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FOUR KILLING BIRDS

a Greatest Hit Mysteries short story

by

LESLIE LANGTRY

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Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2013 by Leslie Langtry

Gemma Halliday Publishing

http://www.gemmahallidaypublishing.com

Previously published by Amazon Publishing

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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FOUR KILLING BIRDS

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"And that's the story of the first Bombay!" I shut the book carefully to avoid startling my birds. The four cassowaries stared at me, blinking.

"Missi, are you reading to those weird emus?" Mom popped up behind me, causing me to drop the book and startling the birds. They started running around in circles like they were on fire.

"They're not emus, Mom. They're cassowaries." I bent to retrieve my cousin Gin's book. "Totally different thing."

Mom frowned and looked at the birds. She thought them weird with their prehistoric looking casques—the bone like structures on top of their heads, and lizard necks and feet. I didn't want her to hurt their feelings by calling them 'weird.' I loved these animals. Sure, they resemble an ostrich in height, and a turkey in color with their bright blue necks and scarlet dangling wattles hanging from their throats, but they are completely unique otherwise. Kind of like me. Maybe that's why I liked them so much.

I waved my large feathered friends away and motioned for Mom to sit down on a rustic, wood chair. I took the chair opposite her—the one that looks like a giant orange hand.

"What's up, Mom?"

Her eyes followed the cassowaries out. "You were reading them the Bombay Family Bedtime Stories book? Why?"

I shrugged. Mom should've, by now, known not to ask me that question. Who knows why I read them those stories? Perhaps they could learn inside those little pea brains of theirs. Maybe I just liked Gin Bombay's book. I never questioned my own motives, mostly because I did what I wanted anyway.

Maybe I should explain. My name is Mississippi Bombay, and I come from a family of assassins. Well, we used to be—for about four thousand years anyway. It was the family biz, but we all recently retired from assassination because it just got to be too much. My generation started having issues with the idea that our kids would grow up killing people for a living. Huh? I wonder why no one had that problem before? Anyway, after a year of my cousins squabbling with the Council, we all just decided to end the business.

I was the family's inventor, and I live on the family island of Santa Muerta—still blowing up things, but for fun this time. We'd kept our secret tropical island headquarters after the shutdown because it's been in the family for centuries. And with it being off the coast of Western South America—it was still a popular vacation spot for the family. We'd kept the block of condos too so the Bombays would always have their own homes here. They didn't visit as often as I'd like, but it was there for them nonetheless.

"Where's Lex? And the boys? Aren't they home for the holidays?" Mom asked, forgetting that I'd already told her the answers twice already. I needed to work on a cure for Alzheimer's, soon. Or maybe she was hitting my future potential glaucoma stash of marijuana plants again. Oh, I didn't have glaucoma—but it's always best to be prepared, right?

"Lex was doing stunts for a film shoot in Germany, and the boys are on a college-sponsored ski trip in Switzerland—with, I suspect, some dangerous elements involved that I'm refusing to think about. I'm spending Christmas with you this year, remember?" I cringed as I added the 'remember' part. I'm sure she didn't like to be reminded of her recent issues with memory loss.

As usual, Mom ignored me, instead handing me a strangely familiar manila envelope sealed with a blood-red wax stamp. The Bombay Crest. I haven't seen one of these since the Council disbanded the Bombay Family business of assassination.

"What's this?" I took the envelope from her and turned it over, afraid to break the seal. Once you broke the seal, you as much as accepted the assignment. Old fears die hard. Technically, we didn't do this type of work anymore. The island of Santa Muerta was no longer Bombay Central HQ. I no longer invented strange ways to kill people because we no longer killed people.

Well, I guess we could still kill people—there just wasn't an organization that made us do it anymore.

"Mom," I repeated, "what the hell is this?"

She waved her arm in the air absently. "There's one more assignment."

I stared at her. She really was off her rocker. I pictured her sitting in her condo, alone, re-living the old days by stuffing blank sheets of paper into manila envelopes and closing them with the Bombay seal in red wax. And then I pictured myself inheriting her insanity and doing the same thing. I really, really needed to work on that dementia vaccine…

"From who? There isn't a Bombay Council anymore." I said gently. "There are no more assignments. No more targets. We gave that all up, remember?" I was worried about Mom. We'd kept the staff at Santa Muerta—she would be cared for the rest of her days. I decided I'd need to talk to the staff, soon, about keeping an eye on her.

"I know that, Missi! I'm not demented. Not yet." Mom laughed, and I felt a cool trickle of relief.

"Well what's this then?" I asked, holding the envelope up. I had to admit, I was itching to open it just once, for old time's sake.

"I already told you. One last assignment." She said it simply, her hands on her hips as if I were a child who didn't understand.

I sighed and tore into the packet. The only way I was going to get answers was to open it in front of her. Imagine my surprise when I pulled out a full dossier complete with target info and the vic's pics. Huh.

"This," Mom said, tapping the top of the file with a perfectly manicured index finger, "is the last loose end. This is the one we didn't finish." She looked at me and smiled. "You are going to finish it."

"But who put all this together? The Council doesn't exist anymore." I flipped through the pages. "And there's some very recent intel in here." Some of the Bombays apparently couldn't let the work go. It wasn't anything new. My great-great grandmother died taking out her last assignment at the ripe old age of ninety-eight years old. She refused to retire. It happens.

Mom waved me off breezily. "Oh, Carolina, Pete, Georgia, and I never felt right about disbanding the business leaving this one thing undone. This assignment has been on the radar for decades—it just never got pushed all the way through. We wanted to tie up this last loose end. That's all."

The Bombay Council consisted of the elders in the family and their generation of siblings and cousins. My mom's generation had been in charge before we retired—handing down assignments to me and my cousins.

I looked back down on the file. It was tempting. Terribly tempting. There wasn't a Bombay alive who hadn't wanted this one, plum assignment. But it never came up. Not in our parents' lifetime or ours. If I had to guess, I'd say it was a backburner gig that hadn't been completely pushed through. Kind of a "someday" assignment. We didn't have the full authority to act, so it waited. Now with the Bombays retired, I guess it was the last loose end. And here it was in simple black and white. It was the hit of the millennia, and it had come to me.

I looked up to see Mom had gone. She kind of did that a lot. The cassowaries were back, looking from the book to me expectantly.

"We're done for the day boys. Come on, let's get some food." I looked at the birds, who merely squawked. Hrothgar looked at me meaningfully. I took that to mean it was dinner time. I handed over a big container of kiwis, and without thanking me, the birds began happily swallowing the fruit whole. It looked like something out of a cartoon.

* * *

This was a special case, and was over the holidays too. I'd need help with this one. And I knew just who to call.

My cousin, Gin Bombay, answered the phone immediately.

"Missi! Happy Holidays!" Gin's eager voice was accompanied by the sound of loud Christmas music in the background. I imagined it was probably snowing in the Midwest where she lived. Here on Santa Muerta, it was hot, humid, and sunny. But then, being near the equator—it was always hot and sunny.

"Same to you!" I wondered how to approach this. Would she be pissed that I was asking her to spend Christmas on assignment with me? I dove in.

"I need your help on something."

Gin's voice was bubbly. "Sure! Anything! What is it?"

"I have an assignment." I said the words slowly, carefully, as if I still couldn't believe it myself. An assignment. Wow.

She didn't say anything for a second. Then I heard her tell her husband Diego to shut off the music and take Romi to the kitchen. It got quiet on the other end.

"What are you talking about? An assignment? We don't have assignments anymore!" She was keeping her voice low, and I detected shock mixed with a bit of anger in it.

"I know," I replied. "I was surprised too. Apparently, this is the one job left unfinished, and they want me to do it. And I need your help."

"Who's they?" Gin's voice grew louder. "There is no more they! We can't get assignments because there's no more Council!"

"Calm down!" I ordered. "I'm just telling you what Mom told me when she gave me the envelope—you remember those? The sealed kind?"

There was no response on the other end.

"Look, I'm not crazy, and I'm not making this up." I took a breath. "There is one last job, and I need you to help me finish it. And we need to do it on Christmas Eve."

Gin laughed bitterly, "Missi, you know I love and adore you. And yes, I kind of, sort of, maybe miss the past. But if you think for one moment that I'm coming out of retirement for one last hit—and on Christmas of all days—you're crazy!"

I brushed off the "crazy" comment. I knew the rest of the family sometimes called me that. But Gin was angry, and I was cool with it. But I had to tell her who the target was.

"Gin," I said slowly, weighing the words, "It's LEOPOLD."

She didn't hesitate for a second. "I'm in."

* * *

I met Gin on the landing strip on the island. She'd chartered the family's private jet to bring her here. We're not stupid. We'd kept the plane and the pilot. Only these days they were used for family vacations and not for transporting assassins to hits. She was carrying a very wiggly and fat pug under her arm.

"Hey Poppy!" I rubbed the dog's ears, and she squirmed violently until Gin sat her down at my feet.

