Valley of the Vanished in Central America. Our breathing was shallow in suspense, and we prayed hard. Clark followed the instructions given by Ham Brooks, and, although there was a few moments of uncertainty, there seemed to be much celebrating on their end -- Doc Savage was alive! We took a collective deep breath after Clark signed off, and praised God. Because there was much work to be done Hidalgo's end, they said it might take a week before the gold shipment arrived at the pre-arranged bank. This would give us time to set up the transportation and computer setup -- we could put some money down on it, and pay off the balance when the gold came in. -------------------On Monday, we took delivery of the completed van camper. It was a modified 25-foot Argonaut. The first thing Clark noticed was the running boards. He looked at me and I just grinned back. "My present -- for old times' sake." I gave him the tour and explained some of the features. It had been modified to add extra height and extra length, both to accommodate Clark's size. The color was a nondescript black with white pinstriping, and the large side windows had a one-way privacy tint. We considered calling it the "Black Beauty." Inside, I gave him the layout. "The driver's seat and passenger seat at the front. Behind the driver's side, we have the dinette table and bench seats -- I can sit there and work with the pc -- and the lavatory's behind that. On this side, behind the passenger seat, we have the galley and storage closet. You'll note that the galley's got a small sink, stove, microwave, and refrigerator. Behind those doors there --" I motioned to the rear of the vehicle. "-- are the sleeping quarters. Twin beds. I arranged to have a special extra-long bed on the one side -- I hope you like sleeping on the left -- so you can stretch out. We can put a table between the beds if we need to, and there's storage space both overhead and below the beds for our gear." I gave him a quick rundown on the technical specifications of the van camper, and covered some of the special "extras" we added -- the security system, the cellular range booster pack that made our cell phone's range virtually unlimited, and the satellite link dish on top that would connect with the pc's cellular modem. Clark was impressed. While I finished the work with the dealer, Clark climbed in and made himself at home. Next we got the pc from the computer store. It was a top-of-the-line, fast-as-lightning notebook pc, loaded with all the software I had requested. I quickly ran through some of the features with Clark, and went online for a quick test. Now I was impressed. Satisfied, I tucked the pc into a special backpack and set it on the floor of the van. We went to a couple of specialty electronics shops, and a military surplus supply store, and we headed for home. We would save the grocery shopping for later. As we drove home, we considered the gold delivery. "How much money are we talking about, realistically?" I asked out of curiousity.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "To be honest, I'm not sure. I know there's an unlimited supply of gold in the Valley of the Vanished. I've seen it -- I've handled it. But Ham handled much of the financial and legal aspect of the accounts." He paused, caught up in memories. "There was no want, no matter how much we needed to help others. And we could always contact Hidalgo for more." He paused, thinking. Then he turned to me and declared, "There was at least a couple of million dollars in the average shipment." "And that's with 1940's gold prices." My eyes glazed over. "Woof," I said as I struggled with the thought of that much money. -------------------Six days after making contact with Hidalgo, the cell phone bleeped. I jumped. Not many people knew this number, so I eagerly took the call. It was a Mr. Gilbert, in Central America. I recognized the name of his bank from the Brooks instructions. He introduced himself, and explained that he was calling us to notify us of a deposit. I thanked him, and asked him how much the deposit came to, converted to American dollars. He excused himself for a moment to calculate the conversion based on the most current gold prices, then returned to the phone and gave me the figure. My eyes went blank and I stopped breathing. "Mr. Liston....Mr. Liston....are you there?" The voice over the phone brought me back, and I immediately understood Mr. Gilbert's extreme politeness. "Yes!" I gasped. "I'm here. I'm sorry, I was -- distracted -- a moment. You are certain of that figure?" "Considering gold prices, it can always fluxuate. But that is the figure at this hour." I swallowed hard and tried to remain calm. "Fine." I asked him about electronic funds transfer to our new account, and he said they were fully capable of doing that. He asked me how much, and I gave him a figure, and the account number. He said that he would tend to it immediately, and it would be complete, at most, within the hour. I expressed my appreciation with as much cool as God would give me, and hung up the phone. Then I lost it. -------------------Jack and Clark never knew what hit them. They were halfway up the stairs, their arms full with shopping bags, when they heard an ear-piercing "PRAISE THE LORD!!" followed by hysterical laughter. They turned to each other with puzzled looks for an instant, then dropped the bags and headed in my direction to see what was happening. I was laughing and praising God, running back and forth down the halls. I saw them and gave them big hugs. They accepted it with curiosity, but then Clark caught on. "Hidalgo?" he asked. "YES! YES! YES!" I screamed with joy. "Remember how much we figured it would be?" "A million at least."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "Try two....point....three." "Two-point-three million is good." "Not million, dear brother! BILLION!! Two-point-three BILLION DOLLARS!!" I then continued laughing and thanking God. Even Clark was stunned. Jack grabbed my arm to keep me from getting away. "Are you sure?" he asked cautiously. "Oh, YES!" I answered, grinning widely. "I asked them to transfer two million into our bank account. They just called and verified the deposit!!" We all froze. There was silence for all of five seconds while the reality of the moment sunk in. Then all three of us lost it, whooping and dancing and praising God at the top of our lungs. However, we had not been unnoticed by the rest of those in the house. I noticed that we had attracted a crowd, curiously watching from the bottom of the stairs. I conferred with Clark and Jack in a quick huddle, then addressed them. "Brothers and sisters! Tonight we are going to have a pizza party this neighborhood is going to talk about for years! Darrin -- start dialing! The rest of you, invite everyone!" That sent cheers from most of them. Others quickly split off to spread the news. A few shook their heads in confusion and talked among themselves. The elation passed, I put a hand on Clark's shoulder and confidently declared, "The mission begins." -------------------Chapter Five "Atomic batteries to power....turbines to speed." "Roger. Ready to move out." The sound of the notebook pc's opening clip was loud in this camper van, I observed. I may have to find another sound file or adjust the volume somewhat. I sat at the dinette table, and made contact with my ISP in Portland via the satellite connection. Downloading my email was a breeze with this super-fast modem. Then I clicked on NEW MESSAGE, addressed it to Jack, and sat for a few moments, gathering my thoughts, listening to the sounds of children playing elsewhere in the RV park, and the hums of the generator and environmental systems. Then I began typing: "Dear Jack...." -------------------Dear Jack: Greeting from the Black Beauty. Yes, the name stuck.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER We're in an Idaho Falls RV park. Clark's doing his exercises outside where he can move about freely, so I thought I'd drop you a quick note. Thanks again for the sendoff. The prayer cover will certainly be needed. Like I said, Monica can pull these messages off my home pc, so you won't need to. I know you and computers are distant strangers, so I leave them in her capable hands. (Monica, please be gentle with Jack, OK?) And I already praise God for those cards we had made up, with our cell number, email address, and the house address. This afternoon we gave two of them away to people we met here at the RV park. And the idea of having them laminated was an excellent idea, Jack! Makes them more durable, and waterproof! So, let's see. What have we been doing since we left? Mostly, a lot of looking. Observing. Some sightseeing. You know I've been mostly a home boy, not the type to travel much -- so this is a new experience for me. On the other hand, Clark's been all over the world -- but that was the world he left in 1949. Things *have* changed. Y'know, It's been incredible, all the things Clark has shared first-hand from their adventures. I'd love to write it all down. But that's not why we're here. This is a 3,000-mile coast-to-coast *mission* -- and we've only just begun. Right now we're stretching our spiritual muscles, strengthening and preparing us for what's ahead. You've said it before -- little trials to prepare us for big trials. Clark and I are in one accord. We're willing to be used of God wherever He takes us. More about that later. Oh, yes! Clark is teaching me to speak Mayan. We figured it could come in handy. Mayan sounds like someone coughing or clearing their throat -- and it's an extremely rare language, making it harder to be overheard. In turn, I'm going to teach him how to use the notebook and utilize the Internet. That way he can be checking things out -- like online street maps, for instance -- while I'm driving. It's cheaper than a Global Positioning System. Well, it's getting late. Clark should be back soon, and I'm starting to get tired. Talk to you later. Take care, and God bless. Perry and Clark I smiled, clicked SEND, and off it went. I backed out of the system, and put the notebook in the backpack for the night. -------------------Dear Jack: We're in Utah. I have *got* to tell you some of the things that have been happening to us.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER Remember when I said that Clark and I were willing to be used of God wherever He would take us? Well, let me give you an example from just yesterday. There's a little town called Poplar Bluffs, population under 5,000. We were driving through it when we were cut off by a fire engine, heading in the direction of a dark plume of smoke in the near distance. Clark and I glanced at each other for only an instant, then I turned the wheel and put on the speed in pursuit. It *had been* a nice quiet residential neighborhood. Now one house was well on its way to being consumed, while neighbors with garden hoses tried keeping it from spreading. Everyone's attention was directed elsewhere, so no one saw the old man but us. Late sixties, kinda frail, and staggering while he coughed, looking like he was going to collapse at any moment. Clark grabbed the first aid kit under his seat and told me to get in as close as I could. I slowly maneuvered around the scene, closing in the distance. Suddenly Clark opened the passenger door and had stepped out on the running boards -- while we're still moving! I knew what he was up to, so just made sure my speed was even. Then, at just the right time, he stepped onto the pavement, was caught off balance for just a moment, then rapidly sprinted to the injured man's side. What a sight!! And just in time, too! The man lost his balance and started to fall, but Clark caught him and settled him gently to the grass. I praise God that Clark had been beefing up on modern first aid "just in case." He made the old man comfortable and administered first aid until the paramedics arrived. Later, the medics told us that the old man had suffered a little from smoke inhalation, but Clark's quick actions had possibly saved his life. For the next two hours we helped where we could, taking turns with neighbors and their garden hoses, or just praying for all those around us. When it was all over, we all gathered around the couple who lived in the house -- the old gentleman Clark had saved, and his wife. Everything they had was lost. While the neighbors comforted them, Clark took me aside. Like I said, Poplar Bluffs is a small town. One bank. It was easy to talk to the bank manager, Jerry Grogan. The couple's savings, even counting the insurance, wouldn't cover it all. So we made a couple of phone calls. Tomorrow, after we're out of town, Grogan will inform them that a anonymous donation of $10,000 was deposited into their savings, to help rebuild their home. Grogan told us that somehow he suspected, others would add to that amount. We gave him our card, and he promised to keep us informed of the progress. Then, like spiritual "Lone Rangers", we headed out of town, to continue our journey. Hi, yo, Black Beauty! Isn't God good? More later. Perry and Clark -------------------Jack: We need you to do some research for us. Clark and I were talking about where he had been put in deep freeze, and we came up with an idea.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER What about a wildlife refuge, or a game preserve? Remember, once he got out, he built up his strength by eating the *wild meat* that was around. Also, he was in a location that would've been undisturbed for *several decades*. What would be better than a large tract of Federally sanctioned land, unable to be touched by land developers. We need someone to go to the library and look into newspaper archives around the time that Clark appeared. Look for a small, almost obscure article, about a refuge or preserve. Since Clark ate some of the wild game there, it might look like vandalism, so see if anyone made note of it in the papers. Let us know what you find. Thanks. Perry and Clark -------------------Dear Jack: Well, it looks like this won't be a boring trip -- not by a long shot. Last night, somebody tried breaking into the van. Let me start from the beginning. We're in Hampton, Nebraska. It was getting late. The name of the motel caught our eyes: The Crossing. It has an actual railroad caboose sitting out front as a fixed landmark, and the entire motel has a railroad motif. We were tired, so it looked like a winner to us. Let me set the scene. The motel itself has two levels. The doors upstairs open onto a walkway which stretches the length of the structure, broken up only by three sets of stairways -- left, right, and middle. We got a room on the second floor, and parked the van in the spot right below us, where we could see it from the window. The decorations inside the room continued the railroad pattern, with pictures of trains and scenic railroad panoramas. There was a small table near the window at the front of the room, with four swivel chairs that looked like standard cheap-motel stock. I claimed the bed farthest from the door. Clark just grunted and made a beeline to the shower. I heard the sigh of appreciation a couple of minutes later. (I tell you, it takes so little to satisfy Clark at times, praise the Lord.) While Clark showered, I cleaned up the trash from the van, and brought in our travel bags. I dropped his on the other bed, as he came out of the bathroom. As Clark started stretching in preparation for his exercises, I grabbed my toiletry case and headed for the shower. Over my shoulder I pleaded, "Not too long, please? It's late." He smiled, and continued. An hour later we were both sound asleep. I figure it was near 2:30am when the van's security alarm went off, and we were both instantly awake. The idea of having a silent alarm hooked to the van's security system really paid off. Clark was halfway to the door before my feet hit the floor! He pulled open the door, and, without even pausing, gripped the

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER railing and vaulted over it like an Olympic athlete! The two kids attempting to break into the van -- one Latino, one white, both in their late teens -- probably never knew what hit them! As I took the long way down, I saw that Clark had landed directly behind them. He had a large hand around the back of each boy's neck, effectively immobilizing them. The Latino tried to pull a backhanded punch to Clark's head. With a move that looked to be more reflexive than not, Clark shifted them both, and -- I'm not joking! -- the white kid found himself suddenly in the path of the Latino's fist. POW! Clark lowered the unconcious white kid to the ground while still holding onto the puzzled Latino's neck. "Now that wasn't very nice, was it?" I heard him calmly address the boy as I arrived. I surveyed the scene, and couldn't hold back a grin. "Nicely done," I commented. "Need any help?" "I don't think so. What should we do?" I looked at the kid. "Relax. We just want to help." This had the opposite effect on the boy, as he started yelling and cursing. Clark cut him off by briefly -but sharply -- increasing his grip. The tirade became a squeek. Just then, the man from the room below ours came out, and announced that the police were on their way. I turned and nodded. "Thanks. You saw what happened?" "You bet. Whooooo! I ain't never seen such a sight! Mister --" he addressed Clark. "-- are you a wrestler or one o' those martial arts guys?" I turned away to hide my grin. "No, sir. Just strong," replied Clark evenly. The Latino launched into another stream of profanity, and tried to kick back at Clark's knee. "Now stop that!" he said as he squeezed again. The boy grimaced, and chose silent obedience. The police showed up a few minutes later. With the testimonies of myself and the other gentleman, it was clear that Clark was only subduing the youth. And the cop broke up laughing when when he heard how the white kid had been knocked out. He had recognized the two boys, explaining to us that they were wanted for several other break-ins over the last three months. He congratulated us for helping capture them. He put them in the back of his patrol car, then took our statements. I asked if he needed us to testify, since we were just passing through. The policeman took our cell number and address, and told us he'd contact us if he needed us. As the police car took off, the man from the first floor approached us. He identified himself as Dan Briggs, and invited us to his room for a few minutes. Clark and I looked at one another, recognizing this as an opportunity for ministry, then accepted. Clark reset the alarm while I secured the room, then we got some soft drinks and ice from some machines next to the Motel Office, and joined Briggs in his room. We sat around for a couple of hours, just talking. He had been curious as to how peacefully Clark had handled those two -- the redirected punch notwithstanding.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER

Clark explained. "I had no anger towards them. I don't know why they would want to do what they did. But no harm was done to the van, and I tried not to leave bruises on their necks." "Not many people would'a taken it. What's your secret?" Clark paused for only an instant, then looked the man in the eyes and said, "The love of Jesus." Jack, this touched something within him. He began opening up to us. He'd been an ex-preacher's kid who'd backslid into some serious drinking. But he admitted, he'd been going to AA and had six months sober. We all praised God for that. We listened to him, and then prayed with him. When we left, we gave him the number of our cell phone, and the Portland address. I took a look around the van, double-checked the alarm, and joined Clark back upstairs. As I looked off of the railing at the van below, I commented to Clark, "That was impressive. Seem a little like old times?" He smiled broadly. "Yeah. I guess I moved on instinct." "Thank God for the instinct not to harm those two." "Amen. I could've. But I felt.....a rush of compassion.....couldn't understand it." I nodded. "But now you do." "Yes. Perry, before we go, can we give our number to those boys? If they need help...." "I'm with you. We'll check it out in the morning." The next morning we located the local police department, passed on the information, and headed out of town. Give everyone our love. Thanks for the prayers. Keep 'em coming. Back on the sawdust trail.... Perry and Clark -------------------Dear Jack: Clark's outside doing some jogging, so I thought I'd drop you a note and ask you another favor. We run into people all the time, who need a place to stay and some good Christian fellowship. Yet, out here in unfamiliar territory, we end up having to apologize because we don't know the people. I'd like to see if there's a way we can resolve that. You've got friends all over the place, Jack. Do any of them have a ministry house that we could refer people to, or would any of them want to start a ministry

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER house? I'm not talking something as big as ours, but you get the idea. And if money is the problem, maybe we can use some of the Hidalgo resources to get them started. I haven't brought this up to Clark yet. I wanted to see what you had to say on it first. I could keep the information in my notebook pc. We could pull up the information, contact the closest place on the cell, and set things up before just dropping by. Then take them right to the doorstep, making sure they get a good start. We'd also get to know the people, and they would get to know us. What's your thoughts on this, Jack? Pray about it and let me know what you think? Bring Verner in on it if you want. Thanks. Perry -------------------Dear Jack: Greetings from Iowa. Just southwest of Davenport, along a lonely stretch of road. Figured we'd camp it tonight. Clark's outside doing his exercises (I gotta get him to run me through them some time -hopefully I can keep up). I really praise God for all He's doing here, with both of us. Everywhere we go, God puts someone in our path to minister to. Sometimes it's nothing more than getting some lunch for a hungry man, other times it's being able to add something to the offering plate of a struggling church, or telling someone about the love of God and leaving a card. The order of the day seems to be: see a need, and meet it. Clark's like a little kid at times! He loves helping others! And no wonder -- apart from crimefighting, this is what he did best -- helping those who needed help. This is second nature to him, now enhanced by his new spiritual eyes and the love of Christ, that reaches past the surface and finds the real need. Onward and upward go the Rover Boys.... Perry and Clark -------------------Jack: We crossed over into Ohio about midnight, and came upon an old biker stuck at the side of the road. Said his name was Jim Bronson. He rode an old Triumph motorcycle, circa 1960s, and wore a weatherbeaten leather jacket that had seen better days. We'd heard him before we saw him, as he yelled at the old bike, cursing up a blue streak. We came alongside to see if we could help, then took him inside the van and gave him something to eat.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER He told us he'd been traveling the roads of the world for more than thirty years. Said he was 64, but he looked about ten years older than that due to years of wind-in-the-face biking. He couldn't remember where home had been. As we talked, he told us of some of the people he had met, the things he had seen. But one thing both Clark and I could see -- he was lonely. So we talked with him and shared Jesus with him. Something was working within him, but the Lord showed us not to push. So we tinkered on the bike for an hour, then gave it up for the night. The next morning we went to the nearest town, had them bring the bike in, and got it working again. Jack, we're sending him in your direction, okay? Take him in and welcome him as family. Use whatever you have to to get his bike back to mint condition -- price is no object. He's had it for a lotta years, and there's an emotional attachment to it. I know it'll touch his heart. Get Frank and Barry in on this. They know bikes. They can help put it into shape; it'll be a good witness. Set up a room for him. Make sure you emphasize that he's got a home now. If he decides to hit the road again, he'll always know he's got a home base. Whatever he needs in the way of supplies, take care of it. Let us know when he gets there, and keep praying in the meantime. Driving down that long lonesome highway.... Perry and Clark -------------------Jack: We're in front of Dorothy Brooks' apartment. She's running some errands, and should be back in a few minutes. I'm geared up for E.V.A., so now we're just waiting in silent prayer. Needless to say, this is what we came for, so pray for us. I'll report in when I can. Happy trails.... Perry and Clark -------------------Chapter Six With the help of the online maps, we had no trouble locating Dorothy Brooks' apartment. No one appeared to be home. While Clark sat in the van, I went on EVA -- Extra-Vehicular Activity. We had invested in some high-tech communications gear for the times that I would be venturing outside the camper van, to keep us in contact and keep Clark as informed as possible. I wore a small transciever invisibly in my ear, which functioned as transmitter, receiver, and external microphone. In that way, Clark could communicate with me, and I with him, and he would also be able to hear my conversations with others. If I needed to say something privately to Clark, I would do so in Mayan, which would sound to outsiders like coughing or clearing my throat. It felt strange wearing the electronics gear, so I used terms from the space program to hide my awkwardness with humor.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER I spoke to a neighbor, who verified that Dorothy Brooks indeed lived here, and would be back in a few minutes from the store. I returned to the van. Ten minutes later a red Yamaha motorcycle came around the corner, a sack of groceries secured within a crate behind the seat. "Is that her?" I asked. "It's her parking spot," observed Clark. The figure climbed off the bike, and removed her helmet. "That's no old lady." I stated the obvious. She looked to be in her mid-twenties. Clark smiled at the satire. "Indeed." She secured the helmet to the bike and grabbed the sack. I started to get up, but Clark's hand rested on my arm. "That's not Dorothy Brooks." I continued to rise. "Maybe not the one we're looking for. But maybe there's a link. I'm going to check her out -- pray for me." I stepped out from the far side of the van, came around, and approached her. "Excuse me?" I asked. She turned. I could see her giving me a critical once-over -- shields up. "Yes?" she said, hesitantly. I smiled. "I'm looking for a Dorothy Brooks who lives in this area." "What for?" I introduced myself. "I'm Perry Liston, from Portland, Oregon. She used to be married to a Theodore Brooks, who went by the nickname of 'Ham.' I've got a friend who used to know him, who had been in an accident, and only recently regained conciousness. I'm trying to help him reconcile his past, fill in the gaps. And I was hoping this Dorothy Brooks could help." She looked at me for a few seconds, then said, "My name's Dorothy Brooks, but I think the one you're looking for is my grandma. She doesn't live in New York anymore." "Oh," I said, disappointed. "I don't know what I'm going to do now." "Your friend was in a coma?" "Of a sort. A rare occurance. He'd been asleep for decades." I started to walk away. "Sorry to have bothered you. Thanks for the help." She suddenly said, "Wait!" I stopped and turned. "Yes?" "Hold on a second. What's your friend's name? I might've heard my mom talk about him, and she could help him."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER I stopped. I didn't really want to talk about Doc Savage right out here in the parking lot. I took a shot. "I'm not sure if I can talk about it out here. Is there a place where we can talk privately -- say, in your apartment?" I suggested. As the words left my mouth I realized just how bad that sounded, but it was too late. Her grip tightened on her sack. "Listen -- you've got ten seconds to tell me the truth or start running -- or you're going to see how hard this sack of groceries can dent your skull!" I held my hands up, open palms facing her, surrendering. "Okay." I cautiously turned to the van. "Clark, c'mon out." The door opened and Clark stepped out. He stood tall, and walked casually towards us. I could feel tension from Dorothy Brooks, and was praying. As Clark came to my side, I said with resignation, "Dorothy Brooks, I'd like you to meet Clark Savage Jr." Clark didn't flinch. Thank God for being in one accord. She didn't flinch either, but just looked Clark over. "He doesn't look like Doc Savage." "Test him," I suggested, shrugging. She thought a moment, then asked, "What did Ham like to drink?" Clark paused only an instant. "Sherry. But he didn't consider it to be drinking." Dorothy Brooks froze. Her eyes went wide and her mouth popped open. "Let's go inside!" she blurted, then spun and rushed towards the apartment. "Van locked?" I asked. Clark nodded, and pressed a button on a small box he clipped to his belt. "Secure," he announced, then we followed her. We entered the apartment. She had put the sack of groceries on the kitchen table, and was retrieving her hastily-discarded keys from the floor. She rushed around us to close and lock the door, then whirled on us. "But you're dead!" she announced to Clark. "It's a long story," I offered calmly. I motioned to the living room, and started moving towards the couch. "Can we sit?" She paced the floor excitedly. "Who can sit at a time like this? My God, this is incredible!! Grandma never talked about you -- she never met you -- but Mom's told me all about you and Ham and the rest of the team." She looked at Clark and squinted. "What have you done to yourself?" she asked candidly. Clark answered, "A disguise. I can't go around like I used to look." "Yeah! Sure! Of course!" She paced a few more moments, then stopped and plopped down in a chair, controlling her rapid breathing and collecting her thoughts. Finally she asked, "So what happened?"

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER Clark briefly outlined the significant events. She sat engrossed in the whole thing, then she sat back, thinking. "All you want to do is get back in touch with your past? Can't blame you." She paused, then asked, "So how can I help?" "We came here trying to find your grandmother, but it looks like she wouldn't have been able to give us anything. Would your mother be willing to talk to us?" "In a heartbeat, if I let her know we're coming." "We?" She looked at me defiantly. "Do you think I'd let something like this slip past? With all Mom's told me about you -- My God, you're a hero! At least to me you are. I don't care what they said -- most of it was before I was born, anyhow." She shook her head. "I can't believe this is happening. Tell me this isn't a dream." She looked at us, then at me. "Look. I can introduce you to Mom, and break the ice. Afterward, I don't know." She pleaded with us with her eyes. "But I want to be a part of this. Please." Clark and I looked at each other. I saw the briefest of nods. "Sure." She leaped up out of her chair. "Great! I'll call Mom." While she dialed, I made a brief assessment of our new ally. She stood around 5'6", and weighed maybe 150. She had a stocky build, but was nicely proportioned. Her hair was brown and closely cropped. The only noticeable jewelry were simple post earrings, a school ring worn on her right ring finger, and a sports watch with a wide leather band on her left wrist. I could see a glint in her brown eyes when she talked, and her grin was both impish and provocative. "Mom? It's me. Yeah, I'm fine." She looked over at us and smiled. "Mom, I've got some friends here who would like to meet you. It's about Grandpa Ham. Sure. We'll be leaving in a few minutes. Love ya. Bye!" She hung up the phone. "Okay, it's a done deal. She'll be waiting. Let me get these groceries put away, and we'll get going." I looked over at Clark and smiled. I saw a look of expectation in his face. -------------------Caroline Brooks -- who insisted on us calling her 'Carrie' -- was a wonderful lady, and we took to her immediately. We discovered early that she was not the daughter of Ham Brooks, but -- to our amazement -- of Monk Mayfair. Ham's son Donny had been abandoned in the care of Monk Mayfair and his wife, the former Lea Aster, not long after Ham's suicide. Monk raised Donny as his own son, and the two children became close friends, eventually marrying. Donny had been killed by a drunk driver in 1975, which eventually prompted Carrie to become the director of a local drug and alcohol rehab program. We sat around a small conference table in her office, as Carrie filled us in on the details of the previous Dorothy Brooks, showing no animosity or bitterness in her actions. Carrie Brooks was a striking woman. She stood tall and confidant, her head crowned with flaming red hair. Her face was attractive in a plain sort of way, wearing simple wire-rimmed glasses, and I noticed

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER Doc occasionally looking at her with some intensity. Didn't blame him. She had maintained a fine figure, subtly muscular, and showed the subdued inner strength of a fighter, I observed. Considering her lineage and upbringing, I knew I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of her anger. We found out that Monk and Lea were still alive, and living in semi-seclusion in Oklahoma. Carrie didn't hesitate in giving us the information on how to find him -- "Dad didn't want a whole lot of people knowing where he and mom moved to; you can understand why. But I think I can make an exception here," she commented with a grin. We continued to talk, not noticing the passage of time. The sound of my stomach growling prompted Carrie to ask, "When was the last time you ate?" "Breakfast?" I admitted, surprised that it was early evening. She gave us a stern, matronly glare. "Then let's get out of here and get some dinner." She suggested a casual restaurant a few blocks away. We secured the van, and walked. The evening was cool, and it felt good to get away from that van, to spend some time relaxing with new friends. While Clark talked with Carrie, I found myself paired up with Dorothy -- 'Dot' to her friends. I learned that she was a security guard at one of the Federal buildings, which seemed to fit her. And she, too, was far from shy, especially when we discovered we had computers in common. Although the subject of our faith never came around, we still had a good time of fellowship. -------------------The van moved slowly down the access road towards the lakefront property. It was still early morning as we got out there. The sun was coming over the hills surrounding this little isolated lake near Tulsa, Oklahoma. The house was back aways, but easy to see. Clark touched my shoulder and pointed at something near the lake. "It's him," he said. "It's Monk." I drove in a little closer, then stopped and climbed out. We weren't sure how Monk would take seeing Clark alive after all these years, so I made the first move, wearing the transciever for Clark's benefit. The morning was cool, and I could see the sun reflecting off the waters ahead and to my left. I moved cautiously towards the figure, about a hundred yards ahead of me. I had barely gotten halfway there when he turned to face me, still in silhouette. A voice I remembered only from the Murrow program squeaked in my direction. "Whadda ya want?" I stopped. "Lieutenant Colonel Mayfair?" "Nobody calls me that anymore. Whadda ya want?" he repeated. "Name's Perry Liston, sir. I'm from Portland, Oregon, and I'm here with a friend of yours." On cue, Clark left the van and walked slowly in our direction. "Who's that?" he growled, not seeing through Clark's disguise. "Do you still carry that old pocket watch of yours, Monk?" Clark asked, as he came alongside me.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER Monk's hand wrapped around something in his pants pocket, while he squinted to see us clearer. Curiously, he said, "Come closer." We moved towards him slowly, not wishing to give any hostile intentions. As we did, I was able to get a closer look at this living legend. At a distance he had looked like an elder gorilla, his arms long and appearing to stretch below the knees of his short legs. His frame was wide and showed great strength even in spite of Monk's advanced years. The hairs on his head and face were a combination of grey, white, and his original red, thus accenting his simian appearance. He wore a woodsman coat and a Greek fisherman's cap. "Who....are....you?" he said hesitantly. "It's me, brother," Clark said, now in Mayan. "Are you well?" The homely chemist's eyes went wide, and I was sure I saw his face pale. I was ready to react if he passed out. "Can't be," he said, suddenly defiant. "Prove yourself!" "Remember the time you shot that man in the leg? I congratulated you for your humanitarianism. Then you admitted you were aiming between the man's eyes." "Blazes!" he exclaimed. "It is you, Doc!" We closed the distance, and Clark reached out his hand to him. "Hello, brother," he said, his voice full of emotion. Monk took the large bronze hand in both of his. Then, without a word, the two men came together in an embrace that was almost half a century overdue. Old friends who had seen life and death together, reunited. Monk's eyes were moist, I noticed. So were mine. Although I couldn't see his face from where I stood, I presumed Clark made it three for three. After a few moments, Monk pulled away from the big man and stood back in wonder. "It's you -- but it doesn't look like you." He took it all in. "But how?" Clark simply smiled in return. "It's a long story." "How'd you find me?" "Carrie," Clark answered. "Should'a known," he commented wryly. "She told you I married Lea?" "Yes," replied Clark. "I'm surprised it took so long for you to settle down." Then he suddenly added in low, sobering tones, "What happened?" "What do you mean?" "Carrie was adopted." This was a revelation even to me. "What makes ya think so?" he challenged.

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"I had a chance to look into her eyes." The look on Monk's face was a combination of awe, admiration, and bitterness. "Still the best, Doc. I'm surprised nobody else saw that before." He paused, daring with his eyes. "Go ahead, Sherlock -- drop the other shoe." "Pat." We all stood there in silence. I hadn't a clue to what they were talking about, but I started to suspect. Then I started praying. Monk's shoulders had slumped, and he pivoted away from us to avoid our eyes. "What happened?" repeated Clark. Monk stood there for a few moments, collecting his thoughts, shifting his bulk from one foot to the other like a schoolboy caught cheating on a test. Then he looked at us and his eyes narrowed slightly. "It was after you'd left, Doc. We tried holding the team together. Dealing with the problems as they came. But it didn't work out. There was too much fighting in the ranks. Renny went first, then Long Tom an' Johnny. Pat -- I tell ya, she was a real trooper then -- tried keepin' us together any way she could. But it didn't last. So it was up to the three of us: me, Pat --" He paused with emotion. "-- and Ham." He paused again. "Ham was so busy keepin' up the business and legal sides of things, he was always too busy for the adventures. So it was me and Pat solvin' the mysteries and fightin' the bad guys. But then, in - 1950 -- Pat and I were in a scrap against some jokers down in New Orleans. Pat got hurt, bad. Lost her left eye." He turned to Doc. "You knew how much Pat treasured her looks. This devastated her inside! Well," he returned to his low tones. "I was there for her. Nursed her through the crisis. She became emotionally dependant on me, which I didn't mind." He paused and smiled. "You remember, we all had crushes on Pat," he confessed with a grin. He took a deep breath. "We got close. One thing led to another -- and she got pregnant." He looked us in the eyes now, and pleaded with us for secrecy. "Please don't tell this to a soul, especially Carrie. She's my little girl," he said with pained eyes. We both nodded acknowledgment. He continued: "Pat got pregnant. She didn't really want a child, but there wasn't anything we could do. Somethings aren't as bad as they are nowadays. She had some friends in the Greek islands. She went there, and gave birth to Carrie." He paused; the worst seemed to be over. "Pat an' me had talked this out. She didn't want to raise a child. I did. But I couldn't do it alone -- just the sight of my ugly mug would start any kid to cryin'. She needed a mama." He looked at Doc. "You remember how it was with me and Lea? She'd always been close to my heart -- and vice versa -- but I'd never been the type to settle down, until this. Me an' Pat had been a momentary fling, but Lea and I loved one another for what we were. She knew, how I still don't know. But she knew. And so we also knew it was time for me to settle down and raise a family." He looked off in the direction of the house, and his voice softened with the love he felt for his wife. "She's the best thing that ever happened to me, and she's been a good wife and mother." "'A virtuous woman is to be prized above rubies,'" I quoted from Proverbs. Monk turned to me and said, "Yeah. Exactly, kid."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER We all stood silent for a few moments, then Monk continued his narrative. "Carrie was our first, but not our last. Lea 'n me, we've got five all told. Carrie, the oldest, of course. Our oldest boy Clark --" He gave Doc a sideways glance and grinned. "Then there's Hamilton, Mark, and Deborah -- we call her DeeDee. DeeDee's expectin' again -- that'll make eleven grandchildren." He smiled the smile of a proud papa. "Not bad, if I do say so myself!" Clark queried, "Hamilton?" "Yeah. A play-on-words, in tribute to my old buddy Ham." He paused and smiled. "Actually, it's very interesting. Hamilton went into law -- belongs to a firm in Coral Beach, Florida. Ham would've been honored. Y'know, some days I really miss them battles we used to have." He took a deep breath, let it out in a sigh. He walked a couple of steps towards the house, then spun and faced Clark. "Y' ain't angry, are ya?" he asked. Clark smiled warmly. "No, Monk, no. I'm just glad to be back." "Ditto, Doc." He took Clark's hand once more in a strong, comforting grasp. "Let's go up to the house. I can't wait to see the look on Lea's face." -------------------When we got to the house, Monk called for his wife. She moved slowly, but then put on a burst of speed and ran into Doc's arms -- she recognized him beyond the disguise! The petite woman with the silver hair hugged Clark's neck, and he held her a moment before lowering her to the ground. Monk suggested they have some coffee in the living room. Clark and I passed on coffee, but accepted some herbal tea. We once more repeated the details of Clark's imprisonment and escape, much to Monk's amazement. "So what got into you to go back to those caves, Doc?" asked Monk, showing frustration. "That last battle there. Wail had just vanished, there in the cell. There was something to it that just didn't fit." He looked over at me. "Perry would say that I didn't have a peace about it. Well, I didn't. So I returned to the caves to resolve the mystery." "But why didn't ya tell anyone about it? You know we would'a followed you to the ends of the earth." "I don't really know. Maybe it was just a personal battle -- him versus me, no holds barred, till one of us won. I can see now that it was an ego trip, and foolish on my part." "That wasn't foolish, Doc -- it was downright stupid!" Monk rebuked sharply, then dropped his head. "Sorry, Doc." "It's okay, Monk. I deserved it. What happened after I left?" He relaxed, took a sip of his coffee, and began. "Heck, we didn't even know you'd disappeared for a couple of weeks after you were gone. Lots of us figured you just retreated to the Fortress for awhile to get a fresh perspective on things. Well, after a few weeks, and no contact, we tried contacting the Fortress to see if you were there. Nothing. We all put our heads together -- even Pat, who was really worried by that time -- and figured you might've gone back to the caves. I figured you'd gone back to settle things. So we went to the caves. Johnny took the lead, and we covered as much of it as we could before we figured you

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER weren't there. We used every gadget we could find, and came up zilch. So we gave up, and returned to New York. "We didn't know what to do, Doc. We tried doin' the best we could, but, without you, there was no glue holdin' us together. Like I told ya before, Johnny, Renny, and Long Tom split off to pursue their own careers -- can't say I blame them -- which left me, Ham, and Pat to run the show. Ham kept the business end working, and me and Pat fought the fights. We even got a stand-in to cover for you in some public appearances, and talked that writer fellow into putting together a couple of stories with you included, just to keep up appearances that you were still around. "It was back in 1951 when Ed Murrow jumped down our throats 'cause of the bit at the Crime College. One of the graduates -- remember 'Big Matt' Sharp? -- got killed. Someone got the word to Murrow, and tied it in with the College. Murrow investigated it, then turned it over to that rat Kefauer. The College was ripped open for all to see." Monk showed the agitation of the years. "It was bad, Doc. They called us every name in the book, 'specially you. They twisted the intent of the College into some sorta nightmare -- 'Better be good, or Doc Savage will take you to his Crime College and cut into your brain!' It was a nightmare for us. And, to top things off, with you gone and no one to ride herd on the businesses and stuff, the College deteriorated, and made things even worse than they looked. "Then the government investigated it -- and us. Kefauer in 1951 and Nixon in 1952, both hot on our tails and lickin' their lips for our blood. And they got it. Ham tried to keep things intact, but, in the end, everything that wasn't nailed down got sold off to pay the reparations and damages for what the government said we did. The Empire State Building, the Trading Company, and all the other little investments we had -- auctioned off to the highest bidder. "One thing about those times I will admit was good -- it brought all of us together to defend what we stood for." Lea added, "Remember, Andy....Ham kept you all from going to jail on criminal charges." "Sure did, hon," agreed Monk. "But it was a losin' battle, and, in the end, we all fell like a house of cards. "Ham took the worst of it, 'cause he tried fighting things legally against something that was not legal in the first place. He was disbarred from legal practice, Doc. Kicked out. That did him in. Dorothy -- his wife -- stood by his side the best she could with Donny -- their kid -- but he ended up shutting her out, and slipping deeper into depression. "He killed himself less than six months later. Gunshot. Everyone backed off after that. They figured they got their 'eye for an eye,' so left us alone from then on. Hated to see it happen that way." "As you probably know from talkin' to Carrie, I got close to Donny and took him under my wing in Ham's absence." He paused, almost embarrassed to continue. "One thing you have to know about Dorothy Brooks. She had been a legal associate in Ham's firm, and was barely 19 when she and Ham married. Too young, if you ask me. They were married for only a short time before Donny was born, and motherhood was new and unfamiliar to her. After Ham died, she retreated into the bottle. Donny spent more time with us than he did with her -- which ended up to be a good thing. In '54 she just vanished; later we found out she'd gotten married to some dude out of Arkansas, and that was the last we heard from her. We finished raising Donny as if he was our own."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "Caroline told me how she and Donny got together," Doc said. Monk smiled. "Yeah. Carrie used to call him 'Donnybrook,' and they were best friends throughout school. In school, whenever Carrie got teased, Donny was right there to defend her." He looked over at Lea, who knew what he was going to say next, then continued anyway. "The two of them took out a grand total of twenty-five school bullies in ten years. Nobody got in their way when they were together." He smiled with pride. "That's my girl!" "Yes, she is," summarized Clark. -------------------Lea left us to prepare lunch. "So what happened to the rest of the team?" asked Clark eagerly. "Well, you already know about Pat. She moved to the Greek islands and started a cosmetics empire that's one of the most powerful businesses in the world. She actually owns one of the islands, and runs the business from there. I hear the island's also got a health resort and spa, and hot shots pay through the nose to get their tummies tucked. She's apparently a recluse there -- kinda like Gloria Swanson used t'be -- and her daughter Penelope is running the show now." "So I heard," replied Clark. "Yeah. Don't know who the papa is. Rumors abound: take your pick. There's the one about her getting a quickie marriage to an over-the-hill Greek fishing mogul. Or the one having her involved with one of the presidents back in the '60s. My favorite is the one having the father as the king of a tribe in Africa." He paused with a grin. "You don't think you-know-who might be involved?" "I doubt it," Clark replied, equally enigmatic. "He's faithful to Jane. So no one's seen Pat in decades?" "Pat, no. Penelope, yes. She's the golden girl of the cosmetics world. Been in all the money magazines." He looked at the ceiling, reflecting. "Spitting image of Pat, though, when we both knew her back then." "What about Renny? Long Tom? Johnny?" Monk thought a moment. "Johnny returned to archaeology. Steven Spielberg used him as the model for Indiana Jones." My eyes widened. "Oh, really?" "Yeah. But they missed it by getting Harrison Ford to play the part. Johnny was a lot skinnier than that." He paused, then continued. "The last time we heard of him was back in the '80s when he went to the Middle East on a dig. "Renny headed up an engineering firm in Los Angeles. He was quite successful. He got killed in that big earthquake they had a few years back. "And Long Tom.....him, I dunno. The last I saw of him was Ham's funeral. And he was quieter than I'd ever seen him. Then nothing.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "To be honest, since we all split up -- except for when we got together at Ham's funeral -- we've avoided keeping in touch with one another. The team broke apart, and we've all gone our separate ways." Clark said, "Let's not make that mistake, too. Please?" "Agreed," affirmed Monk with a wide grin. "You know about computers?" "A bit, but not entirely," he admitted. "Perry's the expert." I lightly patted the PC backpack at my side and gave him a quick description of the system. "Slick. Remind me to give you our email address," commented Monk. "Email is terrific -- makes it real easy to keep in touch with the kids." "Yeah. We've already met Dot," I said. Monk grinned wide. "Ain't she a pistol? I tell ya, she's a handful, but I'd want her on my side in a fight in a heartbeat!" He squinted in my direction and asked conspiratorially, "Perry, you're single, right?" I unexpectly blushed. "Andy!" exclaimed Lea. "That's your granddaughter you're talking about!" "All right, all right, all right!" he conceded, but still grinned in my direction. -------------------The day passed with reminicing and bringing Clark up on history. I sat like Mary sitting before Jesus, in rapt facination, listening to tales of adventure recounted by those who had lived it. During dinner, then afterwards in the den, I found myself staring at Monk. Finally, he questioned my curiousity. "What's the problem, kid?" I started. "What problem?" I asked sheepishly. "You've been starin' at me like I wuz an exhibit in some museum. What's the matter -- ain't ya ever seen a mug this ugly before?" "No, sir. It's not that," I quickly apologized. All eyes were fixed on me, as I tried to collect my thoughts sufficiently. Then, after a few moments, I spoke. "You were born before 1900, weren't you?" "Yeah. Eighteen-ninety-nine," he answered without pausing. "So?" "You don't appear to look like a man who's close to a hundred years old." I observed the reactions in Clark and Monk. Both shifted briefly in their seats, nervously. Then Clark spoke first. "In the early '30s I got some pills from a -- distant relative -- of mine. In effect, the pills delayed the aging process in people. I analyzed the contents, and was able to reproduce it. Then I issued it to my men."

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Monk picked it up from there. "When Doc vanished, I took possession of the stuff. Being a chemist, I was best able to continue producing it. However, before the next dosage was needed, things hit the fan, and we had other things on our mind. Then the other guys split off, Pat left for Greece, Ham died, and it was just down to Lea and me. I kept us going for a couple of decades, but, in the end, we simply decided we wanted to grow old gracefully. So I destroyed it." He took a sip of his coffee, then added in Doc's direction. "Anyhow, there's always silphium." "silphium?" I asked, eagerly. "Yes," answered Clark. "silphium was another age delaying substance, an herb. It had the additional effect of keeping its users healthy and vigorous, without loss of fertility. On the surface it looked to be a wonderful thing, but it was not. If it would have been loosed into society and all able to partake of it, the birth rate would've mushroomed all out of proportion. God only knows what the end result would have been." Monk nodded agreement. "Yeah. Doc ended up using his influence on the press to lay down a false story about silphium. He couldn't stop its existence, but he could make it look as if it were just another overrated plant. Another example of snake oil." "Interesting," I commented. As I looked over at Clark, I noticed that his eyes were narrowed, in thought. I wondered what he was thinking, but decided not to ask him. "Oh, yeah," Monk interrupted, remembering something. "Doc, they found the Fortress." This brought Clark out of his concentration. "How?" Monk shook his head. "Don't know. I never saw anything in the news about it, but that's no surprise. But I verified it several different ways through the Net." Monk snorted in disgust. "If I didn't know the creep was dead, I'd figure Ol' John Sunlight might've tipped someone off. Looks like the Government got to it first. Probably stripped it clean." He paused as he challenged his memory. "The conspiracy boys are sayin' that the Government's usin' it as a sort-of secret 'way station' for UFO's and who-knows-what. Not even the tabloids mention it -- not that I read that kinda trash, mind you." He smiled innocently. "I should have pulled that second lever when I had the opportunity," commented Doc somberly. "Yeah," agreed Monk, unashamedly. "You should'a." I chimed in. "Pardon me?" Monk answered. "When we was first battlin' John Sunlight at the Fortress, back in '37, Doc opened a spot in the ice a distance away. Inside was two levers. He pulled one, which released a knockout gas in the Dome, and allowed us to get close enough to get in." Doc continued. "The second lever was a destruct switch. It would have activated a hydraulic mechanism that would've pulled the Dome under the ice flow, and sunk it to the bottom. I refused to use it while there were people inside." He looked defensively over at Monk. "Even John Sunlght." "Yeah. Too bad." Monk looked with stubborn determination. "I'd've pulled it in a second."

