"You understand of course, what you ask is impossible..." Akuyeri, a gray-bearded man in his forties shook his head and looked at the cup of steaming tea sitting before him. "I cannot obtain those items on such short notice."
The dark-coated man sitting across from him threw his cigarette on the ground and stamped it out. "I thought you were the best dealer in the world!"
Akuyeri grinned. "I AM the best in world, Philippe. You know my references. I've managed to smuggle Scuds under the noses of UN embargoes! None of my competitors can possibly give you the quality that I can. Nor do they Have my network of contacts." He pulled out a small leather booklet and turned it open to the section labeled 'Assault rifles.' "You can pick up AK-47s for $25 apiece in the bazaars of Chechnya or Afghanistan, but those cheap popguns are no match for the Objective Individual Combat Weapon." He handed Philippe the booklet, a photo was paper-clipped to the open page. It showed a truly lethal-looking rifle. And it was. "It's so new, the American military hasn't deployed it yet."
"The OICW has a pistol grip, two magazines. One for the standard NATO 5.56 millimeter rounds, one for 20 millimeter rounds. Fires 360 rounds per Minute at full automatic. When armed with the armor-piercing, molybdenum-tipped explosive bullets that only I can obtain, it has the potential of piercing all but the thickest armor. I can get the eight that you need in two weeks, plus spare parts."
Philippe shook his head. "I need it in half that time. Timing is crucial for my employer. I need the best. If you can't deliver, perhaps one of your competitors will."
Akuyeri smiled, his mouth a jumble of tobacco-stained teeth. "My competitors can't get these. Nobody can." He closed the booklet and dropped it into his pocket. Looking at his watch, he replied "I have to be on a plane to Eritrea in an hour. The rebels down there are in dire need of my wares, you know. People like me don't get much rest; so many dirty little wars to profit from." He gulped the rest of his tea. "I can get them to you in two weeks in the most secretive way. Anything sooner will require an extra seventy thousand dollars because my source might get compromised. Everything else, I can deliver. The portable anti-tank missiles, the body armor. Everything."
Philippe lit up another cigarette. "It will have to do." He held out his hand. "That's why I've always liked you. You demand a premium, but deliver the best. My employer will send the money to your Swiss account as soon as I make a phone call."
Akuyeri shook his hand, got up, and turned to walk out. "Good luck, Philippe. And may I convey my sincere wishes for success in your latest venture." He stepped out into the crowded, honking street. Philippe sat there, watching the smoke curl as it wafted upwards. These new weapons would be just what was needed to attack the armored train. In a week's time, his employer would have the tools to bring the United States to its knees!
A week later, Townsville, U.S.A.
Philippe surveyed the rail-track. This segment of track was perfect for an ambush. Plenty of trees and long grass with which to offer cover. At 2 AM, the train would pass through Townsville. The VX-2 nerve gas on board was meant to be a secret shipment to a disposal site in Utah. He grinned. The former KGB was still hard at work tracking the movements of American chemical weapons to monitor for compliance with weapons treaties. A gift of twenty thousand dollars to the right underpaid intelligence officer was sufficient to get the details on every aspect of the armored train's cargo, its complement and its defenses. The Americans were totally unprepared for a raid of this type. VX-2 was a perfect weapon to unleash in the Washington D.C. subway system. It was stable, easy to distribute and one of the most deadly substances known To man. He turned to Emmanuelle, his most trusted associate and not-coincidentally, his favorite sex partner. He looked over her well-tanned, lithe body. Emmanuelle had gained her explosives expertise and marksmanship in a number of terrorist training camps in North Africa and the Middle East. She was as efficient and accurate a killer as he'd ever seen. That was VERY sexy in a woman.
She smirked. "We can start the Landcruisers for a quick getaway. After We grab the VX-2, we are only a mile from the nearest highway." She reported, brushing a few strands of long, black hair out of her eyes before strapping body-armor over her well-toned torso and midriff.
He kissed her on the cheek. "After we get paid for this mission, we'll Have more than enough to retire." He turned to look at the camoflaged revetments his team had dug on either side of the track. The six other men were readying their weapons. A single anti-tank missile would wreck the locomotive, causing the entire train to derail. The OICWs which had been distributed among the group were sufficient to pierce the armored train cars and take out what might remain of the three platoons of Army Rangers on board. He noticed with a bit of concern that some of his men were talking a bit too loud for his taste.
"Ferme la bouche!" he hissed at them over the radio.
