Let the Music Play - 42. Cold Steel

Dimitri reviewed his plans as he retrieved the Chevo Landscaping truck from his hotel. He’d stashed the AK-47 he’d carried during the disastrous attack under some bushes near the highway prior to hitchhiking in, but he had two others and thus no reason to retrieve it. He had all the firepower he needed; the two remaining AKs, three handguns, and the grenades. However, for what Dimitri had in mind, he felt it likely that his knife would see as much use as his guns.

He made a quick stop at a small market for some food and other supplies, and then got out of town as fast as he could. His next stop was in the town of Montrose, Colorado, over an hour to the north. There, he purchased a police-band radio scanner and an infrared night-vision scope. He also inquired about road conditions.

Dimitri was relieved to learn that Last Dollar Road connected to the highway at its north end. He doubted that he could get the landscaping van up the steep grade outside of Telluride, but he’d been assured that by entering from the north end of the road, he would find better road conditions. The road was dirt, but reportedly well maintained and passable by car.

Stopping for some pizza in Ridgeway – the last town he’d encounter en route – Dimitri considered one other aspect of his situation. He knew that his employer’s SUV had been found. It had California plates and so too did the landscaping truck, though it was registered under one of The Scar’s many aliases. California plates would stand out like a sore thumb on a landscaping truck in the back country, so on his way out of town, he stopped near a car which was parked at a trailhead and had been left unattended. Working quickly, he removed the front and rear plates from the car and then resumed his drive.

Turning left onto Last Dollar Road, Dimitri drove for two miles on the graded dirt before pulling over and switching to the stolen license plates. With them in place, he wiped the dust off his calloused hands, checked the map, and proceeded past Instinct’s ranch to the turnoff for his lookout. Dimitri parked the truck under a copse of trees when the side-road became too rough.

Burdened with a pack containing his gear and food, he climbed the remainder of the road, and then the trail. After negotiating the perilous cliff-top segment, he reached the portal of the old mining drift. By the flicker of a handheld flashlight, he entered the old shaft, edging his way around a few fallen rocks until he was fifty feet from the entrance. There, Dimitri stashed most of his gear by the side of the tunnel. Retracing his steps, he emerged into the harsh afternoon sunlight and resumed his hike to the ridge.

Once ensconced on his ridge top, Dimitri set up his police scanner as he resumed his observation of the target, squinting through a pair of binoculars and taking detailed notes as the afternoon slipped slowly into the evening; beginning a long night of observation.

Early the following morning at Instinct’s ranch, Helen faced a rather unwelcome arrival: Deputy McClatchity. The deputy had received orders from his sheriff, but he didn’t have to like them. As such, he didn’t much care if Helen liked them, either. In fact, he privately reveled in the fact that she didn’t. “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but the sheriff has assigned a security detail to your home. The other deputies will be along within the hour. In order to avoid any trouble, I’ll have to insist that you tell your biker friends to clear out,” McClatchity said. Deciding to push hard and make Helen back down, he added, “That includes the ranch next door. I want them gone, understood?”

Helen knew that she had the option of calling General Bradson, but she decided that she wanted to handle this one herself. In a calm voice which belied her inner rage, Helen said, “No.”

Fixing Helen in his glare, Deputy McClatchity took a step forward, placed his hands on his hips and giving what he thought was an intimidating smirk he said, “Excuse me?”

Taking her own step forward, bringing her nose to nose with the deputy, Helen took a deep breath to roar, “I was trying to keep the words small enough for you to understand, but two letters is as short as I can make ‘em. So let me ask this, what part of ‘No’ are you too fucking stupid to understand?”

Several of the bikers, who had been standing a dozen yards away, began to stroll towards the scene of the confrontation. Behind Helen, McClatchity noticed the four members of Instinct, their shotguns unlimbered, walk out of the house to stand on the wooden porch a few feet behind Helen. McClatchity, never a man to be restrained by common sense, said with a sneer, “I could arrest you for talking to me like that. In fact, I think I will.”

After everything that had happened, Helen was in no mood to mince her words, or to suffer this fool gladly. Crossing her arms and standing her ground, Helen replied coldly, “You will not arrest me. What you will do is get your ass off this property within thirty seconds. I’m done with you and your attitude, so get the fuck out of here!”