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There was an uneasy silence. Then Monk changed the subject. "Y'know, Doc....something's been buggin' me. You both came from Oregon to New York, then here. Where'd you get the money? Were you able to get through to Hidalgo?" "Yes. Actually, it was Ham that made it possible. He had left a cache of gold with his old law firm, along with instructions on how to re-establish contact with Hidalgo." "Well, I'll be dipped! That old shyster!" exclaimed Monk. "But how'd you know to contact his old law firm?" I took a deep breath and prayed. I knew eventually Clark would have to reveal that he was a Christian, but we hadn't expected it to be so soon. We weren't sure where Monk and Lea stood with Jesus Christ, so we both wondered how they would take to news like this. Clark had told me somewhat of Monk's violent, arrogant, brutal past, and there was nothing about that witnessed to their present religious condition. But then God moved. "I knew because God showed me. You see, Monk, I'm a Christian now." The words came from Clark as simple truth of the matter. Now Monk squirmed uncomfortably. "Well....that's great, Doc! Yeah....whatever....whatever makes you happy....is good, Doc. I'm....I'm happy for you." He looked ready to bolt and run, but Doc mercifully provided a way out. "Monk?" he said lightly. His head turned to face Clark. "Yeah, Doc?" "Can we go for a walk?" He rubbed his legs. "I need to stretch my legs a bit. How about you showing me around the place?" Relieved, Monk's eyes brightened, and he said excitedly, "Well, sure, Doc! Let's go!" And the two of them walked outside, leaving Lea and me in silence. I wondered, then prayed, about what to say to her. But she broke the ice, and startled me down to my socks. "You know, Perry," she started off thoughtfully. "I have been praying for this moment for years, although it's not as I thought it would happen." And she turned to me and smiled. My eyes widened, and I marveled at the simple, meek faith Lea Mayfair had in God. And I smiled in kind, sharing a love beyond both of us. "Yeah. I'd love to listen in on that conversation, wouldn't you....sis?" Our eyes met, and I rose from my chair, walked over next to hers, and lowered myself to my knees at her side. Our hands joined, our heads bowed, and we began to pray, to intercede for the two men outside, who walked by a smooth lake and opened their hearts to one another for the first time in half a century. --------------------

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER Dear Jack: We made contact with Monk and Lea Mayfair here, near Tulsa, Oklahoma. It's been a very good day. And a *glorious* day in Heaven. It's party time, because Monk Mayfair let God remove that box of rocks he'd been carrying for almost nine decades, and bring him freedom and forgiveness. And the prayers of his faithful, wonderful wife have finally been answered. We'll be staying here awhile, until we know where we go from here. I'll try to write once a day. And I'll see what I can do about getting some pictures of this place -- it's beautiful out here. Please, Jack, give everyone in the house a hug from me. From us. I miss 'em bad, especially at times like these. God bless you all. Talk to you soon. Perry and Clark....and Monk and Lea -------------------Chapter Seven Dear Jack: I praise God for the time we've spent with Monk and Lea. After all those weeks in the camper van going back and forth and back again, it's a blessing to sleep in a real (i.e., stationary) bed. Now, I promised I wouldn't brag on Lea's homecooked meals, but I have copied a few of her best recipes into the notebook for your examination. Let me know if you want me to E-mail them to you. Monk and Clark have been spending quite a lot of time together, walking around the lake, sharing their faith, remembering past glories and looking ahead to the promises. It's definitely been an uplift for MY spirit, praise God. However, we'll be moving on soon. I think I know where we're going next, but it's up to God to bring Clark and me into one accord. Jack. Please be praying for us. My dreams have recently been filled with images of flying, and a feeling of dread. It's easy to get wrapped up by fear. But I am standing in faith, knowing that all things work together for my good and God's glory. But keep us all in prayer, just in case. Changing the subject, how's Verner's wife doing? The last I heard, she was having a little difficulty carrying her baby. Let her know we'll be praying for her; and I'll pass their E-mail address to Lea, who (as a mother of five) might be able to provide some insight. I got the information on all those "safe houses" you provided, and entered it into the database. It's a good start, and I appreciate your effort in checking on them. As we're faithful with this, God will add to it along the way. Sorry to hear you've still not found anything about the refuges; please keep looking a bit longer -- I just know there's something there.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER And I'm thrilled to hear that Jim Bronson got to the house, and got the overhaul done to his bike (that must've been interesting). Keep me posted on how he does. I'm praying for him. God bless you all. Talk to you soon. Perry and Clark After uploading the E-mail, I left the camper van, pausing a moment to stretch in the cool morning air, and looked toward the lake. There, silhouetted in the light flashing off the surface of the water, was Clark, looking out at the lake. My boots crunched lightly on the dew-covered grass as I came up from behind him, and joined the large bronze man in observing the activity on the lake. Ahead and to our left, a few birds lazily swooped down to snatch something from the water's surface. "It's time," I finally said. "Uh huh," acknowledged Clark. "Pat." "Penelope." I turned to him, and he explained it to me. A few minutes later, staring up at Clark from a seated position in the wet grass, I mumbled, "We've got to tell Monk." "Agreed," acknowledged Clark, helping me to my feet. -------------------Clark made his announcement during lunch. "We're going to see Pat next." "Well, that'll be a neat trick," quipped Monk. "It practically takes an act of Congress to land on that island of hers. And it would be easier to get an audience with the pope." Then he added with a grin, "Besides, I'd just love to see you try an' get a passport these days, Doc." Clark nodded, not disputing the point. "Agreed. But there must be a way we can see her." Lea sat nursing a cup of peppermint tea. "What if she came to us?" she offered quietly. The rest of us suddenly went silent. "What was that, hon?" asked Monk. "What if she came to us?" she repeated. "Pat's a recluse. She never leaves the island. I can't remember the last time she made a public appearance. Penelope's the key. Remember, she's running the company now. She's got to leave the island in order to do business. Now if you could get her to talk to you, she could bring you together with Pat." "Getting in to see Penelope isn't any easier. It's like trying to see the President," I argued.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "However," mused Clark thoughtfully, "even the President will grant an audience if there's good reason. All we have to do is figure out what would make Penelope sit up and bark, so to speak." "Cosmetics," stated Monk. "It's a business, and all businesses are competitive. Everybody's trying to take the high ground, gain the advantage, draw a bigger share of the market. I'll bet their R&D department's looking for the next big breakthrough." His face broke into a sly grin. "What if we give her one?" "Yeah, sure," I responded with a little sarcasm. "What do we know about making cosmetics?" Monk scowled at me impatiently. "Look, kid. We wouldn't actually give her anything! But if we make it look like we have the next big cosmetics breakthrough, it might just be enough to, as Doc put it, make her sit up and bark. All we're lookin' for is a foot in the door." I understood. We mulled over a few ideas, but nothing clicked. As we did, Lea sat quietly sipping her tea, her eyes alert. Finally Monk caught on. "I know that look. What'cha got?" "No offense intended," she started. "For the most part, men don't handle cosmetics on a day-to-day basis. Women do. Let me do a little brainstorming with the girls and the granddaughters -- on the Q.T., of course. And let's see what we can come up with." Clark and I nodded our approval. "Works for me," said Monk for all of us. "Go for it." Without another word she got up from the table and headed for the living room, snatching the cordless phone and address book as she did. Monk looked at us and grinned. "Now you know why I married her. Never one to back out of a challenge, even if it does mean living with me for these forty-eight years." "Forty-seven," called a voice from the room beyond. "And six months." -------------------"Lipstick." Lea made the pronouncement as she put a slice of veggie pizza from one of the several take-out boxes arrayed on the kitchen counter, then grabbed a napkin and joined us at the table. Between bites, she read from a notepad. The rest of us sat munching and listening intensely. "Obviously, it wouldn't be an ordinary lipstick. It looks like any other lipstick, and it goes on like any other lipstick. But after a couple of minutes it would bond to the skin, and would stay there. It couldn't be washed off, wiped off, smudged, smeared, and would look just as fresh as when it was first put on. And, of course, it would have to be non-toxic. When the time limit wore off it would be just like any other lipstick, and could be removed. The only way it could be removed before the time limit would be through a special second formula ... sold separately, of course." She was excited about the concept. "What woman wouldn't kill for a lipstick she only has to put on once every few days. No more awkward moments, and one less thing to carry with her." She grinned. "AND you could also suggest to them that this would only be the beginning, if you applied the principle' to other cosmetics." She listed off several popular products. "Travel makeup cases would become a thing of the past. Put it on Friday night and you wouldn't have to worry about it until Monday. Now that's a breakthrough!"

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER We were amazed. We glanced at one another, then stood in a spontaneous display of applause. She just smiled. I quickly assembled a product profile on my pc, fine-tuning it. It didn't need much; the only change we made was how long it would last. In the end, the Hundred Hour Lipstick was born. "Ahem!" The sound came from the kitchen, as Monk loaded the last slice of the pepperoni and pineapple pizza onto his plate. "I hate to pour cold water on the matter, but it just occurred to me: this thing'll get us IN the door, but how do we get TO the door? There's got to be a thousand crackpots with 'breakthrough' products. How do we rate a private audience?" Clark looked at him and grinned a moment later. "Can I use the phone in the den?" "Yeah. Sure," replied Monk, slightly puzzled. -------------------"Douglas Martin please. Silas Poteet." There was a pause of several seconds, then Martin came on the line. "Yes, sir! How can I help you?" "Is this a secure line?" "One moment." There was silence interrupted only by a couple of clicks. "Sorry about the wait. Now we're secure. How can I help you?" "I have a couple of 'associates' who wish to contact Ms. Penelope Savage, and would prefer to bypass the usual chain of authority. They are inventors, and all they wish to do is present their invention directly to Ms. Savage. Can you act as an 'agent of contact' for them?" "Certainly," he replied confidently, and without nosy questions. "There should be no problems." "I must discuss with you some specific details. Are you prepared to take notes?" "Yes, sir," he said without hesitation. "Proceed." "First: the time of the meeting should be within the next few weeks, no longer than a month. "Second: my associates insist that the meeting be at the New York corporate headquarters of Patricia, Inc., not at Caroline Island. They do not wish to travel beyond United States jurisdiction. "Third: I will be faxing you a statement regarding my associates' invention. You can pass this information on -- at your discretion -- to Ms. Savage's people, in order to establish the validity of their invention, and the truth of their statements. "Fourth: due to an unfortunate accident, my associates have no identification nor credentials. If I provide you with all the particulars, photographs, etc., could you supply them with what they need?" There was a brief pause. "Yes. I believe so, sir."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "Good. Finally: once the point of contact has been made, and the meeting is under way, you are instructed to disavow any knowledge of my associates, including complete elimination of any so-called 'paper trails' -- do you understand?" "Yes, sir, I do indeed. It will be dealt with the most discrete sensitivity. If I may be so bold, they'll never prove a thing." "Excellent. There will, of course, be sufficient funds to more than cover this transaction. I will fax you the statement in -- say -- two hours' time?" "I'll retrieve it personally." "You have my cell number if you need to contact me. Good day." And the conversation was ended. -------------------Because of the sensitive nature of this meeting, we decided to assume disguises to gain access, then reveal our true selves when it was safe to do so. We developed personas as inventors 'James Morris' and 'Don Iverson,' complete with disguising our appearances. I admit, my exposure to cloak-and-dagger stuff was limited to the spies sent into Jericho by Joshua, and the occasional James Bond film, so this was new to me. But it was fun. Our initial 'stage' was the living room of Monk's place. I was 'Don Iverson.' He was the genius scientist and computer wiz, the technical brains of the team, who'd feel more comfortable around a Cray mainframe and a chemistry set than around people. He was also a nonconformist, which was the fun part for me. I wore wire-rimmed glasses, a Jerry Garcia sweatshirt and Levis, and a longhaired wig pulled back in a straight 1960's ponytail. My image in the mirror startled me. I looked like some of the people I knew down at Portland's Waterfront Park. Clark was 'James Morris,' my partner. He was the spokesman, and his 'personality' was opposite of mine. When he came into the living room, I almost didn't recognize him. A blond crewcut hairpiece covered his bald head. His beard had been shaped to a goatee and dyed a matching blond. A pair of brown-tinted sunglasses hid his giveaway gold-flecked eyes; we assured him that this was very common, even if it did look strange. His clothes were also dead opposite to mine -- a top-of-the-line, tailor-made Armani suit, complete with a full set of accessories like a Rolex watch and gold neck chain. Dressed for success was an understatement here; Clark was dressed to kill. But not all accepted the new look. "No! No! No!" grumbled Monk loudly, pacing the room. "It's still not the right personality! He's just not ... cocky enough." He paced for a few moments, then spun on one heel and exclaimed, "Yes! Of course!" His apelike form disappeared into the den for a couple of minutes while Clark and I looked at one another quizzically. Then he returned with two videocassettes and a grin you could fit a frisbee through. He handed the cassettes to Clark. I caught the titles and grinned with recognition. "Doc, follow me!" ordered Monk. "We're going to do a little 'character research'" Clark looked at the pictures on the boxes as he followed obediently. The last thing I heard before the door closed was, "Flint?" I could hardly hold in my laughter. Then I joined them.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER -------------------Four hours later, the improved 'James Morris' stood before us. He found his cues in Monk's videos, then augmented them. In the end he was a grinning, disgustingly self-confidant man of success, virtually reeking with "having it all together." His voice was tinted with a Southern Georgia accent, with a motivational speaker's mannerisms. He walked around the room with the fluidity of Bruce Lee. I, on the other hand, didn't do much with my voice. Clark was the spokesman, and I was the computer man. Nonetheless, I found myself developing a Cheech and Chong drone, taking on corresponding mannerisms. "Ready to take the spotlight?" I asked. He casually spun to face me. "That I am, dear Perry, that I am! And I'm ready to do it with style!" he said, flashing me a toothy Jack Cassidy smile. -------------------"Mr. Poteet? Douglas Martin here." "Yes, Mr. Martin." "Your meeting with Ms. Penelope Savage has been approved under the conditions you've requested." He gave the date and time. "Thank you very much, Mr. Martin. The identification cards arrived a couple of days ago; they're excellent. How are the rest of the documents coming?" "They've been completed." He hesitated. "Would you allow me a personal request?" Clark paused, raising an eyebrow. "Proceed." "I would like to have dinner with you. I know a respectable men's club in Manhattan with an emphasis on privacy. I can give you the rest of the documents there." He paused cautiously, then added: "I would be greatly honored." There was silence for a moment. "I, too, would be honored. But there will be two of us: myself and my partner, Mr. Liston." "I'll look forward to meeting him." "Then I accept. I'll call you when we reach New York." "Excellent, sir!" "Thank you. Good day." -------------------I was standing out by the lake when Clark called to me.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "I just spoke to Douglas Martin. The meeting is on for the afternoon of the 26th. That gives us ten days." I nodded. "Should we drive or take a plane?" "We could drive, but that would give us less time to prepare. Besides, the last time we were in New York was all too brief." He paused. "I'd like to take a look at some of my previous 'holdings' -- the Empire State Building, the Hidalgo Trading Company, and others." I was skeptical. "After this many years? I wouldn't get my hopes up, brother." "Agreed. But I suppose I'm looking for some trace of what I had. Confirmation to me that there's something there of mine that still stands through the years. I know that sounds foolish, Perry, but...how do you say it..." He paused. "Humor me." I grinned. "It's not foolish, Clark. It's a part of your past. It's important to you. Forgive me for trying to discourage you. So we'll fly in?" "Yes." I gave him a sideways glance. "Think you're ready to experience modern jet airliners?" "Yes, I think so." I mused aloud: "We can send the majority of what we'll need ahead of us, leaving us just enough for one bag each as carry-on luggage. Easier all the way around. What about lodging?" "I think we can get some assistance from Carrie and Dot Brooks, to make the reservations and see that our gear arrives safely." "If we go down a week in advance, that'll be plenty of time to get your 'business' done." "What about you? What will you do?" "Good question." I thought a moment. "I've been wanting to do some research, see about getting us closer to Johnny and Long Tom. I've heard the New York library system is excellent. Anyplace else there I can check?" "I'll think about it." "Also, I've been too long away from street ministry. This might give me a chance to 'refresh my batteries,' so to speak." I shrugged. "Let's see what happens." "Sounds good. Douglas Martin has completed the rest of our documents. However, he's invited us to dinner when we reach New York. I suppose he wants to meet me face-to-face." "Can't say I blame him. Any idea of where it's going to be?" I asked. "He said something about a private men's club in Manhattan. I think it'll be fine." "Sounds like an interesting idea. What do you wear to one of those places?" I mused as we walked to the house.

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-------------------It was Thursday, the 19th. Carrie and Dot Brooks were more than happy to help us with accommodations and coordinating arrangements. We FedEx'd our rolling travel trunks Wednesday morning. Now, with Clark's shoulder bag and my backpack in the back of Monk's truck, the four of us gathered by the lake for a final word of prayer. Then we hugged Lea and departed for the airport. Monk dropped us off at the terminal. "I'll call Dot and let her know you've left," he informed us. Then he moved on, while we walked into the airport. In order to test our disguises in a public setting, we decided to wear them during the flight. We wandered around for a half hour, then boarded our plane. We settled in, and waited for takeoff. -------------------Monk, at a nearby viewpoint, watched the activity while monitoring the plane-to-tower transmissions on a portable scanner. He watched the United 737-300 rise into the afternoon sky and bank eastward. The cell phone lay on the passenger seat. He picked it up and tapped out a number. "Hello?" "Dottie, it's me." "Hiya, granddad!" "Their plane just took off. You got the schedule?" "Sure do. If there's no delays, they'll be arriving at 6:15." "Dot?" The tone of his voice suddenly changed. "'Gumball' is go." There was a pause on the other end. Dot's voice was equally serious. "Okay, granddad." A click on the other end terminated the conversation. Monk looked out in the direction of the barelyvisible jet, allowed himself a smile and put the phone back in his pocket. He started up the truck and headed for home. -------------------Chapter Eight "Excuse me?" Clark said, getting the flight attendant's attention. As she turned towards us, he smiled and read her nametag. "Jocelyn. That's a beautiful name. Is it possible I could get another diet soda?" The tall brunette smiled back at Clark. "Certainly, sir." Almost as an afterthought, she asked me if I wanted anything.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER I lowered the stereo headset and looked in her direction with a half-dazed expression. "Peanuts, please. No salt." Jocelyn smiled back, but I pretended not to notice. She continued up the aisle. It was, overall, a blissfully uneventful flight. It was clear that Clark enjoyed role-playing, and he did it well. 'James Morris' interracted with everyone around him: passengers, crew, and (of course) me. I shared his enjoyment, observing, and interceding during the quiet times. -------------------Our landing at Kennedy International Airport was smooth. As we walked up the ramp, I spotted Carrie and Dot. I nudged Clark. "They haven't seen us yet. Do they know about the disguises?" I whispered. "I don't believe so." I grinned. "Good. Let's have a little fun. Follow my lead." We casually maneuvered around the long way, coming up behind the ladies; they were still looking in the direction of where we had been. "'Scuse us, ladies. We're lookin' for a couple o' guys," I said, removing my beat-up leather cowboy hat. "Yeah. So are we," answered Carrie, absently. "Bug off." "Maybe you've seen them," added Clark, beaming a mile-wide smile. "One of them is a tall fellow, bald, with a dynamite Malibu tan." "Yeah. And the other guy's a straight shooter by the name o' Perry." Carrie missed the clue, but Dot didn't. Her head turned and her eyes went wide. Her jaw went slack for an instant. Then her fist swung and made contact with my arm. "You snots!" she exclaimed softly. Despite the sudden pain, I started laughing. Clark joined me a heartbeat later. Carrie, now realizing what was going on, looked at Clark and said his name. He nodded. "What's with the ... ?" she asked, implying our disguises. "A precaution, and part of the plan." Carrie nodded, then reached out her arm and put it around Clark's waist. He was momentarily taken offguard, but then returned the hug. Dot did the same to me, asking, "So, how's the arm, smarty? Teach you not to pull a fast one on us." I smiled, wincing for effect. "I'll live. You just can't take a joke." --------------------

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER Carrie's minivan made good time, and we were soon maneuvering through the streets of lower Manhattan. "It's interesting that you should choose the Hotel Metro," commented Dot. "It has an excellent view of the Empire State Building." "Planning some sightseeing?" added Carrie over her shoulder. "As a matter of fact, yes," Clark answered. -------------------Walking through the lobby of the Hotel Metro, I was amazed. The walls were adorned with classic movie posters and photos of starlets from Hollywood's golden era. I stopped along the way to take a second look at a few of them, and made a mental note to get Clark's impressions of the sights. We identified ourselves at the front desk, took possession of a couple of keys, and headed upstairs. As I thought, our bags had arrived, and were parked near the sofa. "I thought about unpacking," apologized Carrie, "but I didn't know where you wanted things." "You offering now?" I asked. "Sure. Just tell us where you want it to go." she replied. Dot did a double-take and mouthed the word 'us'. Clark and I took a quick tour and staked out our claims. While they unpacked, we changed out of our disguises. "Who owns the rollerblades?" Carrie called. "Me," replied Clark. "Oh, really? So you blade?" she said with more than curious interest. "A bit. Your dad got me interested in them, and they're mostly for exercise. Why?" "Dad got me a pair two years ago. I blade in Central Park. Join me?" "Sounds like fun. Thanks." I came out, dressed in jeans and tee-shirt, and found the cell phone. I called Monk and let him know we were fine and settled in, then let him talk to Carrie and Dot a moment before ending the call. Clark came out and we all sat around the living room, relaxing. Somehow the conversation worked its way around to music, and Carrie invited Clark to visit a jazz club she frequented. "Yes. I would like that," he replied, surprising me. Dot looked over at me. "So what about you? I know a killer blues club over in the Village. You game?"

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER I slowly shook my head. "Thanks, but I'll pass. I think I'll stick around here and turn in early." I saw a look of disappointment on her face. "What do you say about taking me around New York for some sightseeing tomorrow?" She smiled and nodded. "You're on. Eight a.m., sharp. Be ready to ride." "Ride?" I muttered to myself. Within the hour, I was alone. After I closed the door behind the departing trio, I took a deep breath and released it. "Thanks, Lord," I prayed. I took my backpack to the table, set up the notebook and cellular modem, and sent off a quick E-mail to Jack. Then, armed with a notepad I had been scribbling on over the last few days, I swung into the Internet and did a little surfing for information, talking to God as I did. When I next looked up, an hour and a half had passed. Not uncommon; time flies when you're having fun. I logged off, backed out, shut down, and packed it away, then headed to bed. I dozed lightly, stirred from sleep when Clark came into the room, humming a tune to a jazz beat. Then, like a protective parent knowing his kids were home and safe, I smiled and went back to sleep. -------------------Friday, the 20th. In anticipation of Dot Brooks' visit, I was up before 7:00 a.m., spending a little quiet time with God. Clark rose around 7:30 and we talked about his previous night on the town. He had enjoyed himself immensely, and talked about how wonderful it felt to actually be able to relax. "You know, Perry, women have always been attracted to me," he admitted. "And I to them. But I couldn't let them become a part of my life. There was always the fear that my enemies would use them to get to me." He paused and a strange grin appeared on his face. "You know, I can't begin to count how many times all of us had been knocked out and captured. It was just a part of our lives. Part of the life we had chosen." His face suddenly lit up with revelation. "There was also the adventure, the action, the excitement. That was also a big part of it. I guess you'd say we were hooked on the rush." Just then there came a knock at the door. I glanced at the clock and announced, "Dot's here." She was dressed in a leather Harley Davidson jacket and khaki jeans. "Hi, guys!" she greeted as she walked in. She lobbed a motorcycle helmet to me as she held another. "Ready?" she asked. "I hope breakfast is on this tour." She cracked a grin. "I know the perfect place. You'll love it." I looked at Clark. "See you later. Have fun," I told him, then added, "I'll keep you covered." He looked back and nodded. "Thanks." I headed out the door. Dot turned to Clark and announced, "Oh, yeah: Mom wanted me to tell you she'll be here at nine." He nodded.

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Dot's motorcycle was waiting at streetside. "Have you ridden before?" she asked as she donned her helmet. "I little, but it's been awhile," I admitted. She mounted the bike, started it, then dismounted and helped me in getting aboard and placing my feet in the right place. Then she slid on in front of me and instructed, "Hang on, and lean as I do." I put my arms loosely around her middle. "I said hang on! Tighter!" she said over the growl of the bike. I tightened my arms a little. She shrugged. "Oh, well, don't say I didn't warn you." The motorcycle suddenly jerked forward, and my arms reflexively assumed a death grip around her middle. I heard her gasp. She called back a little weakly: "At least allow me to breathe, please!" I loosened up my hold a little and felt her relax in turn. After a couple of minutes I got used to the feel of her, and relaxed and enjoyed the ride. -------------------Clark stood at the window. In the distance loomed the Empire State Building. Smiling, he remembered an earlier time . . . "Hey! Gimme back my book, ya shyster!" The dapper lawyer looked over the pulp magazine and wrinkled his nose in disgust. "One of our own exploits? You surprise me. I would have expected your inclinations in the literary arts to be limited to Captain Marvel, or that Superman fellow. But I could not imagine actually purchasing one of our own adventures, you miscreant ape!" The simian Monk made a lunge for the book. Ham sidestepped him with a grin, and flung the magazine sideways, where it landed in the middle of the table where Long Tom, Renny, and Johnny had been playing a game of cards. The pasteboards flew and they all jumped to their feet. Johnny picked up the book and flipped through the pages. "I am absolutely disarrayed at the impertinence our illustrious pseudo-biographer has in portraying us with such alacrocity. 'Fantastic Island' indeed." Offended, he passed it to Renny. "Don't knock it, Johnny. It makes a good yarn, especially after survivin' that volcano nightmare." "Hello, boys," came the voice from the door. They turned as one, to see the beautiful Pat Savage. "What's up?" "This is, Pat," replied Renny, tossing her the book farther beyond the reach of its owner. She looked at the cover, then flipped through it, stopping a couple of times. Then she broke up laughing. "Why didn't he tell it like it happened?" she said. "I was practically running around butt-naked!" "You can't print them things," commented Long Tom, cleaning up the mess from the disturbed card game. "It's dirty."

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Pat opened her mouth to respond. But before the words could come forth, Monk ambushed her and snatched the book from her hands. He rolled it up and, self-satisfied, ambled over to the couch. He flopped down noisily, unrolled the pulp magazine and continued his reading. She looked over at him, smiled, then dropped the matter. With slow, deliberate strides, Ham approached the couch. Monk looked up once from his book and released a low growl, accompanied by bearing his sharp teeth. The dapper lawyer simply smiled in return and drew the sword from his always-present cane. A moment later the tip of the sword curled around the front of the magazine tauntingly. "Should I or shouldn't I?" he considered aloud. "You do and you won't see tomorrow, ya clothes horse!" growled Monk from behind the pulp. "Looking who's calling who 'horse' -- 'Sea Biscuit'!" he quipped in return. "Doc! Will you tell this ... ," he stammered, at a loss for words, " ... to leave me alone?" KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! The rapping was soft, but enough to snap Clark out of his flashback. Through the door, he asked who it was. "It's Carrie," came the reply. He unlocked the door and let her in. She wore a leather bomber jacket over a sweatshirt promoting a local sports team, and bluejeans. She greeted him with a hug. He noticed her doing that a lot; he also found himself not resisting it, either. "Anywhere you want to go in particular?" she asked. He smiled and looked over his shoulder out the window. "As a matter of fact, there is." He pointed near the top of the skyscraper. "I would like to start there." -------------------Dot had been correct. Breakfast had been wonderful. And now we rode the Staten Island Ferry. Dot had tried talking me into checking out the view from the top of the Statue of Liberty, but I admitted my reluctance to climb the 345 steps. Her response was teasing: "Wuss," she grinned. Now, as we stood at the railing, looking over on the Manhattan skyline, Dot reflected on her life in the Big Apple. "It wasn't easy growing up here, especially with Dad gone and Mom trying to get her act together. Granddad tried to get me to move back to Oklahoma, but I just couldn't desert Mom. She needed me, and I needed her." She paused to swipe at a seagull that had landed on the rail nearby. "Mom always spent time with me. We even got our black belts in Karate at the same time," she announced with a grin. "I'm proud of Mom for gettin' past Dad's death, then turning it around to head Serenity Center. She put things behind her and used the experience to help others." She looked out toward the skyline, then turned back to me and changed the subject. "So what about you? Portland's boy, born and raised?"

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I shook my head slowly. "No. My parents lived up in Seattle, and that's where I was born. When I was old enough, I moved to Portland to work for an electronics firm in Clackamas County. Now I'm between jobs." "Your folks still in Seattle?" "Mom is. Dad's gone." Dot must have sensed the change of tone when I mentioned Dad. "Sorry." "It's okay," I dismissed. -------------------"This is the place?" asked Carrie, reluctantly. Clark nodded his head slowly, unable to speak. They moved toward the seawall, walking across the grass, and stopped at the walkway overlooking the Hudson River. Clark looked around as if searching for anything familiar. Carrie suddenly remembered something: "One of Mayor Koch's beautification projects. They took a lot of old waterfront buildings and had them torn down and replaced with parks like this one." "I suspected as much, but I never believed it could be so complete," Clark said with a deep sadness in his voice. "First the Empire State Building: the 86th floor shows not the slightest indication of anything that I put there. And now, the Hidalgo Trading Company, replaced by a park," he repeated. He took a deep breath and released it in a tired sigh. "I hoped that there would be something of mine that survived the years. But nothing's left. It's been completely obliterated. As if I never existed." They sat on a nearby bench. "Is there anywhere else you want to go?" asked Carrie. He stared out at the river. "At first, a few places. But now, I don't think so. Maybe later." He shrugged. "Clark, why don't we get something to eat." She looked at her watch. "Look, it's almost two. I don't know about you, but I'm hungry." She stood up and offered him her hand. "Yeah, sure," he answered absently, and took the hand. As they walked to her car, she suggested, "Have you ever tried Eggplant Parmesan? I know a swell little place. A little overpriced, but second to none." -------------------Greenwich Village has always had a reputation for being a Mecca for oddballs of all sorts. It was inevitable that we would end there. As we ate lunch, we watched the people who passed by our window. We had a good view, and my attention was turned more toward them than toward Dot. My heart longed for a return to street ministry. I tried carrying on a conversation, but continued to be distracted. "What'cha thinkin'?" Dot suddenly asked.

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I answered honestly. "I wish I could help them all," I admitted, my voice filled with compassion. "Is that how you met Clark?" Distractedly, I replied without thinking. "Sort of. Clark came into the mission where I was preaching." Then my eyes went wide as I realized what I had just said. I had tried to keep my Christianity low-key, but suddenly all the cards were now on the table. I looked into her face for a negative reaction, but found none. "In case you haven't guessed, I'm a Christian." She nodded. "Yeah, so I gathered." I looked into her brown eyes. "What about you?" "Am I a Christian? No," she answered candidly, without hesitation nor boasting. It was simply a statement of fact. "Do I believe there's a God? Yes. Look, I don't knock you for what you're into ... as long as you're not pushy." With that, she defined the ground rules between us. I nodded. "Fair. I won't push. I don't need to." I asked if she wanted to hear more about how Clark and I met. She said yes. Then I recounted in general details how Clark came into the mission, how he looked, and his conversion. Silently praying, I waited to see her reaction. "Very cool." She paused, thinking. "I've also seen a change in Granddad. Your handiwork?" she asked with a grin. I shook my head. "Clark's." I paused. "Dot, I've got a question for you. The changes you see in your granddad -- has it been good or bad?" She thought a moment. "Good. He used to be so tied up in knots because of the things in his past, things we all wished he could just get rid of. And it looks like he did. He seems to be more at peace now, free." She smiled sincerely. "I like it. Thanks." I smiled back. "No need for thanks," I casually replied. -------------------It was 7:30. As we stood outside the aged building, I read the name on the sign next to the door. "The Cobalt Club?" Clark smiled. "Yes." Our attire had since gone from casual to formal, and I kept reminding myself of the verse 'I am made all things to all men, that I might by all means save some.' Nevertheless, I still felt funny wearing the suit. We approached the matre'd and Clark introduced himself. "Silas Poteet. Guests of Douglas Martin." "Certainly, sir," he acknowledged. "Just one moment." I was admiring the lobby of this very swank establishment. Oddly enough, Clark appeared to be right at home. Before I could ask him if he'd been here before, a man walked by who caught Clark's attention. "Cranston?" he exclaimed.

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The gentleman turned. His slicked-back hair was jet black and he had an unusual hook nose. "Yes?" he answered in a very cultured voice. "Do I know you?" "Lamont Cranston?" Clark said cautiously. The man broke into a wide grin. "No, my dear fellow! Derek Cranston. My grandfather's name was Lamont, however. Did you know him?" "I knew ... of ... him," sidestepped Clark, not wanting to give away his actual age. "I heard he was a fine man. Is he still alive?" Derek slowly shook his head. "Sorry to say, no. Lost his life several years ago -- in Southern France, I believe." "I'm sorry." Just then a gentleman came to take us to Douglas Martin's table. We shook hands with Derek Cranston and said our goodbyes. Within moments of the door closing behind him, our ears caught a laugh, ominous and low, floating on the wind. We both froze in mid-step and Clark looked back. Then his face took on a strange grin. "Clark. What was that ... ?" I asked. "I don't know," he answered, then whispered under his breath, "but I think the Shadow does." He didn't think I heard him, but I did. And I made a mental note to check it out later. As we entered the private dining room, an elderly gentleman stood from his place at the table. He was about my height, but slightly bent over with age. His hair was white and balding on the top, and he had the most incredible muttonchop sideburns that stretched at least four inches below his jawline. He extended a wrinkled hand to Clark. "Mister ... Poteet," he greeted with a wry smile. "Mr. Martin," replied Clark, returning the handshake. "And you must be Mr. Liston," he greeted. "Call me Perry, please." "I hope your stay has been well, gentlemen. I'll signal our waiter to come and take our orders." After the waiter left, Martin reached into a briefcase in the chair next to him, removed a vinyl document packet, and handed it to Clark. "I think you'll be pleased with these, gentlemen. I also took the liberty of creating a second set of identification. Call it a personal gift. You never know when you might need them. I hope the names I chose meet with your approval." "I'm sure it will," commented Clark with admiration, passing them across to me. As I scanned them, I was amazed at how real they looked. I returned them to the packet and set them offside.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "Sir," addressed Martin respectfully. "I cannot contain myself any longer. I must know: how did you survive all these years?" We smiled, then Clark gave a thumbnail narrative of the events before and after his hibernation. Martin looked on with intense curiosity. "What do you know of the location of your hibernation, or who may have perpetrated this deed?" "Very little. We suspect that I may have been on a federal refuge or game preserve. Since my freedom came before it was intended, it is assumed that I was supposed to stay 'under wraps' for quite a long time. Very few places could stay untouched over multiple decades, with the exception of an island or wilderness. And I was not on an island." Martin had produced a notepad and pen, and was jotting down key phrases and words. "Yes, that would make sense. Have you come up with anything?" I answered this time. "I have some friends who have been looking into it through newspaper records, but have found nothing." "Let me see if I can help," offered Martin. "I spent a few years working within the 'Intelligence Community', and I still have some friends I can trust." "Of course!" exclaimed Clark, raising an eyebrow. "That would explain your eagerness over the phone, and the ease to the complexities of our little 'deception.'" He smiled and shrugged. "The everyday tasks of a law firm can become tedious, and helping you also helped me. Besides, how many times does one get to help Doc Savage?" He paused. "I'll do a little checking on the sly and see what I can turn up." Over dinner, Clark and Martin talked about Clark's former holdings, and the major changes that had occurred following the Senate investigation. "Mr. Brooks knew he couldn't salvage the Empire State Building or the Trading Company, so he focused much of his effort into the 'package' that we held onto for those many years. To him the rest meant nothing." That made sense. The two significant properties were important, but the seemingly unlimited Hidalgo Connection was beyond all comparison. Their conversation then shifted to reminiscing about Ham Brooks. Eventually things came around to his last days. "His consumption of alcohol had slowly increased from casual to chronic, and we didn't recognize the significance of it until it was too late. His marriage to Miss Dorothy was a glorious moment during those times, but it was quickly smothered under the tension. Actually, several of us felt that his marriage was not one of love but of reaction to Mr. Mayfair's marriage to Miss Lea. Sadly, it may have been the same comparing Master Donald's birth to Miss Carrie's birth. We had hopes that these would spark some hope in him to end his drinking, but it didn't. In a way, the disappointments only increased it. And when Mr. Mayfair and his family moved from New York City to Oklahoma, he lost touch with the last link to his past. "The disbarment was the final blow. We had discussed the possibility of it, yet it was still a shock when it actually happened. After that, he spent long periods in seclusion at home."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER Martin's voice lowered a couple of octaves, and his eyes glazed over with sadness. "I was the one who discovered his body. I received an envelope in the mail containing a house key and the letter. I arrived with the police, but it was too late. He was in the study, surrounded by his law books and memorabilia -and the bottles." He paused, the image vivid in his mind. "There was no question of what had happened. It was all very premeditated: his family had been sent out of town, and the letter to me had ensured that they would not be the ones to discover his body." Clark's expression was intense. I saw sadness and grief. Martin looked him in the eyes. "He was not the same person you knew. The alcohol had changed him, and the stress of the events had destroyed his hope. There was very little for him to hold onto, and he finally let go." Clark was quiet, and the expression of sadness and grief had been wiped away like the cleaning of a blackboard. But I knew it was still there, under the surface. And I knew what I needed to do. But not now. Later. -------------------We had returned to our hotel room. On the surface things appeared to be peaceful and quiet, but there were hidden undercurrents and riptides. The remainder of the evening with Douglas Martin had gone well, but the revelations of Ham Brooks' final days had struck Clark like fiery arrows. I coughed. "Clark?" I said softly. His head angled over from some papers he was reading. "Yes?" I took a deep breath. "I've got to repent to you." The papers lowered into his lap and his expression turned to confusion. "What for?" "When I first told you of Ham's suicide, I saw the pain that you were feeling, but I screwed up. I pressed you to move on. I never gave you a chance to express your grief at his death." I paused. "When I was fourteen, my father committed suicide ... he overdosed on sleeping pills. I almost went crazy. But I couldn't let it get to me. All of a sudden I was the man of the house, and had to take care of Mom. I had more important things to do than mourn, so I thought. So I put my feelings behind me. I mourned, but all too briefly." We were face to face now. "I tried doing to you what I had done for me, and that was wrong. You need to deal with this your own way, at your own speed. I'm so sorry." Clark looked down into his lap, then back at me. "Thank you, Perry." He paused, putting the papers to one side. "My time of mourning over my own father's death was also too short. He had been murdered. I had to catch my father's killers ... and punish them." His voice lowered, as if he was afraid of admitting his thoughts. "And then there was the matter of Hidalgo, his legacy to me. My inheritance. I was so glad when my ... " His voice faltered a bit. " ... friends were there to help me." He paused again, then recalled, "Ham went out on a limb to secure the land in Hidalgo, not knowing how important it was. He endangered his life for me. They all did." He leaned back a little in his chair. "I feel responsible for Ham's death. I know I didn't pour the booze down his throat, or pull the trigger on his gun. But it was because of the Crime College -- my Crime College." He stood now and walked about the room. "My intentions were good: justice. When a criminal is executed for his crimes, there can be no restitution. The circle is broken. But I found a way of rehabilitating the criminal, putting them back into society to return something TO society. Restitution was

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER achieved by service. My motives were good, and my results were more or less successful. In the long run, countless people were helped, and only God knows how many lives were never taken. There were exceptions, but they were few and far between." He stopped walking; his arms dropped to his sides in resignation. "But it was outside of the law I swore to uphold." He looked at me. "Ham Brooks was my friend. He was not without his weaknesses, but he took hit after hit for what I stood for. He and Monk stood by me when I was no longer there. He stayed strong. And now Dot continues his lineage, and Hidalgo is once again my inheritance." He smiled at me. "Correction: our inheritance. The way Ham's life ended was a waste, but his life was not wasted. I cannot judge him for what he did. But I know that he was a good and close friend, and I will always regret never saying goodbye." His voice trailed off. He walked over to the window. In the distance, the top of the Empire State Building was clearly illuminated. "I need to go for a walk," he announced with determination. "I'll be back in a little while. Don't wait up for me." "You'll be all right?" It was a statement as well as a question. He nodded, reaching for his jacket. "Yes." The door closed. I walked into the bedroom, closed the door, then knelt at the side of my bed and started interceding for my friend. -------------------Chapter Nine Clark woke me up at 2:45 a.m.. He was dirty and smelled of mold and sweat, but he had a grin that could have lighted up the room. He apologized for waking me, but he had to tell me what happened. I sat up and listened attentively. As I suspected, his walk had ended at the Empire State Building, determined to find something of his past there. It took awhile, but he found a secret passageway into the skyscraper that was worn by the years, but still existed, much to Clark's glee. Then he found a long-disused shaft with a ladder than ran within the length of the building, a way of escape Clark had constructed in the case of absolute emergencies. The air was musty and he could feel rust on the rungs of the ladder before him, but he didn't give it a second thought. Hand over hand he climbed the ladder, oblivious of the total darkness, the only sounds being his own breathing and the sounds of the building around him, until he reached the landing at the 86th floor. With memories alone as his map, he found the outline of a panel. It took a long time, but the panel finally opened up, and he stood in the light of the city around him and took a breath of clean air, alone on the 86th floor. As Clark talked, I could see the depression of the previous night obliterated. He spoke of walking around the floor, and his mind flooded with memories of the living and the dead. He found his closet in which he could commune with God in absolute privacy, and so he did. He walked and prayed and cried and screamed and finally got it all out of his system. The burden of his guilt had been removed, replaced by sweet freedom and joy in forgiveness. He also was given the grace to walk away from the 86th floor, and that aspect of his past. He returned to the landing, covering his tracks, and descended through the skyscraper. He was again oblivious to the darkness and the condition of the air, praising God with every rung. Once outside, he couldn't walk fast enough back to the hotel and to tell me. I praised God and hugged my brother, sharing his excitement and joy. Then I suggested he shower and get some sleep if he could. As he walked to the bathroom I lay back down, and thanked God for His amazing grace.

