"You don't suppose he took a different way home or something?" Taylor was tugging at his lip, anxiously, weaving through the evening traffic. He had eaten four "hot apple pies" and signed three-dozen autographs, but no Zac. The street outside of McDonalds was well lit. If nothing else they would have caught the glare of his princely mane as he walked by.

"For example?" It was Isaac who had decided they would leave the restaurant--primarily out of concern for his brother. He was also quite keen on the notion that he wouldn't see Taylor turn down any more phone numbers, but mainly it was concern. "It's not like he'd walk up onto the freeway and go twenty miles out of his way. It's not like he'd hitch-hike. That would be crazy."

"..." Taylor began.

"No, he's not that crazy. Can't you go any faster?"

Taylor could.

* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - *

First, there was music. Familiar music at that. In fact, it was the song "Soldier" from Hanson's 'Indie' album 3 Car Garage. Zac hated that track. Apparently fate was not without a sense of irony. Giving up on his hearing temporarily, he turned his attention to his other senses.

Mostly, there was dark. There was also pain.

His eyes felt as though he'd stared into a bright light for a long time, but he couldn't remember doing that. He couldn't see anything out of them either. He was either blindfolded or just in a really dark room. If there was any light to adjust to, he wouldn't be adjusting any time soon.

Zac shook his head violently from side to side. He could feel the blindfold now, tugging at his hair. So that was settled.

He continued to shake his head, trying to loosen the thing. While it did not loosen, he did smack his head on something hard. The pain in his gut told him, 'Hey - that's not so bad!' providing little comfort.

It felt like metal. He rubbed his cheek against it and felt a raised pattern. Probably printed steel. In his current state of mind, it seemed to him like tasting it would probably tell him to sure. Concerns of personal hygiene aside, he tried to lick the metal...

...And discovered that his mouth was taped as well. If nothing else, his captor was thorough.

Various parts of his body came to life and provided updates as to their current status.

"Ankles here," his ankles seemed to say. "Just thought we'd let you know that we appear to be tied together _and_ tied to something else. Exciting, huh? We're also raised slightly off the floor so no hope of leverage here. Sorry man."

Nothing promising from the wrists either. They were behind his back, of course. He couldn't feel handcuffs, which he was trained to get out of. He thought he could probably feel duck-tape. And, like their trainer in Arlington had said... if you're ducked, you're... well you're not picking your way out of it, that's for sure.

Other than ankles and wrists, the overall consensus was that he really hurt. There seemed to be a particularly soft spot in his right ribs. From what he knew of medicine he fancied there might be some internal bleeding.

Then, out of nowhere, movement. Apparently he was in a vehicle of some kind - or maybe an elevator. He was definitely laying on his side though - it would have to be a vehicle.

In the course of the next two minutes, Zac flexed every muscle in his body - checking for some weakness in his bonds. God but they were thorough! He found nothing but more dark, and some more pain.

Resigned, he began working out a rhythm track for the new album in his head. In less than two minutes, he was unconscious once again.

* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - *

"Taylor!" Isaac yelled.

"Huh?" Taylor slammed on the brake pedal - fortunate for the Volvo turning left in front of them. The Volvo is one of the safest cars on the road, but Taylor's was the safest - a BMW 330ci - and an armored bulletproof one at that. The Volvo turned without incident and the brothers took a moment to catch their breath.

Zac had not been back at the cave. The security system recorded that no one had been there. They were halfway back to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, and Taylor's nerves were absolutely on edge.

"We're going to find him. Just watch the road."

"You know how he gets when he's angry. We never should have let him walk."

"Were you going to stop him?"

Taylor flashed back to martial arts training in Arlington. He was pretty good, but Zac was a machine. Half the time he didn't need karate, he just stepped out of the way and let you hit the wall. And when he did get you, you were pinned, that was it. Game over.

"Probably not."

"Taylor..."

"WHAT!?"

"You're going seventy."

Isaac's younger brother looked at his custom speedometer and snorted irritably.

"Sorry - my bad." He pushed the BMW up to 85, and they cruised closer to Washington.

* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - *

Zac's eyes fluttered open again. He still couldn't see anything, and he was still moving.

