“Oh look! The House of Mirrors!”

Sandra grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the attraction. Her excitement was infectious and I willingly followed her. Soon we were lost in the maze of mirrors, laughing at the distorted couple laughing back at us. Tall, short, wavy – all of the images had one thing in common; they reflected two people madly in love.

We were deep in the heart of the building when the lights suddenly went out. I automatically reached for Sandra, but my hands only found empty air.

“Chase? Is that – “

Her words stopped on a short scream and my worst nightmare came true. My past had caught up with me, and Sandra was paying the price.

I pushed the third button on my watch and a bright light filled the room. But the only thing reflected back in the mirrors was my distorted form. Sandra was gone.

I ran through the twisted corridors, desperate to rescue her before it was too late. I rounded a corner and realized I was no longer alone. A man approached my reflections, dagger raised. Turning, I confronted 20 images, all intent on killing me.

I grabbed at my belt buckle and the figure hesitated. Taking advantage of his confusion, I pushed the trigger and a net soared out from my waist. It settled over my would-be assassin, tangling his legs and sending him to the floor. In an instant I was on him, rendering him helpless with the famous Chase Jackson nerve block.

Precious minutes had been wasted, minutes that could mean the difference between life with Sandra and a life of eternal loneliness. The mirrors mocked my urgency, taunting me with their false paths and false hopes. I whipped my belt from my pants, threw it at the mirrors and pulled my trench coat around me. The belt exploded, sending silvery shards of glass through the air. They bounced off the Kevlar of my coat like drops of rain, falling harmlessly to the ground.

With the House Of Mirrors demolished to merely a House, I easily found the exit. But I was too late – Sandra and her captors had disappeared. Then I spotted it – a small glass bead. A bead the exact same shade as the glow-in-the-dark necklace I had won for her at the Ring Toss a mere hour before.

Running to its location, I searched for another bead, then another. My brilliant, brave Sandra had left a trail! I dashed through the carnival, following the trail of beads like a pigeon following breadcrumbs. I said a silent prayer of thanks that she had chosen the necklace instead of the life-sized purple panda.

I followed the trail to the House of Horrors. A big, hairy man guarded the door. Examining him more closely, I noted that, underneath the pink fuzzy bunny ears, he looked suspiciously like the bodyguard of my arch nemesis, Dr. Dubu. I flashed back to Poland five years before.

“I will have my revenge, Jackson. Someday, when you are least expecting it, I will take my revenge. I will take my revenge…”

Suddenly, I realized that the words were not only in my mind. There, behind the giant bunny, stood Dr. Dubu. And my precious Sandra. He met my eyes and a cold, calculating smile crossed his face. Then he disappeared into the House of Horrors, taking Sandra with him.

For a moment, I saw pink. Then I realized that the bodyguard was coming for me. I feinted right, then left. The man was big, but slow. I jumped on his back, grabbing the bunny ears. He shook himself like a wet dog, trying to dislodge me. But I wrapped my legs around him and hung on, thankful for my years in the rodeo. I pulled the bunny ears across his face, tying them over his eyes like a blindfold. I jumped off his back as he stumbled away, struggling to unknot the ears.

I followed Dr. Dubu and Sandra into the House of Horrors. And for the first time in my life, I felt fear. Not for myself, but for Sandra. I knew then that I would do anything to save her.

The evil doctor had not gotten far. The first display was a scene straight from the French revolution, complete with a working, remote-controlled guillotine. The doctor had chosen to play the role of executioner, but Sandra was anything but a willing victim. Blood ran down his face from the scratches she had inflicted as he dragged her to the guillotine.

“Sandra!”

Startled, the doctor hesitated and Sandra managed to push away from him. Off balance, he fell towards the guillotine.

“Nooooo---“ His cry was cut off by a silent swish. Sandra buried her face in my chest.

Holding her close, I quietly slid the remote into my pocket.