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-------------------Dot Brooks showed up at nine, and we headed to the library to begin our local research into the remaining members of Clark's crew. New York's Science, Industry, and Business Library was the perfect place to check on scientists like Long Tom Roberts and Johnny Littlejohn. We claimed a table on the second floor. The library was uniquely computer-accessible, and there was a computer port I could tap into with my notebook. The building was small but the furniture was comfortable. I had forgotten how computer literate Dot was, and was pleasantly surprised. After a couple of minutes discussing strategy, Dot checked patents, and I checked inventions, starting with the microfilm records. I liked working with Dot, and we did well as a team. There were even times when our minds worked on the same frequency, such as around lunchtime when Dot smuggled a pizza into the public library. I was more amazed when I saw that she had chosen my favorite toppings. She explained that she liked those toppings, also, but the information had been given her by her granddad, Monk. -------------------It's been said that Central Park is the rollerblade capital of the world. Either way, it's very popular, and easy to get lost in the crowd. And this Saturday afternoon saw Clark and Carrie blending in easily, comfortably going with the flow. They carried on light conversation until the air was suddenly pierced with a woman's surprised scream. Breaking from the group they looked around and spotted a man in a ski mask running away with the purse of his victim, a woman who was now sitting on the ground, holding her head. "Make sure she's okay!" ordered Clark, "I'll meet you around the next curve!" Carrie opened her mouth to reply, but he'd already put on a burst of speed and took off after the pursesnatcher. He moved like a bronze juggernaut, slipping around obstacles, leaping over others. Heads turned -- some in awe -- as he zipped past. The mugger broke off the path and headed overland, hoping to avoid pursuit. However, he was no match for Clark, his special all-terrain skates carrying him with the grace and determination of a cheetah after its prey. At one point, unable to veer around a couple in the middle of a picnic, Clark executed a sleek leap over their shocked faces, landing smoothly on the other side and continuing without breaking stride. He quickly overtook the mugger, and clipped the fellow just at the base of the neck with the edge of his hand, causing him to perform a quick head-over-heels mid-air somersault, to land flat on his back in the grass. Clark didn't stop to assess the damage, just in case someone with an inquisitive camera wanted to get a picture of the incident. He made sure the unconscious purse-snatcher was not seriously hurt, but would be out for a while, then tucked the purse under his arm and headed back where it belonged. He returned the bag to the woman -- now standing alone and apparently unhurt, then smiled and said, "God bless you, ma'am." Before she could speak, he moved quickly down the path. The woman stood transfixed for a few moments, then smiled and said to no one in particular, "You, too."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER At their designated rendezvous, Clark cruised aside Carrie and stopped. She was grinning widely. "I never thought I'd ever see you in action," she said, awestruck. "I have to admit, you're impressive." Dismissing the praise, he said, "Let's keep moving." She nodded and they rolled away, once more becoming lost in a crowd. -------------------"Now this is interesting," Dot said, bringing something over to me. "What?" I answered, looking up from my computer screen. "I found some records of Renny Renwick's patents. Look at this printout. Do you see anything there out of the ordinary?" "Like what?" "Just look and tell me if something looks funny. I'll be back in a second; I gotta run to the rest room." She walked away and I looked over the printout. I ran past the list. After the second time through something nagged at the back of my mind. I pressed into it and examined the list again, asking God to open my eyes. Then it stood out clear as day. My eyes opened wide. "You found it," commented Dot, returning. "Yes," I agreed. "This patent was registered by Renny Renwick in 1991. But Renny died in 1989." -------------------Sunday had been our day for church. Carrie Brooks had accompanied us, but Dot had declined; she had to meet someone in New Jersey and wouldn't be back until late evening. Where to go to church had also been interesting, since there were hundreds of churches in the greater New York area from which to choose from. In the end, God gave us a starting point, a small church three blocks from the hotel. By evening we had a full day of worship, fellowshipping with several congregations in the city. Overall, it was very exhilarating. But now it was Monday, the 23nd. And four days until our meeting with Penelope. Dot Brooks had to return to work, so I planned to continue my research alone. And, Clark would be accompanying Carrie Brooks to her rehab center. -------------------Carrie had picked up Clark at the hotel, and the two of them drove to the Serenity Drug and Alcohol Freedom Center, also known as Serenity Center. They circled the block, then took the ramp down into the limited parking garage. "It's not much, but, considering what parking is like in New York City, it's a blessing, " she commented. "In order to avoid suspicion I'll explain you're a VIP from Oregon looking in on our procedures, like an exchange student." She wore a simple woman's business suit, practical and not fancy. He wore slacks and shirt, jacket and leather cowboy boots.

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As they rose in the elevator, Carrie told him the history of the Center. "We got lucky to get this building. Used to be a hospital. It was purchased in 1978 and converted to the clinic.," They got out on the first floor. "Here's our admissions and administration section. And we maintain a modest emergency room on the west end just in case. Dad told me you were a surgeon. Still think you got the hands for it?" "I'm not sure. I did some emergency first aid a few months ago, but that's all." "The patient wards are on the second floor and part of the third floor. And our therapy rooms take up the rest of the third floor." They walked into her office. Her secretary, a young black girl named Marie, greeted her. "Welcome back, boss. How was your day off?" "Fine, Marie. This is Mr. Dent, from Portland, Oregon. He'll be visiting for the next three days. He'll be following me around, so don't be surprised. Make him feel at home." "Nice t'meet'cha, Mr. Dent," she greeted, extending a slim hand and a broad smile. "Please, call me Clark," he returned. "So, any crises while I was gone?" inquired Carrie. "Not really. Mr. Ivanoff's still going through the D.T.'s, but we've got a close eye on him. And Ms. Spelling got over her cramping; she'd like to see you." "Excellent. I'll start off with her when I make my rounds." "And your mail and case files are on your desk, ma'am," she announced. "You're too good to me, Marie," she smiled. And the two of them walked into Carrie's office, where she outlined her day's schedule to Clark, beginning with the rounds of her patients. -------------------I had been interested in riding the New York subway. I'd heard much about it, and wanted to know if it had been true or urban legend. I was surprised at how well things ran, and it made me miss Portland's MAX light rail. I set the morning aside to ride the rail, stopping off here and there to stretch and see the sights under this great city. But beyond that was my need for ministry. After the other day with Dot Brooks I ached to help someone here. So I was hunting, of a sort, looking for people to help. And there were certainly a lot of people to help. Whether in New York City or Portland, so much was similar; it made me feel at home. An old blondhaired woman carried on an animated conversation with the air around her, her worldly possessions contained in three sizable bedrolls, while those around her pretended not to notice she was there. Every now and then she would laugh loudly. Two beared brothers, in matching trenchcoats, shield sunglasses, and carrying identical umbrellas, talked to one another. I heard conversations in several languages and dialects filtering through the cars. I observed the old and the young, the well-to-do and the down-and-out,

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER the fashionable and the fashionless, the extroverted talkers and the lone wolves buried in their portable sound systems, the cautious and the clueless, the living and the dying. And I prayed, God, please let me be able to help at least one of them. -------------------At Serenity Center, all was not so. On the third floor, a group therapy session suddenly became ugly when two of the men started exchanging racial comments. It appeared that they would come to blows when Carrie stepped between them and tried diffusing the situation. Clark sat off at the side of the melee, alert. His trained eyes looked to the muscles in the men's bodies, looking for a significant motion that would precede physical violence. He steeled himself to move if it occurred. And it did. One man's muscle movement brought Clark into action. He stood and came around behind him while Carrie continued to mediate. Then, as the man's arm moved back in preparation to deliver a blow, Clark's hand went out and closed on the man's upper arm, immobilizing it. The man -- not quite 5'6" -- looked back at Clark, then up to make eye contact. Clark's size was the first thing that deterred him from his intended action. He relaxed his arm and Clark released him, smiling. During these few moments, Carrie looked upon Clark with surprise. The other man said something to her, and her attention shifted. Within five minutes the situation was diffused, and everyone continued their group therapy session. But Clark's presence had done something to the group. It had brought fear. -------------------The man's name was David, but everyone on the street called him Salty. He had been panhandling on the street, and had been picked up twice by New York's Finest (not counting several close run-ins). He looked like he hadn't bathed in weeks; even though the shelter he frequented had showers, he was able to avoid them. His breath reeked of alcohol and rotting teeth. But I spotted him from across the street and the Lord put it on my heart to approach him. He asked for a handout. I asked him his name, and told him mine. Then I asked him what he needed. He hesitated, not used to such inquiries, then gave me a stock answer for food. I pressed it; I knew there was more. I asked him again, without expression. His eyes met mine, then looked away. He looked back, then said, "Okay. I haven't had a drink all day and I could use some smokes." I smiled and replied, "I can't help you there, but I appreciate the honesty. I'd consider it an honor if you'd join me for lunch." He looked at me with puzzled bloodshot eyes, then accepted and told me of a diner a couple of blocks away that he knew wouldn't turn him away. The owner of the diner was a portly Italian man by the name of Salvatore who knew Salty by name. We got a few odd looks from some of the other patrons, but ignored them. I let Salty order whatever he wanted, and we talked. He dropped his defenses and opened up to me as we ate. He'd been a dockworker -- a good one, with thirty years experience -- until there had been an accident in 1993. Then he was laid off, and couldn't get any work. Everyone, it seemed, had dropped him like a hot rock. I wasn't sure why I did so, but I asked him if he wanted to get straightened out. He hesitated, then said yes. I told him straight that I would do all I could to help him, but I had to know if he was serious. "I've

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER got a friend that runs a rehab center. I can't guarantee anything, but I'll see what I can do to get you in and get you dried out. You willing to relocate if need be?" "Where to?" he asked. "Oregon. Portland." "Yeah. Sure," he shrugged, yet looking at me with doubt. "I got nothin' here." "Well, I got friends there. And I'll pay your way." He looked at me long, looking for something. "You a Christian?" "Yeah." He started to tell me about all the times he had been burned by people who called themselves 'Christians.' I listened patiently, then told him, "Look, Salty. You don't know me. You don't have a reason to trust me, and I don't have a reason to help you. But you show up here tomorrow at this time. If you're here and I'm not, you know I'm a phony. If I'm here and you're not, I'll know you weren't serious about getting your act straight. What d'ya think?" He nodded and held out a dirt-encrusted hand. "Deal." Without hesitation I took the hand and shook it. The grip was strong. I smiled. -------------------The therapy session over, Carrie and Clark returned to her office. She instructed Marie to hold all calls and visitors. Then, the door closed, she ripped into Clark with anger. "Who the HELL do you think you are disturbing my therapy session?" she blasted at him, taking him by surprise. "He was getting ready to strike. He might have hurt you," replied Clark innocently. "I appreciate that, but this is MY clinic, and those were MY patients, and YOU don't have any business usurping my authority! I know these people, and they know me!" She stood and paced. "And as far as me getting hurt? Look, Doc, I'm a big girl. If I get hurt, it's my fault and I live with it. It's nothing I wouldn't recover from. Besides, realize, I'm a black belt in karate. I live in New York City, so I've had opportunity to use my skills every now and then. I can protect myself, okay?" He nodded silently, his countenance resembling that of a whipped puppy. She saw this and her tone softened. "I know you're trying to help, and I appreciate it. Maybe I'm not used to knights coming to my rescue anymore. But I'll let you know if I need rescuing, okay?" Clark would later comment to me, "For a moment there, I felt like I was facing her mother. Many times Pat behaved in the same way. That same defiant fire in her eyes. It was very interesting." --------------------

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER The four of us got together for dinner that evening. There seemed to be no enmity between Clark and Carrie now, and we all had a good time. I told Carrie about Salty. "Sure, he's welcome," she responded, "just as long as he's willing to get clean. If he's not, it'll just be a waste of time." I smiled and nodded. "Fair enough. We'll see tomorrow if he's there." Clark and I also had a somewhat-formal announcement to make. "The reason for this evening is twofold. First, it's our way of saying thank you for all you've done over the last few weeks. It's also to announce that Perry and I are going to be spending the next few days in fasting and prayer in spiritual preparation for the meeting with Penelope." Clark paused to see reactions. There was mild surprise on Dot's face, but Carrie seemed to understand. I continued. "Our hope is that nothing out of the ordinary will happen, and that is the intent of the prayer. However, we've learned that it doesn't hurt to be prepared." "With your permission, I'd still like to accompany you to Serenity Center." He paused as the question was offered to Carrie. "I just won't be eating." We asked if there were any questions. Carrie stated that Clark was still welcome to join her at Serenity Center. Dot was silent; I tried reading her expression, but couldn't. So, with that out of the way, we enjoyed the rest of our 'last meal' in the company of these two very special ladies. -------------------Back at the hotel, I brought up an observation with Clark. "How do we break it to Monk that his daughter and granddaughter are infatuated with us?" I asked, slightly tongue-in-cheek. Clark surprised me with his three-word response. "And vice-versa?" We looked at each other for a moment, then he added, "Besides, somehow I don't think this would be much of a surprise to Monk. Remember his comment that first day at their place?" I nodded. "We were talking about Dot, and he asked me if I was single. Lea cut him off." Clark nodded. "And don't you think it a BIT coincidental that Monk talked both me and Carrie into rollerblading?" I related the incident earlier with the pizza. "Why that little old matchmaker," I mused, grinning at the thought of it all. "So the question arises: what do we do about it?" "What indeed?" he replied. Then he smiled and returned to his reading. -------------------Chapter Ten Wednesday the 25th. Three days and counting. --------------------

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER My prayers were answered, as Salty waved to me from the front of the restaurant. "You made it," I said by way of greeting. "It wasn't easy," he admitted, then told me about the previous night. He had been struggling through Perry's offer, and it didn't help things any when two of his drinking buddies tried tempting him with booze. "Good. I'm glad. Have you eaten?" He shook his head. We went into the restaurant, and Salvatore got us a spot. As we ate, I told him about making contact with the director of Serenity Center. Salty's face lighted up with recognition. "Yeah. I heard'a them. Good bunch." "We'll head over there after we eat, and I'll get you in." Salty and I talked as we ate. Salvatore was a gracious host, and I saw him every now and then listening in from the sidelines. I explained about our house in Portland, and how we all get along together under the one roof. I mentioned a couple of brothers by name who I knew might be able to get him work on the docks. I disclaimed my statements by making no guarantees to results, but stated that we'd do everything we could to get him active again. Salty was touched by the effort, and he brought the conversation around to God and Christians. In the end, before we left, we had a word of prayer. When I went to pay the bill, Salvatore stopped me. "Bill is paid for my friend Salty. You good man, you take care of him." He clapped me on the shoulder, and smiled."I will, God willing," I replied sincerely, smiling. Salvatore said some words of farewell to Salty, giving him a bear hug. I made a mental note to ask them how long they had been friends. Then we left the restaurant. Salty towed along a large duffle bag containing his possessions. I approved; it showed me that he was ready for a serious change. I decided to forego the bus and subway, and we took a taxi to Serenity Center. We walked in and soon met with Carrie Brooks. I saw Clark respectfully positioned just behind her, and we exchanged smiles. We waited in silence while Carrie and Salty spoke privately in her office. When she emerged, she gave some instructions to her secretary, a pretty young black girl. Salty came over to me and reached out a hand. "Well, I'm in." He frowned. "I'm headed for the showers. I hate showers." "You'll feel a lot better afterward," I assured him. He leaned in close. I ignored the smell. "I just wanna thank ya for helpin' me, man. Not many people would." "Glad to help. When you're ready, we'll get to you to Portland where you can get a new start. Ms. Brooks has all the information." "Can I take the train? I'm not too thrilled about heights." he asked, a little reluctantly. "Sure," I assured him. "Just don't let me down, okay." He smiled. "I won't."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER A young Asian man in white, an orderly, came in to escort Salty. Before he followed, he shook my hand once more and told me goodbye. After he was gone, Carrie came over to me. "He was very impressed by you, Perry. I think we got a winner," she informed me. "Praise God," I shrugged, and looked at Clark. "One at a time, right?" He smiled in return. "Absolutely." -------------------It was Thursday, the 26th. Showtime. All of our bags were neatly grouped in the living room. We'd spent last night and some of this morning packing, having everything ready in case we needed to bug out. Our disguises had been applied and, for what it was worth, I was feeling calm and cool. While Clark stood by the window and walked about the room, I sat and read my Bible. I was drawn to the Psalms. It encouraged me. Finally it was time to go. We made a final walk-through check of the room. Then we locked up, dropped off the keys at the front desk, and went out to our waiting taxi. -------------------The taxi stopped in front of the hotel. The two riders, looking as opposite as day and night, climbed in the back. The woman they passed in the lobby lowered her newspaper, then folded it up and placed it on the couch beside her. She watched the taxi depart, gave it a couple of minutes, then stood and took the elevator to the room the two riders had occupied. She looked around for a couple of minutes, waiting. She answered her cell phone on the first ring, listened attentively, then acknowledged the information and hung up. Then she called down to the lobby on the room phone, and instructed them to take the luggage from the room to her car. -------------------The taxi took us to the World Trade Center Plaza. We paid the driver and walked across the plaza to the south tower. "Here's where the fun begins," I commented under my breath as we passed through the doors. -------------------"Hello?" "They're in." "Good. Proceed with 'Rock-A-Bye-Baby'." -------------------I don't know about Clark, but the elevator ride seemed to take forever. The smell of lilacs faintly bathed us through the final five floors. Then the doors opened into "Beautyland." A wide hallway stretched before us, a display gallery of products and supermodels and fame. On my right I saw an autographed picture of Penelope and Cindy Crawford. Below it, a similar one of Penelope and their latest cover girl Brenda Troy; it was a toss-up as to who was the more beautiful of the pair. On the left, a gallery of

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER autographed photos of Penelope with movie stars, politicians, and even a religious leader whose sincerity I had questioned until now. Here and there were displays for Patricia Inc's PENNY lines of special cosmetics: Copper, Silver, Bronze, and Gold. Faint classical music played overhead, and a set of fancy etched glass double doors swung open as we approached. Clark beamed a smile at the brunette receptionist, touching his tie to adjust it. "Afternoon, ma'am," he crooned. "We've got a two o'clock with Ms. Savage." The receptionist's mouth had lowered a bit. She looked down at her desk calendar. "Morris and Iverson?" Clark came back with a smile that could melt ice. Did I just see a glint in his eye? I wondered. "At your service," he acknowledged. She blinked twice and looked down to check the calendar. "Conference Room Four. Down the hall, on the right." She stood and gestured the directions. "Thank y' very much, ma'am," Clark replied. With Clark leading the way with a confident stride, we walked down the hall to the conference room. It was a small windowless rectangular room with a second door on the opposite wall. There was a square table, surrounded by average leather chairs on three of four sides, and an executive chair at the head. A cabinet resembling a tall wooden pillar stood between the head of the table and the second door. Simple, but effective. "We're not under surveillance," commented Clark. "Interesting." I looked around lazily, my eyes scanning for possible locations for video cameras. I couldn't see anything obvious, and said so. It was surprising. After about a minute Clark took the chair opposite the head of the table, while I sat to his right against the wall farthest from the doors. Four minutes later the other door opened, and Penelope Savage entered. Respectfully, we stood. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," came a throaty feminine voice. I had to admit, she sure knew how to make an entrance. Her beauty surpassed her photos, and even my imagination. As Clark and I had suspected, her outfit emphasized her sexuality. She wore white slacks and a black blouse shirt unbuttoned to expose just enough casual cleavage to distract most men. Her skin was a deep bronze like Clark's, and her expert application of makeup highlighted her many features. Her bronze hair flowed around her face in a mane of golden curls. She did not smile when she entered, but appeared to be all business. Clark and I had been prepared for this tactic, and so were only momentarily distracted, not completely knocked off our feet. Penelope knew the strength her beauty held, this was clear, and she also knew how to use it to her advantage as a psychological tactic in business dealings. But we had prepared, and her ploy only motivated both of us to prayer. She looked us over briefly, lingering on Clark's handsome form. She was sizing him up like a piece of USDA Prime.

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"I apologize for my lateness. I was involved with other business." She took the seat at the head of the table. Clark and I also sat. "You have thirty minutes. What is this breakthrough you've developed?" Clark stood. "Directness. I like that, ma'am. My name is James Morris, and my partner here is Don Iverson. I assume you're acquainted with the nature of our product?" "Yes," she said. "But I want to hear it from you." "Very well, ma'am." Clark started with a brief profile of the education and expertise of Morris and Iverson. Then he spent the next twenty minutes talking about the Hundred Hour Lipstick: the benefits to Patricia Inc., potential future developments and sales. My expression was boredom, but inside I was far from it. Clark's style was dynamic, and even Penelope seemed to be attracted to it -- or him. As she watched him, I observed her, looking for something Clark had mentioned. Suddenly my breathing quickened. There it is! I thought, praying with intensity. "And that's it, Ms. Savage." Clark concluded with a confidant grin. "What do you think?" She was thoughtfully silent. "I am interested. What can you show me of the formula itself?" "I thought you'd ask that, ma'am." He reached into a pocket and withdrew a diskette in a protective plastic case. "I'm sorry we can't show you all of the formula until we've got a deal in writing. But I think this much of it will convince you of our sincerity." He placed the case into her open hand. She opened it up, and looked at the diskette. Her face suddenly froze, and her eyes went wide with surprise. "Is there a problem, ma'am?" asked Clark innocently. Her eyes darted from Clark to myself, and back to Clark. "Is this a joke?" Clark and I both feigned shock. "Why, no, Ms. Savage. Why?" "This word written on the label -- 'silphium' -- have you any idea what it means?" "Why, yes, I do," replied Clark. Then his voice returned to normal, and he removed the sunglasses. "Do you?" She looked into Clark's face, and I thought I saw her bronze skin turn suddenly pale. She pushed herself up from the chair, repeating a profanity under her breath. "Hello, Pat," Clark said. The beautiful Ms. Savage opened her mouth and released an ear-piercing shriek. Within moments, two security guards burst into the room, guns drawn and pointed ceilingward. Penelope/Pat looked at them, considering, then ordered them out of the room. As the door closed, she walked over to the wooden pillar and swung open a panel, revealing several bottles of what I assumed was liquor. She pulled out a decanter of brown liquid, filled a small glass half full, and downed it in one

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER gulp. She briefly considered a second dose, but chose against it, returning the items to the cabinet and closing it. We remained silent. I didn't have to look over to know that Clark and I were praying in one accord. We had expected something like this, and we hoped we were ready. Pat approached Clark, moving smoothly. He still stood. We both saw it coming before it happened, but neither of us made a move to stop her. As she got within reach, she delivered a powerful roundhouse punch to Clark's head. He let it connect, rolling with it just enough to take some of the force away from the impact. He bounced off of the wall and fell to the floor, then slowly stood. He made no move to defend himself, but waited for the next attack. It came verbally. "I don't know what to ask first: how you survived, or how you knew it was me?" she growled, moving around the small room. Clark answered her softly. "Your vanity gave you away, Pat. You and I both knew about the existence of silphium. When we were trying to figure out what to do with it, you wanted to use it for yourself. I see you have used it to make yourself young and vibrant, but needed a way of justifying the young you. Therefore, you created a daughter, an heir. Patricia Savage became a recluse, and Penelope Savage lived." He paused, and concluded. "There is no Penelope Savage. It's been you all along, Pat." She smiled, and I shivered within. The beauty we saw earlier was just external; on the inside it was full of darkness. She moved about the room with arrogant boldness, then spun on us. "Yes! Just me! And now I have everything I have always wanted! Everything! Love, money, fame, and the freedom to anything I please." Then she verbally tore into Clark, blaming him for all the bad that had happened to her. "You weren't there. You didn't tell us where you were going! You didn't have to face the brunt of the world's hatred when the College was exposed!" She paced back and forth and fired volley upon volley at Clark, who continued to stand. "And you didn't tell me that prolonged use of silphium produced sterility! I am not able to bear children -- ever!" I prayed hard that God would give Clark His love through all her venom, and I could see that He was doing exactly that. But, I wondered, for how long? I was amazed, and deeply saddened. This woman -- beautiful, powerful, intelligent, admired by millions - had turned her soul over to darkness. Her words were full of hatred and profanity and murder. Clark and I kept silent -- it wouldn't have done any good to speak. She unleashed all of her rage on Clark. I wondered if the room had been soundproofed. Then she realized it wasn't having any effect on us. Her eyes narrowed, and smiled a tight smile. She turned and walked out of the room. Clark and I looked at one another, not knowing what she was doing, but reassuring each other with our faces. For the first time since this began, I stood, and moved closer to Clark. My heart raced. -------------------"Hello?" "Situation is red. And the baby is asleep." -------------------Pat/Penelope returned. But she wasn't alone. Four armed security men accompanied her into the small room. She moved over to the pillar next to the other door, while the guards spread out near the other door.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER They made no move to draw their weapons, but I could see they were ready; their expressions were cold and professional. I held back the urge to panic at the show of deadly force, turning it instead toward prayer and intercession. Clark coughed a couple times. "You're going on a little trip, my dear cousin," Pat announced, her voice like liquid nitrogen dripping with sarcasm. She paused for effect. "You will be taken to my island. I am the law there. And there you will stay." She spoke the last five words with finality and evil determination. Clark coughed again. Now I was scared. I prayed, dear God, what have we done? We're going to be killed. (From somewhere, words of comfort came to my mind: "Yea, thought I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.") Clark coughed again, and I thought I recognized something. Even though he stood quietly, I got the impression he was planning something. Pat motioned to the guards. They broke up into two groups. One of each group drew plastic restraining cuffs, while the other drew his weapon. Clark coughed again, and this time I did recognize something. Trying not to show it, I had recognized Clark's signal. He was telling me to run, but saying it in Mayan. Run where? I thought. I considered the doors, then decided on the one that Pat was closer to. But how could I -- we -- get past these guards? Just then, Clark coughed "Now!" and made his move. With a speed developed by years of training, Clark suddenly bowed low. As the eyes of the guards followed the movement, he seized the pants cuffs of the two closest guards to us and pulled sharply. Caught off-balance, they fell backwards into other guards. I chose to make my move around the table, and past Pat. As I moved, one of the guards suddenly gripped my forearm. I swung my arm back, at the same time putting all of my effort into a shove with my other hand into his chest; he stepped back in anticipation, catching only a part of it, and began to fall backwards. I was an amateur and knew it, but made every effort to move around the table. My only obstacle was Pat, and I dreaded the thought of using violence on a woman. But I pushed it all out of my mind as I concentrated on escape. I heard the sounds of fighting nearby, and knew Clark was winning. Just then, I saw a movement ahead of me and heard two rapid whooshing sounds. I took a quick look back at Clark and saw the hypodermic darts sticking out of his side. His expensive suit had been ripped and torn. He staggered a moment, stunned, dropped to his knees, then to his face. I backtracked along the line of flight, and saw Pat ahead of me, holding a tranquilizer gun in a two-handed grip. The open panel beside her showed me where she got the weapon. There was silence, save for the labored breathing from the guards, and my own rapid breathing. And I noticed that they were all looking at me now. I was cornered, guards on one side, Pat and her little toy on the other side, and no way out. I felt like Daniel facing the lions. No way out. I knew what I had to do. My arms went down to my side, palms open and facing her. I met Pat Savage's eyes. A smile crossed my lips. She also smiled, but it was a wicked smile. She raised the tranquilizer gun and slowly leveled it at me. "Jesus loves you; let Him," I told her calmly, as she pulled the trigger. I saw the missile fly out as if in slow motion, and strike me square in the chest. Darkness overtook me almost immediately, and I felt my legs go rubbery. The last thing I heard was Pat Savage laughing. --------------------

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She replaced the tranquilizer gun in the cabinet. The guards were already moving in to remove the empty darts and put restraints on the bodies' arms. Pat looked down at them. "My Osprey is on the roof. Put them aboard and instruct the crew to take them to Caroline Island and return for me. I will contact the island to 'receive' them." She looked at her watch and smoothed down her hair. "Now, I have business to attend to." The bodies were straightened out and carried through a side door to a private elevator leading to the roof. On the helipad was a special Boeing V-22 Osprey tiltrotor aircraft. The pilot and copilot, both wearing full-face helmets and jumpsuits, were given the instructions, and acknowledged them. The two unconscious forms were carried into the craft and strapped into seats under the watchful eye of the copilot, while the pilot initiated takeoff procedures. The guards left the jet, and the copilot closed the door behind them. The guards, many of them ex-military, watched in fascination as the modified Osprey went straight up in one smooth movement. It hovered about thirty feet above the building, then the blades rotated and the craft started moving forward. It banked to the left as it climbed, and headed out in the direction of the open sea. -------------------Chapter Eleven I dreamed that I was Daniel in the lion's den, being pawed by the big cats, but unscratched. Then my senses started filtering out the real from the imagined. I felt movement, motion. There was the sound of wind, and the whirring of engines. (I'm flying. I'm not in a pit. I'm in an airplane.) My nose started working now. (Is that perfume? No. Smells like that shampoo Dot let me use when mine ran out.) I heard a faint crack and something was waved under my nose. It's sharp, pungent, smell reached into my head and pulled my consciousness out kicking and screaming. (Yow! Smelling salts!) My eyes snapped open, and I sucked air in a convulsive gasp. My vision was still blurry, but I was now awake. I heard a female voice in front of me, but I couldn't focus in on her yet. "Perry? Can you hear me? Can you see me?" (Is that Dot? It can't be!) "Yeah!" I blurted, more out of reflex, then gasped in another lungful of air. "I'm okay." "You're safe," she assured me in a calming voice, placing a soft hand over the top of mine. "Your vision may be blurred. That'll go away in a few moments. Stay put, I'm going to take care of Clark." (Clark? Where?) I started turning my head, following the sounds. I noticed that the chair I was in could swivel, and felt more like a lounge chair than an airplane seat. I pivoted to face the movement ahead of me. In another chair like mine was a large figure (Is that Clark?) with someone else kneeling in front of him. I saw a blurry arm near his blurry face. Just then he came awake with a start, grunting, pushing the kneeling figure away from him. She flopped down on the floor with a crash and a whoosh of air. An unfamiliar man's voice called from the cockpit: "You okay?" Getting to her feet, she replied with a groan, "Yeah. He just knocked me on my butt. Considering his history, he could've easily decked me." I did recognize that voice. "Dot?" I said in a whisper.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "Okay," replied the man in the cockpit to the woman. They hadn't heard me. Dot looked over at me, and smiled. "Perry? Can you see me now?" "Yeah," I replied. "What happened?" "I'll explain in a moment. You're safe now." She turned back to Clark. His face mirrored confusion and guilt. "I pushed you down," he admitted. "I'm sorry. Are you all right?" "Yes. Fine. How are you?" "I'm okay," he said. "What happened?" She moved over to a couch that stretched along the wall on the opposite side of the plane, where she could face us both. Looking at Clark, then me, she said, "Now that you're both conscious, I'll explain. We're on Penelope Savage's private airplane, but we've got our own pilot on board." She turned to call up front. "How long until you can come back here?" "Give me a couple of minutes," he called back with a rich masculine timbre. She turned back to them. "In the meantime, I'll bring you up to speed. Like I said, you're both safe. You see, Granddad suspected that Penelope might try to snatch you back to Caroline Island -- her turf. And he didn't want that to happen. So we arranged this little backup plan to get you both out of danger." "We?" asked Clark. "Well, most of us have been in on it: Mom, me, and our pilot who you'll meet in a couple of minutes." "How long have 'we' been in on it?" he asked. "Granddad brought it to my attention a few weeks ago. I don't know about the rest." My question. "Why weren't Clark and I brought in on it?" Her expression was mild embarrassment. "I honestly don't know." "So how did you know we required assistance?" She held up an electronic instrument. "This monitors heart rates." She came over to me and touched a place on my sweatshirt. For the first time, I noticed a small circular area that was slightly more rigid than the surrounding material. "Modern medical science. That's a wireless scanner. We sewed them into the clothing you'd be wearing for the meeting." She paused, then continued. "We needed a way to monitor you without making security suspicious. Any security crew worth their salt would spot your average bug. But we gambled on the heart rate scanner slipping under their noses, which it did. We assumed your heart rate would remain within a certain range. When they spiked and soared, we knew something was up, and so the backup plan went into effect. We replaced the jet's crew and waited for you." "How'd you figure we'd end up here?"

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "This is Penelope Savage's quickest link to Caroline Island. So we just headed them off at the pass, so to speak." "So what's the plan?" "I think I can answer that." From the cockpit, the pilot came back into the passenger section. He removed his helmet and smiled, and a piece of the puzzle suddenly fell into place. "Captain Clark Mayfair, U.S. Air Force. But, considerin' it might get a bit confusin' havin' two Clarks on this plane, why don't'cha just call me 'Gumball'." "Gumball?" I asked. He just smiled and tossed me a bright blue Gumball. He flipped a second one into a neat high arc, dropping expertly into his mouth. After a quick couple of chomps, he grinned and added, "Sugar-free. Finestkind." He stretched out a hand to Clark. "It's a great pleasure to finally meet you, sir!" Clark took the hand. "And, under the circumstances, the feeling is mutual. I assume we're on autopilot?" "Yes, sir. But I've got to get up front in a few minutes, so I'll make this quick." He sat down on the couch near Dot. "In order to make it look like we were heading to Caroline Island, I took us out to sea, then doubled back the long way 'round. Now we're heading for a little pit stop in upstate New York -- just a ten-minute layover to get your gear. The last leg of our journey will take us to sunny Nashville, Tennessee. I've got some friends who've got a small landing field there, and owe me a few favors. That'll be our transfer site. My Cessna is waiting there to take me back to my base, as well as a vehicle to take you all back to Oklahoma. This here bird will roost for a while until we can figure how to get it back to Ms. Savage. Probably give it a week or two, fly it somewhere, and then anonymously tip them off to where to find their jet. In the meantime we'll keep it in good condition, and even fill up the tank before we wave it bye-bye." He paused. "And, of course, clean it thoroughly of all physical evidence that could be linked back to us." "Good plan. How did you replace the jet's crew?" "Well," answered Dot with a grin, "we had a little help." She reached for a shoulder bag resting nearby, and palmed a couple of objects. She held onto one, and casually lobbed the other one in Clark's direction. With a look of sudden shock he recognized it, and swiftly snatched it in midair. Handling it tenderly, he turned it over in his hand. "Betcha haven't seen one of those in a while," commented Dot. "Anaesthetic gas?" It was more statement than question. "Yep. Granddad was able to resurrect the formula. We just tossed a couple of these in the direction of the crew, and they never knew what hit them. Very effective. Anyhow, we set it up so they'll be found, too late to come chasing after us." "This isn't glass," observed Clark. "No. It's a special plastic. The way Granddad explained it, when the ball is broken, the gas is released, and the plastic starts a rapid decomposition cycle. In an hour, you never knew either existed."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "I'm impressed." Gumball continued. "After replacing the crew, it was a simple matter of waiting until they delivered you to us." Just then his watch beeped. He looked at it and announced, "We're coming up for landing. I've got to get up front. Would you like to join me, Mr. Savage?" Clark nodded. "Yes, thank you. I'd like that." Gumball hung his helmet on a hook near the front as he moved forward. Clark unfastened his followed a little cautiously. Dot excused herself and walked to the rear of the plane, going through a door into what I guessed was the wardroom. I removed my seat belt, stood and stretched, then settled on the opulent couch. I was amazed at the features of the private aircraft, and was looking about when Dot came out and sat on the couch next to me. "How are you feeling?" she asked. I looked at her. She smiled warmly. "Much better than I thought I'd be," I admitted with some relief. I smiled at her, then covered her hand with mine and slightly closed the fingers. "Thanks." "Any time." -------------------I knew we would be landing, but it took me by surprise when we suddenly stopped in midair, hovered a moment over a clearing, then descended smoothly. We touched down in the midst of a fairly mountainous area, surrounded by lots of trees. I saw a covered pickup off to the side, well shy of the clearing. Gumball cracked open the door and climbed from the plane. A moment later, each of us followed him out. The truck's door opened, and Carrie climbed out. She waved at us, then hugged us in turn. She was shocked by Clark's ripped clothing, but Clark assured her he was fine. She opened up the back of the pickup, and I recognized our gear from the hotel room. Gumball led the way, grabbing a suitcase and carrying it back to the Osprey. Suddenly, Clark froze. He was looking at an old dilapidated building a short distance away. The expression on his face was as close to pale as I had ever seen him, and it concerned me. I walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Clark, you okay?" "Oh ... my ... God," he muttered, not turning his head. I looked to the building he was so strangely affected by. It looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place it. The roof had collapsed in several places, as so the walls. The paint was cracked and faded. A few spots were tagged with graffiti, but it appeared to be quite deserted now. A fence of chain link now lay on the ground, broken and flattened in many places. The foliage had overgrown the structure, and vines hung from broken windows and holes in the walls. I turned back to Clark. "You know this place?" I asked.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "Oh, yes," he replied, almost sarcastically. "It's the College." I froze, then did a double-take on the structure. My eyes went wide as I recognized the building I last saw in the Murrow videotape months ago. Now I knew why the sight of this put Clark in shock. "Oh, wow," I commented. "Hey, guys!" It was Gumball, calling to us. "We're getting ready to go. Climb aboard!" I took Clark's elbow. "C'mon, let's go," I said softly. He responded, and we walked back to the Osprey. Just before we climbed in, Clark took one look back. Then he got in and went up to the cockpit. "Gumball?" he asked, calmly. "Who suggested this as the landing spot?" "Dad," the pilot replied innocently. Overhearing the exchange, I nodded to myself. I should have known. Monk arranged for us to land at the site of the Crime College. A reality check, perhaps? It would definitely be among the chief questions when we return to Oklahoma. In the meantime, Dot and I strapped into the luxury seats. She pivoted to face me. "Clark okay?" she quietly asked. "Yes," I replied. "Yes, he is. Do you know where we are?" She shook her head. I told her. Her mouth gaped and her eyes went wide. She whispered to me, "I had no idea! Granddad just told me that we were going to be rendezvousing with Mom here, but didn't explain what 'here' was. I don't even know if Gumball knows the significance of the location." "Yeah." I smiled and looked out the window. We cleared the mountains, and began level flight. We ascended into a cloud bank and were on our way to Tennessee. -------------------We were still an hour from our destination. Dot was up front with Gumball, and Clark was in the seat he woke up in, facing the window. Both Clark and I had taken advantage of the wardroom facilities in this amazing aircraft to change out of our disguises. "Clark?" He turned to face me. "Yes?" "How're you doing?" I asked, lightly probing. "Well, I'm a little sore where Pa--Penelope hit me, but I think the effects of the tranquilizer darts have completely subsided." I smiled ruefully. "This is me you're talking to, brother." I moved over to the seat facing his, where we could talk privately. "How are you doing?" Clark understood. He paused, looking me in the eye, then answered. "She blames me for all of her pain. Why?"

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"She doesn't want to admit that she gave in to her own lusts -- she wants to absolve herself of guilt by passing it over to a ... " I searched for the right word. " ... a scapegoat. While you were out of the picture, you became the most obvious target for her frustration and rage. You weren't around to fight back. But now ... " I let the words trail. "She won't give up, you know." Slowly he nodded. "Yes. I know. But she's my cousin, Perry. She's family." "Clark. Family feuds are nothing new. Look at Cain and Abel, Joseph and his brothers, David and Absalom, Jacob and Esau. You're in good company. Also realize, there was no way she'd let us go." Suddenly something occurred to me; I held up a finger as if my next word would be 'eureka'. "God's hand was in this from the start. He put it on Monk's heart to have a backup plan for us, here. He even put it on Pat's heart to use the trank on us. Think about that. She could have just as easily ordered the guards to kill us outright then had our bodies dumped into the ocean, removing the evidence. Remember, it's her company, and the lady has power. She might have been able to get away with it. But that's not what happened, praise God." -------------------Erik LaSalle had been part of security for the World Trade Center complex for the last ten years. Five years ago he was hired on as Security Chief for Patricia, Inc. The pay was good, and he got to see a ton of good-looking ladies, among other benefits. Duty was easy, too. He was traveling a smooth road to retirement and that fishing boat in Jamaica. His coffee was just cooling to tolerable levels when a disturbing call came in from his roof patrol. They had been investigating a mysterious ringing noise coming from the rooftop storage shed, and found the crew of Ms. Savage's private aircraft. The crew had been bound and gagged but otherwise unaffected, and the noise had originated from an ordinary wind-up alarm clock. A note was placed in front of the clock: 'Penelope Savage's airplane crew. Please rescue them.' LaSalle rubbed his hand over his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. This was not good, he thought. Not good at all. Ms. Savage's Osprey -- her prized Osprey -- had left over two hours ago, shortly after that little 'ruckus' downstairs. He instructed the roof patrol to bring the flight crew down to Security for questioning, and sent an investigation team up to make a fine-toothed comb-check of the roof for clues. That was the easy part. Now came the hard part, telling the boss lady, Penelope Savage. He hated the idea of anything going wrong, period, but it was a thousandfold worse having it happen on his watch. He picked up the phone. -------------------"THEY STOLE MY OSPREY??" she screamed. "LaSalle, I pay you to keep this type of crap from happening under my nose!" She paused and took a few deep breaths in an attempt to regain some of her composure. "I want a full media block on this -- Word One does not leave this building! I will personally KILL anyone who leaks this!" She paused. "I want you to talk to your men who saw my Osprey leave, and get a full description of everything that happened and everything they saw! NOW!!"

