Rollie’s head turned back toward her, he seemed to turn in slow motion and as he frowned, looking from her to the fleeing limo, he knew something was wrong. From the doorway, a figure began to emerge, almost hidden when Rollie had been standing directly in front of the door. Rollie ran toward Angie, the cab driver springing up from the front seat to take the wheel, the fear in his face mirroring Angie’s.
 
 

"What? Bastion?!" Rollie yelled out, stopping dead in his tracks as he reached Angie’s embrace.
 
 

"Oh my God!" she cried out as she looked beyond his shoulder to the man that stood behind him.
 
 

The woman in pageboy length blonde hair walked slowly onto the plane. Her 14 karat gold Logo’s perched low on her small nose, the lenses, an opaque brown tint. She pushed them up slightly as she took her seat and crossed her legs. Within a few minutes, a businessman approached, in a dark, pinstripe suit. Although his horn-rimmed glasses made his hazel eyes appear larger than they were, he could actually see out of them. He took the aisle seat beside the blonde who was smoothing out her skirt. He took a finger and smoothed each side of his moustache before taking the offered drink from the stewardess.
 
 

"What news?" the woman asked, looking straight ahead at the seat in front of her.
 
 

"None, they’ve made landfall…haven’t heard from Geste. Should hear something soon."
 
 

"Do you think he’s been compromised?"
 
 

"Possibly…with your father hitting us so personally back at the bungalow, I would say he’s pulled out all of his favors."
 
 

"I may have to go back to him…"
 
 

"Do so and you’ve signed your death warrant."
 
 

"I don’t have a life without Bastion."
 
 

"Strange, I remember a time when you didn’t have a life without Rollie…"

"Angela….don’t panic! Come, we must go! MOVE!"
 
 

Angie looked at the man who loomed before her and did as he told her but in a state of shock. Rollie pushed her into the cab, barely getting himself in as the man got into the front seat, the door barely closed. They all turned back to see a small rumble began at the corner where the shop stood. Clearly, there was no explosion but as the cab pulled out, the sidewalk parted in a large, splintered crack. A passerby clutched at his ears, suddenly falling to his knees.
 
 

There was a rumbling in their ears, first deep than running the scale to a high pitch squeal that ended when their eardrums perforated. Small drops of blood dripped from their ears as they all winced in pain. The cab stopped, the electrical system suddenly silenced. Rollie looked down at his watch and saw that it too, had been stopped.
 
 

"He’s used an electromagnetic radioactive pulsar weapon, probably launched from the limo when he grabbed Bastion…" said the deep, familiar voice in the front seat.
 
 

Angie could hardly hear him as she shook her head, gathering her wits. No one had died but hearing well again would take some time. She looked up into the deep-set, dark eyes of her Uncle Guillarmo.
 
 

Rollie leaned forward, closing his eyes for a second as he swallowed, trying to get his ear pressure to equalize. Everything sounded muffled. He looked at his watch and noted that it had frozen in time at the exact moment the pulsar wave had hit them.
 
 

"OUT! Get out of my cab!" screamed the driver, shaking as he held onto his ears. There were people on the sidewalks clutching their ears and having trouble walking, their balance disrupted by their inner ear dilemmas.
 
 

"Come, gather your things- I have a way to get us transportation…" Guillarmo said, his voice reflecting the pain he was experiencing at the moment.
 
 

As he moved out of the cab, he leaned against it, catching his breath. Angie and Rollie were trying to get their things from the trunk as the cab driver suddenly left, leaving the keys in the trunk lock and staggered away from them. The phones in the vicinity of that end of 38^th Street were all dead.
 
 

"I don’t understand… What? Why are you here? You’re not this B. Geste that we were to meet, are you?" Rollie asked the large Cuban as he helped gather their bags and move over to the curb.
 
 

"We must get out of here now!" was Guillarmo’s reply as he suddenly grabbed Angie’s arm and she looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears.
 
 

"What about Bastion? My God, he’s been taken by Martel!"
 
 

"Not now, mija, pull yourself together!" her Uncle warned her as Rollie came to her side and held onto her.
 
