Up aboveground, it had started pouring rain, drumming on the tower and hammering the palms of the tropical trees down to the ground. Mug yelled through the deluge into his headset.

“Any reports on Eagle?” he boomed.

“Nope.”

“Nada.”

“Zilch.”

All three answers had confirmed his fears. The Caretaker could have him then, or maybe Dr. Oblivion. Mug hoped for the latter. The munchkin scientist was an idiot, after all. The Caretaker…the Caretaker could do much worse to Brass Eagle. The most Dr. Oblivion could do was quote Bond movies.

~

Over on the other side of the island, Grasshopper was having his doubts. He had joined the team only a few weeks ago; this job was ending up to be a total disaster. Sure, he could blow stuff up. That was his thing. That’s why they hired him.

The rest of the team hadn’t elaborated on the “Caretaker,” whoever he was. From what he could tell, Brass Eagle could take care of himself. Why bother going in himself when Eagle was so high and mighty?