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER She slammed the phone into the cradle, then filled the air with a tirade of cursing and railing. She reached into a desk drawer for a ball of wax which she used to relieve stress. As her fingers convulsively kneaded the ball, she paced the floor, trying to think things through. "The man still leads a charmed life!" she observed angrily. "And they took my Osprey!! NO!! I can't accept the fact that they're out of my reach. That long-haired nerd in the sweatshirt ... YES!! He can be identified!" Smiling wickedly, she reached for the phone. -------------------"Yes, Ma'am!" LaSalle repeated in response to her orders. "Right away, Ma'am!" he concluded. She hung up, and he immediately set her instructions into motion. She wanted a forensics team to check out Conference Room Four, top to bottom, and another team to check through the security videotape, trying to isolate and identify a particular individual who visited earlier. As he assigned people to their tasks, he thought, Ms. Savage would have her answer soon. And, considering her demeanor over the telephone, he felt pity for the poor S.O.B. responsible for this, once she got her hands on them. -------------------Gumball announced, "I just called the field for landing instructions. Everything's clear. And, Dot, Alan wanted me to tell you 'the eagle has landed.'" She let out a whoop. "Here we go," called Gumball, as we approached the field. I noticed that we were practically in the middle of nowhere, which was fine with me. We hovered over a concrete helipad next to a row of hangars. A man in bright yellow coveralls waved twin wands in our direction, signaling for descent. We touched down smoothly and Gumball cut the engines. The man in coveralls backed up a tow vehicle to the nose of the Osprey, connected, and pulled us down the row to stop at a hangar with the number 18 neatly printed on the outside. He paused long enough to open the hangar doors and switch on the lights, then towed us the rest of the way inside. Gumball opened the hatch and lowered the ladder as the man in coveralls came over. He was a silver haired gentleman in his 60's, and Gumball introduced him as Alan Koenig, the owner of the field. As each of us stepped off of the Osprey, Gumball introduced us. Dot climbed down behind me. In a spontaneous gesture of appreciation and relief, I spun and gave her a big hug. She hugged me back, also glad that it was over. Then, as she looked over my shoulder, she suddenly broke away and ran to a Dodge pickup sporting a camper, parked in a corner of the hangar. Clark joined me, then Gumball. "Alan's always been a news buff, so I asked him if there'd been any mention of Ms. Savage's private aircraft." he explained. "I'm happy to report that they've not released anything to the public. So far, that is." "Good. Is the Osprey going to be safe?" "Yeah. Without giving away your identity, I gave Alan the bare-bones idea of what we did and why. He gave his word to keep it secret, and that's good enough for me."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER We nodded agreement. Just then, pulling a luggage hauler, Koenig drove a small cart over to the side of the airplane. He called to us. "Better start transferrin' your gear into that camper, so's I can shut this place up for the night." We complied, and put our luggage on the hauler. I noticed a few unfamiliar duffles in among the group, but then noticed Dot's name on them and left it at that. Alan scooted the little rig away from the Osprey and to the back of the camper. Dot climbed out of the back and hopped to the ground. She ran to Gumball and gave him a big hug. "It's great! Thanks!" "I told my friend what you had in mind, and he came up with this. The papers should be inside." "Yeah, I saw them. Six month lease, okay?" "With an option to buy." She looked at the rest of us, who were eyeing her curiously. "Go ahead and put the gear in the back," she instructed. "Did you find a couple with my name on them?" I told her I had. "Good. Put them on the bed above the cab." Gumball got her attention. "Dot, I hate to say this, but I've got to get back to the base," he announced. She gave him a long hug. "Thanks, Uncle Clark." "I couldn't have pulled this off without you, Dot. You going to be all right?" She smiled. "Sure." Gumball turned to me. I set down a suitcase and accepted his handshake. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, sir." "Likewise. Thank you." He walked over to Clark. "You'll never know just what an extreme honor is was to serve you: my namesake." They shook hands, then he saluted Clark. "Sir." "No more than it is for me," replied Clark, returning the salute. "Take care." "And you." Then he walked from the hangar, waving once before going around the corner. "Now what?" I asked to no one in particular. "Clark ... Perry?" said Dot. "I'd like to talk to you both about something before we go." We paused in our transfer of the gear. She looked up at us and I saw the serious look on her face. "I'll get right to the point. Once we return to Oklahoma, I want to join you on the rest of your search."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER We stood there a moment, absorbing her request. "We might be on the road a lot. Don't you have a job that needs you?" I mentioned. "I've got some vacation time." Clark and I glanced at one another. "Could we discuss this aside for a moment?" asked Clark. "Sure. But before you do, let me point out a couple of things." Her stance changed to a defensive one. "As you have seen, I am quite capable of pulling my own weight. This is the '90s, Doc; women have even flown in space." She paused. "And gentlemen, if I so much as hear one word about me being a helpless girl, I will personally demonstrate my graduation exercises when I got my black belt in Karate." She crossed her arms. "Besides, gentlemen, this is your ride back to Oklahoma." She smiled. "Don't screw it up." "All right," he said. "We'll be right back." We started to walk in the direction of the Osprey. "Don't take too long," she called behind us. "I'm leaving in five minutes." We talked out of earshot. We returned in six minutes -- she was still there -- and gave her our answer. "Welcome aboard." She let out a triumphant "YES!" and hugged us both. As she sprinted to the truck, Clark and I exchanged comments. "Is this a family thing? First Carrie, and now Dot," he asked me. "Look at it this way, brother. Genetically speaking, she's part Pat, part Monk, and part Ham." I paused, shaking my head slightly. "God help us." Clark just smiled. Considering the hour, we decided to find a motel, have dinner and get a couple of rooms, and start off for Oklahoma in the morning. After all, it had been a long day, and we were all looking forward to a rest. Dot ahemed to get our attention. "Guys, there's not that much room in the front seat," she announced. "Unless we want to get REALLY cozy for the next several hundred miles, I'll need a volunteer to sit in the back." I thought about it for a minute, then volunteered. "I'll take the first shift. I can E-mail Jack and bring him up to speed on things. Give me a few minutes to reposition things. Got a bungee cord? I can put the bags on the bed and secure them so they don't come crashing down on me." We found a couple of bungees and I moved things around, giving me room to move. Right before Dot closed the door, I swore I saw a disappointed look on her face. I opened the window that connected the cab to the camper, took a seat behind the dinette table, and moved my backpack next to me. "Hang on, Perry, here we go," announced Dot through the window.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER I bounced around in the back for a few minutes while we maneuvered to the main road, and the ride became smoother. I kept a close eye on the cargo resting on the queen bed over the cab; it shook a little, but remained secure. I had to admit, it was a very nice camper. It had a queen bed over the cab, combination bathroom and shower, and galley with microwave and refrigerator. For a single person, it was ideal. And it looked like Dot was setting things up for the duration. Something told me it would be longer than any of us expected. I decided to at least compose something to send Jack. Considering all that had happened today, I needed to let him know we were alive and well. Jack: We're alive, praise God! Considering what's happened today, that's a very good thing. Before I begin, let me assure you that, as unbelievably as this may sound, all this stuff is absolutely true, without exaggeration. Clark had been correct about Penelope. There is NO Penelope Savage. Patricia Savage consumed a rare herb which kept her youthful. She made up a 'daughter' named Penelope to perpetuate the illusion. We went to the meeting, suspecting this possibility and trying to be prepared. Jack, she is majorly bitter because of Clark. She blames him for all of her crap, and holds a lot of hate in her heart. Push the intercession. When she couldn't get through to use verbally, she attacked us physically. We were knocked out, and expected to be taken to Caroline Island to be tortured and killed. I'm not joking, Jack. She used a tranquilizer gun on both of us, and had us loaded on board her private aircraft. But God had us covered. He prompted Monk Mayfair to launch a backup rescue plan, with the help of Dot Brooks and Monk's other son Clark Mayfair. They replaced the aircraft's crew, and flew us to safety. It's amazing, Jack, as I look at these words, just to imagine that they actually happened to us. It seems fantastic, like a scene out of one of Clark's pulp stories. But I assure you -- and me -- that it was real. At one point I thought I would wake up in a cell on Caroline Island. But God rescued both of us out of the hands of death. We're in Tennessee right now, and will be returning to Oklahoma in the morning. Dot Brooks is joining us. She's an amazing lady, Jack. She's not a Christian, but she's not rejecting things either. I like her, Jack. Very much. She saved our lives. She got a truck camper, and she and Clark are up front while I'm back in the back putting this together. It's good that I write this down. If anything, it proves to me that it actually happened, something I can hardly believe. I admit, my life hasn't been exactly boring, the last 12 hours have been incredible. Every now and then I wonder if I've gotten too far afield of what God's wants of me. But then He reminds me, everything up to this point has prepared me for what I am going through now, and He continues to prepare and strengthen me for what I will face tomorrow. It all comes down to: I don't know what the future holds, but I know who holds the future. It's all so fantastic in the most literal sense, but I guess I'm in good company. Those simple fishermen never knew what they were getting into, and what their lives would become because of that special man

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER from Galilee. Sometimes I think things are so out of control, but then I'm reminded of who is in control. Just another test of faith, Jack. God is good. Talk to you later. Perry and Clark ... and Dot I made a quick look at the post, then used the cellular modem to connect to my ISP, and sent the mail. I backed out of the system and shut things down, tucking the notebook safely in my backpack. I could hear Clark and Dot talking up front. There wasn't much in the way of conversation; all of us were showing the weariness of the day's activities. I didn't know about the others, but I would be looking forward to finding a motel and getting a meal and a good night's sleep before heading back to Oklahoma. -------------------LaSalle looked over at the telephone. He dreaded the call he had to make this morning. He had been off the booze for several years, but now a drink sounded like a really good idea. He took a few slow deep breaths, and looked down at the reports before him. The first report summarized the conclusions of identifying 'Don Iverson' from the video and fingerprints. He looked over the pictures taken off the video monitors, but they showed a nondescript, long-haired man in his 30's. Sorry to say, nothing to distinguish him from countless others. And there were no identifiable fingerprints, so there was no way of tracking down this man. The second was a summary of the debriefing of the guards who carried the drugged 'Don Iverson' and 'James Morris' to the Osprey and saw it off. Their descriptions of the pilot and co-pilot corroborated: the pilot was a male in his early 40's, the co-pilot a female in her late 20's. Both of them had their helmets on, so only their lower faces were seen. Again, nothing to hold onto. The third was a summary of the interrogation of the pilot and co-pilot found in the storage shed on the roof. They had been standing near the Osprey, and suddenly felt sleepy. They woke up in the storage shed, bound and gagged. They never saw who attacked them. She was NOT going to like this. In the top drawer of his desk was his final option: a sealed envelope containing his resignation. He hoped he wouldn't need to use it. He had paused long enough. Time to face the principal, he thought, as he picked up the telephone handset and dialed. -------------------"Are you positive, Mr. LaSalle?" She paused as she heard the recitation of conclusive evidence. In her hand she absently squeezed the ball of wax. "Very well, Mr. LaSalle," she concluded, remarkably calm and collected. "Thank you for your completeness." And she hung up the telephone. She sat there, staring at the opposite wall, her breathing slow and shallow. There was a blur of movement. The sound of the Ming vase exploding into fragments and the sound of the scream of rage from Pat Savage came almost simultaneously. Small fragments of the vase were

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER imbedded in the wax smear on the wall. Pat's hands were now empty, but she loudly continued her GradeA temper tantrum. Beyond the walls of soundproof material, her secretary calmly held back all calls and visitors, and called the maintenance staff to arrange for damage control. Minutes later, her chest heaving, she looked from her window to the Empire State Building. As she looked down upon the edifice, she smiled. Then, with a low voice bordering on guttural, she cursed God and cursed her cousin. "You always did have a charmed life," she spoke to the building as if it were the embodiment of Doc himself. "You have escaped me this time. You will not escape our next meeting." -------------------Chapter Twelve "Monk? It's Perry. We're almost to your place. Should be there in a few minutes." As I listened to Monk, Dot said something from offside. With a chuckle, I added, "Dot says to have the hot chocolate ready." I listened to the reply, and ended the conversation. "It'll be there," I told her. "Good," she commented with a shiver. "I almost forgot how cold it gets around here. How you doin', Doc?" Through the connecting window to the camper, we heard dryly, "I'm surviving, thank you." The truck rolled down the access road alongside the lake just before 10 o'clock. As we passed the camper van, I suddenly felt a wave of fondness for our home-away-from-home during these past few months; it probably needs a good overhaul, I noted to myself. Monk was waiting for us, and he waved Dot to a parking spot. "All ashore that's going ashore," she said as she turned off the engine. We stretched like cats as we touched the ground. Even Clark, climbing out of the camper, arched his back and flexed his muscles like a runner at the end of a marathon. Dot greeted her granddad with a big hug, then walked to the house. Monk reached us with hugs and handshakes, telling us how glad he was to see us alive and well. He commented on Dot's truck, and he and Clark took a quick tour of it. I watched them disappear around the far side, then my nose caught the smell of hot chocolate, and I turned to see Dot approaching with two steaming mugs. She handed one to me, and I cupped my hands around it to warm them. "Thanks." She took the other one to Clark as he and Monk drew near. Then we all headed for the house, glad to be home. -------------------"Yes, sir? Can I help you?" the receptionist at Martin and Associates greeted with a professional smile. The law offices had only been open a few minutes when the dapper young man with the briefcase walked confidently through the doors. His features were strong and attractive, his black hair and moustache expertly styled. He did not smile, but held out a business card while introducing himself.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "Jefferson Davis Frye. To see Douglas Martin." She picked up the phone and announced him. A moment or two later, Martin greeted the man with an extended arm. "Mr. Frye," he said amiably. "Good to meet you. Please, come into my office." As they sat, Martin looked across his desk at the young lawyer. He glanced down a couple of times as the visitor stated his purpose. "I have a court order here to obtain from you all information pertaining to a couple of clients of yours, Mr. James Moore and Mr. Don Iverson." He lobbed the folded document gently on the desktop. Martin leaned back, unfolded the papers, and examined them. Then he leaned forward and handed it back to the younger man. "Like I told your associate over the phone, I don't know these two men," he announced. "I don't know how this is going to change things. Sorry to let you down." Frye sat silently waiting, unmoved. Martin leaned back in his leather executive chair, smiled to himself, and decided to end this game. "Look, Jeff. I know your reputation, and I know who you work for. You brought the right ammunition for the job, but there's nothing here to hunt. I may be an old man, but my memory is quite intact. Now, for the record, we have never had a James Moore or a Don Iverson as clients of this firm." He smiled briefly, then his face went serious. "Now get out of my office." Frye sat a moment more, then slowly stood. "This matter is far from over," he announced ominously. Then he turned and walked out of the office, deliberately leaving the door open behind him. Martin grinned and shook his head, then moved around and closed his own door. Returning to his desk, he opened a lower side drawer and looked in. "Hmm. Nice briefcase. I wonder where they had the recording equipment installed?" he mused aloud, looking over the readout from the scanners that examined the electronic surveillance gear that Mr. Frye had smuggled into his office. Then he closed the drawer and turned his chair to look out the window at the twin towers of the World Trade Center just poking above the top of the skyscrapers in the distance. "I have to admit, she's determined. And, just possibly, desperate. She'll be back." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and looked over at his computer. "Perhaps a sacrifice is in order," he said with a smile. -------------------Jefferson Davis Frye played the recording in Penelope Savage's office. She sat back in her leather executive chair, her hands before her, fingertips touching. Frye dutifully sat in a chair off to the side. The recording ended and Frye switched it off. He smoothly ejected the tape and placed it on her desk. Her well-manicured hand reached out and curled around the cassette. The lawyer spoke. "That old man's playing it cool. But it's clear he's hiding something." He started to outline several options, then stopped and asked, "What's our next move, Penelope?" "I'll get back to you," she said crisply. "Thanks, Jeff." He obediently left the room, closing the door behind him and leaving the lady to consider things. She turned to her computer and re-read the email from Douglas Martin.

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"Dear Penny. The next time you send someone on a wild goose chase, at least provide them with some manners. And please reconsider using digital recorders; those microcassettes are downright noisy. Have a nice day. Douglas." She pressed the Delete key. "You're clever, old man," she mused aloud as she slowly strolled around the office. "It's no coincidence that you're part of this. Ham's old law firm ... Ham's old law buddy. Well, it seems that the direct route won't with you." She stood before the window that looked down upon the skyscrapers of Manhattan and smiled. "Perhaps a stronger strategy is in order." -------------------After a light lunch, Clark, Monk, and I dismissed to the den for a private talk. "Okay, let me cut right to the chase," the simian Monk said. "You're probably wonderin' why I didn't let you both in on the backup plan. Right?" "Correct," answered Clark. "It's simple. A backup plan is there in case it's needed. If it's not needed, it doesn't matter." He paused to let the point sink in. "I suspected Patty might do something this dirty, but I didn't want to give you cause to worry needlessly, especially concerning yourselves over Gumball and Dot. You two had enough on your hands." Then he looked at Clark and gave him a mischievous smile. "Besides, Doc, how many times, when we was workin' together, did YOU have a backup plan that none of us knew about 'til you sprung it on us? This is just my way of replying in kind, and havin' somethin' there if you needed it." Clark reluctantly nodded. "Point taken." Monk continued. "Look, Doc. Patty and I had our moment, and, as far as I'm concerned, it's history. I'm as surprised at what she's become as you are. But when you were gonna meet with her, and didn't have a backup plan in case things got ugly, I was ... inspired ... to cover your butts. And praise God for it, otherwise you'd both be in a cell on Caroline Island." Clark's countenance softened. He smiled. "Agreed. Thank you, Monk." He shrugged it off. There was a long pause. "There's more," he prompted. "Spill it." I spoke this time. "The College." "Your pit stop." He wasn't surprised by the question. Clark picked it up. "Gumball told me it was your idea." "Sure was." The simian-like countenance didn't waver. "And since you haven't punched my lights out, it may just have served its purpose." He paused. "Did it ever occur to you why the College is still standin' there after all these years? The land is mine. I own it. And I made the decision not to tear the building down. Why? As a reminder of the mistakes of the past. It was my very own private millstone, dragging me down deeper every time I visited it."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER He walked over to the edge of the desk and sat. "Lemme give ya a little history lesson. When it all boiled down to me, Pat, and Ham, someone had to be the mouthpiece for the group. Ham was too busy, and Pat flat out refused. So I stepped into the spotlight as the diplomat. And you know how diplomatic I can be." He grinned. "I took responsibility for everything. Not just the collapse of the College, but the loss of Pat's eye ... and Ham's death. Now, I know I wasn't at fault for any of them, but I took the guilt for it anyway. I felt like I'd failed you, Doc." His eyes met Clark's, then he lowered his head in shame. "I let the College stay up as a reminder. And I went back to those caves in Maine year after year after year, hopin' to find somethin'. But I found nothing, and came back worse than before. I was a monster." He released a heavy sigh, and his voice cracked with emotion. "Y'know, I praise God for Lea. She took all my crap all those years, and still loved me through it. Only now I see how." He stood and moved closer to Clark. "You showed me the freedom of the Cross, but I saw somethin' in you that I recognized from me. It was a subtle torment goin' on inside'a you. You were doin' like me, takin' on the guilt of the world. That's why I gave you a first-hand reality check. To show you the past is the past, and that it needs to be put behind us." I looked over at Clark. His face was an emotionless mask of bronze. Monk concluded, "Okay, big guy. I made my decision. Now it's your turn. Will you let the College be a millstone around your neck?" I was witnessing an amazing thing. It's not easy for a younger man to correct his elder. And in many ways, Monk had always been the younger, and Clark the elder. But now Monk, with decades of experience under his belt, brought a hidden truth to the man he admired and respected beyond any other, and demanded a decision. I saw in Monk the love of a brother and a long-time friend. Clark sat down and looked up at his dear friend. "You're absolutely right," he said slowly, his voice emotional. "In New York, I went through my own crisis. In the end I found a place of solitude ... on the 86th floor in the middle of the night." Monk's eyes went wide with surprise. "I wrestled through a few things there, including Ham's death. And God brought me through it." He took Monk's hand. "And you showed me another facet. Thank you." "We gotta remember, it's a process, not a magical change." Clark smiled and nodded. "One step at a time." "Y'know, maybe it's time for a demolition job on that dilapidated old wreck. Put up somethin' dedicated to life, not death." "Maybe so," he agreed. Until this point, I had been silent. But now I walked over to the two men and placed a hand on each shoulder. "Let's pray," I said. There were no objections.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER -------------------As we left the den we heard a sudden burst of female laughter. We saw Dot standing, moving animatedly around the living room. "What's the ruckus?" Monk asked. Lea answered. "Dot was just telling me about Clark's close encounter with a purse snatcher in Central Park." I saw Clark turn away. "Oh, really?" commented Monk. "What happened?" "It was nothing, really," Clark said softly. "Nothing? That's not what mom said, and she was there," commented Dot. Then she told the story again. It was new for me, and I was amazed at two things: the feats Clark was capable of, and his refusal to accept credit for them. The conversation somehow came around to Penelope Savage. "I've never met her," Dot commented. "But if Pat is anything like her daughter, we're all in trouble. No offense, but that lady could've used a couple of classes in child-rearing!" She didn't notice the exchanges of looks between Clark and Monk. I did. Monk stood and addressed her. "Hey, Dottie. I need t' talk to you about something. Grab your coat an' follow." "Sure." They got their coats and walked towards the lake. A light dusting of snowfall make it look like a fairy tale scene. They swept the snow off a bench and Monk asked her to sit. "Am I in trouble?" she asked. "Naw. I just need t' talk to you about somethin'." "Are you okay?" she continued to probe. He wanted to say no, but the words came out, "If you mean, am I sick or somethin' -- I'm fine. Now, shaddap and gimme a couple of minutes, okay?" She took his gruffness in stride. "Sure, granddad." He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. "You know your old granddad's never been one for bein' subtle, right?" She nodded.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "A long time ago, before your grandma and I got married, in the middle of all that crap that was goin' on with the Senate hearings and such, there was only me, Ham, and Pat. Then Ham got so busy that it was just me and Pat. After she got hurt in a fight, I spent a lot of time with her while she was recovering. I was there when she needed someone. Anyhow, one thing led to another ... an' ... she got pregnant." "You're Penelope's father??" she blurted. He shook his head. "There ain't no Penelope, sweetheart. An herb called silphium has been keepin' her young. She made up the idea of a daughter to hide the fact that she wasn't gettin' any older." "But, then, who's the . . ." She froze, and her eyes went wide. "Mom?" she squeaked. Monk nodded, his heart tying up in knots. "Pat Savage is your birth grandmother. The day your momma was born, Pat put her into my hands. Lea and I were married by then, and she knew the whole truth. I hate to tell you this, sweetheart -- I've never wanted this to even get out -- but I can see you'd find out sooner or later." "Does mom know?" "About Pat being her birth mother? No. I haven't needed ... or maybe haven't had the guts ... to tell her. Eventually I will. But not now." Dot was silent, looking down at the ground, then looked up into his eyes. "Why are you telling me now?" "Because you're gonna be workin' with Doc and Perry, sweetheart, and I wanted you to know it before you heard about it under the wrong circumstances." He paused. "Doc, the master sleuth, deduced the truth about your momma after the first time he met her. When we met, he confronted me with it, and I told them the full story. Shortly after, they suspected Penelope was really Pat, and confirmed it when they met her in person. That's one of the reasons I had you and Gumball as backup, 'cause I suspected she might try some dirty trick like this." "So who knows that ... Pat ... is my grandmother?" "Clark and Perry. You and me, and Lea. That's it. With the exception of your momma, nobody else needs to know." Monk looked from Dot, to the lake, then slowly back to her. "Dottie?" "Yeah?" By her tone, her mind was elsewhere. "Can you forgive me?" he asked softly. Her mind snapped back to the present. She stood and wrapped her arms around him, laying her head against his shoulder. "You're my granddad. I love you. I love grandma. That'll never change." She separated from him and looked him in the face. "You've always wanted the best for me and mom. And I'll admit, this is a bit of a shock, but I appreciate you sharing it with me." He hugged her again. "I love you too, Dottie. Let's go in, okay -- it's getting cold. My arthritis is starting to act up."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER She took his hand. As they walked back to the house, Dot leaned in. "You've never had arthritis, you old con artist," she crooned. -------------------The warehouse had closed several hours ago, but a few lights burned inside. Three people -- two men and a woman -- waited in the break room. A dark-haired man paced the room and looked at his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. "Where th' hell is he?" he muttered. "Right here, Mr. Rogers," said a voice abruptly from the doorway. Appearing like a shadow was a handsome black man in an equally dark outfit of turtleneck and slacks covered by a long leather coat. He moved smoothly, walking over to a table directly below a pair of florescent lights, and opened his briefcase. His gloved hands placed the contents onto the tabletop as the others gathered around. Looking them in the eye, he addressed each one by name. "Ms. Carr ... Mr. Wang ... Mr. Rogers. Your mission is to enter the law offices of Martin and Associates, and retrieve any and all information relating to these two men." He gestured to the two surveillance camera pictures. "The information we have is on the back." "Look," interrupted the blonde Ms. Carr. "Why do you need three of us? I could do this job in my sleep." He produced three envelopes from the inside of his coat. "The contract is for three. In that way nothing is overlooked." All three grunted discontentedly, but no one refused the money. "This must take place tomorrow night. You will return here and we will complete our transaction. Any questions?" There were none. "Good luck," he said, then left the three to plan their strategy. -------------------The phone rang. Douglas Martin picked it up on the fourth ring. "Yes?" he mumbled sleepily. "Hercules Security, sir," a female voice identified. "We have an unauthorized entry. You left instructions to be informed first." Martin was instantly wide awake. He swung his legs to the floor and sat up. His voice was alert. "Yes, I did. Thank you for calling. Please continue." "Well, sir, they appear to be professionals. All but the latest level of security was circumvented. Sir, we installed that last level only a few days ago, at your instructions. How did you know we'd need it?" He smiled. "A hunch." "We have them under secondary video surveillance. There are three of them, two men and a woman. One is checking out the file cabinets, another is apparently examining your LAN, and the third is in your office examining your personal computer." She paused. "May I make an observation, sir?" "Certainly."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "They act like pros, but they've gotten over-confidant. None of them are disguising their features. That's a mistake, sir." "Very good." "Should I call the police now, sir?" "No." Martin paused. "Listen carefully. You are to take no action against them. Continue video surveillance. Do you have an envelope marked 'Queen's Gambit'?" "Yes." "Good. In fifteen minutes, open that envelope and follow the instructions to the letter. Then shred the envelope and its contents. Do you understand?" "Yes, sir." She paused, then continued cautiously. "Forgive me, sir, but this is very odd." "What's your name, dear?" She was reluctant. "Daniels, sir. Michelle Daniels." Martin shifted to his favorite uncle voice. "Michelle, you're absolutely correct. This is very odd indeed. But it's also very important that it be done in this manner. I appreciate your professionalism. Thank you very much, Miss Daniels." "You're welcome, sir." "You're doing just fine. Call me immediately there's any trouble. Good night." "Good night, sir." Martin hung up the phone. Then he dialed another number from memory. "Mitch? Doug. Sorry to wake you, but the guests have arrived. Yeah. Eleven minutes to Queen's Gambit." He paused, and laughed. "Good, Mitch. Have fun. See you in the morning." He hung up the phone, swung into bed, and went back to sleep. "God, this is fun. Makes me feel like a cadet again," he commented to himself with a chuckle. -------------------Pat Savage looked at the package. It had arrived fifteen minutes ago via UPS, but had to pass the usual security sweeps. The Manhattan return address had become smudged in transit. She removed the videotape from the padded mailer and turned it over in her hands. Ordinary enough, no label, she observed. With her left hand she opened the second drawer in her desk and pressed a button on a special panel next to a VCR slot. A section of wall slid aside to reveal a large monitor screen. She inserted the tape into the slot. There was no sound, but the images were interesting. Three people moving with deliberate actions about a deserted office. "A security camera," she commented. An inset window suddenly appeared at lower right, showing the date and time the images were captured. "Last night."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER The inset window did not move, but the action did. The three people finished their business and headed for the door, cautiously resetting security alarms. Pat had an uneasy feeling building within her. Suddenly the image split into two frames, both showing the action taking place at the door, but from different angles. She watched the transition as the trio left the building and walked to a nearby car. As they did, the camera zoomed in on each person's face, freezing it for a moment, and a caption appeared identifying each person -- JULIA CARR, HARRY ROGERS, and XU WANG -- along with a few pertinent facts of their criminal history. Then it zoomed in on the licence plate of the vehicle, a rental. The caption identified the make and model of the vehicle, then displayed the disturbing statement CURRENT RENTAL: DANIEL FRANKLIN, PATRICIA INC. Pat groaned and cursed under her breath. The trio climbed into the vehicle and left. The inset window continued to show real time. As Pat watched with mouth agape, the camera suddenly gained altitude and followed the vehicle. Additionally, the image became filtered through an eerie green and the words NIGHT VISION MODE appeared at the bottom of the screen. "How?" repeated Pat incredulously. The pursued vehicle drove through the streets of Manhattan and parked in front of a waterfront warehouse. Two of the occupants -- the woman Carr and the man Rogers -- climbed out and scouted the area. "Why can't they see the blasted camera?" she yelled at the screen. The question was left unanswered as a second vehicle came into range and parked a few feet from the other car, and the driver climbed out. As the camera zoomed in on the face of the black man with the allblack outfit, the sickening feeling in Pat multiplied geometrically. The image froze for a moment, as well as the time display, and the caption DANIEL FRANKLIN appeared. Then the action continued as the black man exchanged three envelopes for a packet handed from Rogers. They shook hands, and Franklin climbed back into his car. The vehicles went in separate directions, but the mysterious camera now tailed Franklin's car, as Pat exploded in profanity directed at the black man and his pursuers. She sat mesmerized as his vehicle was followed into the heart of the city, and straight to the twin towers of the World Trade Center, and its underground parking garage. "No, no, NO," she repeated. She felt helpless, like a witness to an accident, unable to keep it from happening. Without the slightest awareness of his watchers, Franklin strolled from his car to an elevator, the packet held in his gloved hand. He inserted a card into a slot to allow him access. As the doors slid closed behind him, the camera zoomed on the bronze plaque next to the elevator: PATRICIA, INC. PRIVATE - AUTHORIZED ACCESS ONLY Pat held her breath, waiting. Instead, the screen faded to black. She exhaled, then gasped. A new image looked out from the screen. Douglas Martin's face smiled at her. "My dear Penelope. By now you should have looked over the information your little thieves took from my place last night. But, let me assure you, they're just as phony as your little mother-daughter act. I just

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER hope you ran the computer files through a virus checker before reading them." Her eyes went wide, and looked down at the diskette on the desk. "But enough of that. I do hope you liked my little home movie. I went to a lot of trouble to make it, but I wanted to make a point. Don't screw around with me, or I will take the masters of this little production to some Federal friends of mine. I'm sure they'd find it quite interesting. "One final thing. Do you remember 'Mission: Impossible'? Count to ten, sweetheart. Have a nice day." The picture faded out on his smiling face. Inside her head, the count finished. Her eyes caught the wisp of smoke curling up from the open end of the videocassette mailer to her right, and she quickly swept it into the metal trash can next to her desk. As it whooshed into flame, she also noticed the smoke rising from the VCR slot, and understood Martin's comment. But before she could respond to the situation, the smoke alarm kicked in, filling the air with a shrieking din. A moment later, Pat's secretary burst into the office, accompanied by another employee with a fire extinguisher. "False alarm! Turn it off!" she yelled over the alarm, pouting as fading wisps of smoke curled around her desk and were sucked into the air vents. Through it all she sat motionless, her desire to fly into a rage quenched by the absolute irony of it all. On the one hand, she fought the desire to move with all possible speed to that geezer's office and strangle him with his own rigged videotape. Yet, something inside of her admired him for getting away with such a slick sting operation on her. In the end, she had decided that pursuing him would be counter-productive. Besides, he knew her secret, and that made him dangerous. As far as Martin went, she'd eventually outlive him, or catch him off-guard. And as far as Clark went, he couldn't hide forever. And when he came into the light, she would be there waiting. It would be just a matter of time. -------------------Chapter Thirteen "I found Johnny," proudly proclaimed Monk. His grin could light up three states. "How?" said Clark. "To tell the truth, the stinker left us a clue right in front of our faces." He sat on the corner of his desk, and we settled back into our chairs. "It's that movie Johnny was the model for. That's the key. Indiana Jones, like us, was an adventurer. He was also a teacher of archaeology." He paused, letting that sink in. "So I did some checking around and -- viola! -- a Professor William Harper Littlejohn is head of the Archaeology Department at Drake College in Vermont. I made a little anonymous call to the college, described the old boy, and it matched him to a tee. Besides, with a moniker like that, who else could it be?" "Excellent!" Clark and I said as one. The big bronze man rushed over and clapped his friend on the back. "Vermont," I said, musing aloud. "We're going to need to winterize the van. We'll need heavy weather tires."

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"Yes," agreed Clark. "And we'll need a way of communicating between Dot's truck and our van." I held up an index finger. "I think I have an idea. A special hands-free intercom system I saw in town. Let me check into it." I paused. "Considering how many miles we've put on that van, it's probably overdue for an overhaul." "Agreed. And since Thanksgiving's day after tomorrow . . ." I nodded. "We can get started next week. We could be there by the middle of December." Monk's face lowered. "I take it you won't be back by Christmas?" Clark put his hands on his friend's shoulders and looked him in the eyes. "Sorry, old friend," he comforted. "But there's still Thanksgiving." The grin returned. "And do I have a ton to be thankful for this year!" -------------------It was the day before Thanksgiving. We nicknamed the kitchen Pavlov's Lab because we would start salivating anytime we came within range of the extraordinary meal Lea was putting together. We distracted ourselves by calling friends and family. I called Jack Heady in Portland, and wished all those in the house a blessed Thanksgiving. He returned the sentiment, then brought the news of the latest addition to Verner Victor's household. His wife had given birth to a daughter, Melody Ruth, a few days ago. All were doing well, and had much to celebrate this holiday. On the other hand, Dot's call to Carrie in New York was full of sadness knowing her mother would be spending Thanksgiving alone. As they talked, I observed Monk and Clark, and saw the exchange of smiles and nods between them. Monk gently took the phone from her granddaughter. "Carrie? It's Dad. Pack a bag and head to JFK. Clark and I are going to charter a jet for ya. I think the Center can spare you over the weekend." He paused, listening. I saw his eyes misting over, and his jaw straining to keep firm. "Okay, baby. Call you on the cell with the details. Yeah, love you, too. See you shortly." He hung up the phone, and Dot locked herself around his bull neck in a hug. Then she launched herself at Clark and did likewise. I knew this would be the best Thanksgiving this family had had in years. -------------------A unique confrontation took place in the den. Dot sat in a chair while Clark and I stood before her. The tone of our voice made her uncomfortable. "Am I in trouble?" she asked. "We need to talk to you about something," I answered. "O-kay." Her eyes shifted from Clark to me and back.

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I started the questioning. "When we arrived in Tennessee, Gumball explained to you that the truck was on a six month lease with an option to buy. You planned on being away from work for at least six months?" "Well ... yes," she answered, somewhat cautiously. Clark continued. "When you asked to join up with us, you told us you had some vacation time. Six months' vacation time? So we did a little checking. You resigned your job two days before the meeting with Penelope." She looked up at the ceiling, and squirmed slightly in her chair. "You lied to us. You didn't plan on returning to work. You wanted to be a part of our quest." Clark added, "You expected us to support you." She hung her head in shame. She had been caught, exposed. "I'm afraid there's only one thing we can do." Clark looked over at me. "Keep her on?" I said, totally deadpan. "Keep her on," he replied, equally deadpan. It took her two full seconds for our words to register. Then her head snapped up to see our smiling faces and she exploded in squealing happiness. She hugged us both, and kept repeating, "Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you!" "But please," added Clark, seriously. "Don't feel you have to lie to us, okay?" She buried her head in his chest and sincerely apologized. Then she did the same on my shoulder. "Welcome to the ... team?" I told her, pondering the concept. -------------------The end of November and the first week of December were busy for us. We had our camper van and Dot's truck equipped with the hands-free intercom system, and also included a Global Positioning System that could be synchronized to show the other's position as well as their own. We had the camper van overhauled, and replaced the tires on both vehicles with ones more capable of handling the heavier weather with ease. We surprised Dot by paying off the truck and camper; she surprised us by purchasing a pair of small video camcorders and a TV/VCR combination for each vehicle. We got supplies for the trip, and included some additional warm clothing. And there was also the purchase of a second cell phone for me, since Clark was using the other one more than me. -------------------We also dealt with an issue that we'd been avoiding for some time.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER Clark missed being able to drive legally. But it all boiled down to his identity. 'Clark Savage, Jr.' was, to the world at large, a criminal and fugitive. We had considered Clark turning himself in, but every scenario looked bleak. On one hand, if they accepted him as Doc Savage, he'd be publicly tried and sentenced for his 'crimes' against humanity. On the other hand, they could declare him to be insane (after all, the 'real' Doc Savage would be over 90 years old by now, etc.) and have him put away or something equally nasty. In the end, our solution was found through immigration. 'Clark Robeson Dent' was born in 1944 outside of Delta, British Columbia. Due to an unfortunate fire, all his birth records were destroyed. With the help of Douglas Martin, Clark became a naturalized citizen of the United States. Once that was accomplished, it was a piece of cake to get him a driver's licence for New York State. -------------------"Okay, we're about three miles apart," announced Clark from the driver's seat, interpreting the GPS display. I reached over to the intercom switch in the ceiling panel. "Intercom on. Dot, can you hear us okay?" "Aye, Captain!" came the response in a Scottish brogue. "I've got ye and Mr. Spock in my sights. But the Klingons are gainin' fast." I grimaced. Clark looked at me and raised one eyebrow quizzically. I groaned. "I'll explain it later, okay?" I told him. We could both hear Dot's laughter clearly over the intercom speaker. -------------------Clark was standing by the lake. Monk, carrying a package, came out to him. "Doc?" Clark looked up. "Yes, Monk." He handed him the box. "I gave one of these to Dot. This one's for you and Perry." It was plastic, about the size of a shoe box, padded and organized. Clark opened it and looked at the contents. He smiled. "Do you think we'll need these, brother?" He shrugged. "Can't hurt. They always came in handy before. You know the Boy Scout motto: Be Prepared." "Very true. Thanks." He leaned in. "Now let me explain a few of the improvements I've put in yours ... " --------------------

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "And I thought it was cold at granddad's place!" came Dot's voice over the intercom with a shiver. "Thanks for talking me into getting those extra thermal layers, Perry. I can't wait to change into them." "No problem. I checked the weather before we went shopping, and suggested accordingly. How're you handling the roads?" "Fine. Remember, I've driven a motorcycle during New York snowstorms. What about you?" "Clark's got the experience, so I turned it over to him." "Piece o' cake," added Clark calmly. We parked in front of the Drake College Administration Building. It seemed the best place to start, since we weren't familiar with the campus. We got the directions to the auditorium where Professor Littlejohn was lecturing, and a photocopied map of the campus, and walked the short distance to the building. The afternoon sun was warm, but there was a briskness in the air that caused our breath to fog before us. The campus was quiet, at the advent of Winter Break. The snow was about two inches deep on the ground, but we were fine. Clark had on an Australian riding coat with matching hat and cowboy boots. Dot wore her leather bomber jacket and jeans, and a red knitted scarf. I had my Columbia Sportswear winter coat, jeans and wool hat to keep me comfortable. "How is it without the beard?" I asked Clark. After some consideration, he had decided to shave off the beard and let the hair on his head grow once more. Now that he had an 'identity' to fall back on, he could return to his normal appearance. And any resemblance could be written off as coincidence and accepted as flattery. He rubbed his chin. "Unusual. And a little cold right now. But I'll get used to it." The auditorium was easy to find, and we entered quietly. I caught the grin breaking over Clark's face as his ears caught the voice of the lecturer. "Is it ... ?" I asked, even though I knew the answer. "That's him," he said, beaming. We paused at the top of the stairs, then quickly slid into the vacant top two rows of seats. Clark and I sat near the aisle, with a chair separating us. Dot sat behind and between us. Below, a group of 20 or so students paid rapt attention to the words of the man standing by the overhead projector. His speech was intelligent, spiced with technical vocabulary and the occasional polysyllabic buzzword. The photos I had access to showed him as a frail shadow of a man. However, from Clark's recollections, those outer appearances were deceptive of a much stronger man. As I looked upon him now, he looked even worse, and I hoped that Clark was still right. Professor Littlejohn looked around occasionally during the course of his lecture, observing the reactions of his students. When he saw us sitting at the top of the auditorium, he looked our way once, then twice. Then he paused in his lecture to clean his glasses, peering in our direction with his head cocked slightly. Then he looked back to his notes, albeit looking up in our direction frequently. "You've been spotted," I observed.

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"Spotted, but not identified," Clark replied calmly. "I give it five minutes." "Ten bucks says you're wrong," commented Dot, leaning forward. "You're on." I announced the time for the record. Although Professor Littlejohn continued his lecture uninterrupted, it was obvious that our presence was making a difference. He cleaned his glasses twice while still speaking to the group, continuing to analyze us. More than likely, his attention was focused on the big tanned man who somehow looked familiar. Suddenly we heard the surprised exclamation, "I'll be superamalgamated!" "We have contact," I muttered, and looked at my watch. "Four minutes thirty-five seconds." Clark reached behind him. Dot slapped a $10 bill into it. As his hand closed around it, he commented wryly, "Nice doing business with you." Seconds passed. Professor Littlejohn repeated his famous interjection, then abruptly realized his disruption to the class. Thinking quickly, he announced, "Dear students, I apologize for my ... hesitation ... in my speech. Chalk it up to the holidays. And, since tomorrow is the beginning of the Winter Break, I've decided to be lenient and dismiss you early. Have a good holiday, and I'll see you all back here next year." He smiled. The students quickly gathered their stuff and filed up the stairs to the exits, paying no attention to the three people who continued to sit and wait, nor to their teacher who stood unmoving on the lecture hall floor below. Finally, as the last student allowed the door to close behind him, the bony figure of Professor Johnny Littlejohn put his notes in a well-used leather portfolio while glancing over his shoulder. Then, straightening his shoulders, he slowly ascended the steps in our direction. His movement was careful, his footsteps sure. He faced straight ahead, but his eyes darted at us, and at Clark. The closer he got to us, the more certain he was in his conclusions. As he came even with us, his mouth gaped with realization. "How?" he muttered weakly. "You're looking well, brother," Clark simply replied. "Well, I'll be superamalgamated," he absently commented. Clark stood and slowly approached the elderly archeology professor, who followed him with his eyes. Then he wrapped his strong arms around the thin bony frame and gave his old friend a gentle hug. Johnny hesitated only a moment, then sighed, let the portfolio fall from his hand and wrapped his arms around the muscled waist. Tears of joy and relief began to form in their eyes. After a few moments, Clark made the introductions. "This is Perry Liston. I can honestly say that I owe him my very life." He reached out a hand. It appeared frail, but the grip was strong. "My great pleasure, sir," he addressed.

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"And mine," I returned. He turned to Dot, who had come down to our level and stood. "And this, Johnny, is Dot Brooks." He said her name slowly. His eyebrows raised considerably. "Brooks?" "She's Ham and Monk's ... granddaughter." His head cocked to one side again. "Interesting. A most intriguing genetic amalgam," he mused aloud. It was the first time he had used his characteristic big words since we saw him. "I'm pleased at what kind of progeny would result through my former colleagues." He paused and smiled. "It's obvious that your attractiveness is a product of the maternal influence rather than the paternal." She smiled back. "Granddad would probably agree with you." "Goodness, my manners," he suddenly checked himself. "Can you stay for awhile? We could go to my cottage." "We're here for as long as you need us." "Splendid! Miss Brooks, would you grant me the honor?" And, offering his arm to Dot, they left the lecture hall. Clark and I followed, grinning. -------------------Professor Littlejohn's cottage was a small three-room structure on the southern half of the campus. We retrieved the vehicles and were able to park relatively close to the cottage. The outside of the small house was beautiful, like a scene out of a calendar (minus the satellite dish, of course), and the inside was a unique combination of old-world style and state-of-the-art electronics. My attention was immediately directed to the home entertainment center, and its giant screen television with proportional speakers. Professor Littlejohn saw my amazement and commented with a grin, "One of my few vices, dear boy. And please, do call me Johnny. 'Professor' is such a stuffy title." Dot's attention was drawn to a strange scene in a corner. It was as if several trees were converging together in a short space, their limbs reaching to the ceiling. A board or two lay across the branches. A couple of sunlamps were placed strategically to give warmth to the entire framework. Dot peered at the animal that rested peacefully across the higher board. "Johnny?" she inquired. "Iguana?" "Yes. His name is Gandalf. He was the pet of an Egyptian dignitary, who presented him to me following a dig that produced some valuable artifacts. He's also quite friendly, although he has been known to bite if he perceives his area is threatened." She reached up and stroked the lizard gently behind the top of the head. He reacted by leaning into the pressure and closing his eyes partially. Johnny took a few steps in that direction and commented, "I believe he likes you, my dear."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER Clark and I secured the two vehicles, then we all settled down and visited. Johnny was intrigued by Clark's narrative of his hibernation, arrival in Portland, and the progress of our quest to date. "And Monk is doing well?" he asked, somewhat shyly. "Yes," answered Dot, and gave him the details of his marriage to Lea, how many children and grandchildren they have, and that they're living in Oklahoma. "You also seem to be doing well, Johnny," commented Clark. "You seem to be at the peak of your career." "It is a good time for me, I will admit." He broke into a grin. "However, there are several junior professors who are literally circling me like vultures waiting for me to shuffle off this mortal coil. They look at me as a scrawny old man with two feet in the grave waiting for the rest of the body to fall in. I do hope they're patient. I have no intention of rolling over and dying for them just yet." "Thank God for that. Do you have plans for the holidays?" I asked. "Not really," he answered. "I usually spend the holidays alone ... myself and Gandalf, of course. It's not all bad." "Would you care for some company?" asked Clark. "I would love it," he beamed. -------------------Since Johnny was unprepared for so many guests, we decided to drive into town and eat out. The restaurant was good, and we kept our conversation restricted to issues that wouldn't reveal identities or secret histories. "You still haven't located ... you-know-who?" asked Johnny, referring to Long Tom "No," answered Clark. "Perry's been checking around, but hasn't found anything yet." "Well, if it would help, you're welcome to take advantage of the library facilities at the College. They're quite good. They're usually shut down during Winter Break, but I have a key. You could have the run of the place while you're here." I was thrilled. "Thank you, Johnny! Perhaps I could take a quick tour in the morning." "You are eager, aren't you? I admire your tenacity. Reminds me of me, back in my younger days." "Can I ask a question, Johnny?" spoke Dot. "Certainly." "Clark said that you used to speak in polysyllables, except when around him. How come you're not doing that now?"