"I had to bring her. I couldn't find a place to take her on this short notice over the holidays," she explained before hugging me. "Just like old times, eh?"

I grabbed her suitcase, and she followed me to the main building housing the family condos. With only me, Mom, and the staff living there year-round, it was nice to have another one occupied. "You sure you're okay with missing the holidays?"

Gin shrugged. "This is special. Even Diego was impressed when I told him who we were going after. He's taking Romi to Australia to be with his family, and I decided to bring the dog here. It's fine."

The thought of Romi made me happy. As Gin's only child, Romi's dad had died years ago. Gin's new husband, Diego, had really stepped up and was a true father to her. That was so cool.

"Well guess what?" I said. "You can join them after. The gig takes place in Australia."

She grinned wildly and took the suitcase and left for her rooms. Everybody in the family had their own condo here in the main building on Santa Muerta, that they could use whenever they wanted. We planned to meet at my place in half an hour. I walked there and Gin arrived ten minutes later.

"So! The big kahuna!" Gin said as she poured us each a glass of wine in my kitchen. "I can't believe they kept this one around. If Liv knew, I'd have to fight her off from coming!" I nodded. Our cousin Liv was a total liberal and true bleeding heart. Going after these hardcore, ultra neoconservatives would've made her swoon.

LEOPOLD was the last great target. A secret cabal of four elderly men who were insidiously evil, LEOPOLD was responsible for the worst of the worst. Formed in the 1950s, these four men were the masterminds behind such terrors as the assassination of peaceful world leaders, bank and Wall Street scandals, the biggest Ponzi scheme ever, foreclosing on widows and orphans, defrauding disabled military veterans, the creation of a major conservative news channel, corporate espionage…you name it, they did it.

Gin held up one of the pages from the file. "It says here they were behind the assassination of the most revered saint on earth! I thought she died of old age?"

I shook my head, "They killed her alright. They gave her a drug that shut down her organs. It was all hushed up."

"Wow," Gin said softly. "Just…wow."

Other people have gone to prison for those things. But LEOPOLD was the brains behind it all from corrupt business to war crimes. They were untouchable, and yet they pulled all the strings. Few knew their names, and few wanted to. These four old, rich white men wanted to remain anonymous and horrifically wealthy. They named their group LEOPOLD after Leopold II, the former King of Belgium—a greedy psychopath who slaughtered millions of the Congolese people for his own financial gain. Why name their group after such a despot? Reportedly, they "liked his style."

Gin picked through the file, "Wow. Just…wow," she said softly. "I knew about some of this, but there's a lot more here than I ever imagined."

I nodded. "Were you as surprised as I was that several top conservative TV personalities and the prime minister of Russia are robot cyborgs?"

She shook her head, "No, I'd heard that before. And I knew that they were behind that computer program that makes hospitals charge $200 for an aspirin." She dropped the papers onto the coffee table and leaned back on the sofa.

"What I didn't know was that they killed a sitting president over the creation of a national arts program. That was their reason? Who doesn't love the arts?"

"That surprised me too. I always assumed it had to do with something else." Bombays knew who was on the grassy knoll that day. But LEOPOLD never came up as an assignment so there was nothing we could do. We had strict rules about jobs. You could only go after your assigned hit. Nothing more—no renegade or vigilante work.

"So, Missi," Gin said, "I have to ask. Why did you invite me to help you? I mean, anyone of us would've jumped at the chance to take out LEOPOLD. Why did you pick me?"

I stood. "It's easier, I think, if I show you."

* * *

Out at the barn, Gin looked from the birds to me. "What are those things?"

The four cassowaries looked at her, staring as if trying to place her.

I pointed to the book, and then to Gin, "She wrote the book, guys!"

The birds looked lovingly at their tattered copy of Bombay Bedtime Stories, then looked at Gin. Enlightenment bloomed in their eyes, and soon they surrounded her, nuzzling and gently pecking her.

"Ack! Missi!" Gin shrieked. "Are they attacking me?"

"No, they only do that when I say the code word. They love you!" I said. "I've been reading them your book every night. We're on our fifteenth time." I smiled to see my birds kind of coo-squawking at my cousin. They knew the name Gin Bombay—to them it meant love…in a weird giant birdy way.

Poppy barked shrilly and jumped into the fray in an attempt to defend her master. The birds stepped back and looked in surprise at the fat little Pug who was chewing them out for crowding my cousin. Gin bent down to pet her defender, and the birds sized the dog up.

"Get away from Poppy!" Gin screamed as the birds made for the pug.

"It's okay!" I said, pulling her back. The birds started grooming the little dog. "They think she's your, well, now their baby. Males raise their young cassowaries." We watched as the four male birds started to herd Poppy into the middle of them all. Poppy allowed it. She'd changed her mind about these huge birds being dangerous and realized they were showing affection, which in her mind, she rightfully deserved.

"You…you trained these things?" Gin asked as she stared in shock at the birds.

I nodded proudly. "Yup. Found the four eggs abandoned in New Guinea years ago. I was helping a tribe over there with an issue they were having with head-shrinking and they insisted I take them with me." Gin looked like she was about to ask me something, then changed her mind. I ignored it. My family often looked at me like that.

I pointed to the first male, who was trying desperately to sit on Poppy. "That's Beowulf," I pointed out the others. "Hrothgar, Bulvai…" And settled my finger on the last one—the smallest. "That's Kevin."

Gin looked at me with her mouth open, then started laughing. "Beowulf, Hrothgar, Bulvai, and Kevin? Really?"

I shrugged, "That's what I thought they were telling me. The name Kevin didn't seem to fit originally, but that's what he wanted."

My cousin doubled over with laughter. Poppy was now running in and out of the feathers of four sitting birds, trying to decide which one to settle with.

"Anyway"—I tried to steer the subject—"I raised them from eggs. I was told they couldn't be trained, but that's wrong. You just need the right motivation." The right motivation in this case, was marshmallows—which I'm sure goes without saying.

Gin turned to me, convinced Poppy was safe with the birds. "You still haven't answered my question of 'why me?' Is it because of my book?"

"Well, that's part of it. But also, they don't like men. That's the other part."

"Wait." Gin shook her head as if to clear it. "We're using these giant birds to kill the members of LEOPOLD?"

I grinned and nodded. "Yes, of course. What did you think I meant?"

* * *

Poppy did not want to go back to my condo with us, and the cassowaries didn't want her to go either. I tossed them some fruit (they only get marshmallows on special occasions) while Gin snagged the pooch, and soon we were back in my kitchen with wine and the files.

"You see"—I pointed to a particular page—"LEOPOLD meets only once a year, and for one night only. It's the one time they are all in the same room."

"Okay," Gin said nodding. "But why those prehistoric ostriches?"

"They're called cassowaries, and they are the most dangerous bird in the world." I pulled up a video on my laptop of a cassowary attacking a man. "They are armed with a five-inch long, razor sharp claw on the first toe of each foot. They can jump into the air and disembowel a human with one swipe, or they knock them down and slit their throats. And they're native to Australia."

Gin's eyes lit with understanding, "And that's where, according to these files, LEOPOLD is having their annual evening of debauchery on Christmas Eve! Missi, that's brilliant!"

"I've been waiting for a long time to use these guys on a hit." And I wasn't kidding. I'd spent years shaping these guys into, well, fat, weird-looking ninja killers. I just needed the right opportunity—an opportunity that because of our retirement from the profession—I didn't think would ever come.

It was beyond perfect. LEOPOLD gathered one day a year in one spot, and this year they were meeting at the Queen Victoria Resort near the Daintree Rainforest in Queensland, off the northern coast of Australia. The reason for the secrecy was so folks like us wouldn't be able to take out the whole cabal. It was amazing that Mom, Aunt Carolina, and the others even got this information. We still had no names—just fuzzy photos of our targets. Daintree was also a protected reserve for cassowaries—which made it all the more fun.

According to the file, these assholes met at a different, undisclosed resort each Christmas Eve to smoke Cuban cigars, drink the most expensive scotch they could find, eat endangered species, and have a night of debauchery complete with upscale prostitutes. Why they chose Christmas Eve was anyone's guess. Maybe they thought assassins wouldn't attack then. Perhaps they got a kick out of being perverts on a major, international holy day. Whatever the reason, they'd managed to keep this one-night-a-year creepy party going since they began, several decades ago.

"Well," Gin said, "we have three days to get the birds there. And then we have to arrange it to go off without a hitch. How do we do that?"

I took a sip of my wine. "We'll use the private plane, of course—with the birds safely tucked away in the cargo hold. Fly into a private hangar in Queensland. I've made arrangements for a large delivery truck to be at the hangar so we can travel with the birds unseen. And I've rented out a private home in the forest, only a ten minute trek from our target."

Gin laughed, "You make it sound so easy! Hauling four, five-foot-seven inch tall killer birds across the world."