A little ways off from the track, Josie, Lydia, DiDi, Cat, and Jazz were engaging themselves in a late-night volleyball game. They'd found an old vollyball net in Jazz's garage and they securely duct-taped it across a pair of tree trunks roughly twenty feet apart. It was two-on-two with Jazz as the referree. To make the game interesting, they decided to play "Big-uns vs. Little-uns"; Lydia and Cat played in their superheroine form while DiDi and Josie were their normal selves. DiDi and Josie were losing miserably; it was bad enough with Cat as the natural athlete, but now with her superpowers, she was practically unstoppable. She spiked the ball powerfully, DiDi and Josie ducked as it slammed into the ground and left a small crater.
"Yes!" she yelled triumphantly. She struck a double-bicep pose, both rock-hard muscles peaked at a skyscraping 33-inches. "This girl can't lose!" Over the past few weeks, Cat discovered that if she worked out in her superheroine form, she could gain muscle mass far faster than the rest of the girls. Already her body was almost exploding with dense cords of thick, striated muscle. If she really strained herself, she could lift as much 3800 lbs. The girls had decided it was important to keep a low profile in Townsville, which is why they were out in the open only so late at night.
Lydia served the ball expertly, Josie barely managed to return it, but Cat nailed a second thunderous spike that sent DiDi and Josie running for cover. The ball slammed into the ground without being scraped by the defenders; Cat and Lydia took the win at 15-0.
"You wanna go again?" Cat asked her beaten opposition.
"Yeah, but this time WE use OUR powers." DiDi answered.
Upon scooping up the ball, Cat stopped. She listened keenly and heard Phillippe and his associates discuss what they were planning to do with the train. She palmed the ball in one hand and thought... she absent-mindedly squeezed it a bit too hard... it burst with a small "BANG!"
"Hey, look what you did!" cried Josie.
Cat looked down at the burst volleyball skin and frowned. "Oops- Sometimes I lose track of how strong I am. But seriously guys, we got problems.".
"What's up?" asked DiDi.
"There are some guys planning to hijack a train. Maybe a half-mile away. Something about VX-2 nerve gas?"
"I've read about that stuff," Lydia said. "Half a whiff and you're guaranteed death. Very powerful, very dangerous."
"So what do we do?" Jazz asked.
"We spring into action as only we can," said DiDi. "Lydia, you're the morpher. Infiltrate and find out what's going on. Cat, go with her in case she needs back-up. Josie, Jazz, and I have to get ready for action. Um... here." She tossed them each a roll of duct tape. "MacGyver never went anywhere without it."
"Alright," Cat said. "Come on, Lydia. Pity we don't have a Swiss army knife."
In a flash, they were gone.
The girls put on their bras and prepared for battle. The good old tingling sensation returned as skinny little DiDi Mason transformed into big, bad DiDi Mason. She opened her eyes as the transformation was completed, as did the others. She ran her hands along her sides saying, "Damn, I love it."
"As much as you're getting off on this, DiDi," said Jazz, "we got work to do."
Meanwhile, Philippe peered through his binoculars and saw the green blur in the distance. He clicked on his walkie-talkie. "Sighted. Ready one." Closer, closer. He felt his old instinct take over as his finger tightened around the trigger. He hadn't felt the adrenaline rush like this since he was hired to lead night ambushes back in the jungles of Sierra Leone.
Phillippe felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist. The arms of Emmanuelle. "Darling," she cooed. "It is time, yes?"
"Yes, it is," Phillippe said. Cool as ice, not even the touch of this lovely lady could distract him from his mission.
"No, it isn't!" said Emmanuelle. Shocked, Philippe felt himself fall backwards, landing on the back of his head. Emmanuelle had executed a perfect release German suplex..
"What the?!" yelled Philippe. Still a bit dazed, he lashed at his assailant's stomach with an expert tae kwon do kick. Surprised, Lydia lost control of her morphing ability and turned back into her Bra Buster form. Philippe couldn't believe his eyes. "Where is Emmanuelle?" he screamed.
"You mean her?" Cat said. She held up Emmanuelle by her belt with one hand. The gorgeous but deadly young woman was bound and gagged with duct tape.
"Shoot the train!" he screamed into the talkie. He flicked off the safety from his OICW and pointed it directly at Lydia! Before he could pull the trigger, she grabbed the muzzle, pointed it at the ground and wrenched it out of his hands. He kicked her in the stomach again and again, each kick was enough to rupture a normal girl's abdomen, but on Lydia it was feeble. Lydia threw the gun onto the ground and stomped on it with enough force to render it useless. Across the track, Phillipe's heavy-weapons team aimed their anti-tank missile launcher at the locomotive.
