Scott the Assassin-Part 2


	Scott stood shirtless at the edge of the dock, the 
sunbathed Miami marina around him, and raised the binoculars 
strapped around his neck to his eyes. His biceps swelled and 
compacted nicely as he did so, his thick triceps lengthening. 
Two women passed by and giggled to each other in coy admiration 
at the phyiscal perfection of the young Korean-American 
bodybuilder, inwardly desiring to run their hands over his 
warm, sun-warmed body. Their eyes shyly studying the thick, 
relaxed slab of curving lat muscle hanging across his back, 
observing how the taut muscles  along his spine slid downward 
into a pair of black swimming trunks, the fabric of which doing 
nothing to hide the contours of his perfectly formed and firm 
ass. A skinny young man walked from the other direction, 
eyeing Scott shiftily, envious of  the tightly bunched 
deltoids and sloping traps, and slightly imtimdated by the 
raw, overpowering strength that such a compact, athleticly 
muscled body must contain. Scott grinned slyly to himself as 
he peered through the lenses, always pleased by sound of awed, 
desirious whispers and the nervous shuffle of other men's feet 
as they distanced themselves. However, those watchers on the 
dock had little idea what a body like his was capable of.

	Scott narrowed his eyes and zoomed in. The object of 
his scrutiny was an enormous 170ft luxury motor yacht with the 
word "Annabelle" emblazoned across its stern. It was a 
stratospherically expensive toy, affordable only to men like 
Jorge Ramos, the very man he was currently watching board the 
ship. Following him on board was his son, Jose. He was tall, 
wearing a black sleeveless shift that showcased his lean muscled 
arms, his long black hair bunched into a tight ponytail. Jose 
was his father's second in command and enforcer, known and feared 
for his viciousness, crueltly and his predilication for slitting 
men's throats. In toe behind him was the intelligent Javier, the 
middle son and accountant. Lastly came, Emilio, the youngest. 
Exceptionally good looking with well-groomed black hair and wearing 
a silk shirt, Emilio was completely useless and incompetant to 
the family's business, using his father's fortune to indulge in a 
life of sloth, despised and barely tolerated by his brothers. 
Two guards followed them over the rail. Scott doubted the thugs 
possessed any training or skill and sized them up as inconequential 
and quick kills; just two more fools issued a holster and firearm 
and entrusted to protect the life of their boss.

	Scott's own boss, Sal Petrone, had become disgusted 
with Ramos and his boys. The Puerto Ricans had for years been 
content with restricting their dealings to the South, smuggling 
in huge stores of cocaine and marijuana from Latin America and 
the Carribean. But with wealth, old man Ramos became arrogant 
and insolent, setting up shops in territories clearly marked as 
Petrone's. Petrone had enough. Scott was given a round trip 
ticket to Miami. His priority: liquidate the old man. Each dead 
son would net him a $75,000 bonus. All of them dead was preferrable 
to Petrone, lest any of the bastards take their father's place 
in the family business. It was preferrable to Scott because the 
money was outstanding and plus, he relished killing as many people 
as possible.

	Scott let the binocolurs drop, letting them rest 
against his protruding chest. He stretched his arms behind 
his head, his biceps and triceps obtaining an obscene degree 
of scultpural definition, and cracked his neck. Time to go for 
a swim.

	In the dark shadows beneath the marina dock, Scott's head 
quietly rose out of the water. Rivulets of water streamed down 
his face and rolled along his shoulders. The stern of the Annabelle 
bobbed gently behind him. He craned his head to the side and 
peered up. Ramo's had left one lone thug on the dock. Even though 
sunglasses obscured the guard's eyes, Scott could sense this was 
a watchful and alert one, the man vigilantly scanning the marina. 
He wore a light sportscoat, no doubt concealing whatever weapon 
lay holstered against his ribs. Scott waited patiently until he 
felt the moment was right.  Then, he latched his hands onto a 
wood beam, and working his impressive arm and back muscles, slowly 
pulled himself out of the water. The guard heard the rapid dripping 
of water cascading off Scott's body and snapped his head down. 
Too late. Scott slapped his palm tight on his ankle and wrenched 
the leg. The man gave a short cry as he lost his balance and 
toppled off the pier. He slammed his forehead into the rim of 
the dock and was knocked unconcious as he splashed into the water. 
Scott immediatley dived back in after him and zeroed in like a 
water python. He quickly grabbed him and wrapped the crook of 
his right arm around his throat, while slipping the wet fingers 
of his other hand behind the skull. The headlock was tightly 
secured, while below the water line his legs entwined and contsricted 
around his prey's waist, locking his ankles togther and altogether 
eliminating the opportunity for escape.

