A brief flurry of snow fell down the chimney. Chase sat in his armchair, mellowed by a hot bath. Very seasonable, he thought. The grenade that followed the snow wasn't quite as seasonable.
Synapses flared. Adrenalin pumped. Chase was transformed. He leapt from the chair, caught the grenade, and in one swift movement came to his feet. He froze for one aching moment as he checked the grenade.
Got it: Tri-Tetra Fluoroxetine Nitrate Gas-Grenade Mark I.
Stasis broke. Chase bounded into the bathroom and lobbed the TTFN grenade into the full bathtub. Chase knew that TTFN gas was water-soluble. As he crept to the window and opened it silently, he ran through a mental checklist of TTFN symptoms:
Victim retches as toxins hit nervous system.
Chase made loud retching noises.
Major muscle groups are paralyzed.
Chase dropped to the carpet with a loud thud.
ETA death: 30 minutes-without antidote.
Chase was now on the window jamb. He glanced down.
The drainpipe, he thought. He slid on a pair of leather gloves, wrapped his belt in a taut figure-of-eight around both ankles and, pushing it against the pipe, hauled himself up with both hands.
He peered over the parapet to see a man creeping across the roof wearing a red suit and a fluffy white beard. He was also carrying an AK47 assault rifle.
Chase slid down out of sight. He'd estimated that the drainpipe was clamped at twenty-five foot intervals, so he shook the belt from his ankles, placed the soles of his feet flat against the wall, and tugged on the drainpipe.
The wall clamps gave, just as the barrel of the AK47 poked over the parapet. The top section of the drainpipe swung away from the wall with Chase still clinging to it. The night air was shattered by the roar of the AK47, and a hail of bullets clanged against the drainpipe.
But Chase was no longer there: he'd dropped onto the phone cables below. As the cables snapped, Chase grabbed one end and swung in a graceful arc towards the brick wall of the building opposite – straight through a ground floor window.
Percy Nuttall, Chase's long-suffering neighbor, leapt from his chair as Chase came crashing into the room. Chase hit the floor, rolled, and came up running.
"Chase!" roared Percy, "You blithering idiot! Can't you―"
"Sorry Percy, old boy," interrupted Chase without stopping, "But there's a man on my roof―"
"White beard and red suit, no doubt, " said Percy testily.`
"Actually, yes," shouted Chase, still on the run. Then he heard the unmistakable roar of a Ford Mustang. "They've got my car!" he shouted to Percy.
Still running, Chase grabbed Percy's car keys from the sideboard, bounded through the garage door and slammed it shut, sliding the bolt.
Chase leapt into the Porsche and floored the accelerator as Percy hammered on the locked door wailing: "Not the Porsche, Chase! Please…!"
The Porsche leapt forward, tore through the roll-up doors, and roared out into the street with a cone of crumpled metal draped across its hood. It shot straight up a ramp into the back of large removal van.
It was a trap!
Chase jammed on the brakes. The Porsche squealed to a stop an inch from the rear of the van.
He turned to see four masked men carrying assault rifles standing behind him. "What now, Superboy?" said one of the men mockingly.
To the man's surprise, Chase gave a broad grin and raised both arms in the unmistakable gesture of surrender.
Even blindfolded and handcuffed, Chase could tell he was being marched into a large hall. The blindfold was torn off, and he found himself facing the entire squad of ICU's Covert Operations Unit. Along one wall hung a huge banner saying: Merry Christmas, Chase, You Are The Best.
The men shuffled nervously, an unspoken thought hanging heavily in the air: Sure, it was a ruse, but Chase Jackson surrendered.
Q-ute, the female Chief of ICU, stalked grim-faced across the podium. Rough-handed, she unlocked the cuffs. "You surrendered, Jackson. You broke the code. Why?" she snapped.
"I knew from the very first it was you…and I guessed why," said Chase with a faint smile. "Remember, I was the one who busted the Philadelphia cartel of the S.P.E.C.T.R.E. Syndicate, Phil. S.P.E.C.T.R.E., and destroyed their entire supply of TTFN. The only grenade left we kept down at HQ; the very one that dropped down my chimney."
There was a sigh of relief and a thunderous round of applause.
Q-ute looked very relieved. "But why did you go through with it then? You could have just called it off. After all, you are on leave."
Chase's face split into one his trademark lopsided grins.
"To tell you the truth, I needed the exercise."