Brady Carmichael and the Poodle of Mass Destruction - The Kachina Shaman (2 page)

Fifi grinned and wagged her tail
innocently.

Gramps shook his head, “You guys know you
shouldn’t be doing that sort of stuff in here, you’ve got to run
tests in the sealed test lab down the hall. That’s what I meant
when I said to try it out. Remember the last time you were goofing
around in here and you let those nanobots out? They could’ve eaten
half of North America. Someone will get hurt and it will probably
be me. Plus I kind of liked that bowling ball.”

Brady and Fifi both mumbled apologies. Brady
added, “We’ll get you a new bowling ball Gramps. We promise.”

Fifi quickly whispered to Brady, “Remember
that? Letting those nanobots out was awesome! They ate your shoes,
oh and the pizza guy’s car. That was hilarious."

Then seeing Grampa frowning at her, Fifi
tried to change the subject and asked, “What about me Gramps? Got
anything good for me?”

“Of course I do, my dear.” He replied and
smiled. “You’ll like this. You remember that tooth you chipped when
you were fighting the giant robot from Antares Prime?”

“You mean dis one?” Fifi asked in a muffled
tone as she opened her mouth wide and let her tongue roll out to
one side.

“Yep that’s the one. I made a cast for you
and I have a replacement, but it’s not like your other teeth,”
Gramps said as he reached into another grey drawer and held up a
small, shiny, white dog tooth. “If you press on it with your tongue
and bite down hard, it will light up, giving you a smile so
dazzling your opponent will be momentarily blinded.”

“Hmmm, danks Gwamps.” Fifi said as Gramps
snapped the tooth into place.

“It has an adhesive that will set in about 30
seconds. Here you go my girl. Enjoy your new, extra dazzling
smile.” Gramps scratched her the way she liked just behind her left
ear.

Fifi let Gramps scratch her ear long enough
for the tooth to set in place, plus a little extra. Then Brady and
Fifi left the workshop area through a double garage door opening
into the main body of the hanger.

It was by far the biggest room in their
underground complex. Fifi had tried to call it the poodle-cave. But
Brady argued with her that she was ripping off Batman and on basic
principle he would refuse to hang out in a poodle-cave or ride
around in a poodle-mobile. So after a long argument they took
Gramps’ advice and agreed to call it the “hangar” and to give each
of their vehicles a number rather than a name.

They had twenty-three numbered vehicles in
all. Transports ranging from a radar-evading, deep-sea, stealth
submarine, Number Four, to a fancy hi-tech jet helicopter with a
shimmering blue force field, Number Six. They even had a massive
bright pink Hummer with spinning wheels and hidden missile turrets
(that was the one Fifi wanted to call the poodle-mobile) Number
Two.

Brady had to admit he had not outgrown
thinking it was funny to say in a British accent, ‘Ms. Fifi would
you like to take Number Two?’ She would giggle and respond in high
old lady voice, “Let’s go number twoooo.” And they would both
laugh.

Brady selected Number Eight for their trip,
one of their fastest and most flexible air transports. It was sleek
and looked like a shiny metallic egg. It could quickly fly in any
direction or just hover. It was completely silent and could use
virtually anything for fuel. One time they were running low on fuel
during a mission in China and they made it home by giving it some
pork fried rice. That did, however, make it smell funny for about a
week.

Brady and Fifi spoke the access code
together. The egg cracked open and a short row of steps unfolded.
They climbed aboard and soon were strapped in, going through the
well-rehearsed routine of pre-launch checks and course setting.

Silently the ship rose up and into the launch
tube maze built into the walls and ceiling of the hangar. It’s
launch programming was set to take them through a hidden network of
tunnels they had dug deep underground. They routinely changed how
they came and went from their secret complex and had over fifty
different hidden exits and entrances throughout the city.

The ship rose in full stealth mode, silently
and invisibly, from a spot hidden behind a dumpster at a McDonald’s
about a mile from their house. Fifi growl-sang, “Da, da, da, da,
daaaa. I’m lovin’ it,” under her breath as they swept past and over
the golden arches.

“Mr. Carmichael and Ms. Fifi,” the feminine
voice of the computer began its briefing, “Mission touch down will
occur in twelve minutes. Here is the relevant background data.”