McClatchity made no move to leave and instead lowered his right hand to his holster. With what he assumed to be intimidating nonchalance, he flicked the strap off his service revolver. One of the bikers who had taken a position behind the deputy said, “If you draw that gun, you’re a dead man.” McClatchity spun around, his hand on the butt of his gun, his eyes seeking the man who’d threatened him. Finding a dozen smirking bikers, he demanded, “Which one of you said that? You can’t threaten an officer of the law!”

Jim stepped forward, smiling coldly. “Could have been anybody, but I’d suggest you take the warning to heart. If you want to talk threats, fine, let’s talk real ones. These people we’re protecting have had two attempts on their lives. There’s already been two other people murdered, and you stroll in here and threaten one of the victims. Nobody here is in the mood to play your pathetic martinet games. You aren’t worth the time. You’ve been told to leave and you’re leaving. You’ve also just threatened a lady in front of a lot of guys who don’t take kindly to that. Now, get in your vehicle and drive away while you’re still able to do so. If you don’t leave, right now, I won’t be responsible for what will happen to you next.”

Deputy McClatchity seethed. He was used to getting his way with civilians, but the peril of his situation began to sink in at long last. He was alone, heavily outnumbered, and he felt a chill as he realized that he had no choice but to back down, for now. Turning on his heel and stalking to his department SUV, he decided that he’d have his revenge, one way or another. Without a word, he drove off.

Deciding that stacking the deck further in her favor couldn’t hurt, Helen phoned General Bradson. To her surprise, he answered on the first ring, and she proceeded to tell him of the latest encounter with the local police. She received the General’s promise that he’d straighten things out, and after a few pleasantries, ended the call.

In the lab at Edwards Air Force Base, sitting against a workbench on an old metal stool under the harsh fluorescent lights, General Bradson slipped his phone into his pocket as a staff sergeant handed him a sheet of paper. “Sir, the test results just came in. The DNA from the body you brought in from Colorado matches some found on the body of the band’s security chief. We also have a match between the security chief and some blood spatter recovered from the airport ramp where the band’s jet was parked prior to their flight. However, we found no sign of radiation on the Colorado body or in the Suburban.”

The last bit of news came as a disappointment to General Bradson. He’d been hoping for something, anything, to aid the NEST teams in their so-far fruitless search of the stadiums. Although he was largely out of the loop when it came to dealing with the man known only as Prometheus – though the General suspected that Prometheus was Jerry Clump – he knew that billions of dollars had already been transferred to the bastard’s control. He was also aware of the ominous developments in Paraguay.

The FBI had examined the disposable cameras that had been left at the embassy in Canberra. They had issued an opinion that the contents were genuine, and further were proof that ten nuclear warheads had been built. Los Alamos National Laboratory had weighed in with the opinion that ten cobalt-salted nuclear warheads would be sufficient to render uninhabitable a sizable fraction of the United States, and would also raise the global background radiation count significantly.

General Bradson, by virtue of having been the one to develop the information and also due to the bureaucratic chaos in Washington, had been handed overall command of the search for the warheads, and the forces at his disposal included the NEST teams. So far, that effort had focused on the stadiums and had come to naught. The clues provided by Instinct had so far been the only solid leads. With that in mind, he first made two phone calls, and then made a call to the Sheriff in Telluride and read the man the riot act, shaking the rafters of the building in the process.

With that detail taken care of, he decided to check in on the F.B.I. and see if their teams had turned up any clues at all. Their report did nothing to improve his mood; somehow, the special agents had missed Joe Clump by minutes at the halfway house, and then they had assumed he was on a commercial flight and had gone to the wrong airport. They apparently hadn’t thought to phone him and ask him to stay put. General Branson seethed at that bit of news. He didn’t think it likely that the son knew anything useful, but the delay in the interview enraged the General. He was growing desperate; someone had a gun to his nation’s head and they could pull the trigger at any time.

Jim walked over to the front door in response to a polite knock. A quick glance through the peephole revealed the unexpected guest. After receiving an all-clear hand signal from a biker standing a few yards behind the visitor, Jim opened the door and after a glance at the man’s badge said, “Hello, Sheriff. What can we do for you?”

Sheriff Whittaker took a single step inside, and removed his Stetson before replying, “I’m here to apologize for my deputy’s behavior, and for that of my department."

