Arctic Fire by Paul Byers Page A

door and turned around when he reached it.
    “If there is anything else you need, just call
the front desk and I’ll be right up.”
    “Thanks for the info Jimmy,” Pike said as he
reached for his wallet.
    Jimmy held up his hands. “No offense Mr. Pike,
but you couldn’t afford the tip that usually comes with this room.
Besides, it’s all been taken care of. I don’t know who you are or
what you’ve done but you’ve got connections to some very wealthy people. My paycheck just doubled this week because of you,
and I thank you for that. Now, maybe I can afford to eat
here.”
    Jimmy opened the door and smiled. “Be sure to
check out the balcony; it has a great view the skyline and
overlooks Grand Army Plaza and the Pulitzer Fountain. It’s kind of
cool at night. Anyway, good night Mr. Pike.”
    Pike stood and thought for a moment; how could
Jimmy not know who he was? His picture had been plastered all over
the newspapers and television- after all; he was “The Blast from
the Past.” He stopped for a moment, was he actually upset that
someone in the known universe didn’t know who he was? Pike
shook his head; if he started believing all the hype about himself
then he really was in trouble. Still, it was hard not to get caught
up in all the rhetoric standing in the middle of this huge, opulent
suite. He smiled, and resisted the urge to shout hello , to
see if he could hear an echo. Shaking his head at it all, he
wondered if he should leave a trail of breadcrumbs as he headed
toward the balcony.
    Pike stepped out into the cool night and caught
a whiff of salt air coming up from the harbor. It was the Atlantic
Ocean, salt water just like the Pacific, but it smelled different.
Without warning, a wave of homesickness washed over him. He wished
he were back home in Seattle, at Pike Place Market, watching the
flying fish, looking at the tourists, breathing the fresh salt air
of the Pacific. Gazing at the fountain he suddenly thought, “what
am I doing here?”
    Leaving his melancholy mood outside, he found
the bedroom and a king-size bed that looked big enough to land the Clipper on. He also found a black tuxedo and a note
attached. He frowned.
     
    Gabe, the car will be back at 9:45 to pick
you up.
    We’re attending a last minute charity
ball.
    No rest for the wicked, or the Blast from
the Past.
    Sorry, Beth
     
    Pike glanced at his watch and muttered; that was
just a little under an hour from now. Now he knew why they were
smiling at him when he got out of the car.
    After wandering a bit in his house-size suite,
he finally stumbled upon the bathroom. The bathroom was huge, no
surprise there he thought, decorated with marble mosaic tile and
24-carat gold plated fixtures. He almost felt guilty using it, but
use it he did as he took a quick shower then shaved.
    He put on the tux and was surprised at how well
it fit, like it was custom tailored. But then again, considering
all he had been through today, he knew he really shouldn’t be
surprised at all. He stood in front of the mirror and thought he
looked like James Bond. In his best British accent he said, “Pike …
Gabriel Pike.” He smiled at the thought of being the famous secret
agent, then practiced the Bond walk from the opening credits where
the secret agent walked across the screen then turned and fired his
gun. After saving the world from the evil plans of SPECTRE and from
the likes of Dr. No, Goldfinger, and Blofeld, he noticed the light
on his phone was blinking.
    The first message was from Marilyn, checking to
see how the meeting went and if Cain needed any additional
information. It was to the point and professional, a pleasant
surprise from what he had expected from her. The next message was
from Nate, saying he had seen him on the evening news and was
wondering if the new Gabriel Pike action figure would be out in
time for Christmas? “Ha ha,” Pike said to himself, guess who gets
to dangle under the Deception Pass Bridge and checking the