 

"She’s been sick…on the plane, and with all this, come on, sweetie," Rollie told her softly as he wiped the trickle of blood from her ear as it had spread down to her neck with his handkerchief.
 
 

She clung to him as they heard sirens in the distance. Guillarmo lead them toward the end of the block, moving around shaken people who were still trying to figure out what had happened. His sharp, honed skills kept them moving and alert as they finally entered a music shop where the sounds of indistinguishable garbage blared out from speakers, electricity not affected at this distance.
 
 

At that point, Guillarmo Montgreviejo grabbed his only niece by the arms, holding her away from him; "You are not pregnant, are you?"
 
 

Rollie, in the confusion of the moment, stared at Angie’s uncle, a shadowy figure to them since their wedding and opened his mouth, his eyes squinting slightly;
 
 

"No, she’s not pregnant! What the bloody hell is going on?" he asked as Angie put her hand to her mouth suddenly and trembled.
 
 

"I don’t think I am, Tio…no- I can’t be, it’s just been a rough couple of days and well, flying the red eye from California and the commotion now with Martel…why are you asking me that?"
 
 

She stared at him, fighting the nausea that had flared up again and apparently been perceived as some sort of dilemma by her uncle.
 
 

"The E/M wave could have been very harmful to a fetus…the chance is strong for defects- I asked out of that respect," he told her, calmly as a young salesman sauntered over to them.
 
 

"Hey, you guys lost? Uh, Memory Lane Records is down the block, man…"
 
 

"Beat it," Guillarmo told the young man who raised his eyebrows slightly but turned his back on them and walked back to his counter.
 
 

"Grumpy old dudes…middle age crisis frumps trying to get gothic," he mumbled as he stamped a discount tag on a CD and fumed.
 
 

"What the hell was that weapon that he used on us back there?" Rollie asked, demandingly as Guillarmo tightened his lips.
 
 

"A special kind of weapon, electromagnetic- a pulsating wave device. In low frequencies, it causes nausea and vomiting, a moderate wave can rupture eardrums, and an oscillating wave can produce both human tissue damage as well as structure damage, such as the sidewalk cracking. You saw that. We experienced our ear drums popping, yes?"
 
 

Rollie nodded as Angie sighed; "He WAS on the plane, Rollie. He may have been making me sick on the plane."
 
 

"I doubt that, mija…it would have interfered with the navigation controls. You just have that look, the stomach upset look…it was my mistake, I was concerned if you were pregnant, that’s all," Guillarmo continued.
 
 

Angie looked at her elusive uncle, the last time having talked to him when Rollie and she had been in South America doing Tomb Raiders with Syd Waterstreet.
 
 

"What’s this about, Tio? Why were you at the address that we were given?"
 
 

Guillarmo looked from his niece to Rollie and then pulled up the sleeve of his jacket. There on his wrist, in a dark purple tattoo, was the word Geste. He let them see it for a couple of seconds before lowering his sleeve.
 
 

"I’m your contact. I will explain all in great detail later, but for now, we must move before the police get here. We must get on Martel’s trail before it gets cold. Bastion Kwan must not leave the country with him."
 
 

Rollie and Angie looked at each other in surprise and confusion. Guillarmo Montgreviejo was B. Geste?
 
 

Guillarmo demanded the phone and the pouting salesman obeyed, without hesitation.
 
 

"Rollie, I don’t know what’s going on but I want out of it!" Angie told him as they waited nearby. Angie was practically yelling to be heard over the music and her own ear distress now.
 
 

"Angie, I couldn’t agree more but I promised Taia I would get her son safely to B. Geste. My word is my bond…" he told her, looking at her and shaking his head as she already knew he would say that.
 
 

"But, my Uncle involved in this? Your father, a CIA agent or counter agent since you were born? Your former girlfriend a terrorist agent? Her father after us, and a known big-time terrorist? Hell, for that matter, Michael Lopez and Michael Sanchez all counter agents…? Eckmiller! Rolf? I don’t understand why this is all happening. They are all starting to be one big happy family and we are the offspring that they are playing with! Some sort of game!" Angie had started flapping her arms out in the air, pacing. She was at her limit of accepting and understanding.
 