Helen strolled up to the door, smiling a smile that her demeanor did not reflect, “Hello, Sheriff. Please come in and take a seat. Let me guess, you just got a phone call or three from a man with stars on his shoulders?”

Nodding, Sheriff Whittaker walked into the house and took a seat on the couch before replying, “Yes, I certainly did. It was accompanied by a phone call from the Governor, and then one from my commanding officer in the Colorado National Guard. The Governor was kind enough to promise to personally aid the campaign against me in my upcoming re-election bid, and my commander promised to put me on latrine duty in Nome, Alaska, if the General makes good his threat to recall me to active duty.” Sheriff Whittaker ended his recount with a soft sigh, and then gave Helen a wan smile. He’d decided that he needed to mend fences with this lady and her evidently powerful friends, and had decided to be honest about the circumstances.

The Sheriff’s evident honesty gave Helen pause. Her inclination was to hate the man, but she decided to let him make his case. However, she had no intention of letting him off the hook completely, so she asked, “I’d like an explanation regarding your Deputy McClatchity’s actions. He came in here and threatened me and my boys, and tried to run off the bikers who are here to protect us. I also want to know exactly what punishment will be meted out to that idiot.”

Sheriff Whittaker had received a full report on McClatchity’s actions from the other deputy, who had been irate that McClatchity had almost gotten them both killed. After swallowing once, the Sheriff bent the truth by telling Helen something that wasn’t yet true, though he’d just decided that he’d make it true as soon as he left the property, “Ma’am, McClatchity is going to spend his next twelve weekends without pay, being retrained at the department academy in the basics of procedure and dealing with the public. If he does not agree to this without reservation, he will be fired. If he does not satisfactorily complete the course and change his ways, he will be fired.”

Nodding, Helen replied, “Very well. I trust there will be no further attempts to interfere with the protection we have in place here?”

Swallowing once again, Sheriff Whittaker got to the subject that had prompted his visit. “Ma’am, the General asked me to increase your protection. He said he wants you and your boys safe, or he’ll have my head on a platter. Therefore, I want to station at least three men here at all times; two inside and one outside.”

Helen’s scowl clearly relayed the fact that she wasn’t pleased with that prospect. “Sheriff, let me make something perfectly clear. If you propose, as you have said, to increase our security, that will be welcomed. However, if by any chance you mean that you want our bikers to clear out, you’d best clear out yourself. The bikers are staying and that is not open for discussion. If you, or any of your men, harass them again for any reason, or attempt to disarm them, me, or my boys, I’ll personally order the removal of your men from this property by any means necessary. Are we clear on that?”

The Sheriff was unprepared for Helen’s demands. Having armed bikers around his men was not something he’d normally tolerate. In addition, protectees were normally not allowed to carry weapons. However, the Sheriff had his orders, and faced with an unyielding Helen, he felt that he had little choice but to agree. “Yes, of course, under the circumstances I have no objection. All I ask is that we station two deputies inside and one outside. With deputies inside, and given the animosity that can occur between them and bikers, I won’t insist but I will suggest that you ask your bikers to remain mostly outside. It would make things easier on everyone, and would increase your security.”

Not giving an inch, Helen snapped off a reply, “If any of the bikers wish to come in, they can do so at any time. That’s not negotiable; I won’t have them run off after they’ve saved our lives. The only person who will not be coming in this house, under any circumstances, is your Mr. McClatchity. Well, that’s settled, so when will your men be arriving?”

Accepting defeat graciously, Sheriff Whittaker donned his hat and headed for the door as he said, “Thank you, Ma’am. I’ll have a detail here within the hour.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.” Helen replied with a genuine smile as she escorted the man to the door.

Viewing from the ridge top later that day, Dimitri watched the goings on. He’d climbed a little higher up the mountain than before, allowing him a partial view of the second ranch; the one where the bikers were based. The situation was obvious to him; the band had hired them for protection, and he’d missed their presence entirely. He mentally kicked himself for growing careless. This time, he decided, he’d take no chances. Everything would be prepared. He’d also dispense with any pretext of trying to make it look like an accidental slaying. He rightly assumed that after all that had occurred, it was pointless. What Dimitri did not know was that the entire operation had become futile, because Instinct had already told all that they knew to the authorities. Dimitri had been over a mile away when the Osprey had landed. He’d heard it, but had wrongly assumed that it was a helicopter from the police.