	The man recovered conciousness just long enough to cry 
out "No!" before Scott shoved his head beneath the water.

	"Enrique? Donde estas? Enrique?" Scott heard a voice 
shout from above, calling out the name of the man coiled 
within his death embrace.

	Scott listened to the searching voices above, while 
beneath the water he felt paniced fingers desperately try 
to pry away his strong forearms. He felt a churning pressure 
below as the man's legs kicked out and slowly flailed through 
the heavy water. Scott readied himself, closed his eyes and 
inhaled deeply once, his body now set to complete the kill. 
He grimaced with effort as he pushed his palm hard against 
Enrique's sunken head. He heard a muffled popping noise and 
felt the skull shift fatally. The man's struggles abruptly 
ended and his fingertips floated to the surface where they 
bobbed gently. Several large air bubbles rose and popped 
with a bloop-bloop-bloop; the very last remnants of his life.

	Scott heard footsteps clop-clop-clop above him, still 
searching in vain and calling out for a corpse that was 
submerged directly beneath their feet. Scott kept the dead 
man in his grasp, not allowing him to float limply to the 
surface and alert his friends. Finally, their voices suggested 
an irritable resignation at the dissapearance and they returned 
to the boat.

	Scott climbed on board and quickly located a white towel. 
He wiped the water off his flopping pecs and beautiful calves, 
not wishing to leave tell-tale footprints on the dry deck. He 
then crept along the starboard side slowly, listening, peering 
around corners, his body tensed and prepared to fight and kill 
at a split-seconds notice. He encountered no resistance, and it 
appearred Ramos and his men where somewhere down below. Suddenly 
a door opened and out stepped the middle son, Javier, directly 
in from of him. Javier stood in shock, utterly baffled by the 
shirtless, muscled Asian standing unexpectedly before him. Scott 
wasted no time, and fired his arms like controlled pistons, his 
fists thumping four times with a rapid thud-thud-thud-thud into 
Javier's chest, the force of propelling the man against the wall. 
Scott grabbed Javier under his armpit and in an incredible display 
of pure strength, heaved him up and threw him over his shoulder. 
Javier cried out and came to a crash, slamming ass-first to the 
deck. Scott pounced on him, curling one arm under the man's chin, 
while cupping his other palm tight and snug around the back of the  
head. Scott's body tensed up as he mentally prepared his arms to 
administer muscular killing pressure,	

	"Let him go!" a voice shouted from behind.

	Scott looked over his shoulder. Javier's older brother 
stood pointing an assault rifle straight at his back.  
Maintaining the headlock, Scott twisted his body and Javier 
around, using his victim as a shield.

	Scott looked Jose straight in the eyes, "You better 
pray your bullet doesn't hit him first, before I snap his fucking 
his neck, Jose." To emphasize his point, Scott used his palm to 
apply a controlled tweak of pressure. Javier gave a little yelp 
as he felt his neck strectch, his spine bend and a sharp pain 
half an inch below his brain stem. His eyes were wide with dread 
as he fully realized his life, his only life, was on the line here.

	"Please, Jose!" he gasped, almost crying, "Don't let him 
kill me."

	"OK!" Jose exclaimed in frustration, "What do you want?"

	Scott looked at Jose's weapon. "Drop it."

	Jose's eyes darted over Scott's shoulder, very pleased 
at what he saw. One of his thugs was creeping up slowly behind 
the intruder, steadying a TASER gun in his hands. Jose grinned 
widely.

	"I think not my friend."

	The thug fired the TASER and  two small darts attached 
to metal wires blew out. They sliced through the air and pierced 
into Scott's lats, instantly delivering 50000 volts of electrified 
agony. His nervous system screaming, Scott's muscles seized 
involuntarily. Javier felt the powerful arms suddenly jerk tightly 
around his skull and push it with devastating, unstoppable strength.

	Javier gave a blood-curling scream.