Chase Jackson tossed his badge on The Chief’s desk. “I need a few days off. Personal business.”

The Chief looked into his steel gray eyes and didn’t like what she saw. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with your missing fiancé, would it?”

“Personal business.”

“I told you the matter is being handled. The best thing for you is to let everyone do their job. Request denied.”

“In that case,” Chase said, pulling his revolver from inside his jacket, “I quit.” He laid the gun on the desk and walked out.

The Chief hit the intercom. “Mary, let everyone know that Chase has resigned. Again.”

-------------------------------------------

Chase slid into his Dodge Viper and thumbed open the special control panel. He started the engine, pressed the button to drop a dummy license plate into the frame, and hit the gas. He wasn’t about to let a little thing like speed limits get in his way.

He cruised up the Ventura freeway at a leisurely 110mph until he hit Santa Barbara and then headed up the coast. He followed the directions he had received on his cell phone, until he reached a dusty surfer beach where a handful of cars dotted the parking lot. He pulled in and walked to the last spot in the lot.

He stared at a rusted orange Volkswagen “Thing” from the early 70’s. A battered surfboard stuck up from the back seat. He kicked at a rear tire and the hubcap fell off. He sighed and got in the car.

The glove box held the keys, a cell phone, and a map. The phone rang.

“It’s nice to see you weren’t followed, Chase.”

Jackson looked around. He saw nothing but a few surfers and a lone hang-glider circling lazily overhead.

“Solvang, ninety minutes.”

“But this jalopy…”

“Ninety minutes.” The line went dead.

---------------------------------------------

Chase pulled into the restaurant parking lot. The Thing backfired one last time when he shut off the engine. He tossed the keys down the faux wishing well on his way into the diner.

The waitress motioned him to any table and he took the one with a fake pink carnation in the dusty vase. He reached for the grimy plastic triangle boasting of the day’s special, the delights of cherry pie, and St. Pauli Girl beer. He slid out the Pauli Girl advert and an extra piece of paper fluttered to the table. Incomprehensible numbers covered the crisp, white page.

Chase ordered a ham on rye, extra mayo, hold the cheese, ginger ale – no ice - and popped outside to pick up the Auto Trader from the free news rack. Back at his seat, he scanned the ads until he found it: "Classic!! 1973 Volkswagen Thing. Runs Great!!!"

Chase circled the phone number set to work. His sandwich had arrived and his fries were cold by the time he finished decoding the message. He ignored the meal, tossed a twenty on the table, and left.

He hoofed it three blocks to the Home Depot as directed, headed for the restrooms, and tapped on the door of the handicapped stall. He heard the latch slide back and he entered.

“Chase, so good of you to come!”

“Number 6,” said Chase by way of greeting, ignoring the outstretched hand. “What brings you to this great land?”

“Just doing some field updates. Would you mind terribly rolling up your sleeve?”

Chase rolled up his sleeve. Number 6 unwrapped a large hypodermic.

“Sorry for all the falderal, Chase,” apologized Number 6 as the tip of the needle slid under Chase’s skin. “We have a keen interest in the case your people will be putting you on next, and we needed to get you the latest before you started.”

“The latest?” Chase queried, nodding towards the needle.

“Oh this? Nothing to be concerned with. Just a little device we are trying out.” Number 6 ignored Chase’s rolling eyes and went on, “Your fiancé is at the motel. A good agent, but not one of our brightest, so don’t expect too much out of her. She has the new equipment you’ll need. We’ve taken the liberty of transferring $200,000 out of your account. That will make the kidnap story plausible. Still, your chief may get suspicious. Here is the name of one of our agents who is no longer useful to us. Turn him in if she starts asking questions. It should restore you to her good graces.”

Jackson turned to go and Number 6 put a hand on his shoulder. “Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials, Chase.”

They both chuckled.

Chase headed over to the motel. He wondered how much longer he would be ... useful.

“Chase, you’ve got to get home immediately!” The distant voice startled the tired, unshaven soldier.

