by Chewy Walrus
New Orleans, Louisiana:
An invisible fist collided with the last of the zombies, sending it reeling to the ground. The owner of the fist breathed heavily and surveyed the assembled damage. The bodies of the zombies lay strewn about the place, but his charges were nowhere in sight. Lightly touching his ear, the invisible man hissed violently.
"Agent 2B10," he whispered. "Come in, Agent 2B10. This is Agent 2B02."
A moment of silence wafted over the airwaves until, finally, the other agent spoke. "This is Agent 2B10. I copy you, 2B02. Over."
"Do you have Cicciotto and Turner?" 2B02 asked.
"That's a negative," the younger agent replied. "However, I do have a bead on their location."
"That being?"
"Someplace called La Perdita Island..."
"La Perdita?" 2B02 asked, scratching his head. "Never heard of it."
"Neither have I," 2B10 responded. "That's what they said, though..."
"All right," 2B02 said, "let's check in with 2B01. I'm sure he's got an idea as to whether or not they've arrived."
"Roger that," 2B10 said, plainly smiling on the other end. "I'll see you back at headquarters."
"Roger that," 2B02 said. "Tweed out."
The man known as William Marcy Tweed slowly made himself visible as he he tapped the communications link in his ear. "I.G.O.R., initiate doorway."
"Doorway initiated," the tinny voice answered back. Within seconds, a blue swirling portal opened, and the man once known as the Boss stepped through.
Chicago, Illinois:
Dr. Charles Elias Walker smiled as Tweed stepped through the doorway. He had monitored the ex-mob boss' progress every step of the way through a remote I.G.O.R. probe. And now, Walker was ready to reap results.
"Well, William," Walker asked, tilting his head to the side, "what have you to report?"
"Nothing until 2B10 arrives," the Boss said as, just that minute, a doorway opened to his left.
"Speak of the devil," Walker said as the younger agent stepped out. "And, Mr. Milton, how did we enjoy our first field excursion?"
The thin man removed his hat and trench coat, revealing the form of Mort Milton, hydration pack strapped to his back.
"It was dry!" Milton yelled. "Sending a man with gills into the desert isn't the best way to make friends, Walker!"
"I'm not in this business to make friends, Mr. Milton," Walker said, turning his attention toward Tweed. "Now, report."
"We followed them all the way to New Orleans, but lost them trying to fight off some attackers."
"Were you recognized?" Walker asked pointedly.
"Not likely," Tweed answered. "Agent Turner seemed too preoccupied with the mob and the CIA agents."
"And Cicciotto?" Walker asked.
"Flying above our heads," Tweed responded. "And it was dark. It's likely he didn't see a thing."
"Tell me about Cicciotto's new powers," Walker said, regarding the two men.
"He's like a bird," Milton spoke up. "Jumped out of a window, sprouted wings, and flew away."
"Interesting," Walker said, rubbing his chin. "Enhanced sight and increased aim I had counted on, but wings?" Walker paused in a quiet moment of thought. "No matter," he said suddenly, turning back to his two agents. "And where did you say they were going?"
"Uh, we didn't yet." Milton said a bit sheepishly.
"So, quit your sniveling, and tell me already!" Walker combusted.
"La Perdita Island, sir," Tweed answered. "Milton and I have never heard of it, leading us to believe in the potential for a trap."
"No, no," Walker answered, "it's legit, all right. In the Caribbean, I believe."
"So, what's our next move?" Tweed asked.
"We wait them out," Walker said, thoughtfully. "Quantos may have discovered Turner's tracking chip, but Cicciotto's has remained intact. If, in fact, they are going to La Perdita, we wait them out... and, when the time is right, we strike."
The End