	"NOOO!-AAIIIEEEEEE-" 

	cr-cr-ack

	"JAVIER!" Jose, horrified, cried out.  He knew it was 
too late, knew that his brother could not hear him anymore, the 
cracking sound still echoing in his brain, as he watched the 
killer continue to twist the head at a grotesque, lopsided angle.

	The voltage dissapated and Scott collapsed in a muscular 
heap on top of the dead body. His powerful physique now laid in 
exhausted parilysis, his sculpted abdominal wall breathing heavily 
in and out, and his thick arms, now sapped of strength, still 
cradling his kill.

 
	Scott felt a sharp pinch of metal digging into his wrist. 
Recovering conciousness, he found himself in what he quickly 
surmised was a bedroom cabin. Not much time had past for sunlight 
still shone through a porthole window. He realized this pain was 
caused by a pair of handcuffs that bound his wrists behind him 
and secured him into a chair. This posture, though uncomfortable, 
displayed his body fantastically; the muscular striations clearly 
deatiled on his expanded chest, his traps stretched out long, and 
his bowling ball deltoids laced with veins. He felt a throbbing 
in his jaw, no doubt one of the many places where Jose and his goons 
had struck him while unconcious.  He was still alive though. 
Perhaps Ramos intended to keep him around until Scott supplied 
the name of his employer. Maybe he intended to use him as a 
bargaining chip. 

	Seated ten feet across from him, a guard watched him 
closely, an assault rifle sitting on his lap.

	"Good morning, mamabicho." the guard snarled.

	Scott eyed him carefully and the guard eyed him back. 
Scott quietly tried to devise a plan. They had foolishly left 
his legs unbound. Those thick limbs had killed men easily, but 
he needed to draw the guard closer in order to ensnare him.  
Scott could tell this one was not going to be that foolish.

	The door to the cabin opened and in stepped Emilio, the 
youngest of the Ramos boys. He exchanged a few words with the 
surly guard, before he was handed the weapon. The guard left, 
shutting the door behind him. A change in guards and an extreme 
change of fortune. He had done enough research on the Ramos clan, 
and he knew how to work someone like Emilio.  Scott watched the 
young man's eyes. He  watched how they slightly glazed and slowly, 
almost dreamily scanned down the bound muscleman's torso. Those 
eyes wished to strip away the tight lycra swimshorts and explore 
the bulge nestled in Scott crotch. His lips were slightly parted 
and Scott could sense a change in his breathing, a perceptible 
excitement.

	Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, Emilio made his way 
over to Scott. He stood before his captive and looked down. He did 
nothing for a moment, as if summoning courage, before pressing his 
hand against Scott's leg. He slowly ran his hand over the sculpted 
glute, his palm curving around the thigh, his fingers sliding 
along the tight, clothed ass, where they stopped and gave a 
little squeeze. Scott smirked and gently pushed the chair back 
on it hind legs, bringing his legs up slowly around Emilio's 
waist locking his ankles together. In this position, Scott could've 
instantly jerked the man forward and split his lower spine in half, 
he needed to get the handcuff key from this fucker first.

	"You try anything." Emilio said, giving the AK-47 a 
demonstrative jostle, "and you're a dead man." 	

	Scott looked into his eyes. 

	"Let me go."  You're not my target Emilio. I know how 
they treat you. They think your a fool, worthless. You want them 
dead too. I can help you..." Scott seductively slid his calves 
slowly up and down the man's waist, tantalizing Emilio's skin 
beneath the smooth silk fabric. "...if you help me."

	Emilio's body gave a detectable shiver of sensual 
excitement. Deep in his black trousers, his cock began to 
unfurl, harden and ache, pushing out against the fabric, 
lengthening out like an antennae yearning for Scott. He moved 
in closer, his mouth slightly open and hungry. He pressed his 
hands against his captive's chest, and then sunk his face in 
and began to kiss the succulent, meaty pecs.  His kisses were 
at first delicately hesistant, before animal lust consumed 
him and his mouth slathered greedily over the smooth skin of 
this perfect male speciman bound before him. He ran his tongue 
in a slow loop around Scott's nipple before enclosing his wet 
lips around the hardening nub and giving it a little suck. 
Scott arched his head back and moaned as he felt his own dick 
harden. Emilio's mouth slid down Scott's stomach, his lips 
playfully nibbling the ridges of abdominal muscle. His mouth 
stopped at the waistline of the swimming trunks, where his 
lips lingered, kissing and sucking, so maddeningly close, just 
inches away from the rock-hard prize.