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER He laughed. "Oh, that. It was a defense mechanism, to hide my nervousness or insecurity around others. Or to throw off adversaries. I never did it around ... Clark ... because he never made me feel insecure. You're friends, so I have no need for it. Now, if you want to see something, watch me around some of the younger professors. They need a thesaurus just to keep up a conversation with me." -------------------Days passed. We had a lot of fun reminiscing over past adventures from Johnny's perspective. Many subjects had been covered. One had been avoided. Until tonight. As we sat around the living room, Johnny prepared some dinner. "I was married once. Nineteen-sixtytwo. Her name was Lana." He smiled. "She divorced me while I was in ... Australia, I believe. She married a stockbroker a few years later." He changed the subject. "Doc, you say you found Pat? How is she?" Clark stood. "Not well. Do you remember our encounter with Dan Thunden?" "That old codger that lived for over a hundred years? How can I forget him? Why?" "Pat's got the silphium." He paused, then announced slowly, "Pat is Penelope." "Oh, my." He turned, startled. "She became her own daughter?" He nodded. "To hide the fact that she never aged. She's ... not the same. She's bitter at me for all that happened while I was in hibernation." "Nonsense! You didn't choose to be hibernated. How can she hold you responsible for what happened during that time?" "Nevertheless, she does. And that hatred of me is so great that she wishes me dead." "What?" I spoke in support. "He's right. I was with him when she declared her hatred for him." He shook his head slowly. "It's incredible. Absolutely incredible. What exactly happened with your encounter with her?" Dot had just entered the cottage. Separating herself from her coat, she added, "Yeah, I've never heard the full story myself. I'd love to hear what was happening on your end." Clark sighed. "Very well. I knew that Pat had lost an eye in combat. I suspect it had been replaced with a glass eye. And when we were talking with Monk, we brought up the silphium, which reminded me of Pat's interest in it at the time. On a hunch, I looked through some pictures and videos of Penelope, and I noted the subtle fact that both eyes did not move in unison. So I concluded that Pat had secured the silphium, made herself young with it, and created the persona of Penelope as an easy way to explain a youthful Pat." He walked around the room as he talked. All eyes were attentive. "But I had to prove my theory, and that had to be done in person ... "

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER -------------------I sat in the camper van. Everyone else was in the cottage watching a video. But, with the quiet around me, I had the notebook opened before me. I put a CD into the player, and soothing piano music filtered around me. I brought up the email program and began to compose. Dear Jack: It's two days before Christmas, and I'm restless. Vermont is breathtaking, and the others are wonderful company. My days have been filled with research, with plenty of quiet time for Bible study and prayer. Dot and I have time to walk around and enjoy the area -- with the exception of the occasional snowball fight. But I'm restless. I'm in the perfect place for a vacation, but I don't need a vacation. I miss you all, and the ministry we do this time of year. I need to be giving to someone who can't give back. Especially now. Tomorrow I'm going to go into Rutland to find what God wants me to do. Pray that it comes quickly, okay? I need to give out what God has given me, or I'll lose it. Talk to you later. Perry I looked down at the words, then clicked the Send icon. But I didn't leave the camper van. I closed my eyes and let the music carry me back to Portland, to Paul, the long-haired pianist at Saturday Market. Hardly ever without his upright piano, his music was his way of ministering to all those who had ears to hear. I missed it, and settled for his CD instead. -------------------I cruised the snow-covered streets, gaining driving experience. Then I saw it, a storefront with a simple banner identifying it: RUTLAND COMMUNITY FELLOWSHIP. It was a church, and a simple one, too. I had a fondness for simple churches, and was attracted to this one. Bundling up, I left the van and walked up to the door. Mismatched paint covered up old graffiti. A laminated sign printed from someone's PC told me about their activities and worship services. I walked in. A bell tinkled over the door. An elderly lady in a blue dress approached from the back. Extending a hand, she identified herself as Eloise Lantz and asked how she could help me. "Actually, ma'am, I think I'm here to help you. Is your pastor around?" "Certainly. Let me get him." She disappeared behind a curtain-covered archway. A minute later, as I looked over the posters on the wall, a youthful face addressed me. "Good morning!" I turned to see him. He was tall and slender, in his 40's but looking a good deal younger. He wore a set of khaki coveralls and a denim shirt with rolled-up sleeves. He smiled a smile at me that was wonderfully infectious, and I knew I was definitely in the right place. "I'm Kevin Woods. What can I do for you?" I shook his hand and we moved over to a row of folding chairs. I told him about being away from home, and the empty place inside me that could only be satisfied by giving.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER He nodded, and suggested, "Well, you could pray." I looked at him strangely. He grinned, then explained. "Tonight's our annual dinner for the homeless. But we're a little shy on groceries." He paused, then leaned in. "More than a little shy, actually. And four of our group came down sick with the flu. They won't be able to make it. So where do you want to start?" I smiled. And I reached for my cell phone. "Watch," I told the confused Woods. "And pray." -------------------There would be those in Rutland who would look upon this Christmas as one of the best in years. I certainly felt that myself. And, by the looks of my companions, I was not alone. Johnny, the elderly archeology professor, after years of spending the holidays alone, discovered appreciation and admiration from the citizens of Rutland. And, considering the number of ladies who approached him during the evening -- including the charming Eloise Lantz -- there would be long-lasting social reprocussions for this batchelor. Clark, like myself, had secretly longed for a way of sharing and ministering to others, so this was an answer to his prayers. A few of the older citizens saw his 'resemblance' to Doc Savage, but Clark fielded them with a grin and a shrug. And continued to serve with joy. Dot, who was new to this, showed an eagerness that was beyond words. She was elbow-deep in dishes one moment, then cutting and dishing up turkey and ham the next, then mingling with her camcorder, filming the event and the people. She seemed to have a knack for getting people to open up and relax. And I felt alive, helping out wherever I could. Most of the time was spent bussing tables and keeping things moving smoothly, side-by-side with the unique Pastor Woods. He slapped me on the back and praised God for making this evening so much of a success. Needless to say, we supplimented their grocery list beyond their wildest dreams. We fed dozens of homeless citizens. And like the aftermath of the feeding of the multitudes, we had abundantly more than we needed. Not wanting to waste, we got styrofoam coolers and packed pounds of leftovers for those without food. Clark and I also met privately with Pastor Woods, and made arrangements for a perpetual line of funding for his church, to help the community. He accepted it with quiet humility and thanks to God. It was a glorious night, and was even covered by a reporter for the Rutland Herald. It got out that we were the 'mysterious benefactors' who supplied the additional food. When asked who we were, we just said we were strangers passing through. We emphasized the work God was doing in this place, and redirected things back to Pastor Woods, who kept referring to it all as 'a God thing'. As the last people were leaving the church, Dot came over to me. She looked both exhilerated and exhaused at the same time. She admitted how much fun she had, and asked me why I had come here. "Let's just say that I was inspired," I replied with a Cheshire Cat grin. -------------------On Christmas Day, I went to the library as usual. Dot came with me. She was still talking about the previous evening's activities, still pumped up from it. As we switched on the lights and cranked on the

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER heat, I shared with her a nagging concern I had regarding Renny. I had it ever since she had found the patent record back in New York, and just couldn't dismiss it from my mind. "Then go after it," she encouraged me. "We certainly have the resources for it. I'll check the online card catalog, you check out the NEXUS." In the silence of the Drake College Computer Lab, I used the NEXUS search engine that the college subscribed to, making a media check on the name Renwick. Then, one by one, I went through each of the referenced articles and papers, looking for some lead. Three hours into the search, after a stretch and a sandwich, I found it. 'It' was a newspaper article written by one Barry Massey for the San Francisco Chronicle, a human interest piece regarding missing persons presumed dead but weren't. During combat it was not uncommon for soldiers to escape the fighting by taking on the identities of their fallen comrades, especially if the dead had no family, and they were scheduled to be returned home. They supported their point by citing stories of three men who did exactly that during World War I, two during World War II, and two during Vietnam. The article next moved on to natural disasters. Apparent 'victims' of hurricanes or earthquakes, reported dead, later discovered alive and well. They gave various reasons, including amnesia from shock, or deliberately escaping the responsibilities of their 'previous' lives to the 'freedom' of a new life and a new start. My eyes caught the name Renny Renwick and the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake in Oakland, and I read on eagerly. As I did, my eyes went wide and my jaw dropped. According to the article, Renwick's body was never positively identified from the bodily remains in his truck. They figured it was him because it was his truck, the body matched his general physical description, he was the last one seen with the truck, and he hadn't been seen since then. So they concluded it was Renwick. I read the article again, then printed it off. I was sitting at the table, underlining the salient points and thinking, when Dot came over and flopped down opposite me. She looked drained. "There's nothing in the card catalog," she informed me. "What's that?" "A Christmas present," I announced, and showed her. Her eyes got wide and she caught her breath. She stood, having gotten her second wind. "Let's tell Doc!" I slowly shook my head. "No. Not just yet." "Why?" I took a deep breath. "We'll need to contact this reporter and find out what he knows. However ... why should he tell us anything?" "Because ... " She shrugged and shook her head. "I don't know." I mused aloud. "So we need an angle, a key." I suddenly looked at Dot. "You."

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"Huh?" Grinning, I stood and started outlining my plan. -------------------"This is incredible, Perry!" exclaimed Clark, springing up from his chair, the photocopy in his hand. "I'm impressed, Mr. Liston," commented Johnny. "So now we make contact with the reporter?" "I already have. Dot and I have an appointment to meet him over lunch on the 28th." "Pardon?" asked Clark. "Our biggest hurdle," started Dot, "was giving the reporter a reason to give us the information he had." "Therefore," I continued, assuming a formal tone, "I called him, representing Ms. Dorothy Brooks, the granddaughter of Theodore Marley Brooks and Andrew Blodgett Mayfair. I explained that, after reading his article, Ms. Brooks was interested in knowing if Mr. Renwick is indeed alive, if not for herself, then for her surviving grandfather." "And it worked," concluded Dot. "Since the appointment is in three days, we'll get there faster by commercial jet." There was silence. I anticipated arguments to my plan, and steeled myself for them. But I was pleasantly surprised when Johnny came back with, "I think the boy has done quite well." Clark looked at me. Then he smiled, and reached out and shook my hand. "Good work, brother." -------------------Chapter Fourteen Our flight was scheduled for the afternoon of the 28th. It would take us six hours to get to San Francisco, including one connecting flight. Clark and Johnny drove us to the Burlington airport, north of Rutland. As we stood in line waiting to board, I commented on the design of Dot's fanny pack. "I've been meaning to ask: did you make that yourself?" She nodded. "After my last pack got ripped offa me while I was wading through a crowd at the Mall, I did a little creative designing and put this together. That was five years ago, and it'll probably outlive me. There's a 1/8" bike lock cable between the layers of heavy-duty leather, and the double-lock takes an effort to open -- makes the average thief think twice. And I pity the poor fool who puts his hands on it while in range of this little black belt." "Very nice. If I get you the parts, could you make me one?" "Sure," she smiled. "The college's probably got the facilities for it."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER -------------------Even though we had the forethought to check ahead, the radical change in temperature caught of off guard. We were shedding layers into a couple of expandable duffle bags as we got off the jet, sweating by the time we reached the hotel room. We called Clark and Johnny and told them we had arrived safely, then caught a nap and had dinner in the hotel. The next day, we arrived early at The Darians Restaurant. We mentioned Massey's name, and the waitress' eyes glowed appreciatively. "You're the ones meetin' Barry, right?" she said. "Yeah," I answered. "Can you get us a table that's kinda private?" "Sure, hon. Follow me." We were directed to a booth near a corner. It was isolated enough for our needs. The waitress identified herself as Stacy, and made a couple of suggestions for ordering. We said we'd think about it. Massey showed up a few minutes later. He was in his thirties, balding, and came dressed in slacks, dress shirt, and tie. He hung onto a manilla envelope. We exchanged introductions, then sat. Stacy came to our table a minute later. "How's it shakin', Barry?" "Fine, Stace. How 'bout a couple of Glen's grilled cheese sandwiches, a side salad and some onion rings. Ranch on the side, and a Diet." "No ice, right?" "Yeah." He looked over at us, and we ordered also. After Stacy headed to the kitchen, I opened up the conversation. "What made you investigate Mr. Renwick?" He took a sip of water. "It all started with a hunch, a funny feeling that things weren't quite what they appeared. So I poked around a bit. Two things stood out like neon. First, Renwick's body had never been positively identified. Sure, the body had the same general characteristics as Renwick -- hair color and length, height, weight, build, skin color, clothing type, etc. -- but the hands weren't his. They were too small. Renwick always had large hands, according to all his pictures, and from testimonies from friends and co-workers." He opened up the envelope and pulled out a photocopied picture, face down. "The second thing that stood out was the matter of one Mark Durant. Durant was a co-worker for Renwick's engineering company. He was a wildcatter, an independent worker who had done business with Renwick over the years. They were good friends and drinking buddies. Co-workers told me they used to call Renwick and Durant the Grim Brothers because of a very close resemblance to one another." He flipped over the photocopy, showing the two men side-by-side. The similarity was striking. "I see what you mean," commented Dot.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "On the day of the quake, Renwick was transporting a briefcase containing $57,500 in cash that he was going to deposit in the bank that afternoon. After the quake, however, the briefcase nor the money was able to be found. They finally blamed it on looters ransacking the area during the aftermath of the quake. "Durant was living in a motel room next to the freeway, less than a mile from the section that collapsed. Three days after the quake, without saying a word to anyone, he checked out and left the city. The trail ends there." He paused to take a sip of his diet soda. "I couldn't let this matter rest. I hung onto the information for some time, then was able to use it in an article I was writing for the Chronicle." I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. Inside, however, I was cheering. "Let me get this straight. Durant died in the quake instead of Renwick. Renwick somehow escaped the quake, took the briefcase with the money, pretended to be Durant, and left for parts unknown." "Exactly. There are too many things about this to call them coincidences." He took a deep breath. "I know there are so many questions unanswered ... so many loose ends. How did Durant get to be in Renwick's truck, and why was he behind the wheel when the quake hit? How did Renwick get away, and then get into Durant's motel room? And where did he go?" He shrugged. "That's it. In a way, I wrote the article hoping someone would come forward to take up the challenge." "Thank you, Mr. Massey," said Dot, placing her hand atop his and smiling. "You've done more than we could hope for. Maybe we can take it from here." "I hope so. These are copies of all my notes." He slid the envelope across the table and smiled. "Good luck." I reached over and retrieved the manilla motherload. We finished our lunch while Massey told us about some of the other things he had written. It was a good time. Once Massey started relaxing around us he was a very nice guy. After lunch we hurried back to the privacy of our rental car, and the cell phone. I eagerly told Clark what we had found out, and announced we'd be heading back in the morning. "Don't," he said. "We just got a weather bulletin. There's a big snowfront moving in that's threatening to sock us in for a few days. We're going to get some supplies, then batten down the hatches and settle in until it blows through. Why don't you two just stay there where it's warmer until we give the all clear, okay?" I relayed the message to Dot. "Okay ... sure." I suddenly had a brainstorm. "Ask Johnny where the closest fax machine is, and if he can use it in private." A couple of moments later Clark got back on the line. "He says there's one in the admin building, and one in the library. The library's more private. The notes?" "It's quite a treasure. If I fax it to you, it'll give you a head start in unraveling the mystery. Dot and I would love to be there, but ... if anyone can do this, you three can." "Three?" he said, puzzled. Then I heard a low chuckle. "Yes. Three." We ended the conversation. I explained to Dot about what I had in mind. "I think there's a fax machine at the hotel."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "Good. Let's go." As Dot drove, I made another call. -------------------Johnny walked into the cottage. He had his portfolio tucked under one arm, and a dusting of snow on his shoulders. "Brrrrrrrr," he muttered, shaking off the white powder. "I do believe our snowfront has arrived." "Then it's good that I got our supplies while you retrieved the faxes." "How did you do with the roads?" "Not bad, considering. Anyhow, I got everything we needed -- plus a few extras." Johnny hung up his coat. "Extras?" "I took the liberty of purchasing a speakerphone box for your telephone." He picked up the handset and dialed a number. "Hello. Are you ready?" He pressed the button on the speakerphone box and replaced the handset. "What's going on, Doc?" asked Johnny curiously. "I am, Big Words," came the squeak over the speaker. "It's good to hear your voice after all these years, even if it does sound like it's in a cave." "M-Monk?" he stuttered. "The one and only, thank God." Clark explained. "With this, we three can converse as if we were in the same room together." "A conference call," clarified Monk. "Lissen, Johnny. Nobody knows Renny like we do. If anyone can track his little heinie down, we can. True?" Johnny thought about it a moment. "You are correct." There was a few seconds of silence. "Johnny?" Monk's voice was hesitant. "Y-yes, Monk?" "I'm sorry for bein' so distant from ya all these years." Johnny hesitated, then replied, "Me, too." "Let's not be strangers, okay? You've never even seen Lea since we got married." "No." His face suddenly broke into a grin. "I have, however, met Dot. She's very lovely. I assume her looks came from the maternal side of your families?"

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"More than you know," commented Monk. Clark secretly grinned at the inside joke, then said, "We have the notes from Perry. What about you?" "Came in an hour ago. I've been giving them the once over. I gotta hand it to that reporter ... he sure sold me on it." Clark turned to Johnny. He nodded. "I looked them over as they came through the fax. Overall, they appear to be quite convincing." "Sounds good. I'll pick things up as we go. Shall we begin?" Monk spoke. "Not just yet. Confession time. After the team broke up, I lost track of Renny -- also. I think the last time we were all together in one place was for Ham's funeral." "Yes," agreed Johnny. "Every now and then I'd run across his name in the news, but I never considered contacting him." There was silence. Clark said, "Okay. What do we already know about Renny's social life?" "Doesn't look like it changed much after the split," observed Monk. "He was always a bit of a loner. His work was his life. That's what made him a good engineer." "Exactly," replied Johnny. "Looks like his friendship with Durant was the only social contact he had outside of the workplace, and they knew each other several years." "Yeah. They was drinkin' buddies. I can relate. And the other guy wasn't a social extrovert either. So what do we know about Durant? Married, girlfriend, anyone?" "It says he had an ex-wife, now living in Arizona. No kids, nothing." Johnny read from the notes. "A loner like Renny. An independent worker ... a world traveler. And since the pay wasn't bad, he didn't exactly live like a pauper." "Sounds a little like Renny," mused Monk. "Before settling down in San Francisco." "Interesting," commented Clark, thinking aloud. "Is it possible that they saw greener pastures in the other's lives? Renny's past of glory and adventure ... Durant's present?" "Could Renny have become envious of what Durant could do that he couldn't?" Johnny walked over to the window. "His life would be quite empty if that were the case. He'd see the glories of his past as ancient history. But then there's Durant, the greener grass on the other side of the fence. He just might have seen Durant as himself if things had been different." "Wait a minute," interrupted Clark. "Did he ever give any indication of that while we were together?" "Naw," answered Monk. "When we weren't doing somethin' connected to our chosen professions -- I'd dare anybody to say what we did was boring -- we all pretty much lived from one adventure to the next. That was the fun of it all. And apart from the things you and I have already shared, Doc, I've got no regrets."

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"I concur," added Johnny, nodding. "We cheated death over and over, made discoveries that boggled the mind, and faced danger like most people face traffic jams. You expressed it correctly, Monk ... it was fun." "But if Renny got caught up in the monotony of his life and stopped looking at the fun in his job, every day would be just another reminder that he's gettin' old." "So," concluded Clark. "Renny escapes death from the earthquake -- a reminder of all the times of cheating death in the past. His friend dies in the driver's seat -- in the place he should've been. He could see it as an omen, so to speak -- a way for him to make a brand new start." "Tough bait to resist," agreed Monk. "Especially when he finds out that everyone else thinks he's dead." "Any thoughts on how Durant ended up in the driver's seat?" tossed out Johnny. The reply came as a minute of silence. Clark said, "Okay, we'll leave that one with the question of how Renny got into Durant's motel room. Let's just accept he presumption that Renny somehow survived the collapse of the freeway and was able to find shelter back at Durant's motel." "If he was in shock -- and who wouldn't? -- he'd go back to the closest place of security," said Johnny. "Consider the following: he receives a bump to the head which causes him to lose his memory temporarily. He goes to Durant's motel, and somehow comes to believe he is Mark Durant. Possible?" "I can't buy it," replied Monk. "All he'd have to do is look in the mirror, and he'd see the difference. Besides, Durant's first move would be to check into the hospital if he were hurt, or call into work and let them know he's okay. But it didn't go down like that, did it?" He paused. "Nope. It had to be Renny." Johnny nodded. "Point well taken," he conceded. "So Renny gets into Durant's motel room with a briefcase full of money. He sees his opportunity to make a fresh start, so leaves the country. How and where? Airport?" "With security the way it is nowadays?" commented Monk. "Not a chance." "Indeed," agreed Johnny. "Wait a minnit!" suddenly exclaimed Monk. "What is it?" asked Clark. "Durant's 4-by-4 was never recovered, right? Check out the picture of the truck!" Johnny sorted through the papers and found the one Monk was referring to. He looked at it and handed it to Clark. "Very nice," he commented. "Very nice? It's more than very nice." He paused. "Guys, it's obvious! If I were Renny and I had a chance to drive that rig, I'd jump at it. Icing on the cake. And the rougher territory, the better. Renny made a beeline for the nearest border."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "If that were the case," formulated Clark, "there are only two directions he could have gone in -- north to Canada and Alaska, or south to Mexico and South America." "Mexico," said Monk and Johnny as one. Clark nodded. "Agreed. A lot of small villages to get lost in." "What would he do?" asked Johnny. "Engineering?" "Maybe," replied Monk. "But, considerin' those mallets he calls fists, I'd put my money on some good ol' bare-knuckle fightin'. You both remember how he loved to fight?" "True," answered Clark with a smile. "If he performed some creative wagering, he could parlay the money into a small fortune," added Johnny. "Hold on," said Clark. "Is there any way we can verify this?" There was a chuckle over the speaker. "Leave that to me. I've got some amigos in Mexico who might be able to provide some information." "But would they remember things after ten years?" "They will for the right amount of pesos. Doc, can I tap into the Hidalgo account if I need to?" "Certainly. Use whatever you need." "Thought you'd say that. Thanks. Let me make a few calls. I'll get back to you." "Okay. Later, Monk." Clark hung up the phone and looked at Johnny. "So how's it feel to be back in harness, brother?" Johnny took a deep breath and grinned wide. "Wonderful!" -------------------In San Francisco, the fog sometimes takes on a life of its own. There's a film noir feeling that comes over you when you're walking through it. However, the scene playing out before us was more 'cat-versusmouse' -- unfortunately, not a product of our imaginations -- with the 'cats' being five teenagers on the prowl, and the 'mice' being a young upper-middle class couple dressed for a night on the town, blissfully oblivious in each other's company. "Looks like they've got something on their minds," observed Dot. "Uh huh. They're heading for an ambush." I stopped; my course was clear, my decision simple. "I can't stand by and watch this happen. Is there a way to warn them?" She slowly shook her head. "No. They're too close together. Besides, it looks like the gang's got a plan. Someone could get hurt if we force their hand." "Then we've got to stop them." My tone was dead serious, and so was I.

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She looked over at me with amazement. "You want to face down five apparently well-armed punks?" "Something's got to be done. Otherwise that couple will end up as a headline in tomorrow's news." I looked at her. "You're the security person. Any ideas?" Her eyes suddenly went wide with recognition, and a grin crossed her face. "As a matter of fact, yes." She reached into her waist pack and brought something out. As she did, I understood her grin. We watched from a distance, taking a precious few minutes to assess the situation and identify our 'targets.' There were five of them, all in their late teens, their heads shaved in a common style. The first one we named 'Ray-Ban' because of the fact that he was wearing expensive Ray-Ban sunglasses even though it was dark. He was a white kid, skinny, and a chain smoker. The coat that he wore hung on him like a tent in the popular style. He also wore bluejeans and high-topped sneakers. He twirled something nervously in his hand which produced an irritating clicking sound. The second one was another white kid, and we named him 'GI Joe' because of the grey-and-white camouflage BDU slacks tucked neatly into military-style boots, and the black bomber jacket. He carried a length of chain in his hand, but I wouldn't be surprised if he had an army-style .45 somewhere in that outfit. Numbers three and four were lookalike black kids we named 'Bat Boy' and 'Robin' because of the baseball bats they wielded with martial artist proficiency. They wore baggy jackets like Ray-Ban, but also baggy pants as well. The fifth was a white girl we named 'GI Jane' because she wore a tight-fitting top, and military BDU slacks in green camouflage pattern similar to GI Joe's. She had the same hairstyle as the boys, and tattoos across her arms and the back of her neck. The way she held the five-foot bamboo pole indicated her proficiency with her weapon of choice. Dot made some observations and outlined some tactics. "Okay. GI Jane's the most dangerous, 'cause of the reach of that bo staff of hers. She's the first one we'll have to be cautious of. Then I'd probably say Bat Boy and Robin, for the same reasons, then GI Joe, and Ray-Ban. The more distance they can put between us and them while still being able to strike, the better their advantage is. And anyone of them can be carrying throwing weapons or guns, so we've still got a lot of unknown factors here." We formulated our plan of attack, and, after a few tips on surveillance, started following the hoods who followed the victims. At one point, GI Joe and Ray Ban split off and moved ahead, waiting at the mouth of an alleyway. The couple walked right into the trap. Intimidating them with their weapons, they directed the young couple down the alley. Unable to escape, they submitted. Both were terrified, the lady whimpering and clinging tight to the gentleman. We gave them a minute to move down the alleyway, then advanced. We took our positions on either side of the alley's mouth, keeping out of sight but able to observe the punks. We waited. Farther in, they had surrounded the young couple, and were taunting and terrorizing them. I heard a sharp hiss to my left. I looked over at Dot. She gave a quick nod, and I offered up a quick prayer.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER Then we moved in unison, quietly stepping out of the fog. Standing side-by-side, with only a few feet separating us, I was amazed we hadn't been spotted yet. But our prey was too engrossed in their 'playtime' to catch our movement. I tried not to tense up as we moved forward. Dot loudly addressed the group: "Ahem! Is this a private party, or is anyone invited?" Our appearance produced the desired effect on them. The four immediately went silent and looked in our direction. Ray-Ban and GI Jane, closer to us than the others, turned towards us while GI Joe and Bat Boy kept the couple covered. In four-letter terms that could've peeled paint off a wall, GI Jane told us to get lost. "Now, now," commented Dot, smiling. "Is that any way for a lady to speak? But, then again, you're the farthest thing from a lady that I've seen since the last Marilyn Manson concert." GI Jane's quite unprintable reply sparked hoots and laughter from her male companions. Then she repeated her colorful instruction for us to vacate, pointing her staff at us as further incentive. We continued to stand, our arms hanging loosely at our sides, the palms of our hands facing to the rear. It was time. I looked over at Dot. "Ms. Brooks?" I said in an exaggerated British accent. "Yes, Mr. Liston?" she replied, equally casual. "It appears that we're going to have to teach these ruffians a lesson." She nodded and smiled. "Agreed." We took a couple of steps towards them and stopped. By that time, their full attention was on us. The two who had hung back now advanced, and the battle lines were taking shape. On my side I faced GI Joe and Bat Boy, and Dot faced GI Jane and Ray-Ban. We strived to keep our distances from the long-reaching weapons, but moved as close as we dared. Our movements distracted the foursome from the young couple, who now recognized our intent and started to slowly and quietly retreat from the scene. Good, I thought. "After we're done with these hooligans," I said, still using the British accent. "Would you be interested in a game of ping pong?" Dot raised her eyebrows. "Yes. I think I would like that." The foursome were pumping themselves up for a rumble. They tapped their weapons on the ground, slapped them into their open palms, or just swung them randomly. Their faces carried a common expression of intimidation, which didn't matter much to us. GI Joe and Ray-Ban spontaneously hooted and grunted, while the others were silent. "I brought the paddles," I said, breathing deeply. "Did you bring the ping pong balls?" She raised one hand, and a white ball-shaped object rested in it. "Sure did." The ball suddenly flew out of her hand, as if she lost her hold on it. "Oops!" she exclaimed as it flew in the direction of Bat Boy. Her other hand released a second ball in the direction of GI Jane's feet.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER Simultaneously, two more matching balls left my hands in the directions of GI Joe and Ray-Ban as I sucked in a lungful of air and held it. Bat Boy's reflexes were good, but his decision to hit the white ball and send it away from him was bad. As the bat connected, the ball splattered, and the contents were released instantly. He sagged a moment, the bat clattering from apathetic fingers, then he dropped to his knees, and fell forward on his face. GI Jane tried to backpedal away from the ball breaking at her feet, but didn't get far enough away. She bellowed with rage at the realization that they were under attack and losing, but the bellow died to a groan, then a yawn. The one we considered most dangerous gave up without a fight, her eyelids flickering, and she crumpled to the ground. Ray-Ban swung a roundhouse punch at Dot's head, but it came out far slower than intended. Dot sidestepped it easily, then grabbed his arm, pulling him into the punch. Unable to stop himself, he followed through and sailed forward to smash into the wall of the alley. GI Joe swung his chain at me, but I also avoided it. I grabbed the arm and pulled him forward, then brought my knee up to make contact with his stomach. He whooshed as the wind was knocked out of him. He gasped in air, rolled his eyes skyward, and was asleep before he landed on the ground. Then there was silence, save for the sound of occasional snoring. My lungs were aching, but we waited a few more seconds. Then, looking at her watch, Dot exhaled and took in a breath. A moment later she smiled and breathed normally. I exhaled and gratefully did likewise. "Good work, Mr. Liston," she said formally, putting an arm around my shoulders. "And you, Ms. Brooks." I put an arm around her waist. We leaned on each other for a few moments. "You know, I really have to hand it to your granddad -- anaesthetic gas is a wonderful thing." "I'm glad I brought them along. Not sure why though." I was going to answer her when I saw movement from behind us. The fifth gang member, Robin, had been hiding in the fog. Swinging his bat and screaming curses, he rushed us. Dot ducked to avoid the full impact of the bat, but it was not enough to keep from it clipping her across the top of her head. Stunned, she dropped to the concrete. Reacting quickly, I pulled off my jacket and held it like a net in front of me, slowing the bat's swing and giving me an opportunity to seize it. With a twist and a heave, I tossed it and the jacket to the side, where it landed with a clatter. However, that didn't stop the enraged youth. As he rushed me, I suddenly bent double at the waist so that my eyes stared at the concrete floor, and thrust my fists over my head, parallel to the ground. My move caught the punk off-guard and off-balance, and he continued at a full run, my fists burying themselves in his midsection with an abrupt, intense release of air. I assumed he fell over onto my back, because I suddenly stood erect, ramrod stiff, and sent the youth flying upside-down into the unyielding brick wall behind me. I heard his final groan, but I didn't move for an instant, waiting for any other surprises. Then my attention was turned to Dot, and I quickly went to her side. I examined her with the limited First Aid knowledge I had, then, cradling her in my arms, I held her close to me, praying. She moaned. Then she opened her eyes and looked up at me.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER I smiled at her. "Just take it easy. You got clipped. No blood that I can see, but you've got a nasty little bump." Her free hand reached up experimentally. "Ouch," she said, grimacing at a sudden spasm of pain. Then her eyes opened wide with a wave of fear. "The guy with the bat ... " I tightened my hold around her, letting her feel the security in it. "Out for the count. Do you think you can stand up?" "I don't know," she said, acknowledging our positions with a grin. "I think I could get to like this." I grinned back. "Yeah, you're fine," I conceded. I helped her to her feet. She hung onto me a little, but that was all right. She looked around, and saw the last of the five slumped near the wall. "What happened?" "I'm not sure," I answered honestly. "It was all too quick." Then I changed the subject. "So what do we do? An anonymous call to the San Francisco Police?" She frowned and tried to shake her head; it came slowly. "Without proof, they won't be able to hold them." She paused. "How about stripping them down to their undies and leaving them here for awhile?" I shook my head. "Personally, I don't think there's enough undies there to go around. And although it's kinda warm around here, it could cool down before the night's over. Besides, I want to embarrass the snot out of them, not send them to the hospital. Next idea?" She looked around the alley, then smiled. "How about that?" she suggested, pointing. -------------------As we walked away from the alley with our bundles, we took one last look back. The alley was clean. We'd taken out the trash. Actually, our five sleeping antagonists were tied up and sleeping peacefully in one of the dumpsters. They had enough clothes on to keep them from suffering from exposure, but the rest went with us, along with their weapons and their wallets. Their weapons went into another dumpster down the way, their wallets and personal items into a bag we discovered under Ray-Ban's massive coat; we'd return them by mail in a day or so. And their remaining clothing became an anonymous donation to a charity drop box a couple of blocks away. I looked over at Dot. Her face had gone suddenly pale, and she swayed slightly. "Are you okay?" I asked. "Yeah ... sure ... fine," she said unconvincingly. Then her body abruptly went limp and started to fall. I released the bag and caught her, lowering her to the ground. After a quick check of her vital signs, I reached for my cell phone and dialed 911. -------------------Chapter Fifteen

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "Yeah, she's fine," I called Clark from the parking lot of the hospital. "She was stunned at first, yet seemed to shake it off. But a few minutes later she passed out. The doctors say she's got a minor concussion." I paused and looked around; I was alone. "The story I told them was that we had been ambushed by a kid with a baseball bat who came out of the fog, hit Dot, and disappeared back into the fog. I didn't like having to lie to them, but I liked even less the thought of explaining the truth to the authorities." "Under the circumstances, you did the right thing," he assured me. "They're going to keep her overnight for observation, and probably release her in the morning. I'll get more details after that, but I figure she'll need rest for a couple of days to be on the safe side. What do you think?" "Yes. I'd say rest for a few days, and light activity." "I'll let you break it to Carrie, Monk, and Lea. Let them know I'll take good care of her, and I'll probably have both cell phones close by." "I'll let them know she's in good hands," he commented. "I'll also pass the prayer request to Jack." "Appreciated. Talk to you later. Bye." I walked back into the hospital. -------------------I caught Dot's cell phone just after the first ring. "Hello? Hi, Monk." From her bed, Dot's head turned in my direction. "Yeah, she's fine. Just a minor concussion." I laughed, then relayed his comment to her. "He says that, considering how many times he and Ham had been knocked out, you should've developed a genetically harder head." The laugh from her was cut short by the pain. She settled for a smile. I turned back to Monk. "Yes, I'll make sure she get's her rest." I paused, then added in a low voice, "I'll take good care of her." I listened. "Sure. Here." I passed the phone over to Dot. "Yeah, I'm fine, granddad," she said. "It was a lucky shot." As they talked, I strolled over to the window. Dawn was still a few more hours away, but I didn't expect to get any rest before it arrived. My heart was drawn to the lady on the bed. I cared about her, but memories became bright orange caution flags around me. I didn't want Dot to become another Barbara in my life. I heard the conversation end behind me, and I took the cell phone from her. "He's concerned," she commented. "He has a right to be. So do we all. Now you get a little rest, okay?" She looked up at me, and reached up her hand. I took it. "You saved my life back there."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER I shrugged it off. "And you saved mine in New York. Let's just call it even. Now, rest." She grinned softly. "Yes, sir," she said, and closed her eyes. I stood there for a couple of minutes, then moved over to a nearby chair and quietly sat. I watched her steady breathing, and prayed. -------------------Clark's judgement of the situation had been accurate. The doctor had ordered seventy-two hours of bed rest, starting with complete bed rest for the first twenty-four. Considering all, Dot had no arguments. As soon as we came back from the hospital, she changed into a modest sweatsuit and went right to bed. While she slept, I kept watch and prayed, for her health as well as her soul. We became well acquainted with the hotel's hospitality staff, as they brought up meals and whatever we needed. I tried to tip generously. The weather outside was nice, and I would open the blinds to let in the therapeutic rays of the sun whenever possible. Dot experienced the full range of side effects: headaches, nausea, neck pain, and just plain old tiredness. This made for some interesting moments over the next couple of days. I also took advantage of the situation to entertain her with Bible stories, delivered in such a way that it dispelled her 'boring book' apprehensions. Part of my technique came from years of delivering sermons to sometimes-hostile crowds at the Mission. Carrie and Monk called at least once a day, to check on Dot, and to see how I was fairing. Clark and I also kept in communication, and even Jack and I had opportunity to talk. As Dot and I discussed the progress the others were making in locating Renny, we planned a little sightseeing trip to Oakland once she was better, to videotape the actual site of the freeway collapse. And I was able to inject some fun in her recuperation, one afternoon while she was sleeping. I set things up quietly, then sat back and waited. I had been sitting in the chair, half-dozing. When Dot stirred, I became alert. Her eyes had still been closed, but her nose crinkled as she sniffed the air. I smiled; she looked so cute, I observed. As she turned from her side to her back, she opened her eyes and looked in my direction. Then, with the horrible realization that I was watching, she murmured a quiet exclamation, turned away from me, and hastily removed the evidence -- the trail of drool -- that had appeared while she had slept. Then she saw them on the table: the flowers, and the furry little purple guardian next to the vase. Her eyes softened and I heard her say, "Awwww." She reached out and took the purple-furred teddy bear. She opened the note that was attached. Although she didn't read it aloud, I knew what it said: "Hi. My name is Grape Juice. I'm here to keep you company while you get better." She rolled over onto her back and smiled at me. "I love it. Thanks." She held an arm out to me, signaling for a hug. I walked over and bent down, and she wrapped her arms around my neck, kissing me on the cheek. As she lay back with the teddy bear tucked underneath her chin, she asked, "Why do you baby me?" I asked, "You don't want to be babied?" "No. I like being babied, and I like the way you baby me," she replied with a smile, giving Grape Juice a squeeze. "I don't deserve to be treated this good."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER Inside I wanted to say a lot of things, unravel the feelings of my heart to her. But it wasn't the time. So I just smiled and shrugged, then bent over and kissed the top of her head. "Yes, you do." "Thanks." -------------------The phone rang. Johnny answered it, then switched over to the speakerphone. Clark drew nearer. "Monk?" "Yeah, I can hear you," came Monk's voice over the speaker. "You have found something?" "And have I! Any doubts I had about Renny are out the window! The bugger survived the quake for sure!" "What did you find?" asked Johnny eagerly. "My amigos in Baja told me about a fighting sensation that hit the area in October 1989, right after the little shake-rattle-and-roll to the north. A sullen-faced Americano they called the Great Stone Wall because he could knock out an opponent with a single punch from his huge fists. Now, if that ain't Renny, then he's been cloned." "Excellent, Monk," commented Clark. "And we were also right about the gambling. He came into town with a primo 4-by-4 and a bag fulla money, and left in a cabin cruiser." "A boat?" queried Johnny. "Yeah. Actually, a 34-foot yacht he renamed the Houdini." "The escape artist," commented Clark. "Interesting. It almost seems like he's leaving us a trail to follow." Monk cackled. "And why not? He didn't think anyone would follow him. We all thought he was dead." "So he got a boat," repeated Johnny. "Boats have registries." "And this one was registered in the name of Aaron Stonewall. Stone wall ... get it?" "So where did he go?" asked Clark. "You name it, he did it. I've got a list six pages long of ports he stayed at. One detail worth noting, guys: he never stayed in one place for more than a month, until he ended up in Romania, in the former Soviet Union. After four months, the Houdini changed hands." "He sold the boat?" asked Johnny. "But why?"

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "He either needed the money ... or he didn't plan on leaving," suggested Clark. "Perhaps he found a cause worth staying for, a reason for his life. A hope." "Makes sense. Can we look into it?" Johnny theorized, "Could he have become a citizen?" "Naw," replied Monk. "He's an American." "Just for the sake of argument," interjected Clark. "Let's consider the possibility that he took up residency in Romania. If he became a citizen, there would be records. Do we know anyone who might have access to those records?" "Maybe," replied Johnny absently. "I have some friends, teachers, who have been working with the Romanian educational system. But where do we start? What name do we look for?" "Not a clue," said Clark. "Can we get copies of all the citizenship records for that period, give or take ... three months?" "I don't know. It may be possible." "Then what do they do?" asked Monk. "Fax 'em to us?" "Good idea. We might be able to see something they can't." He paused. "Johnny?" The professor was deep in thought. "Maybe. Let me see what I can uncover." "Spoken like a true archeologist," quipped Monk. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Happy New Year, guys." "To you, too. Hug Lea for us." "Will do, Doc. Later." Clark switched off the speakerphone box. "Anything I can do to help?" "Not at the moment. I need to find my records," he commented. "Let's put the chess game on hold for awhile. It was your turn." "Okay. I'm going to call Perry and give him this latest development." But the professor wasn't listening. He was concentrating. Clark smiled and went into the kitchen to make the call. -------------------"Clark, I think I may be able to help," I said. "I've got a few friends myself in Romania, missionaries. I think I can get their phone number through Jack. If Johnny can get the papers, I think my friends can fax them to you." "That would be excellent. How are things going?"

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "Well, Dot's napping right now. Most of the symptoms have vanished, except an occasional headache, which is not surprising." "Any plans for tonight?" "Yeah. I'm going to take her out, possibly down to Fisherman's Wharf. That should be safe enough. Besides, I figured that if I didn't get her out of the room -- especially tonight -- I'd discover a rope made of bedsheets dangling from her window." We both laughed. "So this will do her good." "How have you been doing?" he asked, concerned. I took a deep breath. "As well as possible. I admit, I've not been getting as much sleep as I should, but I hope to make that up soon. Clark, I really like Dot, you know? She's nowhere like Barbara, but she's special." "Yeah. She is." "Well, I better let you go. I hear her in the other room. Better be there. Talk to you soon, Clark. Take care." "You, too. Bye." -------------------New Year's Eve. When thoughts look backwards in reflection on the events of the past twelve months, and forward with anticipation and wonder of the next twelve. And for that single night where past and future come together for a wild dance at midnight. Fisherman's Wharf was crowded, as I suspected. The cable cars were busy, and we had to hold hands just to keep from being separated. We visited Pier 39, and even took a nostalgic ride on the merry-go-round. We watched impromptu fireworks being fired off near Alcatraz Island. Sometimes the crowd was so loud and so dense that we had to stand practically face-to-face, holding onto one another, in order to be heard. The clamor at midnight was almost deafening. Fireworks spattered across the sky and we all got caught up in the revelry. While we were pressed close to one another, Dot looked into my eyes for a moment, then said "Happy New Year," and kissed me. I hesitated for less than a heartbeat, then returned the kiss. My head became lost in the moment, and all I knew were the sensations, the sounds and smells, and the lips of this wonderful lady, and our arms were wrapped around one another as if trying to hold onto life itself. We were both breathless. We looked into each other's eyes. Then I moved in and kissed her again. Nothing else mattered at that moment but her. When we separated, I heard her say, "I love you." I heard my voice reply, "I love you, too." We continued to kiss until we noticed that the crowd was starting to thin out. "Time to get you back to the hotel," I announced. "Okay," she agreed eagerly, and we made our way back in the direction of the cable cars. --------------------

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER We walked down the hallway and stood outside her hotel room. I thought nothing of it when I followed her in. I was as comfortable around her hotel room as I was in my own. The lights were out, but there was a soft glow coming through the windows from outside. I closed the door behind me, but didn't lock it. Dot stopped, turned around, and slipped her arms around my waist. I did the same, and pulled her close. She leaned in and we kissed. "I love you," she said. I paused briefly, then told her sincerely, "I love you, too." She kissed me again on the mouth. Then her face shifted an inch and she placed a kiss on my cheek, then two. As her mouth neared my ear, she softly spoke, "I need you." Then she passionately kissed my ear. Her soft lips worked their way down my neck. My eyes rolled up in my head and I sighed. -------------------Chapter Sixteen "I need you." Her words echoed inside my head, and my eyes went wide with shock at her intention. My arms released her as if propelled by explosive bolts. Then my hands closed around her waist and I pushed her away with a strength rooted in sheer terror. As I looked into her surprised eyes, I simply stated, "No." Before words could leave her parted lips, I was on the other side of the door. In the silent hallway, I briefly contemplated the option of making a blind run down the hall and going as far away as I could. From experience I knew this was futile, so continued to my door and entered my room. I locked and security-chained the door, but I didn't turn on the light. My breathing was heavy and my heartbeat was doing a rapid dance. I dropped to my knees. My body ached, remembering the press of hers against mine. I still smelled her fragrance on me, and tears filled my eyes as I saw how close I came to giving into my fleshly desires. I groaned. Unashamedly, I admitted to God, "I love her! I haven't loved anyone like this since Barbara! I screwed up. But I don't want to lose her. Please, let her stay! I want her to know You! And I want us to be one." The cell phone rang. I didn't want to answer it -- what if it was Dot? -- but the ringing was persistent. "Hello?" I croaked meekly. "Perry, is that you?" the voice on the other end asked. "Lea?" Inside, I breathed a sign of relief. "Yes. Are you all right?" I wanted to say yes in order to quickly end the conversation, but couldn't. "No. How did you --" "God woke me up, put you on my heart." I was able to relate to that. "I prayed for you then, but that didn't seem to satisfy things. So I called you -- and I'm glad I did. What's going on?" "I screwed up," I said bluntly, knowing she'd understand.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "Is Dot okay?" she probed. At my silence, her voice lowered and she said, "Talk to me." I took a deep breath and related the whole story, taking responsibility for it all. She was understanding. "Perry. You're torn because Dot's not a Christian." She paused, and opened up. "Andy's always wanted the girls to be happily married. Carrie has no desire to remarry -- she has her career -- so his goal is to eventually see Dot married. She's the oldest granddaughter, you see." She paused. "Andy likes you, Perry ... and maybe he's been planting some hints. But you've got to do what God wants you to do. Dot's my granddaughter also, and I want what's best for her. But the first thing she needs -- what all of us need -- is a relationship with Jesus Christ. After that, I think you two'd make a good couple." I sighed, "Yes. Exactly." My breathing was labored. I was tired. The last few days were catching up to me. "Is she still in her room?" "I think so." I heard her take a deep breath. "Okay. I'm going to call Dot. You call Clark and share with him what happened." "Okay" "Everything will work out. You should know it always does." She was right. We ended the conversation. I pressed the speed dial for Clark's cell phone, but only got a recording saying that his cell was not available. I tried Johnny's number, but it was out of service. I assumed that there was a power outage in the area. I went back to the floor, back to prayer. I wrestled over my feelings about Dot. When talking to others, I admitted that I liked Dot very much, that she was very special to me, and my feelings for her were strong. But here, after the last few days, I cared more about Dot than I had for any woman since Barbara. And I had screwed up by ... or would have, if God hadn't stopped it. Now I hoped that Dot wasn't angry at me, or hurt. I was afraid she might be. And, selfishly, I prayed that she wouldn't change her mind and leave. I prayed and I ached inside, and eventually I fell asleep on the floor. -------------------I heard a steady rapping on the door. The light through the window told me it was morning. Groaning from the soreness in my neck and back from sleeping on the floor, I called out, "Just a minute!" The rapping stopped. I got to my feet, walked to the door, and unlocked it. It was Dot. She looked good. In fact, she actually had a smile on her face. "Good morning! How are you -" The smile vanished in a flash of horror. "-- my God! What happened to you?" "I slept wrong," I explained. More accurately, I felt as if I'd been pulled through a knothole. The look on her face mirrored both shock and sadness. She closed the door behind her. "Let's talk," she said, taking me by the hand and leading me over to the couch.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER She looked me over. She spoke slowly, deliberately. "I won't ask you what happened. I think I know. It's because of me, isn't it?" My ears perked up. I didn't say anything. I wanted to nod, but couldn't. But she saw it nonetheless. I tried to look her in the eyes, but couldn't. "Perry. I've tried to be more cautious about how I feel about you. My last boyfriend was three years ago. Larry. Up until last night, I didn't know any better." She paused. "Do you still feel the same way about me as I feel about you?" I managed a nod. "Yes. But things have changed." "I know. Last night I told you 'I love you' and you said the same. Last night was wonderful, and I'll never forget it. I still do love you, Perry, but I'm understanding some things I didn't understand before. Loving you and wanting you are two different things. Last night I thought they were the same thing." Her head lowered, avoiding my eyes now. "I ... don't want to let you go. I assumed you wanted me in the same way I wanted you. I treated you in the same way I would treat any other ... boyfriend. But you're not like that." She paused. "I was wrong. I was dead wrong to push you. I'm so sorry. I don't want to push you." There was silence as she carefully considered her next words. "Can you forgive me?" My head raised and our eyes met. Lea had gotten through. "Yes, of course," I said. "Can I ask a question?" I nodded. "Sure." "If you didn't feel about me the way I felt about you, then what were all those signals for?" I looked at her, puzzled. "What signals?" Then she started listing off things that I did ever since we arrived in San Francisco. Most of them were innocent displays of TLC while she was recuperating. But then there were others, and I got a sinking feeling as she told them to me: the kisses on her head, the gift of Grape Juice that became a romantic gesture, the holding and hugging. Then my admissions of love and our kissing together. I saw the selfportrait forming in ghastly colors, a picture of a lust-filled Perry Liston saying how much he loves God, yet putting out signals of how much he loved her, how much he wanted her as she wanted him. My breathing became shallow as I realized the truth. What Dot had done was nothing compared to what I had done. She didn't know the truth, she didn't know better. But I did know better -- and I turned from it. My heart felt heavy as I realized what I had done. Like facing a mirror, I saw that it was God's mercy alone that put the brakes on the situation in Dot's room before I could give into my own lusts, and it was God who gave me the strength to leave her room. My breath came in gasps, and, unashamedly, I lost it. Tears burst from my eyes, and I started crying as my own wretchedness slapped me in the face. I felt Dot's arms reaching out for me, her hands touching my shoulders. I leaned in her direction, then buried my head in her shoulder and continued to weep as she held me close. There was no lust in our embrace. I looked up at her and repented. "I am so sorry for all the signals I gave out ... I didn't want to come across like that. And I am sorry that I did. I do love you. Can you forgive me?"