 

Guillarmo heard and saw part of her outburst toward the end and came over to them quickly as Rollie just pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. He was close to doing the same thing as he looked up at Guillarmo with an emotion that Guillarmo Montgreviejo hadn’t seen in some time. It was the same look that his sister, Marta had given him before Manny and Angie had left Cuba.
 
 

"Let’s move…there is a car coming now, it should be…" he started to tell them and before he could finish, an Audi sedan pulled up to the curb outside. Guillarmo escorted them toward the door and out. As they got inside the car, their bags loaded without comment by the almost robotic driver; they could hear the police approach. Tires squealed and through the traffic and confusion, both Angie and Rollie could see the bomb squad leap from their van and scramble. From the corner of his eye, Rollie also saw a familiar face- Mira Sanchez has pulled up with Francis in an unmarked car on the corner.
 
 

"Do not bring any attention to us, Rollie," Guillarmo warned him as he saw the expression of recognition in his eyes.
 
 

"What about OUR son? I want my son!" Angie suddenly said, as Rollie covered her hand with his own.
 
 

"Let us get to a safe place first. I want to explain some things to you and then, do not worry. You may go to your son. I will pursue Martel," Guillarmo explained.
 
 

"Bastion is my responsibility, Guillarmo," Rollie countered as Angie took in a sharp breath and cringed.
 
 

"Yes, I understand your feelings but he is now MY responsibility. You brought him to my doorstep. I will take over now, if you please, Rollie. I don’t want any further harm to come to you or Angela, is that clear?"
 
 

Angie looked at her uncle in silence as she felt Rollie almost bristle beside her. She clenched his hand tighter as a warning not to pursue it. He then muttered under his breath and she relaxed somewhat.
 
 

By noon, they had been brought to what Guillarmo had deemed another safe house in New York. It was an insurance office, on the upper West Side. Upon entry, they noted office staffing and what appeared to be normal working conditions.
 
 

"Yes, it really is an insurance business," Guillarmo told them, a slight smile on his lips as he lead them toward the back to a cubicle with a desk and computer. Hitting control-B on the computer keyboard, the back of the cubicle panel suddenly opened, revealing a hallway.
 
 

"Should have known," Angie said, shrugging her shoulders and feeling like a prisoner more than anything else.
 
 

"Come, let’s get inside and I will explain what’s going on…" Guillarmo told them as he let them through and then followed. The door shut behind them quickly, almost with the sound of a air lock.
 
 

"Take a left there," he told them and they entered a well lit, operational center as well as a rest area complete with sofa, chairs, television and a small kitchenette.
 
 

"Home away from home?" Rollie asked, almost sarcastically.
 
 

"You could say that, and now that my main safehouse has been compromised, it is my home for the time being…" Guillarmo answered, softly.
 
 

"Is there a bathroom?" Angie asked, almost in desperation.
 
 

"Of course, through there…" Guillarmo told his niece, smiling.
 
 

Angie quickly left them as Rollie sank to the couch, running his hands through his hair and then felt the stubble on his chin. He looked up at Guillarmo as tall Cuban studied him as well.
 
 

"She’s going to be sick again," Rollie told him, more of a statement than a possibility.
 
 

"Yes, she is like her mother though, stubborn…prideful.." Guillarmo replied, his eyes tilting upward to that memory.
 
 

"We can’t take anymore of this, you know. As she went off in the music store, I have to tell you- I felt the same way! You don’t know what I had laid in my lap only twenty-four hours ago…" Rollie explained, his hearing starting to return to normal.
 
 

"I think I do, Rollie…" Guillarmo told him, sitting across from him.
 
 

Angie appeared, her face flushed and droplets of cold water still clinging to strands of hair that framed her face.
 
 

"You okay?" Rollie asked as she took a seat beside him. Guillarmo watched the two of them, the way Rollie touched his niece, the way she leaned into him for support.
 
 

"Yeah, I must have eaten something…still having some stomach problems…" she replied, as she looked up at her uncle almost shyly.
 
 

"Well, best explain what this is all about," Guillarmo told them, taking off his jacket and stroking the tattoo on his arm.