"Hey guys!" came an angelic female voice behind them. Josie blinked into existence, and brought her fist down on the launcher's sight, smashing it into uselessness. The missile teams whipped out their pistols and began firing, but found themselves shooting at thin air as Josie teleported away half a second before.
"Fuck this!" one of them shouted. Both of the men ran off into the long grass. They figured if they made it to one of the Toyota Landcruisers, they might be able to get away.
"Good to see you again!" Josie teleported a foot in front of them while they were running at full speed. They both let out a great "Oof!" as they slammed into Josie's solid bosom. One of them staggered groggily to their feet, pulled a hunting knife out of his leg-sheath. Before he could lunge, Josie grabbed him. "Have another cup!" she whacked her steely boob against his jaw, he fell backwards. Josie chuckled as she rushed to the scene, whipping out a roll of duct tape and busily strapped their arms and legs into immobility.
Jazz let loose a single sonic blast, louder and louder. The three terrorists within range gripped their ears and fell to their knees in pain as the noise became unbearable. DiDi ran around, binding their hands and feet with duct tape as they lay sprawled on the ground. The nerve gas train hurtled past, oblivious to the commotion taking place on either side of the track.
"You die now!" yelled Philippe. He pulled out a semi-automatic pistol to fire at Josie. But before he could squeeze the trigger, Cat came from behind, yanked the gun out of his hand, and leveled him with a 'feather touch' kick to the gut that left him on the ground screaming in pain. She obliterated the handgun with one solid squeeze. The metal squished between her fingers like it was clay.
Part one of "kick ass first, ask questions later" was completed. On to part two.
The girls seized the two Landcruisers and packed all of the terrorists into them like sardines. At first, it was thought that they should be taken to the authorities, but Jazz said it would be more fun if they handled it themselves. They took the group to an abandoned warehouse on the docks. Upon entering, Cat broke the lock and led the girls in, who were carrying the criminals in, one in each hand. They tossed them down on the cold dirty floor; some grunted and winced upon landing, but they dared not make noise. Who knew who what these Amazon femme fatales were capable of?
DiDi ripped the duct tape gag off Phillippe's mouth and asked him in perfect French, "Why were you trying to attack the train?"
Phillippe responded in his native tongue with a snarl, "Fuck you, bitch."
Quickly enraged, DiDi whacked Phillippe on the side of the face, hard enough to knock him over and leave the right side of his face a burning crimson red. She was careful to only use 5% of her total strength, as any more would have killed him.
"He's gonna be a tough nut to crack," said DiDi. "But it isn't impossible. I have an idea." She consulted the group as to the plan, which left Cat beaming with delight. DiDi and Cat grabbed Phillippe and carried him to a more isolated section of the warehouse.
They sat Phillippe down in a wooden chair in an otherwise empty room. "Listen up, sugar," DiDi said. "We're gonna ask you a few questions. Do what we say and we'll make this as painless as possible. Otherwise..." She looked towards Cat who was tensing and flexing her incredible arms. She scowled and did her best to look threatening.
"How's your face?" asked DiDi.
"It's fine," Philippe said disgustedly.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Phillippe Bonnard. I was hired by the Oppressed Peoples Liberation Front."
"What is that?"
Phillippe was hesitant to answer.
"What's the Oppressed Peoples Liberation Front?" DiDi asked sweetly. She was starting to get into her role a bit, giving Phillippe an eyeful of her immense proportions.
"It is a group with the express purpose of destroying imperialist and colonialist invaders in the Middle East. We, that is, my comrades and I, were here to hijack the train of VX-2 nerve gas."
"What were you gonna do with that nerve gas?" DiDi was gliding her soft hand over his face, while sliding onto his lap. Phillippe was feeling so relaxed and so horny that he would gladly tell DiDi anything she wanted. If only my hands were not bound, he thought.
"It doesn't really matter now," he said. "After all, you and your comrades foiled our plans."
"True," she answered. "But I'd like to know... and I think you WANT to tell me." She pressed herself against him and squirmed in his lap, ever so slightly.
"We were going to bring the United States to its knees. It backs corrupt, puppet regimes in the Persian Gulf with thousands of troops. That is why."