“What do you mean?” he shouted into the satellite phone. “I’ve got 2 months left here in Afghanistan.”

“Chase, Laurie is missing.”

“Missing? What do you mean ‘missing?’” asked the suddenly perplexed soldier.

“I went to her house to check on her. She wasn’t home. There was a note on her door. She has gone into hiding and if you don’t find her within 48 hours she’s going to marry someone named Jim. You’ve got to get back if you don’t want to lose her.”

“I’m on my way!” The soldier surveyed the barren, rocky terrain and saw a helicopter landing. Handing the phone to a compatriot, he said, “Emergency back home I’ve got to go.” The fellow soldier saluted the quickly receding figure.

Chase hopped on the low hovering helicopter immediately after a dozen soldiers departed. The surprised crew wondered about this heavily armed, burly figure in a desert uniform with no rank and no name.

Chase shouted, “I’ve got to get back to CONUS—there’s an emergency! Can you get me to Kandahar to catch a ride home?”

“You got it!” said the pilot.

Chase looked at his watch and thought, “20 minutes to Kandahar, a wait for a plane to the states, a 15 hour flight to Boston, another wait and a 3 hour flight home. I’ll make it.”

Chase’s calculations were interrupted by sudden turbulence and a shout, “enemy fire!” The helicopter rotated wildly, descending like a homesick rock. There was a jarring stop and the ship slowly tilted until it was on its side and then began rolling down a steep incline.

Chase didn’t wait when the action stopped. He threw off the seat belts and kicked the door open. He grabbed his rucksack and ran. Chase pulled out an emergency radio and called for help.

“Frothy 1 this is Zombie, I’ve got to get back to the states, it’s an emergency! Our helicopter just crashed.” he spoke rapidly.

“Zombie this is Frothy 1,” came the almost immediate reply. “Can you take an aerial hookup?”

“Sure!,” replied Chase.

“Okay Zombie, it’ll be a KC-135 jet tanker. It’s headed for the states, they’ll pick you up on the way home. Godspeed!”

“Thanks Frothy, Zombie out,” Chase set the radio on a tall rock to help the plane find its homing signal. He tied himself into an elaborate harness, inflated a balloon attached to the harness by a thick cable and let the balloon float rapidly into the sky. Chase waited.

The four engine jet screamed low over the horizon. A hook extended from the nose captured the cable and Chase lifted suddenly from the ground. The jet’s crew hoisted him safely into the aircraft and Chase sat on a crew seat immediately falling asleep.

When he awoke, they were on final approach to Boston’s Logan airport. Chase looked at his watch and smiled. Only 24 hours had elapsed. He had plenty of time to find Laurie.

Chase was fortunate to find a direct flight home that would leave in a mere 4 hours. “That gives me 17 hours—plenty of time,” he thought with relief. He bought some civilian clothes and a toiletry kit. He ignored the stares of the civilians as they tried to understand this dirty, unshaven soldier. “If you only knew where I was and what I was doing yesterday,” he thought.

Finally came the call, “Final boarding for Orange Airplane Flight #441.” Chase boarded and strapped into an exit row seat. The jet pushed back on time and Chase relaxed for the first time in this arduous journey.

After taxiing for a few minutes the pilot spoke on the overhead intercom, “Folks, looks like a short delay while we wait to get de-iced, should be about 10 minutes.” Ten minutes stretched into 4 hours, then into 6 hours. Chase began to get anxious.

Finally, after twelve hours of incarceration, Chase got up and yelled, “I’ve got to get off this jet!” A flight attendant saw his outburst and shouted, “Air Marshall! Air Marshall!”

A man with a gun came running from the back of the plane and shouted, “Sit down!” He looked at Chase a moment and grinned, “Well, I’ll be! What’s the problem Chase!”

“Hey John! I’ve got to get off this plane, Laurie’s missing, I don’t have much time.”