I sat back on the couch and thought about it. "I guess I sort of miss the work. The organization part was always fun. Coming up with new ways to off the baddies—I miss that too."

"So you're saying you don't like retirement?" Gin asked.

"I guess I miss killing bad people a bit," I answered. "How about you?"

My cousin thought about this. "I do get bored. I think it happens to all Bombays at one time or another. There were slow times—I guess there were some slow times in the '50s when they didn't have as many assignments coming in. Grandma Mary even did a stint as Liberace's beard."

Gin got up and poured another glass of wine. "Tell me about your birds. What did you call them again? Not ostriches?"

I held up my glass for her to refill, and we made our way to the living room.

"Cassowaries. Not ostriches. Not emus. Distantly related I think. In their culture, males only see the females for mating. The males raise the chicks." I pointed at Poppy who was snoring on the couch. She'd abandoned her cassowary "moms" to their barn and had come in through the open patio doors to join us while we were in the kitchen. With her fat, rotund body and toothpick thin legs, she looked a bit like a fatted tick. "I believe they think Poppy's one of their chicks."

"Cassowaries are weird," Gin said as she reached over and rubbed the dog's huge belly. Poppy farted happily then resumed snoring.

I shrugged. "Well, Bombays always had a thing for weird. Remember the one you wrote about from Egypt who had the two pet dodo birds?"

Gin nodded, "Cairo Bombay. Isn't he the one who bought this island?"

"Yup. In fact, he left behind a petrified dodo egg." I swirled the wine around in my glass lazily. "I was always planning to clone a bird from that egg."

"What is it with you and birds?" Gin laughed.

"I like the cassowaries because I think of them as a lost link to their prehistoric ancestors. With their crazy casque, bright blue necks, and bright red wattles, they look like something I'd invent."

Gin frowned. "I know what wattles are, but what's a casque?"

"That big ridged boney structure on top of their heads. They demonstrate the age of the bird, and they use them in head butts."

"That's pretty amazing," Gin said. "How will they kill the four LEOPOLD dudes?"

"I've trained them over the years to react to different words. Cassowaries are super aggressive when there's food, and there will be a lot of it in the room. I'd hacked into their catering invoice and added even more—especially fruit. They love fruit."

"But just to make sure they attack, I've also devised a number of word and hand signals that can set them off too."

"So, we're just going to open the door and shoo them into the room with these guys?" Gin asked.

I nodded. "That's the idea. The hard part is going to be getting them into the building, and then past security. I've got the floor plans for the private club room where they'll be at the resort, but LEOPOLD will undoubtedly have bodyguards of some sort."

Gin thought about this. "I heard they're the ones who set up that thing in online forms where if you don't retype the captcha question right, you have to reenter all your data again."

I took a sip of wine. "Those bastards! They should die for that alone." I clapped my cousin on the back. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow is your first lesson in cassowary wrangling."

Gin rolled her eyes and drained her wine glass. "Fantastic."

* * *

The next morning Gin, Poppy, and I arrived at the barn where the cassowaries lived. They came running when they saw Gin. Poppy barked happily and slipped under the fence. Kevin and Bulvai nuzzled her affectionately while Hrothgar and Beowulf tried to sit on her. It was harder than they thought.

First, I taught Gin how to tell the difference between each bird. Beowulf was the tallest with the largest casque, so that was easy. Hrothgar had a dent in the side of his casque and his wattles were longer and a brighter red than the others. Kevin was the smallest and Bulvai had a grey streak running down the length of his black plumage. Poppy either knew the difference or didn't care. She loved being the center of the attention of the birds. Which gave me an idea.

"Gin," I asked, "we could always use Poppy as a way to lead the birds in…"

Gin shot me a look. "What do you mean?"

I wasn't quite sure how to phrase this, so I just said it. "LEOPOLD hates dogs. They're the ones behind the policy to shoot them on sight in Iraq and Afghanistan." Oh sure, the military thought they came up with the policy to save soldiers' lives. Terrorists knew Americans were suckers for dogs, so they'd snipe them first, shooting in the legs so the servicemen would try to rescue them, bringing the soldiers into the snipers' line of fire. But it was actually LEOPOLD, through one of their contractors that insisted upon it. Last year they spent Christmas Eve in Thailand. Their dinner? Roast dog.

"So you think they'd try to hurt Poppy and the birds would attack?" Gin's face was filled with horror. "That's a terrible idea!"

I held my hands up. "Sorry! My bad. I would never want to put her in harm's way. Just thinking out loud."

Gin frowned. "Well, it's not such a bad idea. I mean, clearly the birds wouldn't let them hurt her…but I'd rather it was a last resort instead of the main plan." She looked at me. "What keyword launches an attack anyway?"

I leaned forward, whispering it into her ear so the birds wouldn't hear it.

Gin smiled. "I like that." I thought it was fitting too. No one ever said the word rutabaga anymore. I thought that was unfair somehow.

We worked all day with the birds, Gin learning the ins and outs of cassowary handling. She did okay—it was the first time I'd ever had someone else to help me with it. My twin sons, Monty and Jack tended to tease the poor things, and since cassowaries didn't like men anyway, I kept them far away from my birds.

The hardest part was getting the birds to stop mooning over Gin and forcing them to listen to her commands. All they wanted to do was groom her. She was a celebrity to them. Poppy sat on the sidelines and barked appreciatively, encouraging us all.

After a brief break for lunch, Gin finally grasped the idea, and in no time we mastered a sort of flanking maneuver. The four birds would stand in rows of two with me on the left, slightly in front and Gin on the right, hanging back just a smidge. By whistling softly, we were able to get them to move the way we wanted to.

At dusk we made our way back to the apartments, and after quick showers we met up for a sunset dinner on the terrace.

"That was super hard." Gin stretched, rubbing the muscles in her arms. "Do we practice it again tomorrow?"

I nodded and handed her a tube of my special invention pain cream. "Early in the morning, in fact. We need to be able to maneuver them through the woods in the dark."

"Hey," Gin said after using the muscle cream, "this works great! The pain is totally gone—and so quickly. You should sell this stuff."

"I'd never get it past the FDA in the US," I answered. Especially if they knew what was in it. The cream worked and there were no side effects. It was odorless and colorless and totally natural. But the ingredients would concern some people, so I didn't even try. I mean, really, what's the problem with a little bat semen anyway? It's much harder to get—not as easy as you'd think either, so mass production would be a bit weird.

Gin asked, "Why don't we just burst into the room and shoot LEOPOLD?"

I threw my hands up in the air. "Well that's no fun! Gin, these bastards are responsible for seventy-nine percent of all mankind's suffering in the world in the past six decades! Shooting them is boring. Being eviscerated by large, creepy looking birds is perfect for them. It's poetic justice."

Gin nodded. "I can see your point."

"And let's not forget that this is the last Bombay assignment ever," I added. "We need a spectacular ending."

I pulled out maps and blueprints. "We're going to hide here." I pointed at a small square on the map showing the house I'd rented. "There's a footpath that leads here, to the private club they are staying at. It's about a six hundred yard trek through dark woods."

My cousin examined the map. "What kind of private club?"

"An extremely exclusive one in a separate building from the main resort, with a nine-foot high fence around it and a private dining room filled with expensive hunting trophies. For all I know they even have human heads mounted in there."

I showed her on the blueprints. "They'll be having a late dinner and drinks in this room. The prostitutes are supposed to come through this side door so no one sees them."

"Prostitutes?" Gin asked, arching her right eyebrow.

I grinned. "Oh, they aren't really coming. I took care of the arrangements. Instead of four extremely expensive call girls, four killing birds will come in and take these guys out."

Gin laughed. "Four killing birds—like the Christmas song."

I cocked my head. "Duh." That reminded me that it was almost Christmas. I walked over to the stereo and turned on my iPod to my holiday mix. Alvin and the Chipmunks started singing carols, and it made me smile.

"This is fun!" Gin said, raising her glass for a toast. "To the last Bombay hit ever. If we get it right, we'll be famous in the family!"

I raised my glass and clinked hers. "You got that right. I almost wish we could include Coney or Dak or Paris in this one."

Gin's eyes lit up. "Maybe we can. We can use them to disable the guards. After all, we'll be busy with the birds…"

"I don't know…we'd have to keep them out of sight of the cassowaries. I wouldn't want them disemboweling a Bombay."

Gin nodded happily in the full flush of her idea. "We can do it! I'd love to have some more of the gang in on this last gig!"

I blew out a breath of air I didn't know I'd been holding. "I don't know…"

Gin shrugged. "Why not? It's not like we can get in trouble from the Council because they don't exist anymore. And this is a BIG target! We have to guarantee it will work because we won't get another shot at them until a year from Christmas if we screw it up. AND if we screw it up, it will be even more difficult to get the information next year, if that's even possible."

She had a point. And I wouldn't mind a bit more help with this one. "Okay, get on the phone and invite two more Bombays. But only two! I want to keep the testosterone count low so the birds don't freak out."