	"Emilio." Scott said.

	"Mmm?" Emilio looked up, his eyes half glazed with 
the narcotic effect of lust.

	"Take my handcuffs off. I want to feel you with my 
hands."

	"Mmm, yes." Emilio absently nodded his head. He reached 
into his trouser pocket  and pulled out a small key. He stood 
up and reached over Scott, fiddling with the cuffs. Emilio 
paused for a moment, as if silently reconsidering the immense 
stupidity of his actions. Scott leaned his head and began 
kissing the man on the neck, his lips kneading wetly under 
the jawline, and each time parting from the skin with a little 
suction noise. His mouth wrapped around Emilio's earlobe and 
his teeth gave a gentle little nibble. Emilio shuddered with 
delight. He slipped the key into the cuffs, turned and popped 
them off. They felt to the floor with a clink.

	Scott brought his arms forward and took Emilio's head 
in his palms.

	"Thank you" Scott said.

	He drew the head closer and the lips of both men 
enclosed around each other. Emilio drew back, their lips 
parting with a delicious smack, and his eyes darted down. 
Scott nodded approvingly and gently guided his head down. 
Emilio's excited hands pulled the swimtrunks down, cupped 
his palm around the warm, swollen tool and sunk the head 
of Scott's impressive cock into his mouth.  Scott closed 
his eyes and he moaned as he felt Emilio begin to moistly 
work his tool. He brought his hands forward and placed them 
gently on Emilio's neck, one thumb resting against the 
throat. Emilio innocently enjoyed the feel of these strong 
hands on him, relished the sense subtle control the seemed 
to exert as his head busily bobbed and sucked. The placement 
of these hands was entirely deliberate though, so close to 
life-giving air passages, vital arteries and the weakest segment 
of the spinal column. It allowed Scott several killing options 
if the fucker tried anything before he blew his load. Scott 
seized, his back arched, his muscles taut and let out a deep 
moan as his cock ruptured with an explosive burst of pleasure 
and pent-up semen, thick and white, flooded the mouth. He settled 
back into the chair, breathing heavy, his face aglow with 
immensely satisfied relief. He opened his eyes and looked 
down at Emilio, who had popped the cock from his mouth and 
was now looking up at Scott, his eyes seeking an appraisal of 
his efforts.

	Scott smiled. "My turn to fuck you."

	He curled his hand around the back of Emilio's neck, 
and jabbed his thumb in deep and hard directly between the 2nd 
and 3rd cervical vertebrae.  Emilio's body trembled and his 
limbs shook. His mouth gaped wide open and a long, drawn-out 
groan gurgled up as Scott's thumb compressed his spinal nerve, 
delivering extreme yet parilyzing pain. Scott's face gave a 
little grimace of effort as he applied one final squeeze and 
heard the sharp, clean snap of death. Emilio grunted dumbly as 
he felt a searing, pinpoint flash of pain, everything went black 
and he ceased to exist. Scott's thumb now easily sunk in deep 
and squished where hard bone had once struggled against him. The 
dead man's head flopped forward on his cracked neck and fell into 
Scott's lap. Emilio's hair was dishelved and his eyes were rolled 
up so high they almost stared vacantly at  his own brain. His 
empty face rested in Scott's crotch, cradled between two muscular 
thighs, his lips half-parted as if still wanting to draw in and 
suck the cock that pressed against his cheek. 

	Scott hoisted the body up with one arm and laid it on 
the floor. He pulled his trunks up and stood.  He crouched down, 
peered into the gap beneath the cabin door and saw the shadows 
of two feet, heels facing him. He swiped a letter opener off a 
desk, pressed his body against  the door, gently clasped the 
handle, and waited for a moment, listening. At precisely the 
right moment, he swung it open. Without giving the guard a split 
second to react, he immediatedly plunged the weapon into the back 
of the man's defenseless neck. The metal blade sliced straight 
through the spinal cord, delivering instant death, and the tip 
poked out from his adams apple. Scott swiftly caught the falling 
corpse under his arms and yanked it inside, dumping it atop Emilio 
in a small, growing pile that was a testament to his killing skill. 
	