Listening on the police scanner, Dimitri heard a heated exchange between the Sheriff, Deputy McClatchity, and three other deputies. It was obvious to Dimitri that none of the men liked the bikers, but that the Sheriff was demanding that they be left alone. The most tantalizing piece of information was that the band’s security was being reinforced by the Sheriff’s Department, a development that Dimitri found welcome indeed.

At Telluride’s small airport, Barbra, Joe, and The Shadows climbed into the Jeep Cherokee. Jim had come to meet them, but he had not come alone. Pulling out of the parking lot, he exchanged greetings with Barbra and The Shadows, as a dozen Harleys rumbled out of the airport parking lot behind him. Barbra had filled Joe and The Shadows in on most everything, but she was unaware that Instinct was being guarded by an army of bikers, so the appearance of a cadre of Harleys behind them was disquieting. Jim turned left onto Last Dollar Road, and as the Harleys turned to follow, Steve’s worried voice rang out clearly from the back of the Jeep, “I think we’re being followed by those bikers.”

Jim replied with a chuckle, “You bet we are. They’re with us. I called for reinforcements after that attempt to blow up the jet Instinct and Helen were on, and they came in damn handy when that bozo with the AK-47 tried to shoot up the ranch. We punched his ticket for him. He won’t be bothering anyone ever again.”

Barbra nodded in agreement, very glad to have any help from any source. Wilde glanced out the back window and said, “There’s a lot of ‘em. A dozen.” He wondered how bikers felt about Goth guys, but didn’t give voice to that concern.

Glancing back and seeing Wilde’s worried face, Jim said, “They’re good guys. Treat them right and they’ll do right by you. There’s over thirty more at the ranch. We’re mainly staying at the ranch next door to where you’ll be staying, but we’re keeping guard.” Meeting Joe’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, Jim added, “The Air Force investigator will want to talk with you – all of you, in fact – but you especially, Joe. It’s looking more and more as if your old man is involved with this shit that’s going down. Anything you can think of, and I do mean anything, tell the Air Force.”

Eric leaped to his feet as The Shadows and Joe, followed by Jim, came through the door, which was held open by a sheriff’s deputy. With a tired smile, Eric asked Wilde, “So, how are you guys doing?”

Helen didn’t say a word. Her eyes were locked on Barbra, who had come in behind Jim. Helen rushed forward, engulfing her lover in a desperate hug.

Wilde exchanged nods with the other members of Instinct before answering, “We’re fine. How are you guys? I mean, first the bomb on your plane, the news from Los Angeles, then the attack here…” Wilde let his words trail off as he took in the strained expression on Eric’s face.

The two bands sat down together at the kitchen table and began to talk, which mainly involved The Shadows asking questions and the members of Instinct answering them. Joe, momentarily forgotten by everyone and left standing by the door alone, edged awkwardly into the room, finally taking a seat across from Jim and the Air Force investigator, while the two sheriff’s deputies kept their own company at the other end of the small room. The investigator picked up on the awkwardness of the situation with Joe, and decided to deal with that issue and a more important one at the same time by asking, “You must be Joe Clump. I need to talk to you, and find out everything you know about your father.”

With a nod, Joe asked, “Where do you want me to start?”

Flipping open his notebook, and then clicking on a tape recorder, the Air Force investigator said, “Right from the beginning. Don’t assume that I know anything, and don’t leave anything out; we never know what could be important. Start with anything you remember about your father’s business when you were growing up.” Joe nodded, and started with a recount of his mother’s murder, beginning an interview that would take over an hour to complete.

Outside of the house, one lone deputy stood guard, scanning the surrounding property with binoculars. He cast an agitated glance towards the Jacobs Ranch, where the bikers were staying; he didn’t much like them, and he liked his orders to be civil to them even less, so he was happy that they, of their own accord, seemed to be steering clear of Instinct’s house, for the moment. A few ambled by from time to time, but the deputy didn’t mind that when compared to the prospect of being surrounded by dozens of bikers.

At the Jacobs ranch, three bikers manned the observation points, scanning the surrounding fields and woods. They felt that they could keep just as good a watch from a few hundreds yards away as they could from Instinct’s ranch, and they felt secure in the belief that should trouble approach, they could get to Instinct’s house first.