Gin was already on the phone. I was pretty sure what I'd said didn't even matter. Oh well. I did like the idea the more I thought about it. Two more pairs of hands and we could guarantee a successful hit. I kept drinking as Gin made the calls. One hour later, two of the three cousins had agreed to join us.

* * *

"Missi! Sis!" Dakota got off the plane and hugged Gin and then me. "This is so cool! I'm stoked!" Gin's baby brother and my cousin was a handsome blond man and dressed well in an expensive suit. He probably had hundreds of dollars' worth of hair product on. The mosquitos here would have a field day.

Our cousin, Coney Island Bombay followed more somberly, giving us a brief smile as he hugged us. Coney, or Cy as he was known, was probably the only family member besides me to be considered weird. A Harvard grad with a PhD in philosophy, he was a professional carny—before he married Veronica that is. He looked unusually normal now in a blue silk shirt and khaki slacks, and he even had normal hair. Married life and retirement had made him, well, less weird, and that was a little sad. We had our team. Four Bombays to take out the four members of LEOPOLD. Failure now was no longer an option.

"Paris couldn't come because of the new baby," Gin explained to the guys as we led them to the main building. They'd had a long flight and wanted to change into clothes more fitting for the tropical heat. While we waited on my terrace for Cy and Dak to join us, Gin and I discussed how the practice in the dark jungle had worked out the early dark hours of the morning.

"We'll need some sort of illumination," Gin said. "I was tripping over everything and had to grab hold of Kevin at one point to keep from twisting my ankle. And if I'm tripping here, I'll probably trip in Australia."

I grinned at her description. "You said his name right!"

"We could use night vision goggles…" Gin suggested.

I shook my head. "No, the birds would freak out. They're big on face recognition. We don't want them attacking us."

"Is there a full moon that night?" Gin asked hopefully.

"No. Open flame torches would scare the birds and flashlights would stand out. I don't even think glow sticks would work." An idea popped into my head. "I've got something that might work though. We'll bring it with us."

The guys joined us, and Gin poured them some sangria while I filled them in on the job.

Cy whistled. "LEOPOLD, huh? I've always wanted to go after those guys. They were behind the shoddy inspections on carnival equipment that got people killed."

Dak agreed. "They discontinued my hair gel!"

We all looked at him. He shrugged.

"I'd like to see these birds of yours," Cy said. He was an animal lover too—had a guinea pig named Sartre who traveled with him.

"Only from a distance," I warned. "They're not fond of men. You guys are here to secure the building and take out the bodyguards. That's all." I opened the map and blueprints, and we went to work.

"I've been to Daintree before," Cy said. "The jungle is really dense out there, not like here where it's been cleared over the centuries. You said there's a footpath—how wide?"

"About six feet in most places." I'd done some aerial imaging by hacking into a couple of spy satellites. "It will be a tight squeeze. I think Gin and I can manage it though."

Dak leaned back against his chair. "Any idea about the training of their bodyguards? Former Mossad? Blackwater? Ex-CIA? Anything?"

I shook my head. "The dossier said nothing about it. We're lucky to have any information, actually."

"This is exactly why we needed you guys," Gin said triumphantly. "We would've just shot or stabbed them. But since we are using the cassowary attack to make it look a bit more like an accident, we should be careful with the guards."

"My guess would be former Russian or Israeli types. Mossad or KGB," Cy mused. "They'll probably have martial arts and Krav Maga training."

I frowned. "I'd rather you took them out suddenly and avoided any hand-to-hand combat. That could get messy, and they could call for backup."

Dak grinned. "Well, Missi—then it's up to you—what kind of toys do you have for us to use?"

I laughed. I was the family's inventor and over my tenure had come up with a lot of ways to take out the bad guys. "Let's head to the lab and see!"

They got up and followed. It was fun to do this again. Not that my lab wasn't used—I still experimented almost daily. My sons and husband often joined me. I still had a few tricks up my sleeve…

"What?" Gin asked in surprise as we entered the small building that served as my lab. "No secret passwords to get in?"

I shrugged. "Haven't needed them for a while." I held up my hand to show them my palm. "Palm-recognition on the door knob. Only I can open it." I'd kept it that way. The twins, even though they were twenty now, were still too mischievous to allow inside unsupervised. And Lex never came here without me. He had his own hobbies.

We walked through the room filled with shelves, tables, and boxes. I picked through a few things here and there.

"Hey!" Dak called out behind me, "What's this?" In his right hand he held a small, shiny sphere.

"Dak," I warned, "put that down slowly this instant."

My cousin did exactly that. He wasn't stupid. None of these things were toys…unless you consider weapons to be toys…which the Bombays did for millennia up until now.

"What does it do?" Gin asked, a bit amused.

I shrugged. "It melts you. Into a puddle of goo."

Dak wiped his hands on his shorts. "Why do you even have that lying around?" He sounded a bit wounded.

"It's a death lab, Dak. Duh." I rolled my eyes and moved on until I came to a large rubber bin. "Here's something I think we can use"

I reached in and pulled out a small black plastic square. It was two inches in length and width, with a light gray button on the side with an arrow on it.

"You hold this against your target and depress the button. A short hypodermic needle pops out and pricks the skin, sending a fast acting cardiac arrest poison into the bloodstream. Vic goes down in seconds and has a heart attack. Easy."

Cy took the box from me carefully. "But won't an autopsy find the puncture wound? They'll know our vic was injected."

I shook my head. "No, they won't. I've added a coagulant that acts like a clotting agent, but for skin. It's a synthetic skin that will seal up the hole and dissolve any bruising."

"Like your muscle cream!" Gin clapped her hands. "Brilliant!"

"How many do you have?" Dak asked as he gingerly took the box from Cy.

"Four—but you'll each only need one." I pulled out a small, clear case that snapped over the box. "This will keep it from stabbing you inside your pocket. And I suggest that after you inject the vic, you hold a hand over his mouth so he doesn't make noise. I've been meaning to add something that would paralyze the vocal cords, but I haven't done it yet."

"The trick will be sneaking up on them," Cy said. "They'll likely have their backs to the door and will be facing us. There's only one way in, according to the blueprints."

I nodded. "I'll leave that up to you. I'd use knockout gas, but I'm afraid the ventilation isn't good there and a thorough investigator would still find traces of it hours later."

"Where do we dump the bodies after?" Dak asked Cy. The two men began to speculate, so Gin and I continued farther into my lab.

"You said you had something for illumination?" Gin asked.

"Oh yeah!" I snapped my fingers. "Now where did I put that?"

It took me about ten minutes to locate the device. My filing system is a bit strange to most people, and I do that on purpose to confuse anyone who isn't me. It's very effective.

"Here it is!" I held up a small, dark green burlap bag.

"What is it?" Gin asked.

"My forest floor moonlight simulator." I tugged at the side of the bag causing it to open and flatten. A dull, misshapen but circular glow appeared on the surface. I set it on the floor.

"I came up with the idea when I was hiking at night. I thought I could make something that blended with the ground foliage that simulated pools of moonlight. And I did! It makes midnight hiking much easier."

Gin looked at me curiously, "Why do you hike at midnight? Don't you know this jungle by heart?"

I shrugged. "I have insomnia sometimes. There aren't as many mosquitos that late at night either. It just seemed like something to do."

"So, we put these out along the trail?" Gin picked up and examined the bag. "They really do look like splashes of moonlight."

I nodded. "Yeah. We'll have to do it just before we take the cassowaries out. I only have six and the light lasts for about an hour and a half before it fades."

"Leaving us with only ninety minutes to get the birds there, have them do their thing, and get back," Gin said. "Not much time."

I nodded. "I agree. Dak and Cy will have to work their magic first and signal us when the coast is clear. That should shave some time off." I was grateful Gin had insisted we get help. The guys would make things much easier.

"How did you get the moonlight effect?" Gin asked.

"I got the idea from lightening bugs. I used a polymer phosphorus blend that…"

Gin interrupted me. "Sorry I asked. My brain can't process your genius." She called to Cy and Dak, "Let's get back to Missi's apartment. I want to run through this whole thing before we have to start getting the birds ready to go." She looked at me and blushed. "Sorry! You're in charge! Couldn't help myself there."

"No problem. I think that's exactly what we should do. Cy can make us lunch." I winked at my cousin who nodded. Cy liked to cook and was good at it. I'd been hoping he would do it while here.

Back at my place, I spread out the maps on the dining room table while Cy threw together some pasta for lunch. He really was a genius with food. We munched as we looked at the setup of the private club.

"If we're going in ahead of you"—Dak pointed at the blueprint—"we will need a few minutes to distract and take out the guards, and remove their bodies." He frowned. "I don't see any closets or anything to hide them in, and we have to be out of your way before you bring the birds in, because we'd freak them out, right?"

I nodded. "I don't want them to attack you." We couldn't afford any mistakes, and we had to remain completely silent until the moment we let the birds in.