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"I guess so," she said, not quite comprehending what had happened to me. "Yes, I do." We sat there for a few minutes, silent. Then I stood up shakily, excused myself, and walked to the bathroom. I splashed water on my face and groaned when I saw my reflection in the mirror. No wonder Dot was shocked when I opened the door. "Perry?" called Dot from the other side of the door. "You okay?" "Yes." I grabbed a towel. "Yes." "This is a because you're a Christian and I'm not, isn't it?" she asked. I offered up a quick prayer, took a deep breath, and came out of the bathroom. "In a way. In one respect, I wanted you as much as you wanted me ... possibly more. But inside is a different matter. Inside I knew it would be morally wrong." I walked around the room. "It seems everybody wants us to be together. Monk, for one. But it's got to be in God's timing, and under His conditions. Otherwise it's doomed to failure ... just like my first marriage." "You were married before?" she said, astonished. I nodded. "Seven years ago, before I became a Christian, I married my high school sweetheart. Her name was Barbara." For a moment, I pictured her, and my eyes glazed over. "She had the softest honey-blond hair you ever saw. We were madly, passionately, in love." I returned to the present and smiled. "I became a Christian about a year later, as a result of the counseling over a few ... problems ... I had. Our marriage grew, so I thought. However, the conditions of our marriage had changed because I was now a Christian. And, although Barbara still loved me, she couldn't accept those conditions. Eventually she found someone else who followed the same conditions as she. She left me for another man." I turned the focus towards Dot. "You say you believe in God. But that's not enough. It's a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. When you and I follow the same rules -- God's rules -- that makes us what the Bible speaks of as 'equally yoked'. Otherwise, we're 'unequally yoked' like Barbara and I were. She followed her rules. I followed God's. Although we were still married, still living in the same house, still ... in love with one another, we were moving in opposite directions. The two ships that pass in the night. It only became a matter of time. I couldn't compromise my faith -- it meant too much to me. Jesus means too much to me." I spoke with conviction. "So you're saying that if there's anything to happen between us, I have to become a Christian?" Her tone was defensive. "Is that such a bad thing?" I said, incredulously. "You make it sound like a punishment, a death sentence. It's not. If anything, it's a life sentence, into a life that is far better than this one." I paused. "Besides, I don't want you to be a Christian just so we can be together. That's not what it's all about. It's about knowing that you can't run your own life anymore and giving it up to someone who can." I paced the floor. Emotions swirled around me. "You wouldn't have known me before I became a Christian. I was totally different -- you wouldn't have liked me. I was an ugly beast. I may tell you about it some day. But not now. Now I live a new life free of that past."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER I faced her and spread my hands. "Look, I've tried not to push. I've tried to be an example." I paused. "Look at the examples. You knew your granddad before he became a Christian. Have you seen a change in him?" "Yes." "Good or bad?" "Good." "Have you seen a change in how he gets along with Lea, your mom, and you?" "Yes." "Good or bad?" "Good." She smiled. "He and grandma are like honeymooners all over again." She looked at me. "And you're saying this is because of Jesus?" "You tell me." I paused. "Jesus has the power to change people in ways that the world can't figure out, let alone repeat. He changed me, he changed your granddad. And he can change you if you let him. He can improve your quality of life in ways that you can't even begin to imagine." I mused aloud. "You know, if it wasn't for God, you and I wouldn't even know one another. I was just a poor schmuck who used to preach every now and then in a mission in Portland, and you were a security guard in New York. Two individuals out of billions, on opposite sides of the country, with no earthly reason to ever know one another." I paused. "Now, I don't believe in coincidences, that things just 'happen'. I believe God sets them up because He has a reason for it, like the stage director for a worldwide stage. He moves this person here, that person there, and brings things together at just the right time and place to follow His plan. It's no coincidence that I was preaching in that mission at just the time that Clark walked in. God had prepared me -- subtly, behind the scenes, over many years -- to do just what I did, to preach just what I preached, and then to give me His love for this big bronze man with an infamous past. It was His love that caused me to take Clark back to my home and not turn him into the authorities or the tabloids. And it was God who gave Clark the dream that showed him how to access the Hidalgo gold, which provided us with the funds to start on our 'quest'." I paused, then added, "And it was also God who gave me the boldness to approach that cute lady on the motorcycle who didn't look like the Dorothy Brooks who had been married to Ham Brooks." I smiled, remembering our first meeting. "God is at work in our lives, subtly nudging us in the right directions. Sometimes those right directions involve some hardships. But it's knowing that He loves us and has our best interest at heart that gets us through those hardships." She was silent. I smiled sheepishly. "Okay, sermon's over. I hope I've given you some things to think about. If you have any questions ... you know." She smiled. "Deal." Then, reluctantly, she asked, "What happened to Barbara?"

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "To be honest, I don't know. She moved away from Portland, and has never contacted me." I smiled. "I guess she saw me as a bad influence." I looked at her. She was definitely thinking things over. I said nothing, but I did yawn. "Did you get any sleep last night?" "A little." I rubbed the back of my neck. She glanced in at the bed, still undisturbed. "Just where did you sleep last night?" I pointed to a spot on the floor. "There." She stood and took my hand. "All right," she announced, her voice firm. "I've got some thinking to do. I'm going to go for a walk. In the meantime, you check out the inside of your eyelids for a few hours. Then we'll get something to eat. Okay?" I stood obediently. "Yes, ma'am," I quipped with a grin. I reached out my arms for her. Without hesitation, she stepped into them and we held one another. Then I looked into her eyes. "I do love you," I told her. "It'll work out." She smiled and nodded. We hugged once more, then separated easily. She left the room, and I locked the door behind her. I stepped into the shower before my nap, and talked to God while the water eased my sore muscles. When I once more introduced myself to my bed, I drifted into sleep praising God for His moving in this situation. -------------------Dot took the cable car down to Fisherman's Wharf, where she walked and thought. It was like home, with the water there to accompany her. She strolled casually and went over things in her mind. Suddenly, she heard a familiar voice. "Dottie? Dottie Brooks? Is that you?" She looked in the direction of the voice and gawked. "Larry?" A tall, handsome man with a goatee beard came over to her. They paused only an instant before they came together in a strong embrace, like old friends reunited. "I was ... just thinking about you," she said. He smiled. "I hope they were good thoughts. I've been thinking about you, too." "What are you doing in San Francisco?" she asked. "The last I knew, you were in New York." He motioned to the camera bag and gear. "I'm doing a photo shoot at one of the art galleries nearby. And what about you? Aren't you a little out of your neighborhood?" "I'm on ... vacation," she lied.

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His voice softened. "You look beautiful, Dottie. I've missed you." Her breathing increased. Her eyes gave him the once-over. "I see you're still working out." "Three nights a week, as often as I can," he explained proudly, then changed the subject. "Why don't we find a quiet spot where we can remember the good old days? Rainier Ale in the bottle, right?" Her taste buds had a flashback. "Right. Sounds good." "Then let's go. I don't have much time -- I've got a plane to catch this afternoon for home. But we can still have a few hours ... together." He worked his arm around her back, and pulled her close. "It's really been lonely without you, Dottie," he said softly, as his hand slowly massaged a spot on her back that was sensitive. Unable to stop herself, she released a low purr. For an instant, she saw Perry's smiling face. Then it was gone. "I've missed you, too," she said. "Let's go." -------------------Chapter Seventeen I woke from my nap far more refreshed than I should've been. I changed clothes, then walked across the hall to Dot's room and knocked. There was no answer, so I knocked again. The door opened, and Dot stood there. It looked remotely like Dot. But it wasn't her. I didn't need to ask her if something was wrong. I knew it immediately. My senses deciphered the person who stood before me. The smells that lingered on her clothes: alcohol and smoke -- and a musky smell that wasn't hers. The disheveled look of her clothes and hair. The body language that spoke volumes. Her expression was numb, empty, and her head hung low. Her eyes avoided mine, and I looked past her and into her room. It didn't look the best, but I didn't see anything that suggested that we were not alone. I did see the teddy bear I'd given her -- it had been thrown against the wall and lay in a furry lump on the floor. But the most obvious clue was not a physical one -- it was a spiritual one, the darkness that clung to her like a lead shroud. A groan came up from the pit of my stomach, and I prayed that God would blind her eyes from my pain. "Ready for dinner?" I asked, cheerfully carrying on as if nothing was wrong. "No," she mumbled. "I'm not feeling so good." That's an understatement, I thought. I considered confronting her, but dismissed it almost immediately. She needed love and care right now. So I handed her an escape hatch. "Are you getting another of your headaches?" She took it. "Yeah ... headache." I feigned sympathy. "I'm sorry. Were you resting?" "Yeah ... resting."

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"I'm sorry." I paused. "Tell you what -- why don't you go back and relax, and come get me when your headache's gone. Okay?" "Okay," she said. "Thanks." She closed the door. I shut my eyes and my body went tense for a moment. I wanted to scream, to cry, but held them in as I rushed back for my room. Then I released my groan of pain -- not for myself, but for Dot's pain. Then I got the cell phone and hit the familiar speed dial. "You alone?" I asked when I heard Clark's voice. "No," he answered curtly. "Can you get to the camper van and call me back?" "Three minutes." I ended the call. Two minutes later Clark called back. "What's the problem?" "Spiritual." "Speak." I gave him the full story of the last eighteen hours, including my signals to Dot that precipitated the event in her room. I told him about Lea's call, and trying to get through to him. He groaned. "The battery on the cell was recharging, so I turned it off. And the storm had interfered with Johnny's phone. I didn't think anything would happen. I'm so sorry, Perry." "It's okay," I dismissed. I told him about this morning, my breaking, and our talk. "I must've come across as too heavy-handed. Anyhow, she told me she was going out to think things over. I was exhausted, so took a nap. When I woke up, I went to her room. Something had happened." I paused. Part of me didn't want to even say the words, hoping it would all go away. But I pressed on, my voice unemotional. "Clark, I've ministered to enough alcoholics to know when someone's been drinking, and I've ministered to enough hookers to know when someone's been ... " My voice faltered, but I had gotten the message across. Clark was shocked and saddened. "Oh, no. Not Dot?" "Yes. She didn't admit anything, but I knew. I've had enough experience there to last several lifetimes." I paused. "She was alone in the room, but something had happened while she was out. Clark, the spiritual darkness on and around her was so heavy that it was almost tangible." "What did you do?" "I handed her an excuse to give her some time to herself, and came back to my room." We were both silent for a minute.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "What do you suggest?" he asked. "The obvious. We pray for her, and love her through it." "I can't believe she would do such a thing," commented Clark, amazed. "This is a fire she's gotta go through. But she won't be alone. I'm going to be fasting for her, starting now. Since she doesn't suspect I know, that's to my advantage. And needless to say, this is just between us. Let's see what happens." "Agreed. I will fast with you." I smiled. "Kinda thought you would. Thanks." I paused. "She's got a doctor's appointment in three days. How's the weather look on your end?" "I think we'll be clear by then." "Good. We'll probably fly back after the appointment." Before we ended the conversation, we prayed together. I walked around the room for a few minutes, waiting on God for the next thing to do. Then I got out the notebook and composed an email to Jack. Trying to be vague yet getting the point across, I put together the cryptic message informing him of the prayer need and what Clark and I had planned. Then I sent it off. I suddenly remembered the scripture that had touched Clark so strongly when he first arrived -- "Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you." -- and involuntarily quoted the verse that followed it: "Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour:" I spoke aloud, addressing the roaring lion. "Okay, you won the first round. But we're not giving her up without a fight." And I went to my knees in prayer. -------------------The restaurant's name was Skippy's, and it had a nostalgic 1950's flavor to it. By the time we arrived, the families had moved on, leaving only the couples and groups of friends. They had an Elvis impersonator with a wireless microphone roaming from table to table, serenading the patrons. His voice wasn't half bad, and his style was right on the money. Dot and I sequestered ourselves into a corner booth, and a waitress roller-skated over to us. I ordered something to drink, and Dot absently ordered a hamburger. Dot was poor company indeed, and I don't think that mattered to her at the moment. On the outside she appeared showered and clean, but the inside was another story. She barely spoke a dozen words, and avoided all eye contact with me. I just let it slide and prayed for her. The Elvis impersonator got to our table. He spotted my cross and broke into a rendition of "Amazing Grace". I was flattered. Then he turned to Dot, who was half-heartedly picking through her meal. He commented on how lovely she was, then started crooning "Love Me Tender". Inwardly I grimaced at the unintentional low blow, and saw every muscle on her tense up. Halfway through the song, she suddenly said, "Bathroom," and left the booth. The Elvis impersonator finished his song to the rest of the crowd that was watching us, and moved on.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER I had a bad feeling about Dot's sudden bathroom break, but shrugged it off with a reminder to be patient. After five minutes had passed without Dot returning, I realized with a groan that she'd taken off. On the outside chance I was wrong, I described Dot to our waitress and asked if she had seen her. She told me Dot had left the restaurant. As I kicked myself for ignoring God's tap on my shoulder, I quickly paid the check and headed back to the hotel. One look told me she hadn't returned. And, I noticed, her cell phone was still on the bedside table. So she was out there alone, with no way to contact her. I pulled out my cell phone and hit the speed dial. "Hello?" came Clark's voice. "Dot's taken off," I announced. "She's running." "Are you sure?" "I've got the bruises on my butt from kicking myself to prove it. Yes." I quickly summarized what led up to her action. "I'm in her room now, and she's not been here. She also doesn't have her cell phone." I took a deep breath. "Clark, this is more serious than either of us imagined. Now we pull out all the stops. You call Monk and Lea, and Kevin. I'll call Jack. I want major prayer cover -- as many people praying for her as we can get. I'm going to stay here -- she's gotta come back eventually." "Acknowledged," he said, and ended the call. There was no time to waste. I looked through the room. I didn't expect to find anything out of the ordinary, but didn't feel like sitting down just yet. I picked up the discarded teddy bear, Grape Juice, where she had flung it against the wall. I straightened him up, and held him for a moment, a reminder of a more innocent time, mere days ago. I could smell her fragrance on him. As I placed him in a sitting position on her bed, I said, "She'll be back." I walked into the bathroom and saw the discarded clothes in the corner, every item a piece of evidence supporting what I already knew. My nose caught smells that dredged up long-distant memories of bad times gone by. I kept the use of the lights to a minimum, not wanting to alert her that I was waiting for her. Then I sat in the same familiar chair by her bed. And I prayed. And I cried. And I prayed. I was never more serious about anything -- not since the night Barbara left me. I pressed hard into prayer, sometimes sitting, sometimes pacing the room, sometimes flat on my face begging God to bring her back alive. It was 5:17 in the morning when I heard the key turn in the lock. I didn't move, not knowing what to expect. I saw her drag herself in and lock the door behind her. Her short hair was a mess, and looked abruptly uneven. Her clothes were torn and dirty and looked as if she had slept in them. I thought I saw a bruise on her cheek. My hand deliberately pressed the power button on the cell phone, producing a beep that got her attention. She looked over and saw me. I was so glad she was alive, but ached inside at what I saw before me. "I'm glad you're okay," I said. "I'm a big girl," she informed me. Her tone was caustic. "I'm quite capable of taking care of myself." She moved into the room. I noticed she was walking with a limp. "So I see. Looks like you got into a fight."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "I had a rematch with GI Jane." I remembered the skinhead gang member from the other night. "What happened?" "She recognized me. She made the first move." She smiled with a grim smile. "Big mistake." "Looks like it," I commented dryly. "What's going on? Ever since yesterday afternoon you've had a cloud over your head. Then you bolt and run from the restaurant without saying a word. Now you show up here looking like something the cat dragged in. And I want to know why." "Because I wanted to, that's why. I'm a big girl." She paused. "Why should you care about me, anyway?" I stood and slowly moved closer to her. "I love you, Dot." She walked past me, ignoring me. "Look, why don't you just leave me alone? I'm going back to New York and drop this whole scene." "You're limping. Is there anything I can do?" She whirled on me and exploded. "Why are you treating me so nice? Look at me -- do you know what I did?" My eyes didn't waver from her face. "You got drunk and screwed around," I answered. "Among other things." She froze. "You know?" I nodded. "And that doesn't change things. I still love you." "HOW CAN YOU LOVE ME?" she yelled. Then her voice died down to a whimper. She turned away from me, wrapped her arms around herself. "You need someone else, someone ... clean. I'm not clean. I'm dirty." Her head was hung in shame. I approached cautiously, then wrapped my arms around her. My senses were bombarded with the smells of alcohol, smoke, sweat, and blood. But it didn't matter. I loved this woman with a compassion beyond me. My voice was practically a whisper, forced out with emotion. "What you did ... doesn't matter to me. I love you." Her hands opened and touched my arms. Her eyes opened and saw the purple teddy bear sitting on the bed, waiting for her. Her body started shaking, and she started sobbing. I held her tighter, praying like nothing else matter -- which it didn't. Her tearful release continued for several minutes, and, somehow, I was able to turn her around. Now her face was buried in my chest, her arms holding onto me with a grip of desperation. She tried to explain. "He was ... an old boyfriend, in town on a job assignment. He asked if I would join him ... for a drink ... for old times. He had to go back to his hotel before going to the airport. We ... " She started sobbing again, and I just held her. "It's okay," I said, comfortingly.

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"No, it's not," she argued, looking up at me. "I'm dirty." "I love you," I repeated. "How can you love me?" she pleaded with pain-filled eyes. "I have told you before. The same love that I can love you with is the same love that can clean you up." I paused. "Because it's not me." "You mean ... Jesus?" "Yes!" I breathed. "That's what it's always been!" I paused. "Remember those Bible stories I told you while you were recuperating? Well, I've got one more for you." I paused, then proceeded. "The religious leaders of that time wanted to trip Jesus up with anything they could, to spoil his reputation with the people. So they brought a woman before him, one who had been caught in the very act of adultery. Back then, the punishment for adultery was death by stoning. They dragged that woman through the streets and tossed her at his feet, demanding to hear from him what should be done with her. They figured they had him now. But instead of doing what they thought, he did something totally different, and turned things back on them, forcing them to leave the area in shame. "The woman had probably seen people stoned to death, and knew it was a slow, painful death. She couldn't run. She just lay there in the road waiting for that first rock to hit her. But it never came. Finally she looked up at the one man standing in front of her. That was Jesus. He asked her where her accusers were. She looked around and said they were gone. Then he told her that he didn't accuse her either, and instructed her to go and not to sin anymore. "She had been given a second chance on life. She had, in that one dramatic moment, been cleaned of all the crap she had ever done. And she knew someone very special loved her. He helped her to her feet, and she walked away clean. And forgiven. "You can be clean in the very same way she was, as I was. If you want it. Do you want it?" Through all of this, our eyes were locked, and I prayed it was getting through to her. "Just say yes," I softly offered. The silence was deafening. Moments passed like hours. Her mouth opened a couple of times without sound. Then: "Yes." "Yes?" She nodded. "Yes." Tears were streaming down both of our faces. I took my arms from around her and held her hand; it was soft, and my heart was bursting within my chest with emotion. "Then, let's pray." --------------------

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER It took a few minutes to put together the three-way call, but I soon had both Clark and Monk on the line. "Perry?" asked Monk, anxiously. "Is everything okay? Is Dot okay?" I took a deep breath. "My brothers, I have great news ... " -------------------Chapter Eighteen There was simply no way we could get around this. "Okay. Take off your clothes," I said. "Huh?" she asked, surprised. "You're injured. You need help. And, since I really have no interest in explaining what brings you to Emergency this time, it's up to me to check you out and tend to your wounds. Since there's blood on the back of your shirt, we'll start there." Dot looked at me and smiled, and started unbuttoning. "But let's please keep it decent, okay?" I reminded her. She slowly removed her top, keeping her breasts covered while exposing her back. I saw a couple of nasty looking fresh welts and some bruises. I winced empathetically. "Pool cue, am I right?" I observed. "Good guess," she replied in awe. "How'd you know?" "Later. In the meantime, I'm going to call room service for a few things. Are you hungry? I'll order us a couple of sandwiches, and some first aid supplies -- what a combination!" I grinned, wishing I could see the looks on their faces. "Then I'll get a wet washcloth to start cleaning you up. You could probably use a shower, but not until you've been given a chance to heal a bit. Maybe tomorrow, okay?" "Only if you can stand the smell," she crinkled her nose. "Oh, I think I can," I replied, and gave her a quick kiss to emphasize the point. After talking to room service, I got the washcloth and started to work. To keep her mind off the pain, I kept her talking. "Did GI Jane gave you these?" She nodded. "Yeah. Don't be surprised, okay." As I daubed at the wounds, I asked, "Want to tell me what you did to her?" She took in a slow breath. "Well, if I remember right, I ... shattered her jaw, broke her left arm, and cracked a few ribs before she blacked out." Her voice was cold with regret. "She fought hard -- and dirty," she commented, almost with admiration. "But she wasn't a black belt in Karate." "I'm sorry," I said. "So am I." She paused. "Perry, do you remember her real name?"

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"I think her first name's Melody. I might have it written down somewhere, from the ID we 'appropriated'. Why?" "What if we paid her medical bills for her? She's bound to have a few, and this can be my way of ... making up for some of the damage I did to her. We can do it anonymously." I smiled. "Sounds like a great idea." As I worked on her, I admitted to myself, this surely ranked among the top three on my temptation scale. Massaging her bare skin was a nice feeling. And only 36 hours earlier, when my hormones were running amok and threatening open rebellion, it would've been a fatal feeling. But not now. Now I could work on her wounds without being tempted, reminding myself that God sometimes does His best work through the unpredictable. I worked down her spine to feel for any damaged vertebrae. I knew she was enjoying it, as she closed her eyes, relaxed, and trusted my touch. However, when I reached a spot on her lower back, she released a purring sound, then her eyes suddenly snapped open and she jumped. "Are you okay?" I asked, concerned. "Did that hurt?" "No!" she exclaimed. "No. I'm fine. You just touched a ... sensitive area." She put her hand on my shoulder and smiled. "I'm sorry." "Okay." Considering her first reaction, I suspected there was more to that 'sensitive area' that she was not disclosing. Diplomatically, I didn't ask. The final score was: one sprained ankle, one black eye, several scratches on her face, neck, and arms, and the pool cue tracks on her back. I cleaned and dressed them the best I could. "I'll tell you one thing," I quipped. "If we're going to be working together, I'm going to get us an EMT-sized medical kit." She chuckled and winced at the pain. As I wrapped her ankle, Dot said, "My head hurts. I think she might've pulled out some hair. Just how bad is it?" I squinted and tilted my head and said as diplomatically as possible, "It'll grow back. Just ... don't look in the mirror." As I held her comfortingly in my arms, after she looked in the mirror, I promised we'd get it taken care of. I helped her to bed. "Rest well," I said softly. "Come get me when you wake up." She nodded. "This time I will," she assured me. I leaned over and kissed her. She had the purple teddy bear tucked under her chin, and held him close. I pulled the covers up over her as she just looked up at me and went off to sleep. As I turned off the lights, I looked back. There was a smile on her face, praise God. I couldn't have been happier, as I left her room for my own. In the corner of my room was a large plastic trash bag. All of Dot's dirty clothes, including what she had been wearing, were inside. Now she wore her sweats. Most of her clothes were battle-torn and otherwise damaged. Here also, room service was above-and-beyond-the-call-of-duty-helpful, suggesting a place nearby that did both cleaning and mending.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER In order to give Dot an undisturbed rest, I hung onto both cell phones. I called Clark, then called Jack, giving them the current situation. They were much relieved. I was barely off the phone to Jack when Dot's phone beeped with a call from Monk and Lea. I updated them and we talked for several minutes. In a lighter vein, Monk asked, "So, Perry, when are you two gettin' married?" And I heard the sharp sound of flesh smacking flesh -- from Lea, I assumed -- and the yelp that followed. "Later." "Okay," I said, chuckling. I put Paul Immanuel Owens' first CD on the player and settled back in a chair. Then I started weeping, a grand smile across my face. And I thanked God over and over and over. -------------------Dot slept until mid-afternoon. She was sore, but still wanted to get out. We decided to take things easy for a Saturday, and not overly-stress her ankle. I was amazed at the change in the person before me, who was a basket case less than twelve hours earlier. Now there was a light in her eyes and a glow on her face that saw past the black eye and scratches. The first thing we did involved damage control. We took her clothes to the cleaner, where they promised they'd be done by Monday morning. Then we went to a hair stylist. Dot wore a stocking cap provided by room service, and the stylist casually asked how it happened. Wearing her most innocent expression, Dot replied, "Bar fight." The stylist simply nodded and said, "Okay, dear, let's see what we can do." I asked how long it would take, and the stylist gave me a ballpark figure of a few hours. "There's a Christian bookstore a couple of blocks away," I said. "I can take care of getting you a Bible while you're getting ... worked on. What color do you want the cover?" "White. Thanks." I kissed her and walked out of the styling salon. -------------------She turned around slowly, showing off her new hair style. "So what do you think?" she asked. "You look like what's-her-name from the tv show. The Raven," I observed. "It's nice." "You really think so? Greta figured the easiest way of getting past the torn patch was to even it all out. And, like you said, it'll grow back. The color was my idea." "Why white, if I may ask?" She looked at me and smiled. "Because I'm clean." I nodded and smiled back. "You look beautiful." "I'm also starved. Did you spot any decent restaurants while you were out?" "As a matter of fact, yes ... ."

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-------------------We had dinner at Planet Hollywood. Sitting in one of the dining rooms, we were surrounded by numerous pieces of trivia and props of the entertainment world. As we waited for our food to arrive, I gave her the items from the Christian bookstore. I had been practical in choosing the Bible, getting her a pocket-sized one with a white zippered leather cover. "I also took the liberty of having it inscribed," I said, letting her see it. Below her name, also embossed in gold letters, were the words NEW AND IMPROVED. She smiled. "Amen." Then I handed her a small box. "This is something extra. From me." She opened it and her eyes got wide. Gingerly, she removed the gold cross with its chain and put it around her neck. As she leaned over and kissed me, she said, "It's beautiful, Perry. Thanks." As we ate, we were captivated by the numerous displays of Hollywood memorabilia. Doing a doubletake, I pointed at a particular glass display case. "Is that what I think it is?" she asked. "The bullwhip, the fedora, the leather jacket ... yeah, it's Indiana Jones' stuff," I answered. "Is that the Ark of the Covenant?" "Impressive," I marveled, then added, "But it still doesn't match the Old Testament's description." "I wonder what Clark and Johnny are up to," Dot suddenly asked. "Huh?" "Oh, you said that Johnny was the model for Indiana Jones, right? Well, I just was wondering what they were doing right now?" I shrugged. "Probably having a snowball fight." -------------------The John Williams score blared over the rolling of the end credits on the massive video screen. Johnny reached for the remote control and muted the sound. The two of them sat in twin recliner couches, their feet up, munching popcorn. Johnny turned to Clark and asked, "So what do you think?" "Makes me miss the old days." Clark stood and walked into the kitchenette for another soda pop. "Reminded me of some of our adventures." A strange grin appeared on Johnny's face. "And just as true," he confessed. Clark paused and turned. "Are you suggesting that this story ... is true?" Johnny just smiled, a little too proudly, and nodded.

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Tilting his head forward, Clark asked slyly, "Including the girl?" "Well ... maybe not that part." Johnny grinned back as he ejected the cassette and returned it to the box. "That was Mr. Spielberg's idea." Clark paced the floor, musing, "You found ... the biblical Ark of the Covenant. That's fantastic!" Johnny looked over at the large bronze man with astonishment. "Fantastic, Doc? Not if you consider some of our old exploits. Let's see ... anti-gravity spheres ... undersea cities populated by gas-breathing descendants of Egyptians ... alien colonies ... flying men ... dinosaurs ... pirates ... nazis ... amazons ... pygmies ... there's more, but my memory isn't quite what is used to be." He paused, tilting his head. "Is finding the Ark any more fantastic?" Clark smiled thinly and nodded. "No, I suppose not. Was it during those weeks in 1943?" He nodded. "Yes. I was on a special project for the Government. Back then, it was classified Top Secret. Today it's an adventure movie on videotape." He shrugged and grinned at the irony. "So where is ... it ... now?" Johnny pointed to the video screen. "There," he said simply. "You're telling me the warehouse exists?" "It's in Nevada. Located very deep underground." He walked over to the refrigerator for some ice. "I'd love to give you a tour of it. You'd probably recognize some of the things stored there." "Excuse me?" "Did you know that the Fortress had been found?" Clark nodded. "Monk told me. Why?" "Well, I suspect that there are several items with your name on them, removed from the Fortress after John Sunlight had his fill. Now, for what it's worth, they're safely under wraps. Maximum security, at least." "Does the Dome stand?" asked Clark slowly and deliberately. He shook his head sadly. "No. Five years ago, an earthquake. The Dome suddenly crashed through the ice and went straight to the bottom. The expedition team that was inside was lost." "The second lever," said Clark in barely a whisper. "What?" Clark walked over to the window. Outside it was snowing lightly. His tone was one of regret as he explained about the two emergency levers buried under the ice, and the function of the second lever. "I'm glad the Dome's gone forever. But I just wish no more had to ... ." His voice faded off.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER Johnny unwrapped a bag of popcorn, put it in the microwave, and punched the buttons. "This is starting to get depressing. Let's watch another movie." He walked over to the rows of videotapes, looked back at Clark, and said, "Remember that nerve pinch you used to do?" Clark nodded. "Well, somebody borrowed your technique. Are you acquainted with a television series called Star Trek?" Clark shook his head. "I've heard the name, but I don't think I've seen it." "Good." He held up a tape. "Let's watch this one. Keep an eye on the dark-haired guy with the pointed ears ... ." -------------------It was Monday morning. I sat at the table in my room, a notepad open before me, the cell phone at my ear. Dot sat near me, watching. "Gregor? Gregor Antilles?" "Yes?" the voice on the other end growled. I gave him my name, and told him that I was given their number by the pastor of the church that sponsored their ministry. Then I got down to business. "I need your help. I'm looking for a friend of mine. It's possible he emigrated to Romania a few years ago, and I want to find him. I know it won't be easy, but I'm willing do anything to help. You see, up until a couple of weeks ago, I thought he had died in a boating accident. Then I find out he survived, and somehow ended up there. Can you help me?" "What is his name?" I sighed. "That's the other problem. It's possible he changed his name when he emigrated, and I haven't a clue what it is now." "That makes it difficult." "Tell me about it. I know this seems to be an impossible task, sir, but I'm serious about finding him. May I offer a suggestion?" "Go ahead." "I have an idea of when he emigrated. If you could send me a copy of the naturalization records for that time frame, I could go through them and see if he's there. I'd be most grateful." "All the records?" "Maybe there's something there I could recognize, a description, or a name that he could have used." He paused. "What you ask is not easy."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "I know, and I'm truly sorry. If there's anything that you need that I can supply ... " "Possibly." He thought a moment. "There is one way. The officials could be 'persuaded' to cooperate for the right incentive -- if you understand my meaning." He meant bribing them. "I do. Cost is not a problem. How much would you need?" He gave me a figure in local currency, then translated it to dollars. "Can you supply this?" "I'll double it, just to be on the safe side. What would be the most expedient way of getting it to you?" He suggested a method of electronic funds transfer. "Is this possible?" "Yes, very much. Mr. Antilles, I don't know how to thank you." "We could use a few supplies," he said reluctantly. "Name it -- food, clothing, Bibles, medical supplies?" "Yes. Any and all." "Then consider it my way of showing my appreciation. What and how many, and who is your contact in the States?" He gave me the person's name. "They have a list of supplies. It ... might be a bit long." "Don't give it a second thought, sir." I paused, then gave him my cell phone number. "This is to show you that I am serious." "Accepted, brother." "If things go smoothly, you should have your 'incentive' in a few hours. Contact me when you have the information, and I'll give you my fax number." He was speechless. "God bless you, Mr. Liston. I'll keep in touch." We ended the conversation, and I smiled at Dot. "I think we're in." -------------------After lunch, we considered several places to go sightseeing, but ended up back at Fisherman's Wharf. Dot hung onto my arm for support, not trying to cause undue stress on her ankle. I didn't complain. We even found the place where we first kissed and laughingly referred to it as 'the scene of the crime.' Then we kissed there again, with new meaning. Later, while checking out exhibits at the Wax Museum, we became separated. I was looking over the figures when one in particular caught my attention -- and my jaw dropped open. "Oh wow," I mumbled. I quickly went off in search of Dot, finding her in a nearby room. I took her hand and, as I pulled her towards the exhibit, said excitedly, "You gotta see this!" When she did, her mouth fell open as mine had and she squeaked, "Wow."

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"Uh huh," I agreed, and we both examined the statue before us. The figure stood over six feet tall, disproportionately muscled, his skin the color of a rich mahogany. His expression was one of determination and power, with his eyes slightly squinted and his teeth bared in a menacing grimace. His outfit was leather breeches, vest and shirt. In his hands were twin .45 automatics, at the ready. In front of him was the sign that identified him: CLARK "DOC" SAVAGE, JR. After many moments, I commented, "He's so ... familiar. It's Clark, but it's not Clark." "I know what you mean," added Dot. "I can't believe it's him." My hand brushed the camcorder case at my side. Inspired, I smiled and took it out. I looked around; at the moment, we were practically alone. "I've got to get this on tape," I said. I raised the camcorder, moved around it to get a complete view of all details, then paused it. With a grin and another glance around, I looked over at Dot and suggested, "Let's have some fun. Move next to him. Give us a pose." She caught on. As I taped, she got into several poses: hanging onto Doc's arm as a 'damsel in distress'; looking out at the camera in horror and shock, as Doc stood transfixed as her protector; and as coDefender of the Universe, matching his pose, side-by-side, complete with teeth bared for battle. The bruise on her face only made her look meaner. She laughed, but pain caught her short. Then she came over to me and we switched roles. I cowered behind Doc, and took a co-Defender pose as Dot had done. "I can't wait to see the look on Clark's face when he sees this," I commented, patting the camcorder. -------------------It was Tuesday. We were at the hospital again, but for the checkup on Dot. While she saw the doctor, I read through a two-year-old copy of Newsweek in the waiting room. After an hour, the door opened and Dot came out. She smiled at me, and I walked over to her. "A clean bill of health, despite my attempt at self-destruction," she commented with a smile. "And the rest . . .?" "It came back negative. I'm not pregnant." I smiled, then hugged and kissed her. We took care of the bill and left. We had a plane to catch. -------------------Chapter Nineteen "I'm glad we put the heavy coats on before we got off the plane," commented Dot. "You got the camera ready?"

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I took a quick glance at the camcorder, then sighted through it. "I see 'em. They're still looking for us, though." I grinned. "This is gonna be good. I can't wait to catch the looks on their faces when they see you." And I was thankful that I had the camera running, because their faces went through the full range of emotions: happiness at seeing us, followed by shock at seeing Dot's hair color, then empathy as they saw the bruises and scratches. It was priceless. Once the shock passed, we exchanged hugs and handshakes. Dot surprised them both with affectionate kisses on the cheek, and the way she shrugged off the concern over her wounds. Considering the time and the length of the flight, we were both hungry and tired. We stopped off at a restaurant for a late supper, then back to Johnny's cottage. The bony archaeologist, seeing Dot's condition and the lateness of hour, insisted on having her sleep on his couch instead of trying to warm up a cold camper. She didn't argue the point. -------------------The next week was an interesting one. Since Gregor Antilles could only copy part of the records each day, it would take a few days to gather it all together. And our search for Long Tom was temporarily suspended for lack of leads. Much of Dot's time was spent recuperating again from injuries, and working to make reparations for the damage to her opponent. I'd used my influence as a pastor to find out a bit more about the condition of GI Jane, whose real name was Melody Baker. I was shocked to find out that her injuries had been far more severe than suspected, and that we'd almost lost her. However, she appeared to be stable now and would make a full recovery in time. With the help of Douglas Martin, we were able to set up a special account that would pay for her medical bills and any therapy that followed. In time, we hoped that Dot could personally reconcile matters with her. But for now, this was sufficient. Dot and I once more had time to take walks in the snow, and talk. As I suspected, one of the heavier subjects was marriage. We both wanted to get married, especially now that she was a Christian. But I had to explain that my hesitation was due to waiting on God for His blessing. And I knew that blessing would come in His timing, speaking to me in a way that would be unmistakable, leaving not a shred of doubt. Still young in her faith, she was disappointed, but tried her best to understand. The videotapes we made in San Francisco were a big hit. The part at the Wax Museum was the most entertaining, and quite hilarious. Clark was appalled at how he had been portrayed, with the uncharacteristic firearms and as muscle-bound as a body builder. "Why didn't they just put a sword in my hand and a Viking helmet on my head?" he blurted. Johnny suddenly got indignant and rebuked Clark with a comment about Vikings and something called Qui. Clark apologized for the comment, although neither of them explained what it was all about. Another section of videotape was taken from our rental car as we traveled the route Renny and Durant had traveled that fateful day in 1989. Dot got some wonderful pictures, as we were ironically stuck in traffic at the same time the quake occurred. I had some material I'd downloaded from the Internet, and made it available if anyone wanted some fact sheets. We also showed the area where Durant's motel had been. It had survived the initial shock, but had suffered structural damage that took its toll over the years. Within two years of the quake it had been closed down as being unsafe, and within four had been torn down to make way for the mini-mart that stood there now.

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Emotions were high that Sunday when we attended church at Rutland Community Fellowship. Dot took us all by surprise when she approached Kevin and asked to be baptized, and I was staggered when she asked me to do the honors. The baptistry was small and the water wasn't the warmest, but none of that mattered as I held her, ready to immerse her into a public declaration of Jesus Christ. Johnny uncharacteristically joined us at church this Sunday, and -- with Clark and Kevin sitting on either side of him giving him a running commentary on the proceedings -- actually seemed to share in our excitement, although he admitted he was there 'purely out of cultural interest and curiosity.' My heart was pounding as I looked into her trusting brown eyes and declared for all to hear, "I now baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, for the remission of your sins." Then I lowered her backwards into the water, pausing a moment, then raising her up -- representing the death and burial of the old person, and the resurrection of the new person in Christ -- and could not contain my joy. The tears flowed uncontrollably as we hugged, hip-deep in water. -------------------"Okay, gang, here they are!" I announced, bursting through the door. "Hot of the press!" Dot and I each carried two stacks of paper. Dot handed one stack to Clark while I gave one to Johnny. Then we got comfortable and started analyzing them. Johnny expressed a bit of skepticism. "Doc, are you sure he's here? How are we going to find this needle in the haystack, especially if it's not a needle anymore?" Clark looked up from one the pages and said, "Johnny, how many times have you gone into a dig based solely on a hunch? If he's here, we'll find him." He had a pained look on his face. "Ouch. Point taken," he conceded. We all poured over the papers in silence. After about thirty minutes, we heard a surprised exclamation: "I'll be superamalgamated!" We all looked up. Dot announced, "We have a winner!" Clark rushed up from his seat. "What did you find?" Johnny ran a highlighter over the section, then handed it to Clark. "Look!" he said, then started laughing. Clark looked at the highlighted lines and also laughed. "Well?" I asked excitedly. "Renny's first name is John. The Russian word for John is Ivan." Clark paused, pointing at the highlighted portion. "An Ivan Renwick became a Romanian citizen in 1992, then later emigrated to the United States with a wife, Amanda. The old boy kept his name." "That would make sense," I commented, putting my pages aside. "Who'd suspect a John Renwick when the only Renny Renwick died ten years earlier?" "And the old misogynist got hitched ... will wonders ever cease," mused Johnny. He looked over at Clark. "So they're here in the United States. All we have to do is find them."