	He exited the cabin and made his way quietly along the 
port-side deck. It was evening, but the boat was still docked. 
Scott no doubt having spoiled the Ramos boys afternoon plans.  
He caught sight of the last remaining guard standing idly at the 
far end against a railing. The man stood with no inkling of Scott's 
escape and the quick, subsequent demise of his comrade. Scott gave 
a whistle.

	"Hey!" the guard shouted, levelled a handgun and fired. 

	Scott dived to his left and sprinted up stairwell. At 
the top step, he threw himself belly first to the metal floor, 
and shimmyed his body over to the rim overlooking the stairwell. 
One hand tightly gripped a thin, metal bannister, while his other
arm waited. He heard the guard's hurried feet clod up the stairs 
and saw the crown of his head. He swung his muscled arm down, 
hooking it under the man's chin, and savagely yanked up. The man's 
feet flailed and danced spastically in the air.  Scott's powerful 
body easily controlled the man's flailing bodyweight. His arm was 
now pumped and swollen, the wide wing of his right lat muscle 
bulged up and reached an amazing level of thick definition. He 
lowered the man a fraction of an inch, the dancing shoetips 
skimming the steps, before giving one final jerk up. He immediately 
heard the grisly *crick* of a perfectly completed hangman's fracture 
and felt a swift spasm undulate through the body.  The man now 
dangled limply and quietly from the muscular noose, his neck now 
grotesquely elongated. Scott unwrapped his arm and the body hit 
the steps with a loud clang.

	He leapt to his feet and steathily crept down a corridor. 
He heard voices coming from a storage compartment; Jose and old 
man Ramos. The old man was speaking angrily to his eldest son. 
Scott realized the old man was standing directly behind the 
half-open steel door. He seized the handle and swung inward, 
the metal slamming against the back of the old man's skull. His 
eyes rolled up as he plunged into unconciousness and toppled 
face forward to the floor.

	Scott's leg whipped through the air in a sweeping arch 
and knocked an AK-47 out of Jose's hand. The Puerto Rican, tall, 
lean and muscular, immediatley fired a left hook. His knuckles 
cracked against Scott's jaw, and sent him momentarily stumbling 
to his knees. From his crounched position Scott threw out his 
right leg in whiplash-fast semi-circle, connecting with the back 
of Jose's knee, and the Puerto Rican fell forward. The look of  
surprise on his face quickly turned to rage.

	"DIE YOU MUTHFUCKER!" he screamed as he leapt into Scott, 
driving his shoulder into the thick pecs.  Scott fell on his back 
and the furious Purto Rican landed on top of him. Jose gripped 
Scott's throat, squeezing it with an obsessed urge to annihilate, 
while he slammed his fist repeatedly into his opponent's face.  
Scott reacted immedately. His right hand delivered a quick, solid 
chop straight to Jose's  windpipe. The stunned man instantly 
stopped his attack, squealed and gasped. Scott thrust his knee 
up into Jose's crotch with such force he could feel the man's 
hard pelvic bone- once-twice-three times in merciless succession. 
His palm tightly latched onto Jose's lean right forearm. He used 
his left leg to bash Jose's right leg out of his way, the Puerto 
Rican almost losing his balance and falling to his side. In one 
fluid motion, Scott spun himself out from under the man and, still 
gripping the forarm securely, slammed his knee hard into the small 
of Jose's back. Jose cried out sharply and fell down onto his 
stomach.  The combination of maneuvers that resulted in a complete 
reversal had taken Scott only eight seconds to complete. He planted 
his knee heavily on the man's backside. Although he was the shorter 
man, his bodybuilder frame, laden with dense muscle, still gave him 
a fifteen pound weight advatange and he pinned the Jose easily. He 
then slapped his free palm over his other hand and gave the 
straightened, taut arm a brutal twist. The strained limb didn't 
resist at all, it simply snapped and Jose screamed. Scott continued 
to wrench the pitifully twisted and useless arm, his sly lips pursued 
with satisfaction at each extra cry of pain the additional wrenching 
motions prompted. Scott was now breathing quickly, almost overwhelmed 
by his sense of domination. He felt his dick engorge with blood, 
grow hot and harden with kill-lust. He let the deformed arm flop 
mishapenly to the floor. His hands seized Jose's thick, black 
pony-tail, pulled the head back and slammed it forward onto the 
steel floor.

	CLANG! - "MPPfff..."

	CLANG! - "UH!!"

	CLANK! - "UHH!!"