Cy leaned forward. "There's another connecting hallway here that leads to the more public area of the club, and there are some rooms on either side. The trick will be trying not to be seen by the staff."

"The club has very few people over the holidays. They are doing this as a special favor. The staff on hand will be a chef, two waiters, and the manager, in addition to LEOPOLD's private security. And I don't know how many of those there will be."

We finished eating, and Cy brought us some tea while we thought about it. We had the plan, we had the weapons, we just didn't have the boys' part down. That worried me.

"I'd be willing to bet," Cy said slowly, "that they will have two men at the entrance to the room, two at the entrance to the hallway, two at the door into the building, and two walking the perimeter."

Dak nodded. "Eight guys. And we'll have to take them all out. How many times can we reuse the little black boxes?"

"They automatically refill each time you retract them," I answered. "You can use each one about ten times before you're out of juice."

"We may need more time scheduled out before you ladies arrive with your four gentlemen friends."

Gin laughed. "Yes, Missi and I have two 'bodyguards' each."

"Well"—I tapped my chin, thinking—"we could wait to leave until we get a signal from you two. But that adds ten minutes to our time. Do you think LEOPOLD will summon their guards at all?"

"Not until they want their escorts to come in," Dak said. "At least, that's how I'd do it."

Gin shot him a look. Apparently, she didn't want to know how her brother would deal with prostitutes.

"The escorts are scheduled for midnight," Gin said slowly, "so dinner will be done and cleared. That means less staff around…"

We continued to plan for an hour more. We still didn't have the problem of what to do with the eight guards worked out, but it was getting late and the guys wanted to see the cassowaries.

Poppy led the way, barking happily as we followed her to the birds. I held us back in a copse of trees about fifty yards away as the pug kept running up to the pen. She flopped onto her belly and wiggled underneath the fence. Kevin was carrying around Gin's book and dropped it when he saw her. The birds went crazy canoodling with Poppy, and the dog wagged her tail furiously.

"They love Poppy," Gin explained. And it was with no small amount of pride that I watched as she introduced the boys to the boys.

"That's Beowulf," she said, "Bulvai, Hrothgar, and the one sitting on Poppy is Kevin."

"Kevin?" Dak asked.

"They're all males…" Cy observed. "Fascinating animals!"

Beowulf was squawking to Kevin, who was still sitting on the pug. Apparently he was bogarting Poppy and the others wanted a chance at her. Hrothgar and Bulvai paced indignantly.

"Is that a TV in there?" Dak asked.

"How did I not notice that before?" Gin asked. We were in a different area than we'd been before. I only had one TV jerry-rigged to withstand the birds, and this was where it was.

I nodded. "They love to watch Gilligan's Island. They watch it over and over. I set up a button so they can tap it with their beaks to get to the next episode."

My cousins stared at me. I ignored them. "For a while, they only liked the black and white episodes. Now they only watch it in color." I pointed at one of the birds. "Bulvai has a bit of a thing for Mary Ann. Whenever she comes on, he gets in front of the TV and blocks the other birds from seeing."

As if on cue, Hrothgar tapped the television, and the theme song launched. All four birds forgot about Poppy for a moment and crowded the TV.

"Are they…dancing?" Cy asked.

"Yeah," I answered. "They kind of get in a row and floof their feathers and squawk when the theme song comes on." It looked a little like a bizarre country-western line dance. I had no other way to describe it.

Gin called to Poppy, and the pug left under extreme protest. All four cassowaries tore themselves away from the TV and raced to the fence, squawking heatedly. I needed them to calm down before Gin and I loaded them up later, so we headed back to the condos to get ready for our trip.

* * *

Several hours later, Cy and Dak pushed a large cage on wheels up to the cassowary enclosure. I'd fitted the back end with a covering cloth so the birds wouldn't see the guys. Gin and I maneuvered the birds into the cage. Just before closing the door, Poppy jumped into the cage with them.

Gin started to protest, but upon seeing that the little dog had a calming effect on the birds, she let the pug stay. We lowered the cloth to cover all four sides and hooked the cage up to a golf cart. The four of us drove to the airfield, where everyone was loaded onto the plane. We were airborne in minutes.

The four of us spent the whole seventeen hour flight going over the plans until we had them memorized. When we weren't going over the plans or eating, we rested. There was a lot to do once we landed. Dak had brought a couple of movies with him—the usual Bombay family fare of Zulu and Zulu Dawn. I slept through most of that.

Everything looked good. It seemed like we had a workable plan that we could execute fairly easily. But that means nothing to a Bombay. We are used to having things go wrong, so we are never at ease. This isn't because we are incompetent—it's just that after four thousand years of hired work, we've learned that things rarely go according to plan. This is why our family has survived in the field for so long. Expect the unexpected.

On the other hand, this was our one chance at this hit. It was the mother of all assignments, and it was the last assignment. We wouldn't get a chance to try again later. This was it. It's really enough to make an assassin nervous if you think about it.

After landing in Australia, Gin retrieved Poppy from the cassowary cage, and we drove to the private home I'd rented. We loaded the birds into a barn on the property and heaved a collective sigh once inside the house. We had arrived.

The house was gorgeous—owned by a very wealthy New Zealander who never visited. He just liked the idea that he owned an expensive home in Australia. The décor was a sort of Victorian African hunting lodge with taxidermied big game animals in various poses all over the house. We were too tired to even make fun of it all, so we hit four of the guest rooms and passed out.

Every single one of us was up early the next morning. It was Christmas Eve, and we still had some recon to do. Coney whipped up some amazing omelets from the fully stocked kitchen as we talked about the day.

Gin and I took Poppy and a couple of bowls of fruit to the barn to check on the birds. It had been late and dark when we checked in, which was why we were surprised to find that the barn was almost as nice as the house—complete with air-conditioning and cathedral ceilings and skylights. I'd never seen a barn like this and was a bit concerned the birds would get spoiled.

Bulvai and Hrothgar had made enormous nests from the straw left there. Each of them raced for Poppy when the dog ran in, both trying to herd her into their own nest. Beowulf was pecking at a big screen TV in the corner, and Kevin allowed Gin to feed him by hand.

"I think you're going to owe the owner a new TV," Gin said as Beowulf, now frustrated that the machine wasn't turning on, had decided to knock it to the ground and proceeded to disembowel it with his claws.

I smirked at my cousin as we left and locked up the barn. Poppy had refused to come with us, and I hoped she would distract Beowulf from the fact he was missing his "stories."

Coney and Dak were ready to go when we got back. It was time to check out our target. The idea was that we were two couples on vacation. It was summer here, so that wouldn't be too hard to believe.

We found the path to the resort and took it, taking note where we would drop our lights later that night. We emerged from the woods at the back end of the building. A long wall surrounded it, and there was only one entrance. That doorway was guarded by a large, thick-necked man who had clearly had his nose broken one too many times. Cy stepped away from us and approached the man.

Gin and I oohed and ahhed over the flora while Dak did his best impression of a bored American. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Cy bummed a light from the guard and returned to us.

We continued on toward the beach, hugging the perimeter of the wall surrounding the building.

"He's Blackwater." Cy laughed as he stubbed the cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe.

Dak nodded. "What a joke. Why do they use those idiots?"

Cy shook his head. "Don't know. Maybe they got a good deal? My experience with these kind of guys like LEOPOLD is that one, they're cheap, and two, after sixty years with no attempts on them, they think they're safe."

"We really should check the guard at the other gate to make sure they aren't a mixed bag security team," Dak added.

As we came around the corner, we spotted two guards wearing the same black chinos and T-shirts as the other one. These two sported thick, wavy hairdos that obviously took a lot of work every day.

Gin grinned at her brother. "Your turn kiddo. These are your kind of guys!"

Dak laughed and while Cy, Gin, and I made for the beachside bar, he headed in the direction of the guards.

The Barefoot Bar was a shack on the beach surrounded by Adirondack chairs and tiki torches. Gin and I sat in two chairs facing the beach while Cy went over to buy drinks. He returned with four ridiculous, brightly colored monstrosities, each sporting two little umbrellas and a crazy straw.

"Really?" Gin asked as she took one of the drinks.

Cy nodded with a grin and handed me a huge neon purple concoction that also had giant hibiscus blossoms clinging to it. He sat in the chair next to Gin—a chair that faced Dak and the guards.

"We are tourists, Gin." Cy said as he took a sip of a frighteningly orange drink that seemed to bubble over a fake coconut shell.

"What's he doing?" I asked about Dak. He'd been there a bit longer than he should've, and I couldn't see what was going on.

"The two thugs are laughing," Cy said nonchalantly. "Apparently, Dak is amusing."

Gin frowned. "Well, he's making a spectacle of himself, and we need him to come back before he sticks in their memories."

Cy took another drink. "You know, cousin, your brother has been a competent assassin for years. He's not your baby brother. He's got this."

