Follow the Beep, Beep, Beep
by Christina Kamnikar, Merc Mommy General
Tuesday, July 30th, 8:33 AM (follows "Chaos Returns...")
Various places around Toronto

        "Left!"
        "Give me some warning, will you?" Lane yanked the wheel of the
Mercmobile(TM) left, screeching around a corner just as the light went
from yellow to red. 
        Christina ignored him, concentrating on the flashing lights and
beeping coming from the tracker in her lap in the back seat. Dianne was
riding shotgun next to Lane, her eyes scanning the surrounding
thoroughfare. They'd been doing this for the last hour and a half, after
it had become obvious that Jamie was _not_ going to be returned. THe
tracker that Christina had hidden from Dianne in the underground passages
below Merc Central had been unearthed, focused on Jamie's frequency... and
then it had been a matter of triangulation and wandering around. Lane had
been shanghaied into driving when he returned from making delivieries,
since it was his car and he was the best driver. 
        "Are we getting _any_ closer?" Dianne demanded, looking back at
Chris and Abby, squished as they were into the ceremonial space between
the trunk and the front seat. 
        "Yes," Chris said shortly. She was still semi-mad at Dianne for
making all this necessary---but she was now very, very glad she'd thought
ahead enough to put a tracker on Jamie on Saturday, as soon as she'd hit
Toronto.
        Dianne was fuming again. "Hold a Merc for ransom. What is the War
coming to? Used to be, no one would even THINK of this. THIS is what comes
of letting Natpackers steal our members, and not taking steps to prevent
it..." Abby rolled her eyes as the GHP ranted on, and wondered if letting
Dianne run unopposed for Grand High Poohbah had been such a good idea. 
Maybe she'd calm down after they got Jamie back. 
        Or, well, not. Abby shook her head. It wasn't like calm was
Dianne's *natural* state. Her natural state was inspired lunacy. Calm
didn't enter into the equation. 
        "Right! Keep going!" 
        Dianne frowned as they whizzed by the Raven, shooting the bar a
suspicious look as they passed it. "I still say we should've searched the
place. She *could* be there." 
        "She _isn't_. Chill. You can hit someone with the big stick after
we've found Jamie." Chris's face started to light up. "Here! Here here
here here..." 
        Lane romped on the brakes, sending the Mercmobile careening into a
parking spot in front of an unfamiliar lingerie shop which sported the
sign "Favorite Fantasies", just down the street from "Darkangel's
Dangerous Liasions" boutique on Yonge.  "Here? Are you sure?" He shut off
the engine, then said calmly, "I am not going in there." 
        Dianne already had the door open and the seat forward, and Chris
and Abby were scrambling out. "It's just a leather & lace lingerie
boutique. Lane, for profit's sake---" 
        "Repeat, I am _not_ going in there." Lane folded his arms across
his chest. "I know what happens to guys in Toronto who even think about
going in those places. Nick. Lacroix. They ended up wearing the
merchandise. Thanks, but I'll wait out here so we'll have a quick
getaway." 
        Abby muttered "you wuss" under her breath as she went to the front
door. She tried to open it, then was pushed aside as Chris and Dianne
rushed inside to rescue their protege.  Various stunned customers stared
at the two women who charged in, backing away from the tall glaring
redhead with the stick and the smaller curly-haired brunette frowning over
an electronic beeping device. The Spymaster smiled weakly at the
customers, and followed the two other Mercs to the back of the shop. 
        The tracker's "beep beep beep" led to the dressing rooms, and
Abby's brow furrowed. "Guys, doesn't this seem a little weird to you?" 
        Dianne grimaced. "Abby, this is War. We passed the normal
definition of weird five days ago. Jamie, are you in there?" 
        Chris pulled aside the curtain of one of the dressing rooms and
groaned. Dianne and Abby jostled their way to her side. "Damn." 
        The clothes Jamie had been wearing on her job with Dianne lay in a
heap on the floor; and the tracker necklace with them. Stuck to the mirror
was the stick-on tattoo and micro-tracker that Christina had planted on
her Merc Child on Saturday. 
        There was no sign of the Web Goddess.