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I was already heading for the notebook PC. Within minutes I had searched out 143 Renwicks in the USA, five with the first name John or Ivan, and all scattered around the country. "Okay, so it's more common that we thought. How do we narrow down the search?" "Immigration records," said Dot. "Yes," agreed Johnny. "But how can we get to them?" Clark smiled and looked at me. I smiled back and said, "New York." He nodded, and reached for his cell phone. A few moments later: "Mr. Martin? Silas Poteet here." "Good afternoon, sir. I apologize for not getting back to you regarding those refuges, but I haven't been able to uncover anything yet." Clark wat patient. "That's quite all right, Douglas. I have another matter for your 'special talents'." He paused. "Ready?" The excitement was there. "Yes, sir!" "I'm looking for the current whereabouts of an Ivan and Amanda Renwick, as close to an exact address as you can give me. They emigrated to the US from Romania in 1997." There was hesitation on the other end. "Renwick?" he mumbled. Clark was smiling. "Uh huh." "Is ... he . . ." "Without seeing him in person, I'd say so." His voice quickened; the game was afoot. "Thirty minutes." "I knew I could count on you, Douglas." "Thank you ... Clark." And he ended the conversation. "Popcorn, anyone?" asked Johnny, heading for the kitchen. Dot joined him. As I stood and stretched, excited at the prospect of actually finding Renny, I commented, "You know, this whole thing reminds me of that verse in Ephesians: 'From Him the whole body, joined and held together by every supporting ligament, grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work.' I love seeing this all come together, each of us doing what we do best without stepping on egos." "Nothing unusual about that, dear boy," commented Johnny from the other room. "My goodness, that's what made us a good team. Even with Monk and Ham's constant bickering." He paused, his eyes wide with amazement. "You know, Doc, this is the best I've felt in years! I feel so. . . so young!" Clark nodded. "You're not alone, brother. Monk said practically the same thing."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER The cell phone in Clark's hand beeped within twenty minutes. I sat at the notebook, ready to assist. "Yes, Douglas. Good. Here, let me pass the phone over to Perry." I took the cell. "Good afternoon, Mr. Martin. What did you find?" I scribbled some things on a pad of paper, then entered it into the map program on the Internet. Within a few moments I had exact driving instructions to get us from here to the Renwick farm in Oberlin, Kansas. "Excellent, sir. Thank you very much." As I handed the cell back to Clark, Dot looked over my shoulder. "Dorothy in Kansas? Does that mean I'm gonna have to rename my teddy bear Toto?" she quipped, giving me a peck on the cheek. "Only if you want to get to get to the Emerald City," I replied dryly. -------------------Once more, we on the road again. Citing his responsibility as an educator, Johnny bade us goodbye, promising we'd keep in touch. After a quick stop in Rutland for a few supplies and to fill up the gas tanks, we hit the Yellow Brick Road to Kansas. Except for the endless parade of Wizard of Oz jokes and quips from Dot, our trip was uneventful. Even her teddy bear got into the act, sitting in a small picnic basket on the dashboard. Clark kept us amused us by reviewing some of the material we had gotten from the Internet. Amazingly, there were several web sites providing tourist and business information on the small hamlet. They had a population of somewhere around 2,500 people, and most of the work force centered around agriculture. They had three hotels, all recently renovated. Overall, it looked like a nice place to get away and start a new life in peace and tranquility. However, as we got closer to the Renwick farm, all was far from peaceful and tranquil. Our first clue came as a plume of black smoke rising from the distant fields. "We've got trouble," summarized Dot over the intercom. "Clark?" I started to say, but he already had a pair of powerful binoculars out and was scanning ahead of us. "Two motorcycles," he reported. "It looks like they're torching the crops! Can you get us in closer?" "Watch me," I said without hesitation, and swung onto an access road. "Hang on!" The camper van shook and rattled, and I heard things spilling behind me. I ignored them for the moment and pressed on. Spotting some movement, I directed Clark's attention to the right. "Horses," he identified. "They've been scattered." "Dot! Call 911!" I said. "Just did," she announced. "They're on their way." "Good," I acknowledged.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER Clark narrated some action. "There's someone on horseback trying to intercept them ... it's probably Renny." His hand reached over and tapped on the dash to get my attention. Then he stabbed his finger towards a brown horse standing at the side of the road a short distance ahead. "The horse. Get me in as close as you can," he instructed. "I'm going to see if I still remember how to ride bareback." "What're you gonna do when you catch up with them?" I asked. But Clark was silent, vanishing behind me into the van. I couldn't see what he was doing. "Dot?" "Yo," she replied in a clipped tone. "Hang back. I'm gonna drop Clark off. We'll regroup a couple of miles ahead, just beyond that shack -see it?" "Roger," she replied. Clark came back into sight. He had ditched his outer shirt, with only a tee shirt covering his bronze torso. Both of our fire extinguishers were strapped to his back with nylon cord. And a small metal tube I didn't recognize was strapped to his left forearm. "You are praying, aren't you?" he asked. I replied incredulously, "You have to ask?" Trying to keep things steady, I smoothly guided the camper van in, knowing that any sudden movement might spook the horse and shatter the plan. God's hand held the mare still as we got to within a dozen yards and Clark stepped from the running boards. "Vaya con Dios!" I called after him. But I doubted that he heard me. Several bounding strides later, Clark smoothly leaped onto the horse's back, and man and beast kicked into high gear. He wouldn't have had a chance on the open road, but the terrain was in Clark's favor. The motorcycles were slowed by their progress through stiff plant growth -- like trying to ride a bicycle underwater -- and had to maintain balance while brandishing their flaming torches. On the other hand, Clark's tall steed cleared the crops with ease, kept balance while at a full gallop, and easily caught up to the terrorists. Communicating through the intercom, Dot and I urged him on. "How's he gonna stop them?" she asked from her perspective. "I'm not sure, but it's gonna be soon!" I paused, watching Clark's horse follow a parallel path to the bikers. -------------------Chapter Twenty What a rush, he thought, as he sped through the field. He prayed that his plan would work, as he maneuvered just clear of the trail of fire, barely out of sight of the menacing motorcycles. He counted slowly as he prepared to make his move. Then he swung one of the fire extinguishers to the front, pulled the pin, and squeezed the handle. The white discharge was a

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER sudden fog bank that caught them full in the face and totally by surprise. The result was more than he could've asked for, as the torches were snuffed out and the disoriented bikers dropped their mounts in a tumble of metal and leather. He rode a short ways back along their fiery trail, attempting to limit the damage. When both extinguishers were empty, he discarded them and went to take care of the source of the destruction. Two horses were heading straight for the bikers, who were now on their feet, slapping their leather gear and mad as hornets. The one on the left was a tall man with a scraggly beard; his mustache whipped in the wind and his grin showed a few missing teeth. The one on the right was more wide than tall, and he wore a steel WWII helmet. Clark reached them first, sliding off his horse. They saw him and started stomping towards him. Suddenly the other horseman showed up and slid to the ground. "Two against one? That's what I'd expect from COWARDS like you." His voice boomed loudly, sounding like gravel in a bucket. Music to my ears, thought Clark, looking at the tall man with the full white beard who continued to mock the bikers. "So which of you dirt-for-brains thinks he can best an old man?" There was an exchange between the two bikers. The wide one with the WWII helmet jerked a thumb towards Clark, and the other man nodded. Advancing on Clark, he pulled out a military trench knife and swung it before him, grinning menacingly and daring Clark to get closer. He avoided the wicked looking blade as much as he could, but a stretching lunge caught him on the arm, making a thin line of red. Clark hesitated only a moment, then executed a spinning kick to the biker's knife hand. His heel connected, and the knife went flying into the crops. Clark smiled, waiting to see if his opponent was further armed, while sidestepping and dodging the advances of the leather clad pug-ugly. The frustrated biker yelled and cursed at him, "C'mon, fight me, man! Fight me!" Clark pulled the metal tube off his arm, twisted the end, and gripped it tightly. He waited for the man to make another lunge at him, then went low, swinging his leg around and catching the biker from behind, below the knees. Off-balance, he dropped to his face. "Catch!" said Clark, dropping the tube near him and holding his breath. The biker, breathing rapidly, looked with fear at the object. Then he blinked a couple of times and became unconscious. Clark didn't wait to see if the man would get up. Clamping a bandanna to the cut on his arm, he slowly walked in the direction of the other fight. The mallet-sized fists of the old man and his fighting style only confirmed the obvious. He sparred with the tall biker for a few minutes, toying with him, then delivered a cannonball of a right hook to the biker's head. He spun four times before falling face first to the ground. Clark stood and applauded. "Very good. Very good." Then he dragged the one biker's body to where the other lay. "We saw them from the road and thought we'd help. The sheriff's on his way, and it looks like the fire's not going to spread far." They turned to see the two fire engines finishing the job Clark had started. "I thank you for your help, stranger," the man with the white beard replied, rubbing his fist. "Have they been causing trouble for long?" asked Clark, jerking his head in the direction of the bikers. He nodded. "These Cossacks --" He kicked at one of the unconscious bikers for emphasis. "-- have been terrorizing my farm and the farms around here for three months." Then he looked at Clark, squinting. "You look familiar, friend. Have we met?"

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Clark grinned. "It depends. When was the last time you put your fist through a wooden door panel?" The man's expression was a combination of curiosity and fear. He took a step back, cautiously. "Don't be afraid ... Renny," Clark said softly. "Look closely." The man's eyes went wide, then wider. He staggered back, and for a moment his face matched the color of his beard. "Holy cow! They said you were dead!" Clark's grin grew wider. "Well, it seems I don't have a monopoly on that, do I? I think we look pretty good for two dead men, brother." He walked closer, and reached out a hand. Renny laughed, and took the hand. A moment later the two men came together in a bear hug. Side by side, they dragged the bikers back to the house like sacks of rice. While Renny got some rope, Clark waved to me and Dot to come over. We drove in right behind the sheriff's car, and saw the two bikers bound back-to-back and still unconscious. "Ivan, you did a hellova job with these two. Thanks," commended the sheriff. "Sorry about what they did to your crops." He shrugged. "That's okay. I'll check 'em out later and figure what can be salvaged. In the meantime, I'm gonna show my gratitude to these kind strangers who helped me by lettin' them stay around here for a few days." The sheriff acknowledged us with handshakes, then climbed back in his car and drove away with his prisoners. As he did, the front door of the house opened and a woman stepped out onto the porch. She was at least twenty years younger than Renny, quite lovely, with long black hair enclosed in a traditional head scarf. She waved, and caught Renny's eye. He turned to her and began making gestures to her in sign language. I recognized a few words: he was letting her know everything was okay, and that we were friends of his. She smiled, stepped down from the porch, and joined us. Clark also knew sign language, and made the introductions. She smiled demurely, and reminded me of Lea in many ways. Renny interpreted her words to us. She was his wife, Amanda. I was able to sign a few words to her, apologizing for my clumsiness. She smiled understandingly. Dot was the only one who knew no sign language, but she gave Amanda a hug and skipped the language barrier completely. When I shook Renny's hand, I was amazed at the size of it, comparing it to Clark's. Renny invited us inside. There were a couple of couches and a few chairs, including one well-worn easy chair that I figured was Renny's favorite. He signed to Amanda to prepare some refreshments for us, then walked over to an old oak desk and pulled out a pipe and a tobacco pouch. He started to light up, then caught himself. "Anybody mind?" he asked. We shook our heads, and he continued to light up the pipe. The heady smell of the tobacco was not unpleasant. We sat around for a few uncomfortable moments as we waited to see who would speak first. Then I grinned and said, "Okay. Renny -- you want to know what happened to Clark, and we're dying to know what happened to you. So who's got the guts to tell his story first?" That was just the touch of humor to loosen things up. "I'll go first," said Clark, and gave the summary of events that brought us up to here. While he did, Renny puffed slowly on his pipe, relighting it occasionally. Then he set it aside. "So Long Tom's the only one unaccounted for," he commented.

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"Yes," replied Clark. "Now it's your turn. With the help of Johnny and Monk, we were able to track you from San Francisco to Mexico, and eventually to Romania." He paused. "What happened, brother?" He stood and put the pipe and tobacco away. "I've got a question first. I've been 'dead' for ten years -what prompted you to look for me?" I was prepared for that question, and handed him a highlighted photocopy of Massey's article. "Massey didn't believe you had died, and his notes gave us a direction to start." "Holy cow," he mumbled incredulously, reading through the article. "And I thought I had covered my tracks." "Hardly," answered Clark dryly. "We figured you and Durant envied one another, and his death in the earthquake was an opportunity to ... be free again." "You haven't lost your touch, Doc," he commented half-sarcastically. "Yeah, you're right. Mark started working for me during the 70's and was a good worker. When everybody around us saw how much we looked alike, they called us the Grim Brothers. Eventually, we got to be good friends, and would swap stories for hours. But his stories were current -- my stories were ancient history. And he was an independent -- he'd vanish for six months or so, then come back looking for work and with a hatful of stories that would curl your hair. I was running out of stories of the past, and didn't have anything to look for in the future. "You're probably wonderin' how I made it out alive," he said. "On the day of the quake, I was going to check out a worksite in Oakland. I wanted Mark's input on it, 'cause I hoped to put him in charge of it. I planned on checking it out that afternoon. So I called Mark and told him I'd pick him up at his place, then run the two of us out to the site. On the way back I'd deposit the money I had with me. Kill two birds with one stone. Since I had some papers I wanted to go over and run past him, I told Mark to drive while I read the stuff. So that's how come he ended up in the driver's seat. Before he got in, he put his jacket behind the passengers' seat in the cab." He paused. This was starting to hurt. "We were on the Cypress Structure when the quake hit. At the first tremor, both of us looked overhead. We knew that there could be serious trouble if the overpass came down. I looked for cracks while he tried to find us an offramp. When I saw the cracks forming, I knew there wouldn't be time to drive clear. I yelled for him to stop and make a run for it. He yelled to me to grab his jacket -- he always put his wallet there while on site, rather than have it drop into a cement mixer like it did a couple of years earlier. I opened my door, grabbed the bag with the money, grabbed his jacket, and ran for the edge of the overpass. I looked down at the ground some twenty feet below, then glanced back at the truck. There were chunks of concrete falling, and I saw a slab land right on the cab. I always hoped he didn't suffer. "Anyhow, I started moving back in, when the whole upper deck started to come down around me. I glanced down and saw an eighteen-wheeler swinging out from the lower level, trying to get clear. I felt a rush of adrenalin, and jumped. I landed on the roof of the trailer, banging my head and my left shoulder. I rode the truck until it stopped, then climbed off. I looked around to get my bearings, and saw Mark's motel. All I wanted to do was find a place of shelter. And I was starting to feel dizzy. Next thing I know I came to on the floor of Mark's room. I musta headed there, gone in using the key in Mark's jacket -- I was still holding onto it -- then blacked out. When I came to, it was night. I switched on the tv to see what was going on. The news told about the quake, the collapse of the freeway, and they started giving the names of the dead. And my name was there."

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He paused to take a sip from a ceramic mug. "I didn't know what to think. Those yahoos had mistaken Mark for me! I was getting ready to call my secretary to pass the word on that I was alive, but suddenly I stopped." He looked at Clark with pleading eyes. "I know it was wrong, Doc, but I had been handed a second chance on life -- somewhere else. Everyone thought I was dead, so why not take advantage of it? I had the bag of money, which got replaced from my 'estate', and I was free to go anywhere, do anything ... be anyone. And I figured that, once they took a close look at the body, they'd know it wasn't me!" He downed the rest of the mug's contents. "Anyhow, I took the money and Mark's rig and headed down to Mexico. I found a few of our caches that had somehow survived the years. I did some fightin' and some bettin', and built the money up into a sizable nest egg. Then someone offered me a boat --" "The Houdini," supplied Clark. Renny gaped at him, then grinned. "You have been doing your homework, haven't you? So you know I sold the truck, bought the boat, and traveled the world. Didn't stay in any one place for long. I guess I got paranoid. Well, I ended up in Romania. They were going through some real bad times, and I saw a way my talents could be used. I did some building and stuff, and decided to settle down -- especially after I found Mandy. Her family had been lost during some of the fighting in the area, and she was alone. I knew sign language -- you taught us well, Doc -- and we were able to communicate. I interpreted for her, and we got close ... we fell in love. And I found a reason to stay put. "I changed the John to Ivan and kept the Renwick part. Figured no one would think twice. Mandy and I worked together in Romania for a few years, and I told her everything. Eventually she wanted to see the States, so we emigrated back and took up farming here. Oberlin's a small town, and we found the people friendly. I put together this farm, and I even do a little building from time to time for neighbors." He leaned back in his chair and took in a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh. "All I wanted was for me and Mandy to live out the rest of our lives in peace. Now that's gone. My cover's been blown." "Says who?" commented Clark calmly. Renny's expression was a combination of confusion and frustration. "Huh? What do you mean? This guy Massey -- he's found me." Clark shook his head. "No he didn't. We did. He got you only as far as departing San Francisco. He didn't take you the rest of the way. We did. We had the only people who could see inside your brain and figure out your moves. We had the connections in Romania and in Immigration to get the information back to us. You just made it easy by keeping the name Renwick. If you hadn't ... well, we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we?" Renny was calming down. "You're right. But will Massey stop looking?" Clark shrugged. "If we do nothing, maybe, maybe not." He paused for a moment, thinking. "But what if we give him the end of a trail?" I saw where he was leading. "Give Massey a bone, and hope he'll be satisfied with it. Hope that he won't want a bigger bone."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "Precisely." Clark looked over at Renny. "Brother, he doesn't even know which direction you went in. We could give him your trail from San Francisco into Canada for all it mattered. Then you could've just gotten lost in the Great North. Might even suggest you tried heading for the Fortress and never came back. Since they found the Fortress, that might be a good misdirection for you." Dot made a suggestion. "Or we can say you had plastic surgery and changed your name. And the trail ended with an alcoholic doctor with a poor memory." Clark concluded, "So take your pick. Then Dot can call Massey and give him the bone." "You know," he commented with a grin. "That just might work." -------------------"Massey speaking," came the reporter's voice. "Dorothy Brooks here," greeted Dot. "Ms. Brooks! How are you?" "Fine." The niceties out of the way, he got right to the point. "You have something?" "Yes. I think we've come to the end of our search. And it's not very good, I'm afraid." Looking at the notes we assembled, she related the story of our 'search' from San Francisco to North Dakota and into Alaska, where we lost the trail. "And that, as they say, is the end of the story." Massey took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "Then that's it. Well, I guess that's the best that can be done. Just wish we could've found a body." "Yeah. Finding a body would've been conclusive proof, but I guess it just wasn't meant to be." She looked across the room and silently blew Renny a kiss. In the past, his expression would've been the opposite of what he felt -- a grim face indicating happiness, sullenness indicating satisfaction -- but now he could relax and let a grin cross his face. Dot returned to the call. "Oh, yes! One thing we confirmed -- he didn't take the money. It looks like the looters actually did get it." "Really? Well, can't be right all the time," he admitted with a chuckle. She giggled. "We've got your number in case we come up with anything. Take care." And she ended the conversation. "Bravo," commented Clark, as we applauded her performance. She leaned back in the chair and looked drained. Shrugging, she said, "It's a knack." "Thank you very much, Dot," added Renny, breathing a sigh of relief. Then he stood, invigorated, and announced with a mighty clap of his hands, "Tonight, we celebrate!"

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-------------------I felt like King David at one of the royal feasts. "Pass the corn, please," I asked. Dot passed the platter, and followed up with the butter. I couldn't get enough of the corn on the cob, taken straight from Renny's own fields. "I would love to see Grandma's baked chicken with this," commented Dot. "And Jack's mashed potatoes -- can't forget about those," added Clark. "Amen," I agreed. Then I elaborated to Dot. "He uses cream cheese instead of milk. Smoothest potatoes you ever tasted." My eyes rolled up in my head, remembering. "So," asked Renny between mouthfuls of food. "Where do you go from here?" "To find Long Tom, if we can," answered Clark. He took a sip from his mug and gave him a curious look. "I think I can help you." We all stopped chewing as one. "Excuse me?" asked Clark. "I ... I know where he is," said Renny, sheepishly. The three of us were silent, and just stared at him, waiting. "He's in the States. A place called Lincoln City, on the coast of --" "-- Oregon?" I blurted, my eyes wide as saucers. "Less than ninety minutes from Portland?" "Why didn't you tell us about this sooner?" asked Clark. "It never came up. After you mentioned that you hadn't found Long Tom, we got sidetracked with my little dilemma, and this is the first time his name has come up since." He paused. "So, you want to know about him, or not?" "Yes," we all said as one. "Okay. But first I've gotta tell you a couple of things. The first thing, Doc, is that ... he doesn't have any legs anymore. And he's got an adopted daughter. Her name is Amy and I think she's Vietnamese." He sighed. "I know very little of his life apart from that. He's very secretive. But who knows -- maybe you can get through." He took a sip from his mug. "Okay, from the top. It was about six years ago. I was still traveling the world, and I docked at Newport. I didn't have the beard back then -- just whiskers I'd hack off every now and then. I was staying on the boat, and was wandering around the docks one day when I saw him. He was in a wheelchair, and his daughter was with him. Anyhow, I recognized him. Unfortunately, he recognized me -- I shouldn't have stared at him so long. They approached me, and he said my name. I tried to deny it, but he pointed out the big hands ... and my voice. I gave in."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER He paused. "We talked, and it didn't take long for us to come to an understanding. We both had secrets that we didn't want everyone to know -- such as where he was and how he lost his legs. We agreed to keep in touch, but we've respected each other's privacy. He supplies me with a terrific pipe tobacco you can only get at a little place in Lincoln City, and I send him a crate of corn fresh from my harvest. Beyond that, we live our lives separately and don't ask." He paused and smiled, leaving the best for last. "But I do have his address ... " -------------------It was the next morning. Stepping from the camper van, I squinted at the harsh glare, still groggy from my less-than-restful sleep. I entered the house and dragged myself to the kitchen table. Clark was already there. Dot came in a couple of minutes later, silently poured a cup of coffee, and flopped down into a chair. We all looked weary, and Dot hadn't even paused to give me her usual good morning kiss. "Don't we make a lovely group," I commented sarcastically. "So none of us slept well. I had bad dreams - how about you?" Clark looked up, suddenly alert. "Dreams? Did any of them involve hospitals, or water?" "Not just water," added Dot, ominously. "The ocean ... and tombstones." My eyes went wide. I blinked a couple of times. "We all had the same dream?" Dot nodded. "And a feeling of urgency. Like ... " "Like Long Tom is in danger," concluded Clark. "How soon can we get ready?" "A couple of hours," I answered. "Less, if we're not neat." "Do it. I'll tell Renny." Clark found Renny in the barn feeding the livestock, and told him of our dream. "God is telling us that we need to get to Long Tom as soon as possible. We would like to spend more time here, but ... " Renny's eyes were wide. "I, too, had the same dream. Now I understand why. Go." "Can you call Tom? A familiar voice telling him that I am alive may be able to cushion any shock caused by my sudden appearance." He smiled and nodded. "Sure. Be happy to." "I'll give you our cell phone numbers." He shook Renny's hand. "Thank you." Within the hour, we were saying our goodbyes to Renny and Amanda, and were gassing up for the final leg of our quest. --------------------

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER Chapter Twenty-One Driving 1,600 miles in 36 hours makes for a long trip. But we were determined. Excluding breaks to get gas, stretch or use rest rooms, we drove non-stop from Oberlin to Lincoln City. Breaking up our driving time into four hour shifts, with one of us sleeping while the other two drove, we made very good time. We reached the outskirts of Lincoln City by evening, a day and a half after leaving Renny and Amanda. Clark was driving the Black Beauty, while I drove Dot's truck. Dot took the easy way out and had taken the last shift on my bed in the back of the camper. Now she sat in the passenger seat as I reminisced about our destination. "I always liked it here. Barbara and I had come here a couple of times long ago, and I had visited a few times since then. Their main attraction and source of revenue is the casino, but I always preferred the beach. I remember going for walks, and admiring the houses that overlooked the ocean. I wonder if I'll remember his?" "Here's your chance," commented Clark, pointing. "That's the address." Renny had made contact with Long Tom yesterday and broke the news to him. There was resistance, but he seemed to accept it. The house was a multi-level structure with a high ceiling and a road which curved before the double front doors. We walked up and rang the bell. An attractive Vietnamese woman in her mid- to late-twenties answered the door. "Yes?" she spoke in flawless English. Once more I acted as spokesperson, while Clark hung back. "Is this the home of Mr. Thomas Roberts?" "Yes it is." I paused, then used the key we discussed on the way here. "We're friends of a friend of his -- Mr. Ivan Renwick. He gave us your address." Her face brightened noticeably. "Ah, yes. Mr. Liston, Miss Brooks, and Mr. Savage. We have been expecting your arrival." She backed away from the door to allow us through. "Father is on the deck watching the sunset. Would you please follow me?" The house was remarkable. As the girl escorted us through, we saw many pieces of art that showed her influence in the decorations. We passed through the living room to the large wooden deck overlooking the ocean. A man in a motorized wheelchair serenely watched as the sun descended over the horizon. He mused, "You know, Amy, no matter how many times I see this, I never tire of it. Who was at the door?" "Mr. Savage and friends," she replied. He twisted around in the chair to see us. "Doc?" Clark stepped forward. "Yes, Tom. It's me." He pivoted the chair to face the big bronze man and looked up at him with the fascination of a child at Disneyland. "My God, man, you haven't aged, have you? When Renny told me about you being in

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER suspended animation for the last fifty years, I wondered if I'd sent him the wrong kind of pipe tobacco." He paused, and his excitement toned down a bit. He tilted his head and smiled thinly. "Renny also suggested that I should test you if I had any doubts. So I think I will. Tell me something only we would know." Clark thought a moment, then smiled and spoke slowly. "As a child, you had a pet. A black cat you named Snowball." Tom's face blushed, and he quickly said, "Okay -- I'm convinced! It's you!" Clark knelt before the wheelchair and looked his friend in the face. Then their hands met in the middle. I saw tears forming in Tom's eyes. "My God, I never thought I've ever see you again, Doc." Clark nodded. "And we almost gave up looking for you. If it hadn't been for Renny, we would've." After a few moments, Clark made the formal introductions: "This is Perry Liston. And this is Dot Brooks." He looked up at her. "Brooks?" "Ham and Monk are my grandfathers," she explained. "Good men," he commented with admiration. "Amy should have the tea ready soon. Let's go inside." Then he pushed forward on the joystick, and the chair smoothly rolled forward. Inside, as we sat sipping excellent oolong tea and nibbling on rice cookies, Long Tom gave us his story; he appeared to be more open than Renny had judged. Amy took a chair next to Tom and listened respectfully. "I was in Vietnam as an observer for the United Nations. I had been sent to Ti Chan Province to investigate an attack on the village by unknown means. Considering how we used to see these things all the time, I figured it would be an adventure. Little did I know. The village was in ruins, dozens dead or wounded. It was heartbreaking. As I walked through the village, I didn't see the booby trap. I found myself high in the air, my legs half blown away. I was lucky ... there was a Medevac unit in the village that secured me long enough for me to be transported to a local hospital. They operated on me ... saved my life, but not my legs. "I wanted to die. I intended to kill myself. All I needed was enough solitude to pull it off. The ward of the hospital I was recovering in had a high rate of turnover, and wasn't limited by age or gender. A lot of people came through. However, I was never in a position to be alone long enough to carry out my suicide plan. One night I was trying to sleep, but a small child was crying." He reached out and took Amy's soft hand, instantly giving away the identity of the child. "No one heeded her. In that moment I realized I was alone enough to carry out my plan. But as minute after minute passed, I became more hesitant to taking my own life, and more attentive to the lonely cries of this little one. Finally I got disgusted and hauled myself into a wheelchair. I wheeled over to the other bed and looked at the child -- so tiny, barely two years old. She was terrified. I took her into my arms, and was surprised that she came so eagerly. She clung onto me as if I were life itself. At that moment, my heart was melted by this little girl. "They found us the next morning, both asleep, her in my arms and me in my chair. I asked around, and found out the girl was from the village I came from. All her relatives had been killed. Her family name was Phan, and her first name was unknown. A nurse in the ward had given her the name Amy. Amy just

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER happened to be the name of a favorite aunt of mine. So I gave the little girl the name Amy Phan Roberts, and used my influences with the government to secure a special waiver to be able to adopt her as a single parent. She was alone. I was alone. We both had pain. But now we had each other, and that was enough." He affectionately squeezed his daughter's hand, and Amy leaned down and softly kissed her father's head. "She has become my reason to live, to carry on. She encouraged me through therapy, and I encouraged her through college. My patents have provided us with sufficient income to live on -- remember how frugal I was with money? We moved to Lincoln City many years ago to find a place to make a fresh start, free of the past." He paused. "So ... you will stay the night, won't you? I've not even given you a tour yet." "Of course we'll stay," answered Clark with a beaming smile. "Will it be all right to leave our vehicles out front?" I asked. "You might want to move them around to the side. I've got a parking area there, and a van that I drive. Just park anywhere around there." While Dot and I left to move the rigs, Tom and Clark talked. "I've not been idle in the years I've been in this chair, Doc. Come with me -- I'll take you downstairs to my electronics lab in the basement. You might be impressed." He pushed the chair forward and headed for an elevator the size of a large closet. He paused to inform Amy where they were going. "Considering the things you did in the past, I'm sure I'll be impressed," commented Clark. "What do you work on?" "Anti-violence devices, " Tom explained as he pressed the Down button. "I know it's almost impossible to rid the world of violence, but I've been trying in some small way to achieve a way of eliminating the way violence is expressed. Imagine a youth gang war nipped in the bud by an effective -- yet harmless -- stun weapon. Or booby traps such as took my legs, disarmed at a distance without ever causing harm again. There's more, but I'll have to show you." "And you have achieved this?" he said, astounded. They arrived at the laboratory level. Clark looked around and was amazed. Everything was at a lower height, to accommodate the wheelchair. Clark was like a kid in a candy store, as Tom answered his question. "In a limited way, yes, I have achieved my goal. But, sadly, not enough to market it -- yet. There's too narrow a range of effectiveness. In time, perhaps. I have mentored Amy to take over after I'm gone. She'll make sure my goal is achieved." He turned, moved a few yards away, and turned back. "In the meantime, I have used my talent to secure this house ... in ways you might find familiar." "Familiar?" asked Clark. He looked around at the room. "Well, let's see. Proximity alarms, motion detectors, and I'll assume those two are cameras. But as far as . . ." Suddenly a grin spread across his face. "You electrified the floor." Tom smiled back. "You're Doc all right. Only you'd be able to spot that on sight. I've made some improvements since we used it on the 86th floor, and have much of the house covered. I've only had to

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER use it once, on a couple of unfortunate burglars who thought a man in a wheelchair would be an easy mark for a break-in." He shrugged. "Father?" came Amy's voice over an intercom. "Yes, dear?" "Are you and Mr. Savage hungry?" Tom looked at Clark, who nodded. "It's been a while, and we've been on the road ever since we left Renny's." "Amy?" called Tom. "I'm not very hungry, but I'm sure our guests are. Thank you, dear." "Yes, Father." "And thank you, Tom," said Clark. "It's nothing. She's an excellent cook. Now, let me show you some of my latest inventions ... ," he said, moving forward. -------------------The rest of the evening was excellent. Amy was a marvelous cook, and the meal -- our first home-cooked one in almost two days -- was welcomed. We sat around and talked and enjoyed ourselves. Finally we called it a night. Clark and I crashed on the couches, and Dot got the bed in the rarely-used guest bedroom. As we settled in for bed, Tom wheeled past to wish us a good night. Then he moved in closer. "You said you found Pat?" he asked with a smile. "Is she still ... as beautiful as ever?" Clark and I exchanged glances. "Yes, very much," answered Clark, diplomatically. His eyes were glazed over. "I'm glad. I'm so glad. Goodnight, Doc. Goodnight, Perry." -------------------"FATHER!" came Amy's scream, piercing the morning silence. I arrived about a minute after Clark. The sheet on his bed was pulled down, and they were performing CPR on Tom. Amy respirated while Clark did chest compressions. There was nothing I could do but pray, and assist. "I'll call 911," I told them, and headed for the nearest phone, passing Dot. Once the ambulance was on its way, I returned to the bedroom and stood there, praying and watching. I could see sweat beads on Clark's furrowed brow as he rhythmically pressed on, literally holding his friend's life in his hands. Dot stood by with me, then leaned in close. "If we're going to the hospital, I better get the rigs ready. Amy can ride with me, and you guys can lock up and follow. I'll move my truck around. Then I'll guide the paramedics when they get here." "Good idea." And I handed her our keys. "Get the van pointed in the right direction, okay?"

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"Gotcha," she replied, and headed to the door. The EMTs showed within ten minutes, and everyone moved clear. They put Tom on the gurney and transported him to the ambulance. Dot told Amy she'd be going with her, and they took off. Clark and I grabbed a couple of things and followed. In the waiting lounge outside of Emergency, the three of us tried to sit patiently. We were not doing well. Amy finally came out and gave us the news: "They're going to be moving him to another room. They asked me to wait here." Clark held out his arms to her. Without hesitation, she accepted the invitation. Gone was the professional caregiver, replaced by the hurting little girl resting her tear-streaked face on the muscled chest, and gave in to the grief. Dot and I made eye contact, then she came over to me and we held onto one another tightly. After a few moments, I caught Clark's eye and signed to him, "I'm going to call Monk." He acknowledged me with an easy nod of his head. It was cold outside of the hospital. The ocean mist had come in with the dawn and moved in and out of the coastline. I called Monk and Lea, and gave them the headlines, then filling in the details about finding Renny. "Okay, Perry," squeaked the chemist. "Me an' Lea are gonna join ya. And I'm gonna call Johnny to see if he c'n be there, too. Did you tell Renny yet?" "No. He's next on my list. But there's not much you can do." "We can be there," he replied, soberly. "That's plenty." I understood. "Okay. Bye." As I finished the call to Renny, Dot came out to join me. Considering how her father had died, I wondered how she was taking things. She wrapped her arms around me and I gave her a quick, reassuring embrace. "They're taking him to the other room now. Give 'em about ten minutes. Amy's working on the paperwork. And Clark's talking to the doctor in charge." I looked at her. "He is? Oh boy," I mumbled with an underlying tone of dread. We returned to the waiting lounge. Off to one side, Clark talked with the white-jacketed surgeon. He listened wearily, then gave Clark the bottom line to Long Tom's condition: "He's had a massive myocardial infarction, and is now stable and resting. However ... it doesn't look good. His heart's taken a beating today, and it may be a matter of days rather than years." Clark paused, considering his response. "I know quite a bit about medicine," he said, venturing close to the edge. "May I offer a few suggestions?" The doctor nodded patiently. "I suppose so." Clark talked using medical language and terminology that certainly went over my head, addressing several courses of action from a surgical standpoint. It appeared that the doctor understood the words that were being spoken, but I somehow felt it wouldn't make a difference. After a few moments, the doctor gave his response: "Mr ... Dent, is it?. I can see that you care a great deal about Thomas. So do I -- I've

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER been his doctor for the last five years. And I'm impressed by your medical knowledge. But, you have to understand -- anything we do now would only delay the inevitable for a few weeks at best." Clark was insistent. "But the procedures I suggested -- " " -- haven't been used in fifteen, maybe twenty, years." The doctor took a deep breath and released it in a tired sigh. "I'm sorry. Believe me, we have done all we can do. Anything more would only put further stress on an already-weakened system. It would be like plugging one leak only to have two more take its place." He paused. "Let me be blunt, Mr. Dent. Thomas is dying; it's only a matter of days now. The best we can do is to make those final days as comfortable as possible." Clark wasn't about to accept that. "But, Doctor -- " The surgeon flared. "Mr. Dent! Thomas is my patient, and he's waiting for me! You can see him in a few minutes -- good day!" Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away. Clark's hand reached out, but too late. I turned to Dot. "I suspected this might happen. Pray for me; I have to talk to him." Then I walked over to Clark and placed a hand on his muscled arm. It slowly lowered to his side. Seeing a volcano of pain behind those gold-flecked eyes, I said softly, "The Chapel is just over there. Let's talk." Fortunately, the Chapel was empty. As the door closed, Clark let loose. "Why, Perry, why? Dammit, I'm a surgeon, too! I've saved lives! Why can't God let me save his?" I spoke calmly. "Fifty years ago, you were Doc Savage. You were, to many people, a god. Your prowess in the fields of medicine, chemistry, physics, was second to none. But that was then. Now, displaced from your time, you are Clark Dent. It's not the same anymore. Your expertise is now obsolete. Modern medical science has passed you by. You feel helpless. But there are other ways of helping Long Tom, if you search them out." "What can I do?" he looked at me. At that moment, the warrior was a child. I tried to smile. "You do the only thing left. The most obvious thing to us. And the hardest." I paused. "You -- we -- have to leave this in God's hands and let Him take care of it." He was silent. I had made my point. Now it was up to Clark. "You need some time alone. Here's a good place." I smiled. "See you later." He nodded, and I left the bronze warrior to his charge. -------------------Clark was alone again. Alone and helpless. He wanted to help his dear friend, a friend who would soon die. But he couldn't. And not knowing where he stood when he stands before God, the feelings were twisting up inside of him. "It's so hard." His voice came out as a low groan. "So very very hard. I want to save Tom's life -- but I can't."

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He paced the floor, occasionally looking up at the ceiling. "I'm a man of action! I can't sit around being idle. I need to do something. And it's so frustrating because there's no action I can take that will make a difference." He stopped and sighed. "I know I need to turn this over to You. But it's so hard this time. It's never meant this much to me, and I just ... I don't want to let go. "Maybe it's just that I've barely gotten to see him again, and he's going to be leaving -- forever. To where? I don't know where he stands with You. Do You have to take him just now? He's got so much to do, so much to give." He threw his hands up in frustration. "All of my life, I've been the one leading the team, being the example. Perry was right -- they did treat me like a god. And, inside, I reveled in that admiration and awe. Even now, it's still the same. They think I'm the strong one -- hah! That's a laugh! I've never been more helpless in my life. There's nothing I can do to keep him from dying." Words came to his heart: "When I am weak, then I am strong." He knew where the apostle Paul was coming from when he put those words down. He was imprisoned at the time, in a Roman jail.. But not helpless. He stood strong in Christ, who became his strength like a spiritual exo-skeleton. More words, more encouragement from the prophet Zechariah: "And I will bring the third part through the fire, and will refine them as silver is refined, and will try them as gold is tried: they shall call on my name, and I will hear them: I will say, It is my people: and they shall say, The LORD is my God." He knew he was being tried through the fires. Tried, tested, taught. Just like Perry. Just like Dot. Just like Monk. He was the mighty Man of Bronze, who was being refined as silver through the fires. Ouch. Clark now realized he had been on the floor again. His face was moist, with tears, with sweat. He stood slowly, taking each breath as if it was a gift to be savored. He took a deep breath and exhaled it. Each breath is so precious, he thought. A gift of life. He was still alone in the room. He took out the bandanna from his back pocket and wiped off his face. Removing the evidence, he thought with a smile. He looked at the cross on the wall in front of him, and said, "I can't let go, but I must. Please take it from me, and don't let me take it back." "But in your hearts set apart Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect." Those, he knew, were his marching orders. He suddenly felt cool, as if a gust of wind had just rushed through the enclosed room. It brought relief, and he suddenly knew the prayer had been answered. He took a deep breath, then left the chapel. -------------------I stood in the hallway outside of Room 117. When I saw Clark approach, standing tall, I knew God had worked things out with him. I saw humility mingled with the inner strength I knew only too well. I smiled, knowing that he had faced a major challenge and had come out on top. Ready to face the next one. "Everything okay?" I asked, knowing the answer already. "For the moment." He paused. "Is Tom okay?"

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I nodded. "Yeah. The doctor's just giving him a once-over, making sure everything's stable." "How's he look? The doctor, I mean." "Tired. His name's Brannan. Richard Brannan. Just in case you're interested." "Where's Dot and Amy?" "Dot took Amy back to their place to get some clothes. They'll be back in an hour. And it looks like we're going to be having a reunion soon." An eyebrow raised. "What do you mean?" "When I told Monk about Tom, he told me he and Lea'd be coming as soon as possible. He called Johnny, and I called Renny. They're all on their way." I paused. "It looks like the team's going to be gathering together once more." A smile crossed the bronze man's features, and I thought I saw his eyes misting. "Praise the Lord!" he said softly. He glanced up at the clock; it was shortly after 1 pm. Then he looked at me and asked, "When was the last time you took a break?" "What's a break?" I admitted. We had all been going non-stop since this started. He placed a hand on my shoulder. "You look drained. Go back to the van and catch a nap. I'll get you if anything happens, okay." He smiled, then added, "And no emails to Jack first." "Yes, Chief," I grinned back, placing a hand on his shoulder. Then I headed down the hall for the parking lot. The doctor came out of the room, exchanging looks with Clark. "Thank you, Dr. Brannan." He nodded. "You can go in now," he informed Clark, then continued down the hall. Clark went into the hospital room. The glow of the sun came through the window. The room seemed to be extraordinarily large for its single occupant. The head of Tom's bed was elevated slightly. Around him, tubes fed him fluids and oxygen, and wires monitored his vital signs. A soft beep-beep-beep was a welcome sound to Clark's ears, as he moved over to the chair placed next to the bed. He sighed and closed his eyes, lowering his head. "Doc?" came a hoarse voice. He lifted his head. "I thought you were asleep." "I'll have plenty of time for that later." He managed a weak smile. "Got a question for you: what was it like in suspended animation?" "Huh?" "Did you dream? Could you think?" he asked curiously.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER Clark paused to remember. "No. Not really. Why do you ask?" "Doc, I'm no fool. I know I'm dying. I've probably seen my last sunset." He paused. "I've tried to make things easy for Amy. She knows my wishes. But I'm not entirely sure ... what to expect." Clark raised an eyebrow a fraction. "What do you mean?" "I don't know. I've looked at all kinds of religions, faiths, beliefs. And it's confusing. I'm not sure if I'll meet Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates, or come back to earth as Habeas Corpus' distant cousin. Or if there's just ... nothing." "What do you believe, Tom?" he asked solemnly. His expression was not humorous. "I believe I'm in deep trouble." He paused. "Clark, last night I saw a different person in you than I remembered. You've changed -- for the better. If it would've been me in suspended animation for fifty years, I'd probably be a basket case and would need years of psychotherapy. But you coped. You made it." "It wasn't easy," Clark answered confidently. "When I woke up in that cave, there was darkness that seemed to close in on me and smother me. I was weak. I was only starting to feel the disorientation. I concentrated on getting out of that prison. It was like Loki all over again, but I was all alone." He stood as the memories returned to him. "Remember, I didn't know fifty years had passed until I reached civilization -- and, even then, I was hesitant to believe it, thinking it was a deception from one of my enemies. When I came to accept the truth of ... when ... I was, I experienced waves and waves of anxiety and helplessness, which only magnified later when I found out what happened to you all ... ." His voice came more rapidly now. "Imagine my shock, knowing what had happened while I had been in hibernation. The properties -- the Empire State Building sold, the Hidalgo Trading Company leveled, and the Crime College equated with Dachau! My friends, my closest team members -- Ham, dead by his own hands; Renny, letting the world think he was dead; you, Monk, and Johnny, in your own little worlds exiled from humanity; and Pat . . ." His voice drifted. "And the world looks at me as a criminal on the order of Joseph Mengele! That was shock!" Clark suddenly stopped cold, realizing he was ranting. "I'm sorry, Tom." He smiled at his friend. "I was going to ask if you ever felt like a thousand pound weight was crushing your soul, but you've already answered that one." He smiled back. Clark gave off with a hollow chuckle. "Yes, I know the feeling well." "As do I. That's why I have to tell you something." He paused. "For decades, I've only told a partial truth about how I lost my legs." "Go ahead," said Clark softly, returning to the chair. "Talk to me." He struggled to take a deep breath. "The two of us have seen governments change sides with all the forethought of choosing a necktie. Allies become enemies. I made the mistake of providing my services to a government that later allied itself with the enemies of the United States during the Vietnam War." He paused. "The part of my story about why I was in Vietnam was correct: I was a technical observer, checking out a village that had been attacked by an unknown weapon. However, as I sifted through the

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER debris near the point of impact, I saw something. A piece of circuitry with a pattern that only I could have done. My signature, so to speak, was there. "Bottom line, this village might not have been destroyed if not for something I had created." He paused, reflecting. "I was stunned. I staggered around the village in shock. Each bloody, broken body I saw was a jolt to my very being. I didn't care about my life at that point. I wanted to suffer. I wanted to die. The booby trap I set off was ironically appropriate. But when all I experienced was the loss of my legs -- and not my life -- I wanted desperately to finish the job. I was responsible. I was a traitor to my country and a killer. I couldn't forgive myself for my actions. "But Amy changed that. Adopting her, in part, was my way of repaying the debt I owed her village. And she has given me a reason for living." "Does she know?" "No, and I don't want her to. It would hurt her, knowing I was responsible for her family's death." "Very well. You have my word. How do you feel?" Tom thought a moment. "Better. It's true: confession is good for the soul." Clark leaned in a bit. "But there's more, Tom. You know there is." He nodded understanding. "Yes," he agreed. "But what?" "You have let go of that which has brought much pain to your life. But that is only part of the victory that awaits you. You still have no hope for what lies beyond this life. You need that." He took the hand of his friend and they made eye contact. "When I came out of hibernation and saw all that had changed around me, I, too, had no hope. I was fifty years beyond my time. Then I met Perry, and he introduced me to someone who has carried me through all the shocks and aftershocks of the last year. He ... has taken me from death unto life and given me hope. His name is Jesus Christ ... and he's my friend ... let me tell you about him from my perspective ... ." -------------------Chapter Twenty-Two The hospital room door opened, and Dot and Amy entered quietly. They had changed clothes and brought in a couple of suitcases, ready for a long shift. Clark sat at Long Tom's side, with his head bowed and holding the hand of his friend. For a moment they feared the worst, but then they heard the beep-beepbeep and knew their fears were unfounded. Then they heard a single word from Tom: "Amen." Dot's eyes went wide. "Father?" said Amy. "Are you well?" As they neared, Clark faced them. He wore a familiar smile, and the light glinted off of the wetness below his eyes. Dot smiled.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER There was a new look to Tom's face, a glow. With more strength than he possessed, he propped himself up on his elbows and smiled broadly. "Amy, my love, I am more than all right. I am forgiven." Clark stood and backed away from the chair. Amy sat by her father's side. As they talked, Clark moved over to Dot. She put an arm around his waist and said softly, "Praise the Lord." "Amen," he agreed. "Should I tell Perry?" asked Dot quietly. "No. He's sleeping." They watched father and daughter talking. "Besides, somehow, I don't think this is over just yet -- do you?" She shook her head. "Nope." -------------------I heard the rapping on the van's side. It was dark. I quickly looked at my watch and rose to see who it was. A simian face grinned back at me. "Monk! Lea! You made it!" "Yeah. The taxi just dropped us off. We saw the van and thought we'd see if anyone was home. How's Long Tom?" "Last I knew, fine. But that was a few hours ago. Let me get my shoes on, and we'll go to his room." As I slid closed the van's door and turned around, Monk gave me a killer bear hug. Gasping, I asked, "What was that for?" "For Dot," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "For bringin' her to the Lord." "I wanted it as much as you," I said in dead-seriousness. With an arm around my shoulders, he looked over at Lea. "Is he gonna make a terrific grandson-in-law, or what?" My eyes went wide. Lea slapped him in the arm. "Andy! I told you not to bring that up," she scolded him. "Okay. Sorry." As Lea started to walk towards the hospital building, Monk leaned in to me and said, "We'll talk about this later." Choosing wisely, I kept my tongue. When we reached the room, I went in first. Amy was at Tom's bedside. Dot was sitting in a chair; I got her attention, and she came over to me. "Got a surprise for you," I whispered, and took her into the hallway for a happy reunion. Then she gave us the update on the situation. Clark was getting something to eat. Tom was holding his own, and sleeping now. Then, with a big grin, she announced that both Tom and Amy had become Christians. Not wanting to disturb others around us, we cheered softly in the hallway, rejoicing in the moment.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER We went in, and Dot escorted Monk and Lea to the bed. Amy saw who had arrived, was startled by Monk's face, then Dot made the introductions and Amy greeted them with hugs. I stepped out of the room, wanting to intercept Clark. A few moments later, I did. With a handshake, I commented with a smile, "You wanted to save Tom. Now, you have." He smiled back and nodded understandingly. "'Yet not I, but Christ who lives in me,'" he quoted. "Perry, now I see how God's hand has moved throughout Tom and Amy's lives. Thirty years ago, Tom was ready to end his life, and Amy was an orphan without a future. God brought the two of them together at just the right moment to support each other, and keep them both alive. To bring them to this place in their lives, this point. Not one day later." We both took a deep breath, knowing how close God's timing had been. "Now, Tom's ready to pass from this life to the next, and Amy has the assurance of joining him someday. "It's like a grand panorama. A vast gulf separating man from God. On the one side of the gulf, Jesus prepares His people to cross over the bridge to the other side. On the other side of the gulf, Jesus prepares a place, a mansion, for His people to inhabit. And, having conquered death, Jesus is the bridge itself that spans the gulf." "Amen," I replied. And we both went into the room. -------------------Renny and Amanda joined us four hours after Monk and Lea, and Johnny arrived sometime around midnight. Tom had been sleeping peacefully. We felt it was safe to wait until all of us could be here before waking him. Finally, with the professor's appearance, they neared the bed and Amy touched her father's hand. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and his mouth fell open as he looked from person to person, saying their names. "How'd you guys get here?" "Perry and Doc told us what was goin' on," explained Monk. "We got here as soon as we could, to be with you. You ain't leavin' this party without sayin' goodbye." Tom reached out a hand to Renny. "I don't think I'm going to be enjoying your corn-on-the-cob this year," he said. "Pity." The big man smiled, and I saw a tear in his eye. "And I'll probably have to get my own tobacco from now on." He took Monk's hand. "I talked to Doc. I know where I'm going now." "I know," he said with a grin that nearly split his simian face. "If you run into Ham on the other side, tell him from me that I still think he's shifty shyster." Johnny moved in and apologized to everyone for not keeping in touch all these years. "It's okay," Long Tom shrugged off. "I wasn't much to be around during that time, anyhow." Monk and Renny introduced their spouses. Renny interpreted for Amanda. Lea gave him a hug. He introduced Amy to the group. Monk started relaxing. "Well, let's start settlin' in. Tom, how's the food here?" he said without reservation. And with that, we all started mingling. It was amazing to see these men all together for the first time in several decades, and I smiled to think that it would take the death of one of their own to bring it on. I saw

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER Dot and Amy talking together, and -- with Renny interpreting -- Lea was getting to know Amanda. This is definitely going to be interesting, I thought. Meanwhile, around the bed, the rest of the old friends grabbed seats or perched on the side of the bed, and talked, swapping stories and bringing each other up to date on the last forty years. God is so good, I thought. -------------------After the first couple of hours, we broke up the reunion. Monk and I had earlier taken care of overnight accommodations, finding rooms in the closest motel to the hospital. In the morning, Monk, Johnny and I had a meeting with the hospital administrator, Kay Briggs. I was amazed at how persuasive Monk and Johnny could be, especially when Monk looked her in the face and calmly offered a one million dollar contribution to the hospital in exchange for an additional room near Tom's. As she looked at the three of us with amazement, we knew we were in. It was all agreed that Amy's place was at her father's side, but the rest of us needed to split up or be packed in like sardines. In the end, Lea, Amanda, Renny and Johnny made up one group, while Monk, Clark, Dot, and I made up the second group, switching off every few hours. Amy took a break to run a couple of us home, and in short order we had a wireless video camera/monitor/sound arrangement connecting the two rooms 24 hours a day -- she was as talented in electronics as her father. The hospital was able to spare six fold-up cots -- three for each room -- and a few chairs that could recline. We also made the beds in the camper van and Dot's truck camper available to those who couldn't stand the cots. With that completed, we hunkered down for the duration. Hour after hour passed. When Tom was awake, there was always someone at his side. The air was filled with stories of the good old days' when the team was together, and their adventures. Day turned into night, and still we hung in there. In order to stretch ourselves, we took turns getting food and going on walks together around the halls. Some spent time in the chapel. Others did our best to pass the time, including a chess board Johnny had brought with him. I passed the time with email to Jack, and tapping everyone's brains for input on where Clark had been put into hibernation. There were no problems. I witnessed the compassion of these men who had gone through life and death together. There was a common thread this time: they had done nothing while Ham took his own life alone. They would not allow Long Tom to die alone. -------------------I had been sitting at Long Tom's bedside for half an hour when he groaned a little and spoke my name. "Yes, Tom?" I responded. He looked up at me. "I have a favor to ask." "Sure. What do you need?"