Gin looked like she was going to argue, then changed her mind and took a drink. I supposed she hadn't thought about Dak as anything other than her annoying brother. I didn't have any siblings and felt a stab of envy. I guess if you have a brother who's an architect and you only remember his Lincoln log houses collapsing, you'd forget he was a trained professional and think he couldn't build anything. I trusted Dak, but I wanted him to get his ass back to us before this got weird.

"He's on his way back now," Cy said calmly.

Dak took the bright blue drink Cy offered and sat down in his chair. He looked at Gin's stormy expression and my worried one and shrugged.

"What?" he asked before taking a sip from the silly straw.

Gin growled. "Made some new friends, did you?"

Dak rolled his eyes. "You always do that! You think I can't do anything right, don't you?"

"Well, you were there a ridiculously long time…" Gin narrowed her eyes.

"Guys!" I said. "Stop. We don't have time for this."

Cy nodded. "What did you find out?"

Dak took another sip and Gin grumbled out a sort of apology. Our nerves may have been a little bit on edge here, and in all honesty, we weren't used to working together.

"Well, for one, there are only four guards here with LEOPOLD. And secondly, they are all former Blackwater—so we shouldn't have any trouble." Dak took a drink. "And these guys are real pigs. Before LEOPOLD they worked for an African despot, the Mexican cartel, and some sex traffickers. They actually bragged about the bad shit they've done. I know we aren't supposed to take out anyone but the target, but I'll sleep better after killing these bastards."

"How did you get that information?" I asked. He'd done the impossible. Had he compromised our position?

Dak held up his hands in protest. "I just talked to them about hair gel."

Gin folded her arms across her chest. "You got all that intel from talking about hair products?"

Dak grinned and nodded. "Yup." He went back to drinking, and I got the distinct impression that we weren't going to get any more out of him—which was a pity, because I'd bet it was a really good story…

Cy set his drink down in the sand and rubbed his hands together. "Well that clears a few things up." He acted like he totally trusted Dak's information.

We lingered on the beach because we wanted to see if there was a changing of the guard and we didn't want it to look suspicious.

"How's Louis?" I asked Dak. His son was an adorable boy-genius. I thought he might get into inventing someday. Sure, the family business was over, but that didn't mean I couldn't pass the secrets of my death lab down to the next generation. Besides, blowing stuff up is a very useful life skill. Certainly everyone knows that!

"He's great!" Dak grinned widely. His pride was easy to see. "Way too smart for his own good, but really good." He leaned forward. "Last week he built something he called a 'space and time linear generator.' It blew a four-foot hole in the roof, but he said it traveled sixty-eight seconds into the future. I felt bad grounding him for that."

I gripped the arms of my chair until my hands hurt. "He created the beginnings of a time machine—and you grounded him?" What was this world coming to? I definitely needed to have Louis come visit for a couple of weeks this summer.

Dak shrugged. "I didn't want to, but I had to deal with the roof. I got a sunburn on my neck checking it out. I could've ended up with skin cancer."

We must have been looking at him funny because he added, "I had a weird sunburn on my neck that didn't match my tan. It took a whole week in a tanning booth to even that out."

Gin added, "Louis is a lot more like Leonie than you," she teased her brother. "Now Sofia—she's all Dak."

"Poor girl," I said. "You'll end up spending a fortune on hair products and makeup if she's like you."

Dak laughed and stretched his legs. "Yeah, she looks just like Leonie—with all that red, curly hair, but she's definitely a princess. She won't let any of us brush her hair because we might do it wrong." He gave a little faraway smile, and I realized it was difficult for him to be away from his family for the holidays.

"Sorry to drag you into this over Christmas," I apologized.

"I'm not sorry." Dak shook his head. "The way I see it, the four of us are going to make this world a little bit better by taking out LEOPOLD."

I leaned back in my chair. "Huh. I hadn't thought about that. You're deeper than your carefully coiffed exterior seems."

Gin turned to Coney. "How's Veronica? Are you two thinking of having kids?"

I couldn't stifle a laugh. That was Gin—straight on with the tough questions. Coney was the most reserved of us cousins. I wondered how he'd answer.

"We've talked about it," he said slowly. "I think we're getting close to a decision. We'll see."

Dak shot Gin a look that told her not to press it, and to my surprise, she didn't.

"Well Monty and Jack are upset with the Bombay retirement," I said quickly. I don't really care for uncomfortable silences. "They were excited to get into the family business." I shrugged. "I just chalked it up to being brainless teenagers." I remembered that night at the kitchen table when the two boys were surrounded by college catalogs. They looked so dejected as they realized they'd have to have a real reason for going to college.

Gin shook her head. "No, I think there's something to that." She nodded toward her brother. "I know Louis has mentioned his disappointment. And Liv told me that Woody feels the same way. Why is that? Is it a guy thing?"

I pointed my drink at her. "What do Romi and Alta say? Are the girls any different?"

Gin shrugged. "I don't know. I tiptoe around the subject, really. I guess I haven't asked—kind of hoping they'll forget about it. We only got about eight years into their training before retirement put an end to that. Romi's really talented with a rifle, and she's a surgeon with a shotgun. Alta spends most of her time poisoning her old American Girl dolls. I guess five years is a lot when I think about it. But still, they haven't said a word."

Dak chimed in, "It's probably a guy thing. Boys like to blow stuff up and all. I did."

Coney spoke, and we all leaned forward. They guy had a PhD from an Ivy League school after all. "I think we all feel a sense of loss. Our family has been in the business since 2000 BCE. We've been born into it. Indoctrinated into it. We've heard stories from the past four thousand years about Bombays killing people. It's in our blood, so to speak."

"So," Gin pressed him, "you think this is instinctual in us?"

Coney nodded. "Sort of. It's like tribal imprinting. It's part of our culture—so much so that those who marry us have to buy into raising their children this way. We've been taught to hunt down members of the family who don't agree or are a threat to the way we do things. That's been ingrained culturally for generations."

"So you think we all mourn the passing of the Bombay way of life?" Gin asked.

Coney nodded. "It's impossible not to. When your siblings, parents, aunts, uncles, and grandparents have all done the same thing since the beginning of civilization—how do you suddenly drop that way of thinking?"

The four of us sat quietly, staring at our drinks. I'm not sure any of us, well besides Coney, had thought of that before. We may have each missed the business of assassination a bit here and there, but it really was the core of our family's culture and traditions. We'd raised our kids to believe they were part of this millennia-old tradition, whether they liked it or not. We'd ritualized them at the age of five and trained them until age seventeen. Usually, by age twelve a particular interest developed, like me and inventing, Romi and her guns, or Alta and poison. The girls were teenagers now—so they'd have some rather disturbing habits that would be tough to break.

We warned them about how the person they'd fall in love with might take the idea of marrying into a family of killers. We taught them that if they went against the family, they'd be killed. It was a very black-and-white world we immersed them in—only to pull the rug out from under them and say Never mind! Forget it! Do whatever!

"Our generation was relieved when the Council dissolved and we could retire," I said slowly.

"Yes," Coney answered, "and we are wealthy enough to live out the rest of our lives on a beach somewhere doing whatever we want. We participated, and then didn't have to anymore. We had total job security from the time we were five. We knew that there was only one job we could do and that we'd be set financially for life. Imagine how it must have looked to the next generation when they went through all that—confident and even comforted by the fact that their future was set forever."

"Then we took it all away…" Dak responded. "And now they have to come up with how they want to spend their lives, and how they'll support their families…without blowing things up."

"Just like everybody else," Gin finished, sticking out her chin. "But that's what we wanted, isn't it? We didn't want trust fund babies—we wanted kids that would figure things out for themselves. That's what I wanted for Romi."

Coney nodded. "Hey, don't get me wrong. I think we all agree with you there. I'm just saying that we never thought about it like your kids do." He pointed at himself. "My kids, if I have any, will grow up more like normal kids, because I don't have to indoctrinate them with the blood ritual at five years old. I won't have to train them how to use a garrote or a flamethrower. I still will train them on those things, but I don't have to anymore."

I finished my drink and sat back. That was a lot to think about. Were my sons, Monty and Jack, dealing with this kind of head-spinning stuff? I'd never asked. Maybe it was time to, even though I wasn't sure I'd like the answer.

Dak spoke up. "There's been no shift change with the hair band over there. We should get back."

Gin nodded and rose to her feet. Coney and I stood to join them. The four of us walked back to the house before we noticed we were all still carrying our ridiculously decorated cups. After a few moments of laughter, we washed them, vowing to keep them as souvenirs of this bizarre Christmas.

The sun was starting to set, and we'd just finished dinner when we started getting ready for the night's activities. I spread the blueprints on the dining room table.

"Okay, so the call girls are supposed to enter here"—I pointed to the only entrance to the room LEOPOLD would be using—"about midnight."

"That's us with the cassowaries," Gin said with a smile. "Unless you consider four prehistoric birds to be call girls."