“I’ll help you out buddy, let’s go up to the flight deck and have the crew get you off the plane.”

As the flight deck door opened, Chase recognized the beautiful co-pilot. “Laurie!” he exclaimed in surprise.

Laurie turned in her seat and said, “Looks like you found me soldier!” She turned to the pilot and said, “Sorry Jim!”

Andrea kissed with her eyes open. Chase liked that. She didn’t miss anything. Things were getting boring around here, she was just the thing to stir them up.

“I have to check in at the office love”, Chase said, “be good”. “Why?”, Andrea teased. “When I am bad I am terrific”. Chase stared at her a moment longer, and left the hotel room. Manfred was standing guard. “Keep an eye on her Manny”, Chase requested. “No, problem Chase, nothing will get into this hallway without me knowing it”, Manfred said. “I am not worried about the hallway, watch the door”, Chase said. Manfred obviously didn’t understand. Oh well.

The trip to the agency was uneventful, he had to forgo the usual banter with Lota Everything, the receptionist. He knew Andrea better than to chance that. He was sent into Sir Nigel’s office.

Sir Nigel looked concerned. “Bad news Chase, Andrea is missing. Someone clipped Manfred from behind, and when he came to, the door was ajar, and she was gone”.

“I told him to watch the door”, Chase mumbled to himself.

Sir Nigel gazed at a paper. “Worse news yet. Harcore is at it again. Either he is going to blow up the world’s oil refineries, or have the quick brown fox jump over the lazy dog. That last part may still be in code. In any case, we have 48 hours to respond”.

Chase went to see Winston. “Just give me one of everything and the manuals to go with them”, Chase said.

“You don’t read them”, Winston pointed out.

“Saves time all around”, said Chase.

He walked to his car, got in, and started off. He soon picked up his usual escort. “Great, now Harcore is color coordinating the cars too”, he thought. ”He had to give Harcore one thing: He did hire people who could drive. He dispatched a car at a busy intersection. The cars opened fire as they got closer. A second car went over a mountain guardrail, and made satisfying explosions on the way down. Ahead, the mountain pass narrowed, and there was a tractor trailer with the back open. Chase raced his car into it, stopping before he hit the front wall. The goons quickly shut the doors behind him. He got out of his vehicle, made his way to the back of the truck, and hid under the floorboards.

The side doors slammed open, and orange jump suited goons poured in. They cautiously approached his car. He put on a gas mask, and lobbed a gas grenade that Winston had cleverly disguised as a spiny cactus. Chase was going to HAVE to have a talk with him when this was over. He liberated one of the goon’s uniform, made his way out, and ‘borrowed’ one of their cars. Orange jump suits, cute. If Harcore was going to provide company uniforms, he could choose less tacky ones. At least they did not have to change to go to jail.

He made his way to the secret hideout uneventfully and snuck in.

The lights all snapped on, and he was surrounded by goons. Harcore sneered at him. “So Chase, we meet again, have a seat”.

Chase sat down carefully. “Now Chase, I offered to not blow up your refineries for a mere $100 billion, and this is how your government responds?”, Harcore chided. A door opened, and a mysterious figure emerged. “Harcore, I thought I told you to have him stripped”, it said.

“He has been searched”, Harcore pointed out. “Searched nothing, he still has all his personal items. I want him stripped, with a cavity check, and remove his tonsils, appendix, and gall bladder if at all possible. Harcore looked properly chastised.

“One hour late Chase”, Andrea pointed out, removing her hood. She went over to a computer terminal and tapped on some keys. “There you go Harcore, $100 billion”. Harcore looked in disbelief. “How did you do that?”, he asked. “Tapped into the military budget. The army will have to make due with 167 less portable latrines. It is for the brass though, so they should never miss them.

“I don’t understand”, Harcore said.

“It is simple”, Chase explained. “Andrea won the bet, I was late, you got paid. We are bored Harcore, and it was obvious you would never learn. So we have to amuse ourselves. No refineries go boom; you get your money which nobody will miss. Everybody is happy”.