Standing near the road, sheltered by a few scrubby trees, Dimitri looked to the south, spotting the expected Sheriff’s Department SUV approaching from the direction of Telluride. With the vehicle bouncing up the rutted road a quarter of a mile from where he waited, Dimitri made his final preparations. Using a few packages of ketchup, he stained his shirt red in the area around his right armpit. After laying down on his back so that the road was on his left, Dimitri slipped his combat knife under his right armpit, leaving the handle and part of the blade protruding. Satisfied that he looked very much like the victim of a knifing, Dimitri closed his eyes and waited for the oncoming vehicle.

Deputy McClatchity, in his usual place behind the steering wheel, did not notice the ‘body’. The younger deputy seated beside him, a man by the name of Bowen, sharp-eyed in spite of his thick glasses, made his first error of the day by yelling, “Stop, there’s somebody off to the right and he’s hurt or dead.”

McClatchity dynamited the brakes, coming to a halt in a cloud of dust just a few feet past Dimitri. Not bothering to look at Deputy Bowen, McClatchity said, “Call it in, I’ll go see what we’ve got here.”

Using his scanner, Dimitri had chosen the location with care, picking a location where he could not receive transmissions from the Sheriff’s Department transmitter or relays. He reasoned, correctly, that if he couldn’t receive, they would be unlikely to be able to transmit. Bowen suspected that they were in a radio dead zone, but called it in anyway, receiving empty static as the expected reply.

Deputy McClatchity glanced around, on the lookout for bikers, who were already his prime suspects in what he assumed was a knifing. No bikers were in evidence, so he approached the prostrate man, his attention focused on the knife. Dimitri moaned softly, “Help me,” and rolled his head slightly. McClatchity stooped over Dimitri, staring at the knife, before yelling over his shoulder, “Bowen, call the paramedics. He’s alive, looks like they stuck him under the arm.”

“No joy on the radio, we’re in a dead zone,” Bowen replied as he reached under his seat for the first-aid kit.

Looking back at the assumed victim, McClatchity barked, “Then bring the first aid kit. You tend him and I’ll drive back down the road away until I can get a signal.” McClatchity had barely give the order when Bowen appeared by his side, already opening the medical kit.

Dimitri knew the two police officers were by his side, so he allowed his eyes to flutter open as he gasped, “Bikers…”

Spinning back towards the prone man, McClatchity reached for his recorder as he said, “Tell me what happened.”

Dimitri nodded weakly, and as Bowen stepped closer, stooping over Dimitri to get a look at the knife, Dimitri lifted his left arm and laid it across his chest as he grimaced in pain. The move had put his hand inches from the knife. Bowen’s final mistake was assuming that Dimitri’s action was just a response to the pain.

In a blur of motion, Dimitri snatched up the knife, and with one smooth motion spun it around and buried it in the side of Bowen’s throat.

Raising his right hand, which now held the black Makarov pistol that had been concealed under his leg, Dimitri shifted to the side, away from Deputy Bowen’s flailing body. Ignoring the spraying blood, Dimitri kept the pistol trained on McClatchity’s torso. The startled deputy looked up from his recorder, his eyes widening in shock. In a firm but calm voice, Dimitri stood up and said, “If you do exactly as I say, you will live. I want your vehicle, nothing more. I could easily shoot you, but I will not if you do exactly as I say.” Best to give the man some hope, Dimitri knew, because he really didn’t want to kill him, yet. “Raise your right hand, all the way up. Then, with your left hand, unbuckle your belt. If you make any move for your gun, I will kill you.”

With a shaking hand, and never taking his eyes off of the looming barrel of Dimitri’s Makarov, McClatchity struggled for a moment, until he succeeded in unbuckling his belt. “Now, kick off your shoes, unzip your trousers and take them off and kick them all, along with the gun, to me. Keep your hand away from the gun.”

Sweating in fear, McClatchity dropped his pants. He gave them a feeble kick, sending them, along with his service revolver and utility belt, halfway to Dimitri. Stifling a chuckle at the deputy’s bare and trembling knees, Dimitri crouched to retrieve the pants and belt. McClatchity breathed a faint sigh of relief as he saw Dimitri taking the handcuffs, reasoning that Dimitri wouldn’t need those if he were planning on killing him.