Coney spoke, "I'm thinking we need a little change of plan on our part, Dak." He indicated the front entrance to the resort. "We can't go in from the front as guests, because three of the four guards can identify us." His hand swept back to the rear entrance. "We'll have to go ninja through here and just lay waste to all four, and quickly."

"What about the bodies?" Dak asked.

"You'll just have to drag them into the woods," Gin answered with a shrug. "There won't be time for anything else."

Coney nodded. "We can leave them there and reassume their posts with Dak at the entrance to the room and me at the back gate to let the ladies in."

"Make sure you dump the bodies as far from the trail as you can," I said. "The birds will be anxious as it is. A pile of strange bodies could make them take off." Even though if they did, they'd find themselves living in a protected wilderness full of other birds. I felt a little sad, as if I was keeping Beowulf, Bulvai, Hrothgar, and Kevin from living like normal cassowaries. I pushed that thought aside. We had work to do.

All four of us wore black cargo pants and black T-shirts and lightweight gloves. It was too hot to wear boots or masks, so we settled for hiking sandals and tying our hair up.

Dak and Coney put the weapons I'd made into their cargo pockets. We synchronized our watches. All four of us put in our earpieces, and Dak stuffed a clear, thin cable into his other pocket.

Coney and Dak left, and Gin and I waited before heading out with the light bags. It didn't take us long to find the right spots to drop them. I wasn't worried that anyone else would be on the trail this late on Christmas Eve. We'd been able to place them all close to the path and were heading back when a couple of giant cockroaches ran across Gin's foot. My cousin climbed me like a tree.

"Gin," I said quietly, "you have to get off my shoulders."

"Are they gone?" Gin asked, a little panic in her voice.

"Yes. The big bad roaches are gone. You can come down now." Frankly, I'd been impressed at how fast she moved. I'd barely understood what had happened until she swung a leg over my shoulders.

Gin climbed down carefully and apologized. Such a hardcore assassin. We didn't speak much all the way back to the barn, mostly because I was in danger of bursting out laughing.

We were just coming out of the barn with the birds when we heard the guys grunting through the in-ear coms that Missi had made. These were just the normal sounds of men overpowering other men, so I wasn't alarmed. Gin raised her eyebrows when Dak whispered that one of the guys had hit him in the forehead with his elbow as he dropped. Apparently, he was worried about a bruise. Coney gave us the all clear—he sounded out of breath. I could only guess he was dragging the now dead security guys to the woods.

Gin and I quietly herded the four birds out of the barn and onto the path. Poppy started barking from the house, and all four cassowaries turned to look at me expectantly. Apparently they thought their pug should be allowed to travel with them.

I whistled softly through my teeth, the command we'd set up for walking, and the birds turned and followed Gin. I could swear Bulvai even shrugged, but it was too dark to tell.

We made slow progress as we moved along the trail. The birds realized that we weren't on Santa Muerta and seemed a bit, well, squiffy about the whole thing.

"Missi!" Gin hissed from out front, "Bulvai is pecking me in the back. Is that okay?"

I shook my head, which of course Gin didn't see. In all honesty, I had no idea. "Hang on, we're almost there!" I whispered back.

"He's pecking harder," Gin said quietly but with some note of alarm in her voice.

I whistled and the four birds stopped. Gin and I switched places. I wasn't sure how that would help, but Gin seemed to feel better about the whole situation.

"Missi!" Coney's voice on the earpiece sounded a bit shouty, even for him. "We've got the four guys in the woods. They're dead but blue foam is running from their mouths. Is it okay to leave them?"

"Blue foam? That's new." In hindsight, I realized I should've kept this to myself. If the men were dead, it didn't matter if dancing showgirls came out of their mouths and did a chorus line. "It's okay." I think.

No one responded, so I took that to mean we could keep going. Bulvai began to peck me lightly on the back, but I ignored it, wondering about the blue foam. I must've added too much potassium cyanide to the mix. The problem with cyanide was that too much made the victim's lips turn blue. I thought I'd only added a smidge to the poison, but I guess I was wrong. Oh well. Back to the old drawing board I guess. Sometimes you couldn't accurately anticipate all the side effects of death. I was pretty sure it wasn't explosive blue foam. That was something else entirely. Come to think of it—that was on the next shelf over. I hope I didn't mix that up.

"Dak, are you in position?" Gin whispered into the com. Oh right, back to the job. I needed to focus.

"Yes, and the wire is under the door. Can you hear LEOPOLD?"

I stopped and looked back at Gin, shaking my head.

"No," she answered. "Can you hear what's going on through the door?"

"They're talking and laughing, I think," Dak answered. "I can't guarantee they don't hear me."

"Coney?" I said into the com, "Can you go check on Dak? We'll wait until we get the all clear before we approach the back door."

"Right," Coney said, and the coms went silent.

We stopped at the edge of the trail and waited. The back gate was closed. Bulvai began pecking a little harder. What was that all about?

I turned to look at him. He looked me right in the eye, sort of resembling Don Knotts. What did he want? He seemed agitated. In fact, all four birds seemed agitated. And while that was great for the job ahead, it wasn't too good for us right now.

As if on cue, Kevin began to squawk, and Hrothgar did this little hopping up and down thing. Beowulf just stared down Gin. The birds were rebelling. This was not good.

A blast of noise shook the coms and rattled our ears. Both Gin and I flinched at the volume before we heard four voices.

"This might be our last year together, boys," an elderly, male voice intoned.

"You say that every year!" A deeper voice laughed.

"Well, dammit! We're getting old!" Another one said.

"Next year," the first man spoke up again, "I think we bring in replacements—train some new blood. I said we should do it this year, but noooooooo. You guys didn't want that."

"Fine, Cyril"—a voice we hadn't heard yet dripped with sarcasm—"next year, we bring in the young ones."

"HA!" Cyril snorted. "They're old too! I'd hardly call them young!"

Someone else spoke up. "I don't like handing over the reins. I don't trust those guys."

"What are you talking about?" Cyril sneered. "They're our sons!"

The other one was quiet for a moment before answering. "Well, do you trust your son?"

Cyril laughed coldly. "Of course not! I don't even like him. Why do you think I spend Christmas here with you sons of bitches every year? Besides, they don't know anything about LEOPOLD. It's too late to train them."

This was followed by laughter, which was followed by wheezing. Apparently, they'd overdone it a bit.

The birds were all hopping now. This was bad. I looked at my watch and saw that we were running out of time. If we didn't get those birds inside there soon, they'd eviscerate us.

"Coney! We can hear them. Get to the back door now!" I ordered.

"Roger that," my cousin answered.

"Missi," Gin asked, "what's going on with the birds?"

I shook my head. Something was up. In addition to the hopping, they were now all squawking. If we didn't take control soon, things would get ugly.

"We only have this one shot at the target," Gin said firmly. "What do we do if the birds flake out?"

"Plan B, I guess." I shrugged.

"There's a Plan B?" Dak asked through the com.

"Something's going on with the birds?" asked Coney.

"Plan B is we go in there and start snapping necks," I answered. "And yes, something strange is going on with the birds. I don't know what's happening, but we might have to move on soon."

There was agreement from Dak and Coney on the coms, and Gin looked at me and nodded. This wouldn't be the first time plans didn't work out with a Bombay hit. I was just really enamored with the idea of using the cassowaries. But a job's a job, and you get it done however you can.

"…Elmer's right!" one of the old men said in my ear, "I think we should call in the hookers right now. Why wait?"

Uh-oh.

A rustling came from a clump of trees a few feet away. Now what? The four cassowaries started to break ranks and run around us in confusion, just as the door to the back gate swung open and Coney appeared.

"SQUAWK!" A huge, female cassowary emerged from the trees. Seeing the four males running around surprised her. Cassowaries didn't hang out in groups—they were solitary. Now here were four possible mates to choose from. The strange look on her face made me think she thought she'd just won the lottery.

Immediately, Bulvai, Beowulf, Hrothgar, and Kevin got into a line and stood completely still, like they were lined up for a cassowary inspection.

Gin looked at me fiercely, and Coney slipped out to join us. The birds didn't notice.

"Uh, guys?" Dak's voice was in our ears. "It's ten minutes till midnight, and it sounds like LEOPOLD wants their dessert."

"Hold on," Coney whispered into the com.

The large female cassowary was strutting back and forth in front of the males, like some sort of drill sergeant. The boys just stood there, staring straight ahead. For a very brief second, an episode of Gilligan's Island came to mind where the four men were lined up just like this. I really should switch them over to something new…maybe Dr. Who?

"We have to do something NOW," Dak said, "they just gave the special knock."

"Stall them," Gin answered. I wasn't sure how he was going to do that without a wig and some makeup, but I thought Dak would make a very attractive female. I had to wonder if he could pass for a prostitute.

Our eyes were glued to the female cassowary. She was big. Bigger than any ostrich I'd ever seen. And she was angry, or in lust, or both. The boys refused to move.