	A gash tore open on Jose's forehead and blood flooded over 
his eyes, blinding him.  Dark red fluid flowed freely from his 
pulzerized nose as well. Scott was ready to finish the man and 
satisfy the insane craving in his cock. He pressed his knee deep 
and hard into the small of Jose's back, wrapping his arms under 
the man's armpits. There was a look of intense concentration on 
Scott's face as he readied himself. He jerked Jose's torso up against 
his knee. Jose let out an long, agonized cry that was abruptly 
cut short by the gruesome crack of his thick lumbar spine snapping. 
Jose moaned deliriously, now rendered a parapeligic. Scott's 
mouth was curled into an excited grin as he methodically shifted 
his knee three inches up the spine and jerked his powerful arms 
again. Jose's bending torso trembled, what remained intact of his 
spinal column resisting the onslaught. Scott's knee refused to 
yield though, and the spine responded with yet another very loud 
and crisp crack. Jose was barely alive, now a certified quadrapelegic, 
his breathing raspy and labored, surely soon to be dead without 
medical attention. Scott's knee lingered for a moment over the 
broken back, tempted to push down with all his weight and kill 
the man by crushing his internal organs. He smiled to himself, 
deciding to keep Jose alive for just a few more minutes.

	Old man Ramos awoke from his sleep, shaking his head to 
dispel the blackness, and propped his head up. His mouth opened 
slowly, aghast at the scene before him. A ridiculously muscled 
Korean-American man sat atop his son, his dick sliding in and out 
of the Jose's anus, whose trousers had been yanked down and were 
bunched at the ankles. He watched in speechless shock, the hypnotic 
scene timed by the rhythm of the bodybuilder's muscle-laden thighs 
slapping against Jose's jiggling buttocks. His defeated son groaned 
pitifully, his naked backside heavily bruised, strangley sunken and 
shapeless. Scott turned his head up and made eye contact with the 
man. Scott's face suddenly winced and his mouth emitted a deep 
orgasmic moan, as the frenzied nerve endings of his cock overloaded 
and exploded, shooting waves of colossal pleasure throughout his 
perfect body. Scott panted and his muscles visibly relaxed as the 
waves subsided, the final reserves of thick fluid draining from 
his balls and filling the defeated man. 

	"Wh...what have you done?" the old man stammered, "My sons, 
my legacy...you have killed them all. DAMN YOU!!!"

	Scott sighed and shook his head.

	"He's not dead, old man."

	He uncorked his dick from the man's anus and leaned 
forward, taking Jose's bloodied head into his palms. With casual 
effortlessness, as if performing a daily household task, he 
twisted the skull. A snap echoed sharply off the room's steel 
walls. A short, brusque grunt escaped Jorge's lips and his splayed 
body twitched briefly, as if making a quickly-aborted attempt at 
swimming.

	Scott's head gave a short, satisfied nod.

	"Now he's dead."

	Scott looked up at the old man, barely able to surpress 
his laughter.

	"Besides, you wouldn't want to leave the family business 
to this scumbag. When things got tough, it turns out ol' Jose 
here had no backbone."

	Scott stood up, a vision of naked muscular perfection, 
and sighed to himself, before grabbing his swimtrunks off the floor 
and sliding them back up his calves. With great effort the old man 
got to his feet, staring lost and sad-eyed down at the lifeless 
body. Scott grabbed something from an open box that rested on a 
shelf, and made his way past the old man.

	"You son-of-a-bitch!" Ramos shouted, "Every every dollar 
I have, every moment of life I have left, I will devote it all 
towards finding and KILLING YOU AND THE MOTHERFUCKING COCKSUCKERS 
YOU WORK FOR!!!!"

	At the door, Scott turned and looked the old man in 
the eyes.

	"Then you've just run out of time, old man." 

	He raised the flare gun in his hand and fired. The 
projectile screamed across the room and penetrated the old man's 
skull. His head exploded, his neck crowned by a  violent, gaseous 
burst of sizzling red vapours. He fell to the floor, a burning 
rag-doll, as flames quickly enveloped the storage-room.

	Scott exited the Annabelle and sauntered down the pier, 
confident the flames would soon gut the ship. He looked forward to 
returning to the Regency hotel. Perhaps he would indulge himself 
with a deep tissue massage at the spa, them get a good nights rest 
before returning to New York in the morning. First he needed to 
call his employers. They would be very pleased.