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "I want you to deliver my eulogy." I was astounded. "Me? We hardly know one another." He smiled. "I never really went to church here. I don't have anyone else. Besides, you brought two things into my life: Doc, and Jesus. And for that I am truly thankful. Say yes." I nodded. "I would be honored." "Make it a good one, Perry. Tell them about Jesus." "I will." -------------------It was the third night. As usual, it was long. Our group was in the room at the time. Clark and Monk reclined in chairs. Dot and I sat on one of the cots, leaning back against the wall; she hung onto my arm and cuddled in close to me, snoozing, I hoped she was more comfortable than I was. Amy was sleeping on the other cot. It was quiet, and the lights were dimmed. We didn't pay attention to what time of the morning it was when the door opened and a figure entered. Since we were used to all sorts of caregivers and orderlies coming and going, we paid no attention to this one until she spoke. "I'm glad I'm not too late." We all came to instant attention. Impossible though it was, there was Pat Savage, standing there like she owned the place. She wore a simple outfit of jeans and jacket, incongruous to her usual style. Monk instantly jumped up from his chair and placed himself between Clark and Pat, like a Secret Service agent protecting the President. "What're you doin' here -- Pat?" he said, emphasizing her name for those next door. Pat raised a hand and said simply, "Flag of truce. I'm here to see Long Tom." Monk didn't budge. Clark stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's all right," he said softly. Then he looked at her and said, "Accepted. Welcome." She nodded acknowledgment. "Hello, Monk," she said. "Hiya, Patty," he replied without emotion, eyes slightly narrowed and alert. The door to the room opened, and Renny and Johnny rushed in. Pat turned and saw Renny, and her eyes went wide. Her voice came out in a hoarse gasp. "Renny?" "Surprise, Pat." Then he looked at us. "Is everything okay?" Clark and Monk nodded. He turned back to Pat. "I-I thought you were dead," she said, stunned. "And I thought you were older," he replied sarcastically.

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She stared a moment more, then turned to Johnny and addressed him. "Hello, Johnny." "Y-you're looking rather well ... Pat," he replied. "That is you, isn't it?" She gave him a smile. "Yes, it is." She looked past the men, and gave Lea a cold, sideways glare. Their eyes met, but no words were exchanged. She completed her turn, and the emotional shields came back up. She walked past us and went towards Long Tom's bed. At the first sign of danger, Amy had risen and positioned herself before his father's bed. "What is your business with my father?" she hissed. Pat stopped and eyed the slender Vietnamese woman. "I mean no harm. I'm a friend." The activity had stirred Tom from sleep. He looked past his daughter and said, "Pat -- is that you?" "Yes, Tom." Then she moved cautiously past Amy to his bedside. She took his hand in hers, and a sincere, compassionate smile appeared on her face towards her old friend. "Tom. Did you think I'd leave you without saying goodbye?" "We've had a lot of good times together," he said slowly. "I'll miss you." She looked down at him and paused. There was no mistaking the emotion in her tone. "I'll miss you, too." "Doc and Perry said you were still beautiful," he told her. "You haven't changed." She hesitated. "Neither have you." "I've ... I've always loved you, Pat," he confessed. "Goodbye." His declaration of his love for her was overloading her emotions. Her voice cracked as she managed to say, "Goodbye, Tom." And she leaned down and gave him a tender kiss on the lips. She straightened up and turned to see us all watching her. The defenses still hadn't come up. She turned and started walking for the door. She stopped and looked in the direction of Dot and me, and asked, "You look familiar. Who are you?" "My name is Perry, ma'am. I'm a friend of the family." I considered myself to be safe, since I was disguised during our last encounter. She looked over at Clark. Monk tensed. In a low voice, void of emotion, she announced. "One week. Then I'll be back. And I won't be alone." He ignored the threat. "Thank you, Pat," he replied with a thin smile. She stared at him for a moment, silently, then she left the room without another word. We strained our ears to hear the footsteps receding down the hall. Monk stood up and went silently to the door, paused, then opened it enough to look out. He looked back and beckoned for Renny.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER The two men slid out of the room. Dot put her arm around my shoulders and leaned against me. "You faced that point-blank?" she whispered to me. "You're braver than I thought." They returned after about a minute. "She had a limo waiting. She was alone," announced Renny. After a collective sigh of relief, we felt comfortable enough to move about. I wandered over to Clark's side. "I wouldn't have believed this if I hadn't seen it," I commented. "She had us all in one place." Clark looked at me and smiled. "Moses in Pharaoh's court." At first I didn't make the connection. Then, with a smile, it came to light. "Ah!" I softly exclaimed. "The Pharaoh had the power. He was Egypt. He could have had Moses killed at any time. He didn't ... because God put it on his heart not to." I paused, wondering. "I just want to know how she knew we were here." Clark was strangely silent. I looked over at him and had my answer. "You," I hissed. "You let her know -knowing full well what she could do to us." Clark nodded. "And God put it on Pat's heart to be here under a flag of truce." "True," I added soberly. "But she'll be back with reinforcements." "By then ... we'll be gone," he said, regretfully. -------------------Tom died in his sleep that Friday morning. "'In my father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.'" I closed the Bible. It was cold at the gravesite. The ocean mist had come in with the dawn and moved in and out of the coastline. Standing next to Amy Phan Roberts were the four men who had fought and lived side-by-side with the man they called Long Tom, and their families. Also surrounding the modest casket were a handful of townspeople who knew him. "Before the world was created, Jesus Christ started building. He's had a long time to work on it and do it right. Yesterday morning, Tom checked out of a hospital room and checked into a heavenly mansion. He wanted me to tell you about it, and about the Carpenter who made it all possible ... " -------------------Chapter Twenty-Three It was early afternoon. The sign on the door outside the Riverboat Banquet Room read PRIVATE PARTY BY INVITATION ONLY

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER Inside, Clark and I sat in the empty room, around an empty table. We'd been there for a couple of hours, waiting and praying. Suddenly I put my hand to my ear and stated, "They're here." With a slight creak, the wooden doors opened and they walked in. The two men who stepped in looked like beachcombers, but their behavior was more akin to that of bodyguards. They stood to either side of the doorway and scanned the room, then one opened the door a bit and announced, "Secure, ma'am!" The doors opened again, and Patricia Savage strode in, commandingly, like General Patton reviewing the troops. Clark and I sat for a moment longer, then stood. Clark stepped smoothly to the center of the dance floor. Pat spoke confidently. "I told you I'd be back for you. And, as you can see, I'm not alone." Clark beamed a wide smile and spread his arms out welcomingly. "Pat! How good to see you. And your entourage, too." She didn't smile. "Your cheerfulness is somewhat out of place, cousin." She paused. "You were a fool to stay here. It's time to go." She turned to man on her left. "Kane?" The man reached into his windbreaker and came back with a chromed automatic which he held at the ready. I took my place to Clark's right. "You're not taking him anywhere -- not now, not later." She looked at me with defiance. "And you think you two are going to stop us?" I prayed that the transceiver tucked neatly away in my ear was still working, then stepped forward boldly, standing between Clark and his three adversaries. I caught the glare of the man with the gun and switched into 'preacher mode.' "He who has ears to hear, let him hear!" I announced boldly, then followed with a couple of quotes from the duel between David and Goliath: "'You come against me with sword and spear and javelin, but I come against you in the name of the Lord Almighty.' 'All those gathered here will know that it is not by sword or spear that the Lord saves; for the battle is the Lord's, and He will give all of you into our hands.' And as far as us being only two ... I don't think so." That was the cue. The doors opened behind and around us, and Monk, Renny, Johnny, Amy, and Dot walked in. With all the precision of a drill team, they silently moved into position behind Clark. Johnny carried a small toolbox. Amy and Dot wore matching black leather jumpsuits, and Dot had a bowler hat at a rakish angle on her head. In her hand was a black walking cane. As they formed a wide vee shape with Clark at the point, I stepped back and took my position next to Dot. She placed the bowler on my head with a tap, and passed the cane to me. Touching the bowler and feeling the cane in my hand, I felt an 'Avengers' moment coming on. From left to right we stood strong: Monk, me, Dot, Clark, Amy, Johnny, and Renny. Clark spoke softly but firmly, "Leave now and no one need be harmed." Seeing how the odds were suddenly shifted against her, she spoke a command to Kane. He pulled out a walkie-talkie with his free hand and spoke into it. I heard something in my ear. In a low voice I announced, "We're gonna have company."

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER Fifteen seconds later, the main doors into the ballroom opened and more men filed in, making a total of ten. They fanned out before her in a parallel vee formation. Then, as one, they all drew their weapons, pointed ceilingward. A deadly chorus line, I thought. Pat laughed. "I suspected you'd try this maneuver, cousin. Pitiful. I doubt that a bunch of ... old men, a couple of girls, and a ... a preacher are going to stop my armed guards from doing my will." "Excuse me?" added Johnny. "Did you say 'armed'? I'm terribly sorry, but that's no longer a fact." He gestured to the box. "Our dear departed comrade Long Tom invented this little gadget quite some time ago. It produces a hypersonic frequency that renders your firearms useless. Oh, don't take my word for it - please examine your weapons." He smiled. With a mutually skeptical expression, Pat and Kane exchanged glances, and he checked his automatic. With a curse, he confirmed the potency of Long Tom's legacy. "Hand to hand," he commanded, holstering his weapon. Renny grimly commented, "Hand to hand?" Then, cracking his knuckles, his bearded face broke into a massive grin. "I'm gonna enjoy this." Monk picked up on the attitude. He pointed to the guards on the end closest to him and announced, "These four are mine. You all can divvy up the rest." "Greedy," replied Renny with a disgusted expression. Monk looked back, appalled. "Greedy?" he said, almost-comically. "If you recall, a few years ago I would'a taken on alla these boy scouts without your help. However, I've mellowed in my old age." "HEY!" yelled Pat, freezing the exchange and its participants. "What do you think this is, 1945, and you're back in New York? This is no joking matter! My guards outnumber you two-to-one, and they can hurt you -- badly! Just turn Doc over to us and no one will be hurt!" Monk spoke up. "If your guards are such hot stuff, Patty, how come you needed to bring along so many of them? Ten of them against seven of us. Sounds like you're bluffin' about how good your boy scouts are." He looked directly at the group. With a wicked smile, he quoted from an old song: "'And the man in the back said 'Everyone attack', and it turned into a Ballroom Blitz . . .'" Then there was silence. Clark pleaded for a peaceful solution. "Please, Pat. Don't let it come down to this. Leave and no one will be hurt." Pat stood defiant. "Not without you." There was no turning back. I prayed and wondered who'd make the first move. I didn't have to wait long. Monk bared his teeth animal-like, raised his hands like claws, and growled, "C'mon, Patty -- let's dance!" Pat's reaction was immediate: "GET 'EM!" With a battle roar and a charge like an angry bear, Monk bounded forward and launched a vicious backfist that took the guard on the end by surprise as he took a step in. With the crunch of breaking bones, he flew backwards into a table. Before he landed, the simian chemist grabbed the next one in line by the

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER jacket front and pulled with all his might. The guard saw Monk's grinning face for only an instant before their heads collided with a sickening thud. From the opposite end, Renny stepped into the advance of two fierce looking guards. His face was a grim mask, which meant he was having the time of his life. He sparred with one guard, letting him get in a couple of easy shots. Then he turned left, delivering a sledgehammer right into the midsection of one guard, and crossed over with his left into the face into the other guard. Dot and I glanced at each other and smiled. Without warning, I got my answer. Then we started stepping back in unison. Two guards followed us, trying to look as intimidating as possible. We smiled and stood there. "Ready," I said. "Set," answered Dot. Lifting the cane tip up and pressing the stud that extended the six inches of sword blade, I announced, "Go!" Then we charged. I waved the sword cane at the guard, pretending like I didn't know what I was doing -- not far from the truth -- then suddenly dropped the tip and poked it through the guard's pants and into his shin. He let out a yell, but continued to advance towards me -- now angrier than before. I took a step back and pressed the stud on the cane again to retract the blade. Then I swiftly swung it over my head and brought the opposite end down on the top of the guard's head with a crack. The combination of the knockout drug on the blade and the rap on the head made the difference, and the guard rolled his eyes and dropped to the edge of the dance floor, out cold. I looked to Dot. Her opponent wasn't underestimating her skill. He delivered a couple of kicks that sent Dot down, but she bounced back up and countered with a leg swing to his legs. He went down, and she delivered two rapid punches to his head to render him unconscious. I said her name and offered her a hand up. Renny passed before us as she stood and made a quick check for any damage. Meanwhile, Amy and Johnny were involved in some difficulty of their own. One guard had advanced on them and caught Johnny a stunning blow, sending him down. Amy faced off the guard, then smiled and took a ballet pose. As the guard looked at her, she suddenly became a whirling weapon, delivering several blows to the guard before he could respond. Her movement was so fast, and her strikes so stunning, that he couldn't catch her. The combined attack took its toll within a few seconds, and he fell. She looked down, then smiled and went to attend to Johnny. One guard moved in on Clark. They sparred for a few tense moments, until Clark saw a window of opportunity. The guard swung, missed, and Clark stepped behind the punch and delivered a decisive elbow to the back of the man's neck. A spin and a second punch rendered him unconscious. He turned at the sound of laughter to see Kane, the chief of the guards, advancing. With a grin that bordered on maniacal glee, Kane taunted, "C'mon, Savage ... let's see if you've still got the killer instinct." "Y'know what one man can do with the jawbone of an ass?" quipped Clark with a confidant grin. "Well, your's will do just fine." The two men circled one another, measuring each other's style. Clark saw the intent and led him on. Then, at just the right moment, Clark released a yell and lived up to his name, taking his cues from Monk. His berserker-style threw Kane off and Clark's bronze sledgehammer arms made short work of the selfassured chief of the guard. Ten seconds later, bloodied and bruised, Kane dropped face first to the dance floor. A sudden scream of agony from Monk drew all eyes in his direction. Another guard had caught him by surprise and smashed a chair across his back. He was kicking him when he was suddenly seized by the corded hands of Clark and pulled straight up off the floor. Then he was swung around, making two full

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER circles, before he was abruptly released. Unable to control his momentum, he flew straight into the twin outstretched fists of Renny Renwick. The last expression on his face before impact was shock and dismay. Then, as quickly as it had began, it was over. We stood wounded and bruised but Kane's forces were out for the count. Monk and Johnny were being attended to, and there was the sound of much labored breathing. I suddenly remembered Pat. Recognizing defeat, she had been inching towards the main doors. Now she made a break for it. "She's heading your way," I said into the transceiver moments before she vanished through the doors. Seconds passed. Suddenly, the doors splintered as a body crashed through and flew backwards, hitting the floor in a thud and skidding several feet before stopping. Even I was shocked by the display. All eyes were on what remained of the doors, waiting to see what would happen next. The redhead, dressed in jeans and sweatshirt, strode into the room, rubbing her knuckles. Her expression was cold sober. She stood over the very-unconscious form of Patricia Savage. "Pleasant dreams, Mother," said Carrie. -------------------The van pulled up at the small clearing where the Osprey had landed. The door opened and the pilot stood in the doorway. I stepped out from the van. I still wore the bowler. I kinda liked it. "You're not Mr. Kane," he observed, reaching for a weapon. "No, I'm not. And you'll find that your gun doesn't work," I said. "Check it out. I'll wait." He did, and looked at me with fear. "What do you want?" "I want you to do your job, that's what. I have Mr. Kane and his associates. Take 'em home." "If you've hurt Ms. Penelope ... ," he threatened. I had to give her credit, she sure had loyal employees. "She's fine. They're all fine," I assured him. "They're sleeping, and might need a little medical attention, but they'll survive. Now give us a hand." I slapped twice on the side of the van. The back doors opened and Clark jumped out. Monk lowered Pat into his open arms, and he carried her limp form to the Osprey. We had cleaned her up and Clark did a quick reset on her broken nose. There was still a little bruising and some swelling where Carrie's fist had made contact. And as for the damage caused by her flight through the doors and subsequent crash landing -- well, she'd live, but she'd probably be sitting on a large pillow for awhile, and might need to see a chiropractor. And she definitely wouldn't be very pleasant to be around when she came to. The pilot and I carried one man each, while Monk followed with Kane over his shoulder. As I reached the familiar craft, I saw Clark carefully strapping Pat into a seat. He paused over her, then got down on his

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER knees, placed a hand on hers, and bowed his head as he prayed for his cousin. As he stood, he paused long enough to kiss her gently on the forehead. It took about ten minutes to pack the Osprey, and we instructed the pilot to drive carefully. With a puzzled look, he retreated into the aircraft, closed the hatch, and expertly lifted into the air and away. The three of us watched while standing next to the van, then we climbed into the cab and headed back for the banquet hall. We had a party to attend. As we drove back, Monk opened up to us. "I'm scared, guys. Carrie wasn't supposed to know Pat was her momma. I don't know how she found out. I'm just afraid she won't be able to forgive me for what I did, and keepin' it from her for all these years." I made a suggestion. "Let's pray, and leave it in God's hands. It'll all work out." A few moments after we finished praying, I said, "Monk? I'd like to talk to you about something . . ." -------------------The party was in gear. The damage had been cleared out, the traces of blood cleaned from the floor, and now platters of food were spread out on the large tables. Amy and Dot had changed out of their jumpsuits and into something a little more casual. To the right, Johnny, Dot, and Amy were watching a tape playing on one of our TV/VCRs. To the left, Renny was interpreting something to Amanda. Lea came out from the kitchen with another plate of food, placing it on the long buffet table. Carrie was standing by the table as she saw us come in, and walked to meet her father. I headed for the table where Dot was, and Clark headed for Renny. "How did you get these marvelous pictures, Dot?" I overheard as I approached. "Well, I got a couple of small camcorders a while back. I placed one on the shelf next to the kitchen, and the other on the deck rail outside the window. I looked at it this way: moments like this come along only once in a lifetime. I wanted a record of it. Besides, had Pat actually won and taken off with Doc, it would make good evidence. Either way, it would be to our advantage." He nodded with admiration. "Excellent, my dear." He turned to Amy. "And my particular thanks for saving my proverbial bacon. I regret, my fighting prowess has diminished considerably over the years." "It was nothing, sir. Father knew I would need to protect myself. And I admit a fondness for Jackie Chan movies." She smiled innocently. Dot had moved around and was massaging his shoulders and back. "Now, you're sure you're going to be all right?" she asked, concerned. "All right? I'm included in a skirmish the likes of which I haven't experienced in over forty years, and now two beautiful women are doting over me." He smiled seraphically. "Oh, yes. I'm doing nicely, despite the aches." He paused, then added, "And if you continue rubbing my back in that manner, I may acquiesce my position on May-December matrimonies." She kissed him on the top of the head and laughed. Then, as she saw me, she left his side and rushed into my arms. I kissed her.

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"Have I missed much?" I asked. "Only Johnny's proposal of marriage. Would you care to make a counter-offer?" she grinned. "Perhaps," I replied with a straight face. "I'll have to talk to Johnny first, however." Lea came over to us and looked at Dot. "Andy wants to talk to the family. Perry, could you join us?" I was surprised. "Why me?" She just smiled and walked away. I shrugged and looked at Dot. "Why not?" I joined them around one of the large tables. Monk was standing, a reluctant and nervous patriarch. "Okay. It's time we got some things cleared up. Carrie," he said, looking at his firstborn daughter. "I gotta repent t'ya for bein' a sloppy example of a father -- hangin' onto that emotional crap all these years. I wuz afraid that ya'd hate me for what I done. Can ya forgive this overgrown baboon?" Carrie's expression was empathetic. "Dad, how can I possibly hate you? You and Pat gave me life. But you and mom --" Her head tilted in Lea's direction. "-- gave me love." He smiled, relieved. Then ventured, "So, how did you know?" She paused with a smile. "Do you really think I could look in the mirror at these gold-flecked eyes, day after day, and not get curious? So I talked to mom, and she told me." He looked at Lea, but she spoke first. "I couldn't lie to her, Andy. And since you never brought it up, I didn't think twice about it." There was silence for many moments. All eyes were upon the simian patriarch. Then he looked over at Carrie. "Okay. I'm the chump," he shrugged. "Now, how did you know about our little ambush?" Dot coughed and said, "That would be me." Monk turned to her and waited. "When we were planning this little rumble, we needed a backup to cover the outside. To make a long story short, I called mom and asked her if she wanted to get in on the action. I also asked her to bring Granddad Ham's sword cane and a bowler hat that used to belong to dad. I brought Perry in on it, because he was coordinating things with the transceiver, and he could use the cane for additional protection." Carrie added, "I let Perry know when Pat first showed, then when her backup army was approaching, and he let me know Pat was on her way out, so I could get into position." Monk nodded understanding. "Speaking of which, what did happen out there with Pat?" "Well," recalled Carrie. "When Perry alerted me, I quickly ran to the door. She came bolting out a moment later, and I stopped her. She tried to get around me, but I blocked her way. She ordered me to get out of the way, and threw a punch at me when I wouldn't move. I easily blocked it. I told her that she was

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER going back in, and took a step towards her. She threw another punch at me, calling me a ... well, never mind what she called me. I blocked the punch with my left, and punched back with my right." She paused, and flashed a guilty smile. "I guess I hit her a bit ... hard." Monk's mouth went slack. "Hard? Hard? Sweetheart ... you sent her THROUGH a pair o' wood doors and sent her skidding six feet!" Carrie just grinned sheepishly and shrugged. Monk was quiet. We were all looking in his direction, and he was looking at us. I felt the emotional upheaval before he actually gave it words. "Lea ... Carrie ... Dottie. I am a very ... blessed man." He looked from person to person. "I am very blessed to be your husband, your father, and your grandfather." Now the tears were forming. "I praise God for y'all. And if I had it t' do all over again, I wouldn't change a thing -- 'cause of you three. You've made this ... old ... man ... very proud." There wasn't a dry eye at the table. Lea was first to his side, followed closely by Carrie and Dot. And I just praised God for all the wonderful things He had done. And would do. -------------------In another part of the room, a silent conversation was taking place between Clark, Renny, and Amanda. They watched the meeting, and the group hug, and Renny commented in grandiose gestures, "I have never felt so young in my life!" "That seems to be very popular," replied Clark, smiling. -------------------The meeting over, we disbursed to enjoy the party. Monk, however, was facing a small confrontation, as Renny and Johnny backed him towards a corner. I spotted it and got Clark's attention. We covered him from a distance. Renny spoke first. "Your daughter Carrie referred to Pat as 'mother'. What gives?" "Yes," emphasized Johnny. "What haven't you told us?" The anthropoid-like Monk bumped the wall and looked from man to man. Then he saw me and Clark, and I gave him a thumbs up to assure him we were supporting him. He took a deep breath and exhaled it in a sigh. "Yeah. It's true. Pat and I got together. It was long ago, after we all split up. Pat wasn't in Greece recoverin' from the loss of her eye -- she was having our child." He paused, looking each of them in the eye. Waiting for the reactions. "Look. I could give you all kinds of details, but it's ancient history. So waddya say, guys? Are we friends -- or do you wanna beat the rest of the crap outta me?" He held out his hands, palms up. They looked at one another, then at Monk. Renny opened his mouth twice to speak, then closed it. "So ... how was it?" asked Johnny, grinning. Renny was nodding agreement.

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Monk looked left and right, then leaned in. "Extraordinary," he whispered, like a schoolboy reporting to his fellows about a hot date. And they all laughed, slapping Monk on the back in triumph. "If you repeat this to anyone, especially Lea -- I'll rip your arms off an' feed 'em to ya," he threatened with a toothy grin. Offside, Clark read their lips and translated to me. We bent over double with laughter. -------------------We all assembled around the large tables. With bottles of champagne and sparking apple cider circulating, we offered tributes in the form of toasts. Clark started things off by lifting his glass. "I'd like to propose a toast. To friends. To the friends who have gone on before us --" He turned to face the table where Ham's sword cane and Long Tom's gadget box rested, and lifted the glass in salute. "-- and to the friends we have faced life and death with --" He saluted Monk, Renny, and Johnny in turn. "-- and to those friends whom we owe so very much to --" He turned to me and Dot and saluted us. His voice was emotional, and I felt my eyes starting to mist. "-- I offer this toast." We raised our glasses and drank. Monk looked at Renny and signaled for a toast. "Our turn. To the women in our lives," he said, looking deep into Lea's eyes. "-- and the ways they've tolerated us all these years," Renny added looking at Amanda, and signing. "-- and have stayed at our sides for better and for worse," Monk concluded. "A toast." We raised our glasses and drank. Johnny raised his glass. "To Pat," he said simply, honoring the 'other woman' in all their lives. There was an uncomfortable pause. Then, nodding slowly, the men went "amen" in agreement, lifted their glasses, and drank. "To all the fights, scuffles, brawls, scrapes, and battles we fought," toasted Monk. "To all the ones we walked away from," added Renny. "And to the thankful few they had to carry us away from," amended Johnny with a grin. We raised our glasses and drank. Amy was next. She lifted her glass. "To new friends -- and new adventures!" We raised our glasses and drank. Toasts continued, and glasses were refilled. It was finally time. I turned to Dot on my right and smiled. Then I turned to Clark on my left and lowered my head in a nod. He nodded back. "I have a toast to propose." All eyes turned towards me. "Actually, there is no toast . . ." I swung my glass left and Clark's hand smoothly took it from my hand. "However -- I do have a proposal." In a single move, I turned right to face Dot, glided down to one knee, and took her free hand in mine. Those wonderful soft brown eyes of

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER hers that met with mine were in the early stages of shock, and her face was starting to match the hue of her hair. "Dot ... will you marry me?" She paused. Her mouth was open, but no sound came from it. Then: "Yes. Yes." She smiled and sighed, "Oh, yes." Our audience suddenly exploded in cheering, led by Monk's whoops and clapping. I stood, and Dot put her arms around me. "You snot," she whispered into my ear with a grin. Then she kissed me. "Here's to Perry and Dot!" yelled Monk, lifting his glass. "Here's to great-grandchildren!" Monk was suddenly caught in a crossfire of elbows launched from Lea on his left and Carrie on his right, causing his face to contort and all the air in his lungs to explode from him. The movement also caused his glass to fly from his hand, hitting Renny on the back. As the big man turned to see who had gotten him wet, all Monk could do was gasp and point frantically at the two women next to him. He looked to each of them, and they simply blinked and looked as innocent as children. Renny growled and started to grab Monk by the collar when Amanda tapped him on the arm, wanting to talk to the newly-engaged couple. Releasing Monk's shirt and turning away, he missed the high-five between Lea and Carrie. Everyone gathered around us, slapping us on the back, shaking our hands, hugging us, wishing us well. It was a glorious day. A very glorious day. -------------------As the afternoon wore on, and the party continued, the thoughts gradually shifted from the past to the future. Clark looked up to see Monk, Johnny, and Renny. They stood together, smiling as one. Monk acted as spokesman. "Doc, we wanted ya to be the first t' hear. Me, Renny, and Johnny are gonna work the land the College is on. First we're gonna let Johnny and his archaeology students give it the once-over to see if there's anythin' there worth holdin' onto -- who knows what still might be buried 'round there. Then we're gonna erase it from the face of the earth, and turn it over to our master engineer, here. He's gonna put up somethin' a bit more worthwhile -- a private school that'll teach it like it is, and show 'em how to do it right. We're gonna call it the Savage Institute -- if that's okay with you, that is." The three of them stood proudly. In Clark's eyes the years melted away, and the three became five ... then six. And all was well with the world. "I would be honored," he replied through moist eyes. As the trio moved towards a table to do some outlining, I saw Clark look to the window -- dusk was approaching -- and then he casually stood and walked onto the deck that overlooked the beach. He stood at the railing for a couple of minutes, then, without looking back, headed for the steps. I gave him a moment, then followed. --------------------

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER It was just after sunset. The waves were sea-green cresting to white foam, with grey-green past the waves. Off in the distance, the clouds had lifted just enough to reveal a ribbon of blue paralleling the horizon. The clouds were grey, white, billowy, with an occasional smooth opening to reveal blue sky beyond. Clark stood on the beach. He closed his eyes for a moment and listened to the sounds: children playing in the pool of the 'D' River to his right; dogs yapping, waves constantly roaring and crashing, seagulls calling to one another as they glided silently about. He heard an unfamiliar flapping, and looked up at the kite someone was sailing, its airfoil design banking and curving gracefully in the wind. On an impulse, he reached down and removed his shoes and socks. For a moment he felt like a child again, the sand squishing between his powerful toes. He smiled, then started walking down the beach. Occasionally he paused, drawn to the waves, oddly fascinated by them. One wave crashed to shore. Another wave was right behind it, threatening to overcome it -- but then was overcome itself, by the first wave drawn back to the sea. One force countering another force. Over and over again. The only thing stopping the second wave from flooding the shore was the one just before it, returning to where it started. "I've studied the physics of waves," he said aloud. "But now I see them differently. I see Your hand in it, keeping the waves under control. Your wind keeps the kite in the air, and gives the gulls something to glide on. I've never seen it that way before." He looked up at the sky, beyond the horizon. "So now what?" he asked. And, from inside, he heard. "I am the God that created you. I am the God that brought you to this moment. And I am the God who can take you the rest of your journey. Follow Me. Let Me." -------------------I stood at the seawall, silently watching. A few moments later, I felt Dot at my side. I knew this was his crossroad, and I silently prayed that God's will would be done. Suddenly, the large bronze man fell to his knees on the sand. We paused a moment, waiting. "Is he okay?" asked Dot casually. "Oh, yes," I replied. All I felt was peace. There was no cause for alarm. A moment later, Dot's hand slipped around mine; it was comfortably warm. "Go to him. It's where you need to be," she said. I squeezed her hand briefly, then released it and started walking slowly down to the beach. Clark never heard me, as I approached and placed a hand softly on his shoulder. He turned to face me. Moist eyes, wet tracks, and a grin told me all I needed to know. "You got your answer," I said. He nodded once. I moved around and sat down cross-legged in the sand. He turned and sat down next to me. "Can I share something with you?" I asked respectfully. "Please," he invited. "What have you done all your life, Clark? What were you raised practically from birth to do? Fight evil. You fought the bad guys, solved the mysteries, helped the common man, rescued the damsel in distress. Rather than killing all the bad guys, you tried to help them. Only when it was inevitable did you take or allow life to be taken. You wanted to get rid of the evil tendencies and give them new lives as productive citizens. Well, Jesus Christ does the same thing. He takes a sinner, cleans them up through His own blood, then gives them a brand new start. 'Therefore, if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things have passed away; behold, all things are become new.'

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "You ask yourself what can you do? Well, for one, you don't give up. Then you continue to fight the bad guys. But realize just who the bad guy is. It's Satan himself. When you last tried fighting him, it was a losing battle because it was on his turf, and you didn't have a leg to stand on. But now, with Jesus Christ in you, you are more than a match for anything he throws at you. But remember the rules of battle -- it's not a flesh and blood battle we fight, but a spiritual one. And even then, it's already been won at the cross, so you're a winner without having to lift a fist." "So what do I do?" he asked. "You take the battle to those who don't know how to fight, and show them how to. Take the gospel to the people. And Jesus will take care of the rest." "You're suggesting I become an evangelist as yourself?" "Yes. You could do it. You are a very commanding figure -- people would pay attention to what you have to say, especially if you accompany it with love. You used to help people. You still can. You used to operate anonymously. You still can. And you can be anonymous for the right reasons. You can be more that you used to be, because it's Jesus Christ empowering you." "So what's your plan?" he asked. "I assume you have a plan." I grinned. "Indeed I do. We take this show back on the road, like the early range riders. Maybe get a couple of bigger RVs and travel around. Go wherever God leads us. Do whatever God wants us to do." I paused, then emphasized, "Like we have been doing." "What about Dot?" "Look, Clark. Our paths were joined when you stepped into the Mission. Both of our lives led up to that moment, and they haven't been the same since. Besides, why do you think Dot and I can't be part of this, too? We're a team." "A team," he repeated, as if the concept was new to him. He was silent for a moment or two. Then he reached over placed a large hand on my shoulder. "We have been a team, haven't we? We need one another, and there's much we can teach one another." He grinned. "I like it." "Praise the Lord!" I exclaimed. "This is going to be glorious!" "Amen," Doc agreed. "You got room for three on this beach?" came the voice of Dot, approaching. We turned to her and beckoned. She flopped down on the sand with us. As I took her hand in mine, I observed, "Sometimes, you never know what God has in mind until you get there." "Amen," agreed Clark. "Let's pray." Then as one we faced the ocean, bowed our heads, and sealed the covenant in prayer. -------------------Epilogue

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Professor Vernon Tree was lost. Three hours ago, he had been sitting in his Bellingham apartment, enjoying the warmth of the fireplace and the warmth of the hot spiced apple cider before him. The weather outside was nasty, and he was thankful he didn't have to go out there. When Bill Sloan knocked at the door, he should've just ignored it. He didn't. Sloan was the grandson of an old friend of his -- Robert 'Sweet Tooth' Sloan -- whom he hadn't seen in fifty years. The younger Sloan seemed agitated, yet greatly relieved to find the old man. Tree invited him in from the cold, and the younger man told him a fantastic story, impleading him to come with him to Oregon immediately. And so here he was, miles away from civilization, in a jeep which barely held onto the dirt road within the National Wildlife Refuge in Oregon. And the weather was just as bad as it had been in Bellingham. While holding onto the inside of the jeep and making every attempt to hold down his last meal, he recalled the story his companion had told him, involving Sweet Tooth and Doc Savage. The story was fantastic indeed. It seemed that, many years ago, Sweet Tooth had taken in with a scoundrel by the name of John Sunlight, and the two of them -- and others -- had ventured to the north, to a place in the Arctic they referred to as the Great Blue Dome. From what he understood, the existence of the Dome had been hidden from all but a small tribe of Eskimos, who kept watch over it. Sunlight had gained entry into the Dome, and they had discovered some of the most astounding machines ever created by man. Sweet Tooth had been wandering around within the Dome, and had come upon some blueprints and plans. He was able to smuggle some of these plans out, including one for a machine that would allow an individual to be placed into suspended animation for years. He had hoped to cash in on them on the outside, but Fate chose a different use of the plans. Sweet Tooth had been a good friend to John Sunlight -- as well as could've been expected, considering the things he remembered of the man's behavior -- and was shocked to hear of Sunlight's death at the hands of the adventurer Doc Savage. Sweet Tooth wanted revenge, and was willing to be very patient in its timing. Sweet Tooth saw that Doc Savage's security was rooted in his intelligence, his strength, his possessions and gadgets, and his circle of associates. He had been able to cope well enough without them, but not for very long. So he hatched a plan to have Doc Savage placed into suspended animation, waking him up after one hundred years, and make sure that all his security was no more. Sweet Tooth's belief was that the mighty Doc Savage, reduced to an insecure, weak, friendless mortal, would become depressed, and eventually take his own life. Sweet Tooth considered this as grand irony indeed, and a fitting end to the life of the Man of Bronze. As Sloan told the story, Professor Tree remembered the months he and Sweet Tooth spent constructing the machines from scratch, following every line and curve of the blueprints. Neither of them understood how it worked, but it did. In order to keep prying eyes from discovering the machines, Sweet Tooth placed them on this National Wildlife Refuge in Oregon, where the Federal Government itself would protect their secret. In order to be present to witness the downfall of Doc Savage, Sweet Tooth would himself be placed in the other hibernation chamber, with both timers synchronized to bring them out of suspended animation at the same time. Either way, investments he made in 1948 would net him a fortune when he awoke in the future.

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With the preparations complete, there was just a matter of catching Doc Savage alone. Sweet Tooth had been spending months watching Doc Savage, noting when he was without his cadre and his gadgets. During that time, he discovered the existence of the Crime College. He planted an operative within the organization, who reported back details to him. And Doc Savage himself made the fatal move when he returned to those caves in Maine unarmed and alone. Sweet Tooth subdued him with an odorless, colorless gas, and transported him to Oregon, placing him in hibernation. Then he took the information from the operative within the Crime College, and passed it anonymously to the investigative reporter Edward R. Murrow. The downfall of the Doc Savage empire was history now. Sweet Tooth had been accurate in his prediction. But there had been a problem. Two weeks ago, Bill Sloan had checked the site of Doc Savage's chamber, and found the ground disturbed. Upon investigation, he discovered that the hibernation machine was empty, and Savage was gone. He needed to bring his grandfather out of suspended animation prematurely, to seek his counsel in this unusual development. It had taken him up until three hours ago to locate Professor Tree, who had worked on the machine with his grandfather. He tried to tell Bill Sloan that it was over fifty years ago, and he didn't understand how it worked even then. But, undaunted, the younger Sloan finally persuaded Professor Tree to accompany him. He didn't know how he could help. His years as a physics teacher were far behind him, mere memories in a closet in the back of his mind. But out of obligation to the elder Sloan, he went with Bill to see what was the matter. The jeep rounded a corner and stopped in front of what appeared to be a side of a cliff. The rain seemed to have stopped for the moment. They climbed from the jeep, their feet squishing as they approached the wall of rock. Sloan got a propane lantern and an odd-looking flashlight from behind the seat. Aiming the flashlight at the wall, a spot glowed under an invisible beam. He pressed his hand against the spot, and there was a distant rumble from within. A section of the wall crept open. "Amazing!" the professor commented. Sloan smiled. "Cool, isn't it? Grandfather got the idea from the Egyptian tombs. All done with weights and counterweights -- no mechanical parts to fall apart after a hundred years." Sloan returned the flashlight to the jeep, then lit the lantern and walked through the opening. The professor slowly followed him. There was a slight musty smell to the air, as they worked their way to the back of the cavern. In the center of an open area was the coffin-like hibernation chamber, surrounded by support systems and power sources. Then they saw the rock. It was about the size of a baseball, and rested in a shallow crater that wasn't a natural part of the control panel. As Professor Tree lifted the rock from the panel, it was obvious that something was wrong. Sloan moved in and looked it over. He held his breath until he was sure the machine still functioned, then exhaled with relief and turned over the examination to the older man. After a few minutes of close scrutiny, the professor looked up from the chamber and sighed.

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The Bronze Saga #1: BRONZE REFINED AS SILVER "The rock has damaged the hibernation controls," he said. "Your grandfather is still alive, and in no pain. But I'm afraid the controls are broken. I cannot revive him, even if I knew how." "Can't you do anything to help him?" Sloan pleaded. "You built the chambers! That's why I brought you here!" Professor Tree looked at the younger man, and pitied him. "I am sorry. I tried to tell you I didn't know how it worked, but you wouldn't listen to me." The younger man was starting to panic. "Is there anyone who might be able to free my grandfather?" "If you revealed the fact of the machine's existence to the world, there might be someone who could help. But I don't think you'd want to do that." He thought a moment. "The only other alternative is to find the person who made the blueprints of the machine in the first place. He would understand how it worked. It was probably the same person who created that Great Blue Dome in the Arctic." Professor Tree looked over at the hibernation chamber and pronounced, "He may be the only other one in the world who can possibly help your grandfather." THE END -------------------*** SPECIAL THANKS *** * To my Lord Jesus Christ, first and foremost -- of course. * To my precious wife Karen, who tolerated me during the beginning of this saga, yet ended up as much a writer of this story as I. * And to YOU, my readers, without whom this story would never have gotten past Chapter One. Mark Eidemiller June 15, 1999

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