"What do we do?" Gin asked me. The female heard her and started moving toward my cousin. It was clear she thought her a threat. I started looking around for some sort of rake or tool I could use if she attacked.

Beowulf broke first, running ahead and positioning himself in front of Gin. The other three joined him, causing the female to draw herself up short. She seemed completely surprised. Why were these dudes protecting this woman? She started puffing herself up and hissing.

"She's going to lose it," Coney said, getting into a stance to fight if he needed to.

"Wait! I think we can use this," I said, putting my hand on his chest.

* * *

Which is how the men of LEOPOLD were startled when Gin Bombay burst into their room followed by five angry cassowaries. She ran across the room and did a perfect swan dive through the open window at the other end. I was pretty impressed with her athleticism. She'd never even warmed up.

Dak and Coney closed and locked the door behind the last bird in, and Gin and I guarded the window, waiting to use the secret word to launch the attack. I even practiced saying "rutabaga" over and over in my head.

The four old men creakily rose to their feet and stared at the huge female cassowary and her four, hostile suitors. One of the old guys raised a cane and thwacked the female on the side of the head. Then, all hell broke loose. We didn't even need to shout "rutabaga," which made me a little sad because I'd really looked forward to using it.

Two minutes later, four dead, eviscerated men lay on the floor and five, blood-soaked cassowaries were swallowing fruit whole from a dinner table piled three feet deep with assorted meat, cheese, bread, and gravy.

The whole massacre happened so quickly, mainly because the men were ancient and easy to kill. They didn't even scream—either out of weakness or total arrogance. My boys made short work of LEOPOLD, while the female seemed to stand by and watch. She looked impressed by their bizarre, disemboweling ballet. I guess I would've been too if four male cassowaries were killing bad guys just for me.

Dak ran into the kitchen and warned the staff that there was a cassowary attack on the premises. The staff, being natives of the area and understanding the significance of this, locked themselves in the kitchen, allowing Gin and I to shoo the birds back out of the room and out of the compound.

"What are we going to do with Brunhilde?" Coney asked once we were on the trail with five, not four, large killing birds. I thought it was kind of appropriate that he'd named her already.

"I like Brunhilde!" I said brightly as the five birds followed us back toward the barn.

We opened the door and all five birds entered the barn. Brunhilde looked around the building and chose Kevin's nest to curl up in. Kevin gave the other birds a smirk. We closed the door of the barn.

"Now what?" Gin asked as we entered the house. "We can't take Brunhilde back with us. They kind of have laws against that."

"By morning," I said slowly, "she'll be on her way. She's just here to lay eggs. Then she will run off, never to return."

"Well we can't just leave the eggs here unattended, and I'm pretty sure they can't leave the country," Coney said.

Which also meant we couldn't take Hrothgar, Beowulf, Bulvai, and Kevin back to Santa Muerta with us. Gin, Dak, and Coney looked at me sadly. I'd have to leave my boys behind. Damn.

* * *

The next day, Gin said goodbye as she drove off in a rented a car to join Diego and Romi, who were visiting in Australia for Christmas. Coney made Dak and me breakfast, before we headed to the barn to see what had transpired there overnight.

We pushed open the door, and Brunhilde ran past us, disappearing into the foliage. Beowulf, Hrothgar, Bulvai, and Kevin were all staring at four bright green eggs sitting in Kevin's nest. They were beautiful. And considering that mating season for cassowaries ended in October and this was December 25th, it kind of seemed like a Christmas miracle. And an omen that I could no longer ignore.

"You can't take the eggs, cousin," Coney repeated as he watched four male birds trying to sit on one nest. "Sorry."

"How would we move that thing anyway?" Dak asked.

I sighed. My four boys were all grown up. Each one of them had a precious egg to guard. They made for one, weird, dysfunctional cassowary family. But there was no way they were going back with me now.

I distracted the boys with a platter of fruit while Dak and Coney dragged the nest carefully into the forest. Then I led the birds to their nest. Again, the four of them tried to get into the nest together, and in a strange way they made it work.

We cleaned the barn and locked up the house before leaving. I didn't even say goodbye. It seemed a bit silly to do so.

Back on Santa Muerta, Dak and Coney and I said our farewells before the plane took them back to the States. Mom met me on the island's landing strip and gave me a hug.

"No birds?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

I shook my head. She seemed to know I didn't want to talk about it. We walked back to my condo in silence.

Mom made me a mug of hot chocolate, in spite of the stifling heat, and played the Alvin and the Chipmunks Christmas album. That cheered me up a bit.

"We did it," I said between sips of the cocoa. She'd even added star-shaped marshmallows. The marshmallows reminded me of the birds. They wouldn't get any marshmallows where they were now. But maybe they wouldn't notice.

Mom nodded as she pulled some sugar cookie dough out of the fridge. "I know. Want to make Christmas cookies?" When I was a kid, making cookies always cheered me up. I loved it that Mom remembered that.

"You know we closed the assignment?" I asked as I rooted through the cupboard for sprinkles. I didn't even know I had cookie dough and sprinkles. I chalked it up to forgetfulness. Maybe I'd need that Alzheimer's cure too.

Mom nodded as she rolled out the dough. "I hacked into your ear coms and listened in."

I put down the bag of cookie cutters I'd just pulled from the drawer. "You what?" Mom couldn't do that! How could she do that?

Mom put her hands on her hips, "Mississippi Bombay! I was an assassin too, you know!" Then she looked a little sheepish. "By the way, sorry about the blue foam. Just so you know, it wasn't the exploding blue foam."

"What? That was you?" So I did get it right! "How?"

"I was looking around your lab when you were making the little black boxes. You'd run off to Ecuador for some errand, and I got a little carried away playing with the toxins you were making." She folded her arms across her chest. "I used to be quite good at poison, you know."

After staring at her for a few seconds, I shrugged and started helping her cut out cookies. As we decorated little skulls with Santa hats, it occurred to me that maybe Mom missed the business too. Funny how you can forget your parents had lives before you came along. And she had been the one who trained me. I made a mental note to invite her to join me in blowing stuff up in my lab. She'd probably enjoy that.

Mom had made a turkey breast and all the fixings, and we enjoyed a quiet little Christmas celebration that now included the successful end of the Bombay's final assignment. LEOPOLD was gone, and from the conversation I'd heard the night they died, there was no one to replace them. These idiots had been too arrogant to train anyone else. The world was a slightly better place now.

I spent the week after New Year's closing up the cassowaries' barn. I'd miss those guys. It would be better for them to live among their own in a protected forest preserve in Australia. And each one of them would have their own chick to play with.

But I was sad. Maybe it was the birds. Maybe it was because Monty, Jack, and Lex were gone for the holidays, but something drove me back to my lab again and again.

Clearly, with the Bombay business completely over, I'd need something new to take up my time. I rummaged through boxes and bins in the lab, looking for something to do, but what?

The day before the boys and Lex came home, I was going through the closet at the back of a now, cleaned up laboratory. My hands found a large, jeweled box on the top shelf. I lifted it down and took it to my worktable. After dusting it off, I opened it.

And that was it. I'd found what I would do now.

"What's that, Mom?" Monty asked as he and Jack burst through the door of my lab and threw their arms around me.

"Hey! You guys weren't coming home until Thursday!" I said as I hugged each one of them.

"Mom"—Jackson rolled his eyes—"it is Thursday."

"Again," Monty asked, "what's that?"

"This," I said as I pointed to the contents of the box, "is a petrified Dodo egg."

The boys looked at each other, wiggling their eyebrows as Lex came into the room and took me into his arms.

"So," he said, looking at the Dodo egg, "what are you going to do with that?"

I kissed him, then smiled. "I'm going to clone it, of course."

* * * * *

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Leslie Langtry is the USA Today bestselling author of the Greatest Hits Mysteries, the Merry Wrath Mysteries, Sex, Lies, & Family Vacations, and several books she hasn't finished yet, because she's very lazy. Leslie loves puppies and cake (but she will not share her cake with puppies) and lives with her family and assorted animals in the Midwest.

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BOOKS BY LESLIE LANGTRY

Merry Wrath Mysteries

Merit Badge Murder

Mint Cookie Murder

Scout Camp Murder (short story in the Killer Beach Reads collection)

Marshmallow S'More Murder

Movie Night Murder

Mud Run Murder

Fishing Badge Murder (short story in the Pushing Up Daisies collection)

Motto for Murder

Map Skills Murder

Mean Girl Murder

Marriage Vow Murder

Mystery Night Murder

Meerkats and Murder

Aloha Lagoon Mysteries:

Ukulele Murder

Ukulele Deadly

Greatest Hits Mysteries:

'Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy

Guns Will Keep Us Together

Stand By Your Hitman

I Shot You Babe

Paradise By The Rifle Sights

Snuff the Magic Dragon

My Heroes Have Always Been Hitmen

Have Yourself a Deadly Little Christmas (a holiday short story)

Four Killing Birds (a holiday short story)

Other Works:

Sex, Lies, & Family Vacations