Oh and he still hurt. It occurred to Zac that even his heartbeat was hurting somehow. The pain in his ribs was now nothing short of severe. He had no doubt that it was the pain that had woken him. He tried unsuccessfully to shift to his other side, but his feet could not touch the floor to move him.

He tried kicking as hard as he could. His head slammed into the wall next to him, which made him cringe. Cringing pushed his chest harder into the floor, making him cringe more.

"Mmmt," he swore.

Janet Jackson's "That's The Way Love Goes," blared from a nearby speaker. His captor was cruel indeed--this was a mix tape.

"Mmmtr mmmm," the youngest Hanson said.

'And to think,' he thought. 'I kiss my mother with this mouth.'

* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - *

"Mother bird, this is baby bird. Do you copy?" The postman was in pretty high spirits. He had just beaten, pretty handily, one third of the government's most secret weapon. He had been expecting more of a challenge.

"Of course I copy. I told you to call didn't I. Do you have the package?" Clearly the boss was a little irritated, but the Postman wasn't going to let that spoil a perfectly good victory.

"You know I do boss."

"And you weren't seen?" The boss tended to assume that everyone was an idiot.

"You know I wasn't."

"What's your ETA?"

The Postman looked for the nearest freeway sign. He was about ten miles from Fairfax.

"Fifteen minutes tops." There was a loud thump from behind his seat. "Maybe twenty."

* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - *

Zac tried to picture himself in twenty years, telling his wife and kids about the worst day of his life.

'First,' he would tell them, 'I was fired from the coolest job in the world by the President of the United States.' He expected a chorus of regrettable 'Aw' sounds from his wife and children. Zac got that all the time.

'After that, I was chased and attacked by a crazed postal worker.' He knew that wasn't entirely true, but his wife and kids would probably buy it. Zac could picture them, sitting on the edges of their seats, eagerly awaiting the conclusion of the postman attack story.

'Then,' he would conclude, 'I tripped over the shoelace of my custom-made, three thousand dollar Hanson Reeboks and got the wind knocked out of me by a fire hydrant.'

That couldn't be the end of the story though. Inevitably they would have to hear about him lying here paralyzed in the dark, but he didn't know what he'd say, because he didn't know where 'Here' was.

Zac remembered the fight like it was yesterday. This frightened him partially, because he was fairly certain the fight had been less than an hour ago. Still it had been a good fight, and he could only think of one thing that could make it better. Winning. Taylor was fast on his feet. Isaac was creative. But Zac could mess you up. He was strong and graceful. Having rhythm didn't hurt either. He knew it, and a number of unfortunate enemies of the free world knew it. Tonight had initially shaped up to be no exception.

Usually you know whether or not you're going to win a fight within the first few seconds. You read the other guy (or girl in those rare cases) to find their weak spots, then you take advantage of them. If you can't find any weak spots, you call your brothers.

The Postman had several noticeable weak spots. On the one hand he was obviously a boxer--everything about his stance screamed boxer--but he didn't protect his body. Zac had landed two punches to the man's gut and was going for a kick when the postman had reached up and caught his foot. He tried to push Zac back and make him lose his balance, but Zac was all about balance. He succeeded only in loosening a shoe.

Who knew that was all it would take.

Tired of this street fighting, Zac switched on his inner Buddha and decided to try a little eastern flavor. Always something of a show-off, he went with the Flying Lotus Triple Monkey Kick. He thought he might even throw in a flourish at the end.

The key to the Flying Lotus Triple Monkey Kick was hangtime, so Zac went from a crouch to a run and launched himself into the air.

Or at least he tried to. For a split second he was Wiley Coyote, looking down and realizing that when the dust cleared, he was going to be standing two thousand feet above ground, and the roadrunner had bested him yet again. He imagined himself holding up a little 'Oh-oh!' sign or something of that nature.

What he actually did was take two small steps, launch himself about six inches in the air, and then fly forward (and slightly sideways) into a nearby fire hydrant. A massive nut on the hydrant caught him in the ribs and he had lost his breath. He assumed he had been bashed in the head or injected with something after that, because he couldn't really remember.

The vehicle's stereo launched into the bass-rich introduction of 'Seasons in the Sun,' by Terry Jacks.