"Well, that's what terrorist do, right? Where did you get the firepower? It seems like quite heavy stuff." DiDi was cradling his head now, his face only a couple of inches from her giant bosom.
"A dealer named Akuyeri. That's all I can tell you."
DiDi shook her head. "Tsk, tsk. I think you can tell me much more than that... can't you?" She gently pressed her soft bust against his cheek. "Of course you can."
"He is the best arms dealer there is. He promised us that the guns we purchased were unstoppable. I guess he was wrong. He said something about going to Eritrea." He gave a dry, short laugh. "But I doubt he's still there. He never stays in one place for long. For all I know, he's in the Balkans by now. Or the Congo. Or the Caucuses. I have no way of knowing."
"Thanks, sugar. I'm sure that's all we need." DiDi kissed Phillippe on the forehead and got up off him. He breathed a sigh of relief, for now he wouldn't have to contend with Cat.
On her way out, DiDi whispered something in Cat's ear. He couldn't understand what was being said, but she nodded in agreement. DiDi left and Cat smiled at Phillippe.
"No questions from me, hon. Just this." Cat flexed every muscle in her body and they swelled into massive hardness. Phillippe looked on in a combination of fear and excitement, mostly fear.
"Let's see how long you can hold out," she said.
Phillippe screamed.
The scream could be heard in the main room where the rest of the terrorists were located. "What are you doing to mon petit chou?" demanded Emmanuelle.
"Shut up," said Lydia.
"But you're hurting him!"
"I said shut up!" Lydia punted Emmanuelle in the face, knocking her out cold.
"Was that really necessary?" Josie asked.
"She was bugging me," Lydia answered.
DiDi entered the room and saw the heap of metal on the floor. "What's all this?"
"Those were the weapons they had," Jazz said. "Twisted them into absolute crap. Cat's not the only strongarm of the team."
"Yeah, but the only strongerarm," Cat said, entering the room. "Jazz, I wanted to do that."
"Sorry. How's Phillippe?"
"Sleeping like a baby. The punk passed out before I even touched him. What's the fun of putting the squeeze on if I couldn't hear him scream?"
"What are we dealing with?" Josie asked.
DiDi filled the girls in on the details.
"So what do we do now, fearless leader?"
"First off, let's turn these guys over to the police. The arms they used were purchased from an illegal dealer. I'm sure sending an anonymous e-mail to the right authorities will be enough to make sure he won't be around to supply scumbags like Phillippe and his merry band. We'll figure out what to do in the morning. I'm beat."
"DiDi's right," Jazz said. "Let's dump this load, then get some sleep."
"One good thing came out of this," Josie said.
"And what would that be?" asked DiDi.
"I've been looking for a car and now I have a new Landcruiser. Could that possibly be any more sweet?" The others chuckled.
Twelve hours later in the Hotel Axum in Asmara, Eritrea.
Akuyeri awoke with a start to the pounding on the door of his luxurious suite. The door splintered into thirds, and a half-dozen local police officers rushed in, guns drawn.
A blue-uniformed African man walked into the room, a blue and white 'UN' stitched to his shoulder. The name stitched across his left breast pocket read 'Magabe'. As the Eritrean soldiers slapped a pair of handcuffs behind Akuyeri's back, Magabe read from a sheaf of documents he produced from under his arm.
"Mister Akuyeri, the Eritrean National Police, in cooperation with the United Nations International Court of Justice hereby arrests you. The charges are: eighteen counts of non-compliance with internationally-recognized arms embargoes, five violations of UNSCOM protocols regarding weapons of mass-destruction, two counts of non-compliance with IAEA protocols regarding nuclear non-proliferation, four counts of-" the UN agent's long diatribe was interrupted by Akuyeri's yelling.
"I am innocent, damn you! You have no proof! I have diplomatic immunity! I'm here arranging the sale of mining equipment! My bill of lading proves it!"
The UN agent stopped. "Your diplomatic passport is a fake and the shipload of your so-called 'mining equipment' has been impounded down at the docks."
Akuyeri looked shocked. So they'd captured the cache of light artillery aboard! And only hours before he was scheduled to leave the country!
"Take him out to the van!" ordered Magabe. The policemen bundled Akuyeri out of the room. Thanks to the anonymous e-mail they'd received, they were finally able to bring down the world's most notorious weapons supplier to terrorist groups, drug cartels and genocidal pariah states. He looked at the printed e-mail in the bundle of papers he carried. It was signed simply 'B.B.'