CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Fluorescent lights gave a sickly glow to a waiting area that would seem at home in any other office building in the city. However, the nature of the business run within these nondescript hallways made it anything but mundane. World domination through terrorism and covert acts had been part of the Foreign Organization for World Larceny from its inception at the hands of the dastardly Dr. Nogood. However, its early plans were often overly complicated, leading to several unnecessary run-ins with the authorities. It was only after Nogood's timely demise and the rise of power of the shadowed triad known only as High Command that F.O.W.L. became truly successful. And with that change, the current Fiendish Organization for World Larceny was established.

The key to F.O.W.L.'s recent success was due to its Chief Agent; a debonaire and dashing rooster who knew as much about espionage and deception as he did about wooing the opposite sex -- and was equally successful in both arenas. He had always been the ladies' man, the man's man; the man about town -- especially in his younger years as a cockerel. Back when he was a simple thug and leader of a group of local punks. The gang he once ran had back-stabbed him and turned him over to the police -- a force that was tired of being made laughing-stocks due to the actions of an inexperienced youth. So they turned their anger into brutal action on the streets, beating him with their nightsticks, shattering his beak and leaving him for dead.

It was F.O.W.L. who found him, F.O.W.L. who nursed him back to health, and F.O.W.L. who supervised fourteen operations to restore his broken beak with steel components. In a way, the agent had been reborn over those fateful weeks, and he took the name Steelbeak as his own. Never again would he allow himself to work so closely with others. F.O.W.L. may have been his savior, but he had learned a valuable lesson: trust no one. That, of course, included even and especially his new F.O.W.L. associates and commanding officers.

That was why Steelbeak rolled his eyes as he stood in front of the mirror, polishing his beak. He couldn't see why F.O.W.L. High Command had to give him a partner. They still hadn't explained themselves and, knowing High Command, they probably never would. They'd merely said, "Be in the main foyer of the base at 1300 hours to meet your partner, Gabriel."

Gabriel, thought Steelbeak. Whatta name -- a F.O.W.L. agent named after an archangel. He shook his head disdainfully and paced, pausing briefly to glance at his watch midstride. 1:12 PM. His new partner was not punctual. He clucked to himself and fastidiously adjusted his lapel.

"Somebody's gotta high opinion of himself," a voice remarked dryly from the doorway. Steelbeak tried to deliver a sharp retort but his beak remained hanging open as he gazed at the newcomer.

Say something! Steelbeak thought in a panic. Say anything! Any words will do!

The duck standing in the doorway was twenty-two years old by Steelbeak's best guess. At least, he hoped she was that old, for all intents and purposes. For his intents and purposes.

She was breathtaking, to boot; long brown hair and white feathers, a shapely body poured into a skintight black cat-suit. There seemed to be multiple layers covering her torso and chest. It looked like she was wearing some sort of stylish bulletproof vest between the layers.



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