“Why should I let you go?”, Harcore asked. “Self destruct in 20 seconds”, the computer announced. “Oh, that is why”, Harcore guessed. “I left you an extra $50 million to cover damages”, Andrea said, “ta-ta for now, gotta run”. She and Chase made their exit.

As he races downstairs; Chase can’t help but notice that his entire house seems spotless, painstakingly spotless.

This revelation leaves him with a mixture of guilt and fear.

Was all this his fault?

Did he get her killed just by being brazen enough to talk her up on those steps at the piazza?

He was in that piazza for not so noble reasons; he was there looking for his mark. It seemed ridiculous that fate just happened to place his nice vacation spot in the same place that a former target was visiting.'Why does my travel agent hate me?'

Our “noble hero” searches the rest of the house

Basement, Closet, Kitchen---Everywhere.

He finishes his fruitless search in the living room. The TV set is blaring something about a breaking story. He sits on the couch trying to devise some ridiculously clever plan that would somehow give him the opportunity to save the day and carry the girl across the threshold to their honeymoon night, which undoubtedly would have the virgin bride uttering cliché words like, “Be Gentle.”

But life wasn’t that simple. He didn’t know this woman. He had met her less than two months ago. How could he possibly know where she might be? The only thing he knew is he hadn’t seen or spoken to her in the last two days and the only other place he could think to look for her was here; the house he had bought on the off chance that he would ever have any time to relax. Some hopeless dream that maybe there was a future that held a cozy retirement with a wife, a lover, and some security. Not necessarily all from the same person. He sat there staring at his shoes, polished black and contrasted against the beige carpet. His eyes ached from strain; it felt like he hadn’t blinked in hours, and the only consoling action he could muster was a bad impression of an OCD sufferer wringing their hands.

Maybe she got spooked and ran…

Why was she doing this to him? It was amazing that he had survived his last little adventure with nothing but another inconspicuous scar that would attract rather than repel a potential mate; He couldn’t deal with this. He had felt that spark of love and spontaneity that few of us rarely feel and it had amazingly sustained itself. He had his life back and was actually glad to have survived this last trek, because at least he had come out of it with a real tangible prize that was solely for him and not for his bosses or some ally. He’d beaten the game. But now it felt like the whack-a-moles were pelting him further down with their playful slams from their “soft” hammers.

He sits there, completely exhausted. All his muscles feel strained. The TV set goes back to its regular programming. He sits there like a statue completely disregarding the soft noises coming from the side hall.

He was trained for this. He should know better.

Our hero slowly comes out of his daze. His eyes open and his shoes come back into focus. There is a commercial on that is talking about the advantages of their dish washing liquid over the leading brand.
It finally dons on Chase.

WHY IS THE TV ON? He had rushed in and ran directly upstairs. Right about now there would be some flash sequence that shows Chase running throughout the house and ending up with a close up of his face.

‘The TV shouldn’t be on’ he thinks. He stands up and looks around. His senses are up and ready to detect even the slightest sound of danger. Unfortunately that opportunity is gone and the only sound that can be heard is the roar of the waves crashing against the shore. He pulls his SIG 239 out of its holster and walks down the hall; gun down as he approaches the corner to prevent someone from knocking it out of his hand. He rounds the corner and surveys the kitchen. Nothing.

As he begins to turn to make his way back into the main house, a shot is heard followed by a thump as Chase hits the ground with a new bullet in his back. He’s dazed for a few seconds but manages to get up quickly and escape down the hall and up the back steps, never looking back. He hides in the linen closet. He can hear steps. He breathes slowly and manages to fight off the pain long enough to see the shooter cross his view through the slits in the closet door.

He can see one of the pistols he left in his study; attached underneath the side table just in case. The gun is a CZ-75 being held by his dream girl. The woman he was once worried about may now be the woman he has to kill. The wedding is supposed to be in two days.