“The President has tasked you with finding a
stolen Kachina doll. Kachina dolls are Native American talismans
that represent forces from both the natural and spiritual worlds.
This particular stolen doll is an ancient artifact, roughly six
inches tall, by two and a half inches at its widest point. It is
colorfully painted using indigo, red cedar, animal bone, and
mushroom dyes. Chemical analysis indicates…”

“Pause computer,” Brady looked at Fifi and
rolled his eyes. She smirked back at him.

“Don’t look at me, you programmed her,” Fifi
replied.

“Computer, please show us a picture.”

A picture of the stolen Kachina doll appeared
in the display. Brady and Fifi examined the colorful doll with its
widely spaced dark eyes, open mouth and inset bone teeth.

“It’s kind of creepy looking,” Fifi said. She
squinted at the doll and reached up with a paw to rotate it on the
touch screen and see it from various angles.

“Any suspects at this time, computer?” Brady
asked.

“No, Mr. Carmichael,” Came the mechanical
reply.

“OK, well, please load all relevant data into
our comlinks in case we lose communication.” Brady added, “Any
other details we should know?”

The computer continued, “The doll that was
taken represents the spirit of fire, known as Hectapay. This doll
is thought to be one of the most powerful protector spirits of the
Kanee tribe. It is rumored that a shaman possessing the doll will
have the ability to summon Hectapay and control the spirit of
fire.”

“Great.” said Fifi, “I hate these missions
with ghosts and spirits. Give me aliens, robots, or insane
computers any day of the week. The supernatural stuff always freaks
me out. Remember that time when the witch doctor made voodoo dolls
of you and me and we both had that terrible rash for three
weeks?”

Brady laughed, “Oh yeah, I remember. That’s
why we make the big money I guess. Let’s get set to land, I have a
feeling we’re gonna have to earn it on this one.”

--

They touched down just outside of the
Southwestern Native American Museum, near the city of Santa Fe, New
Mexico.

Brady and Fifi stepped out of the ship and
walked over to meet the museum director. He was a skinny man,
wearing a maroon vest, khaki pants, plaid shirt and sensible brown
shoes. He smelled slightly of Vicks mentholated rub.

“Oh thank God you’re here,” he said in a
nasal, high-pitched voice.

“Of course,” said Brady.

“Hmmm, you’re younger than I thought you’d
be. Ah well, one can’t argue with results, can one? Your reputation
precedes you, Mr. Carmichael.” He looked down his long thin nose,
“This must be the famous Fifi. Allow me to introduce myself. My
name is George Girard. I am the director of the museum.”

The skinny man continued, “This is no
ordinary theft. When the Kachina was stolen, our guards were
murdered. They were killed in horrible ways.

“One guard was found with over fifty
rattlesnake bites, the other with hundreds of scorpion stings.”

The museum director went on. “The police are
inside, and no one has touched anything. I understand that you
prefer not have anything disturbed as you investigate a crime
scene. The Hectapay Kachina really is the jewel of our collection.
It is over 5,000 years old.”

“Thanks George!” Fifi said, “Show us the
bodies, we’ll take it from here.”

George stood there shocked, staring at
Fifi.

Brady looked at him and said, “Yep, she
talks.” He paused for dramatic effect. “A lot.”

For the next several hours Brady and Fifi
went to work, exhaustively searching through the museum,
interviewing the police and other museum staff.

They ran a detailed scan of the museum and
its grounds. One of the nice things about Number Eight was its fast
connection back to the main computer server farm at their
headquarters. Brady instructed the computer to use all its
resources to hack into the video camera feeds of the surrounding
area.

Brady and Fifi hunkered inside the small
operations center nestled in the back cargo bay of Number Eight.
With faces lit by the bluish glare of HD screens, they watched
video footage the computer had assembled of the crime.

Using Carmichael designed, and not strictly
legal video hacking tools, they were able to assemble a series of
short videos showing the suspect approaching the museum. It
appeared to be a man, cloaked and hooded. His face was either
painted or masked in a skull like pattern. They had especially
chilling footage captured by passing satellite, which showed the
hooded man approaching one of the guards as he was making his
rounds just outside the museum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They play with it.” Fifi said.

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

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

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

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

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

Brady rolled his eyes.

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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