Dimitri was well aware of the impression he was giving, and had done so solely for that purpose. He knew he needed to keep the deputy calm until he had what he needed from him. “Take off your uniform shirt and toss it on the grass,” Dimitri ordered.

Deputy McClatchity, too afraid to puzzle over the reason, unbuttoned his shirt, moving slowly, never taking his eyes from the gun. Once he’d dropped the shirt on the grass, he heard Dimitri say, “Turn around and face your vehicle. I’m going to handcuff you. If you make any attempt to resist, you will die.”

McClatchity turned to face the SUV as Dimitri approached from behind, letting the cuffs fall from his left hand as he pulled the knife from Bowen’s neck. A bullet would be quicker, but Dimitri saw no reason to deprive himself of some fun.

Standing in just his boxers and undershirt, with his hands behind his back, McClatchity was expecting to feel the cold steel of the handcuffs. Instead, Dimitri said, “Turn around, you’re free to go.”

Surprised and relieved, McClatchity slowly turned, to find Dimitri at less than arm’s length. McClatchity’s eyes locked on the gun, and he barely saw the flicker of the bloody blade as Dimitri drove it into his gut.

McClatchity gasped in shock, stumbling back against the SUV as Dimitri twisted the blade, feeling the knife scrape on bone. Out of reflex, McClatchity’s hands reached for the blade as the cold sensation turned to pain. Dimitri gave the knife one last twist and a push before pulling it free.

Stepping back half a pace, Dimitri smiled as he watched the deputy’s eyes, seeing first the shock, then the pain, and finally the fear. McClatchity, gripping at his stomach, groaned in agony as he slid down to sit; his blood coursing out to soak into the dry dust of the road.

Dimitri, as was his practice, stared into the dying man’s eyes, taking pleasure as he saw the terror they contained. Seeing that the deputy wasn’t dying as quickly as most, Dimitri crouched, holding the blade in front of the man’s horrified eyes. Smiling, Dimitri lowered the knife and pressed the tip of the blade against the McClatchity’s abdomen, just a few inches above the wound he’d just made. His cold smile changing to a haunting grin, Dimitri began to push the knife slowly in.

Gasping from the new pain, McClatchity grabbed the blade with both hands, just as Dimitri had hoped. Sobbing in terror, McClatchity felt the razor-sharp blood-slickened blade cut his fingers to the bone as Dimitri unhurriedly drove it in, taking his time.

A shocked gasp was the final sound as Dimitri buried the knife to the hilt. Dropping his gun, Dimitri seized a handful of McClatchity’s hair and shoved his head back against the SUV, to give himself a better view of the dying man’s eyes before twisting the knife in a half-turn.

Gasping for air, the blood spurting past his clutching hands to soak into the arid red soil, the deputy began to choke, his eyes wide with terror, both at his fate, and the feral pleasure he could see in the cold, grey eyes in front of him. Staring into the deputy’s eyes, Dimitri remained transfixed as they faded to a dull and lifeless stare.

Withdrawing his knife, Dimitri wiped it twice on the dead man’s undershirt, before returning it to the sheath he wore in the small of his back. He had no doubt that his knife would find other work that day.

With a sated smile on his lips, Dimitri dragged the two dead deputies a few yards into the brush, just enough to be out of sight from the road.

After tossing some supplies into the passenger seat, Dimitri pulled McClatchity’s uniform on and slid into the driver’s seat of the Sheriff’s Department SUV. He removed the name tag, and after snatching up the deputy’s tan Stetson, tugged it onto his head at an angle. The keys, as expected, were still in the ignition. Pulling on a pair of mirrored gold-rimmed sunglasses and checking his watch, Dimitri confirmed that it was time for the scheduled shift change. Relaxed and at ease, Dimitri drove off, heading towards Instinct’s ranch.

© 2008 C James

Please let me know what you think; good, bad, or indifferent.

Please give me feedback, and please don’t be shy if you want to criticize! The feedback thread for this story is in my Forum. Please stop by and say "Hi!"

Many thanks to my editor EMoe for editing and for his support, encouragement, beta reading, and suggestions.

Thanks also to Shadowgod, for beta reading, support and advice, and for putting up with me.

A big "thank you" to to Bondwriter for final Zeta-reading and advice, and to Captain Rick for Beta-reading and advice.

Special thanks to Graeme, for beta-reading and advice.

Any remaining errors are mine alone.