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[Bryce (003)]

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The tea-house located just south of Beijing was quiet.

For the moment.

The papered wall was serene and placid...Until the man's body crashed through it.

The pair of legs crossed swiftly picking up the fellow by both the collar, from behind, and the belt. Once firmly in grip, the figure announced, or rather, inquired:

"Where is he? This will get less and less polite."

The man was flung through another partition which sent him sliding into a very firm mahogany wall. A pair of hands brought him to his feet by the lapels of his cheaply tailored suit and the female voice barked firmly as the dazed man fought for breath in the choke hold.

Joyce spoke rigidly; "Where!"

He gasped; "The Pyramid...America!"

The VIP high-stakes section of the Luxor hotel and casino in Las Vegas was not one to be gained admittance to easily without a credit of $100K or more. The such established player entered without a second glance as he was known. He approached the man in the white dinner jacket at the $1000 per hand blackjack table just as the man spoke gruffly to the dealer.

"Hit me."

The hand came down firmly on the man's left shoulder. The right-cross fisted blow hit him squarely and sent him reeling across to the roulette wheel sprawling onto his back. The same hands gripped him by the collar as voices gasped.

"One chance....Where can WE find him?" Matt was not going to wait.

The man was near passing out and his jaw felt unlined with blood filling his mouth. He choked slightly before responding; "The girl....HIS...Lisbon...Tiana...I swear!"

The villa overlooking the sea was regal and old world. Tiana, a stunning brunette in her late twenty's, lay on her side glancing through the latest issue of Cosmopolitain. She heard the feet and, presuming it to be the villa's house-boy, turned casually. In fact, it was not Juan, but a tall slender built yet toned man.

He was wearing lightweight tanned slacks, sandals and a white cotton collarless shirt with the sleeves pushed up on again, slender yet muscualr forearms. He had a a short cropped mane of red-blondish hair and a somewhat longish jaw and narrow face with a rather small but enticing mouth. He wore a classic pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses and gazed upon her.

"Who are you?"

He removed the sunglasses revealing a pair clear grey-blue eyes.

"The name's Bryce. John Bryce."

She was intrigued.

"And what has brought you to me mister Bryce?"

He knelt next to her. She didn't notice his hands grip the opposite ends of the beach towel. Suddenly the towel was wrapped about her neck and he held her with a sudden coldness in a full wrap. She found herself struggling for breath and he tightened the grip.

"Now that I've jerked the carpet out from under you, where is Marcus DeCale?"

She gasped again.

"I'm sorry luv...I'm just not quite hearing you."

[Bryce (003)]

It had been both hot and humid in the cargo area of Bolivian hangar at the airport.

The head security man, Marcos, had objected to DeCale's request that the device be shipped that night, but knew better than to deny his orders.

He addressed the three security officers under his command as they each bowed.

"Watch the package until it's ready to be loaded." The lead officer nodded. Marcos moved back towards the office. What he had not noticed where that the three actual security officers were out cold by the application of three perfectly placed tranquilizer darts in the dumpster behind the hangar.

Once inside the loading area, Joyce, John and Matt removed their hats and looked about. Matt approached the crate and, seizing a crowbar, cracked it open.

It was a "borrowed" Soviet MERV 6. Matt knew the regs on it and, with Bryce's help, removed the warhead. Bryce then removed the arming charge of semtex. He next took out the remote chip and grinded it under his foot.

"That's that." He nodded to 004.

The distinctive sound of multiple AK-47's being chambered alerted all three.

DeCale strutted forward flanked by four men raising said weapons.

"Well...Seems you three are destined to die together."

Joyce hissed; "Only if you lead the way."

"Miss Carrington.....So charming. So beautiful. So soon to die."

Matt smiled yet glared; "You'll have a few issues with that first," he gestured to Bryce; "Me and him."

Bryce wryly added with a mock of disbelief; "Speak for yourself." Matt shot a sideways look.

OK...Now it was timing and playing with whatever DeCale had to say and how close they could get the goons to them.

DeCale snickered and waved a hand to all three.

"Search them. The lady first, of course."

Joyce unbuttoned her jacket and, slowly, reached to her left side.

One of the goons brought up his rifle. "Hold it. No tricks!" He motioned to one of his men who crossed to her. Joyce paused but then raised her hands.

The goon looked her over and then slung his rifle. He reached into the holster under her left arm.

The sharp snap of the "holster trap" - two spring loaded steel blades - clamped down on the man's left hand, nearly severing three of his fingers, and he let out a
a cry.

Joyce grabbed his hand at the wrist and twirled about him. The second one fired from the hip but she managed to shield herself with the first one's body. She flung him into the thug and he crashed onto the other and down a small flight of steps.

Matt and John launched themselves in unison at the two others. Bryce caught one around the throat and then swung his body behind him. O'Shawnassey lashed out with a full round-house spiral kick which knocked one of the thugs AK from his arms and then hammered him with a left-cross and a right upper-cut. The man crashed to the floor dazed.

Bryce was still on the other from behind but got the forearm lock and then planted his foot and twisted. The snap was firm and the bastard went down hard.

Joyce snatched up one of the AK's and dropped to one knee bringing the weapon to her shoulder. She squeezed off two bursts at both the goons cutting them down before they had even gotten their feet underneath them.

The one at Matt's feet began to sit up but not for long. 004 lashed out with a nasty step-kick to the windpipe under the jaw. The goon fell back gasping and clutching his throat.

DeCale had moved back but grabbed one of the machine guns. He let off two bursts. Bryce dove behind some crates and Joyce tucked and rolled to one side. Bullets missing both by inches.

He had fired wildly and soon found the gun empty. A foot came from beside him, sending the rifle spinning away. Matt hit him with a left hook and sending him right into Joyce's path.

As DeCale, looking quite stunned, came towards her, she drove her knee up under his chin. Nearly sending him back on his now wobbly feet, he teetered.

Bryce caught him from behind; "Maybe you should take a load off."

Part of the shipping area of the hangar included a roller-ramp leading to an industrial shredder. Bryce flung him down onto it and both Joyce and Matt pounced.

Joyce activated the shredder and Matt shoved him, head-long, down the ramp.

He screamed and it was quickly cut short by the grinding of when flesh met metal blades.

Bryce sneered. "Signed."

Matt followed. "Sealed."

Joyce dropped a hand on Matt's shoulder; "and delivered."