Ken Goddard - Chimera

“Hey, and if you’re not interested in her,” the first boy said, glancing over at Bulatt, “we’ll be happy to — ”

Bulatt reached down to his chest, picked up the furry bundle, and placed it on his knee. Instantly, the little furry body rose up on all eight legs and scampered back up to Bulatt’s chest.

“Holy shit!” both boys screamed in unison.

“What’s the matter, I thought you guys liked to play with little spiders?” Bulatt inquired, watching with amusement as the furry creature stared at him with glistening eyes and then settled back down in the center of his chest.

“That’s not a little spider,” the first boy whispered.

“That’s not even… little,” the second rasped.

Both boys looked as if they were about ready to faint.

“No, I suppose not,” Bulatt agreed. “He’s actually a red-kneed tarantula. One of our special ops teams seized about seven hundred and fifty of these guys last year. Hell of a bust.”

“You have… seven hundred and fifty of those… things?” The boy could barely get the words out.

“More or less,” Bulatt said. “I’ve got the one here, Achara’s got fourteen more in the box, and — at the moment — we’re storing the rest out at the Windmill Inn.”

“How can you let it just… sit there?” the boy at the keyboard said, looking like he was about ready to cry.

“Just a personal preference, I suppose.” Bulatt shrugged. “Some people are terrified of tarantulas. Other people — like Achara, for example — let them wander around their bedrooms at night.”

“You mean she — ?”

“All night — ?”

“Walking around on top of her bed?”

“On top of… her?”

“Sure, why not. They won’t bother her,” Bulatt said as he picked up the tarantula again, this time dropping it gently onto the floor. “Mostly, they like to wander around on the floor looking for food.

Suddenly alert, the tarantula squatted up and down a couple of times — like he was warming up with some eight-legged knee bends — and then scampered over to the floor where one of the boys had dropped a piece of pizza.

“Don’t worry, he’s just looking — ” Bulatt started to say when both boys screamed in unison; quickly unplugged the laptop from the wall; grabbed up the laptop, the printer and the bucket of sodas; and then disappeared into the far right bedroom with a solid slam of the door.

“- for crickets and other things that like to hang around scraps of pizza,” Bulatt finished as he got up, shut off the lights, settled back into the couch, and closed his eyes with a contented sigh.

At four-thirty-two in the morning, a light tapping on the hotel room door caused Bulatt’s eyes to snap open. After a quick look through the peep-hole, he pulled the couch aside and opened the door.

“George Reston,” the tough and very tired looking man said, holding out an opened federal agent credentials case. “I believe you were the designated kid-sitter this evening?”

“Ged Bulatt,” Bulatt said as he shook Reston’s hand, motioned him inside, and then quietly shutting the door. “Appreciate the use of your boys; they turned out to be extremely helpful, once I got them away from their mom.”

“You mean you actually got some useful work out of these characters?” Reston said as he quietly opened the bedroom door and observed his two sons sprawled out on the twin beds, sound asleep. “How’d you manage that?”

“Classic good-cop bad-cop act,” Bulatt said as he and Reston each picked up one of the boys. “Had a beautiful Thai warrior princess on hand for the good cop, so all I had to do was come up with an effective twist for the bad cop.”

“I heard about your partner,” Reston said. “What did you use for a twist, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Turns out your boys like to play with baby electronic spiders, but turn pale at the sight of a bigger one that’s real.” Bulatt motioned with his head at the red-kneed tarantula squatting on the arm of the couch, apparently watching the scene with some interest.

“Really?” Reston walked over to the couch and stared down at the inquisitive spider. “You think I could arrange to borrow this little guy, every now and then?”

“I’m sure we can work something out,” Bulatt said, nodding agreeably.

A half hour later, a buzzing sound emanating from the couch woke Bulatt out of a light sleep. He fumbled around, found the Blackberry, pressed the light button, noted that it was five-fifteen in the morning, and then thumbed the ‘ANSWER’ button.

“Morning, Henry, where are you at?”

“Rear parking lot of the Windmill Inn,” Henry Lightstone answered.

“Have a pleasant flight?”

“Have you ever flown with Woeshack, at night, and during bad weather?”

“Ah, right, my apologies.”

“Tell it to Paxton, Stoner and Takahara. They just spent the last three hours discussing the best way to dispose of your body, in between watching out for radio towers and tall trees. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell us where you’re staying?”

“Tell the guys I’m hiding out from a bunch of government goons in a hotel room with a gorgeous Thai warrior-princess; a pair of very clever fourteen-year-old CIA-trained hackers; and a boxful of red-knees,” Bulatt said. “No need to add to my grief.”

There was some murmured conversation on the other end of the line.

“Larry thinks you’re bullshitting us, as usual; Mike wants to meet the kids; and Dwight says you’re not going to be of much use to the princess when he’s done ripping assorted parts off your body,” Lightstone said, coming back on the line. “Personally, I’m in favor of handcuffing you into the plane with Woeshack.”

“Which is precisely why I arranged for your morning entertainment; something special to take your minds off your troubles,” Bulatt said, and went on to describe the latest modifications to his plan.

“These are more of the hunter/killer guys you’ve already beaten up and shot; the ones that Schweer told us about?” Lightstone inquired.

“Probably the back-up team,” Bulatt corrected. “If they’re anything like the first group, and the fellow on first-watch, look for them to be heavy on the muscles and firearms, but not real alert. Personally, I’d let them all get a good look at the red-knees wandering around loose in the cars before you make contact; they don’t seem to be able to handle distractions very well.”

“And you really need us to deal with these idiots?”

“Actually, the one I’m concerned about is Smith,” Bulatt explained. “He seems to be experienced, and half-way smart; and he’s probably going to be seriously pissed when he finds out the kids cancelled all of his team’s government travel cards, and messed with their cell phone accounts.”

“No shit?”

“Like I said, they’re very clever kids,” Bulatt reminded.

“And this gorgeous Thai warrior-princess; you saying she’s real?”

“You recall that Colonel Prathun Kulawnit has a daughter?”

“I vaguely remember him showing us a photo one evening,” Lightstone acknowledged.

“Well, she’s all grown up now; and, at the moment, safely nestled in bed about twenty feet from my couch with a bunch of red-knees crawling over her very gorgeous body,” Bulatt said. “Would you like for me to make up some lurid details, or would you rather take all of your frustrations in life out on a bunch of government thugs who are trying to keep us from hunting down the assholes that killed her brother and shot her father; most likely because they want to recruit the assholes for their own purposes?”

There was a long pause.

“Okay,” Lightstone said agreeably, “how much time do you need?”