Low chanting sounds mixed with the vaguely meditative music filling the room. The bottle blond figure at the front of the fervent congregation smiled evilly to himself. Everything was progressing just as planned. Soon, he would release his students on an unsuspecting music industry.

The high point of the ceremony was at hand. As the chantning horde moved to the center of the room the latest honoree was laid upon a giant enlargement of a Rolling Stone review. His smile was one of pleasure, even anticipation. A Walkman’s headphones were were placed about his head by the Music Swami. The play button was hit and....

Nothing. Nothing happened at all. The honoree frowned in puzzlement. Noticing the frown, the Swami jerked the headphones off and listened for himself. His assistant, Ahme, checked the walkman’s contents.

"The tape is gone Swami! He cannot be properly prepared without the tape!"

"The tape!" the Swami cried out in consternation. "Search everyone! Who has the tape?"

"What have you got there?" Roger asked Nick as they set up a sound check for their latest appearance on Top of the Pops.

"Don’t know. I haven’t gotten a chance to listen to it yet," Nick flipped the cassette over. "I just got this in the mail today. I thought it was another fan letter but it turned out to be from Limahl."

"Limahl? As in Kajagoogoo Limahl?" Roger looked surprised.

"How many other people do you think I know named Limahl?" Nick retorted.

"I didn’t realize he was still alive," Roger mused.

"Neither did I. It’s been ayyhges," Nick continued. "It had a funny note in it. It said 'Thought I owed you this. Good luck and I hope to see you in NME'."

Roger shook his head in puzzlement. "Is it a new group?"

Nick shrugged. "It says ‘Final Lesson’ on it."

"Final Lesson," Roger rolled the name on his tongue. "Sounds like a doom and gloom group to me."

"How could this have happened?" Sting complained as the car motored towards Abbey Road studios. "I’ve already graduated five students successfully over the years and even though my methods haven’t worked for everyone that’s still pretty good, isn’t it?"

"George Michael?" Sting retorted. "What about Michael Jackson?"

"Well," Ahme hesitated tactfully, "I think that was partially due to his operations. He had something of a face drop, didn’t he?"

"Mmm, well perhaps," Sting considered. "But you’re right, the Michael transformation is remarkable. Three American Music Awards for his debut album, and in the R&B category! Ahme, I think that in a few years there won’t be a neo-teen idol or pretty faced pop star in the world that won’t be coming to me to find out how to achieve critical success. Word will get around, ‘Sting has the secret’. My camp in Montserrat will run over with followers."

"It almost is already. There’s no more room at the villas," Ahme reminded him.

"Yes, but most of those servile wimps have no talent at all. They just think that I’ll get them a recording contract on my new label," Sting snorted.

"Will you?" Ahme paused.

"Of course not," Sting said disdainfully. "If I had all of those miserable bar bands and rock star poseurs flooding my label I’d lose my own credibility." Leaning towards her, his smile returned. "But we have to have someone to do all the dirty work, don’t we?"

"They sold their souls for rock and roll," Ahme recited.

"Absolutely," Sting chortled, "and they’ll do anything I tell them to." Leaning forward suddenly, he told the driver, "Stop here."

"Is this the studio?" Ahme tried to see out the window.

"Right down there," Sting pointed to a set of steps two buildings away. It was crowded with girls of various ages. "Now remember, when you see Nick Rhodes, aim this at him," Sting lifted the anti-tank gun from the floor of the limo. "It will shoot out a net that will trap him and then David and Bobby will help you bring him back to the car."

"This thing is as heavy as it looks," Ahme tried lifting the projectile weapon.

"Don’t worry," Sting assured her. "When the band arrives, no one will even notice you. Don’t forget to take off your coat."

Ahme did so, revealing a John Taylor t-shirt with a multitude of Duran Duran buttons attached to it (and one thoughtfully piercing John’s nose). She turned on the portable tape player in her jacket pocket and began humming to "Is There Something I Should Know".

"Ok, I guess I’m ready," Ahme declared after several attempts to carry the gun comfortably.

"Here," Sting reached forward and tucked some carnations into the gun’s muzzle. Then placing a fedora firmly on her head, he motioned her off.

Ahme strolled nonchalantly across Abbey Road to the studios and blended into the troupe of girls and lone male awaiting the band’s arrival.

"Ooooh," a blonde mop-top, outfitted in a Robert Smith t-shirt turned and looked at Ahme with wide eyes. Alarmed, Ahme tried to spot her back-ups and wondered if she could crack the girl across her skull without causing too much damage.

"That is a cool button," the blonde reached out and fingered a button of the band done in a reflective material. "I’ve never seen one like it. Where did you get it?"

"Uh--" Ahme hesitated with relief, "I think I got it from the fan club."

"Yeah?" the blonde shriveled up her face. "When did you join? It doesn’t look anything like the one I have."

"Uhm, I don’t remember," Ahme stalled.

"You’ve got a lot of Andy Taylor buttons," the blonde noticed. "Is Andy your favorite? He’s suing the band, you know."

"No, I didn’t," Ahme admitted. "It’s just that the store had a lot of his left over and they were on sale."

"Oh," the blonde looked at her strangely. "Well who is your favorite?"

"Is that them?" Ahme distracted her.

"EEEEEEE! Where? Where?" the blonde turned and nearly knocked her friend over with enthusiastic back thumps. "John! John!"

The blonde’s shriek had started a dozen others and Ahme nearly loosed her hold on the gun to clap her hands over her ears. Thinking she had inadvertently been right about their appearance she quickly grabbed the launcher and tried to see over the jumping bodies in front of her. As the squealing died down however, no one appeared and a lone Volkswagen drove by.

"Hey, do you want to see my picture of Roger?" the blonde turned back around.

"Hours had gone by and Ahme sat with the launcher resting in between her legs. The carnations had wilted and she plucked absently at the petals as she observed the growing number of people at the studio doors. She was sure that the Swami must be in a fit of impatience in the car. This was not the way she cared to spend her time in London. Perhaps if they got this kidnapping over with before nightfall, the Hippodrome wouldn’t be too crowded tonight. Of course, she didn’t have anything just right to wear. Maybe that grey wool dress if she could dress it up with--

"OhmyGodohmyGod, I see him, EEAYYYYYY!"

"Simon! Simon! Oh where’s my pen?"

Ahme jumped to her feet looking for her victim. A car had pulled up at the curb and she could see a blond head rising above the mass of crowding bodies. She aimed the laucher only to see some of the girls break away and hurry to the studio door where two slight figures were emerging.

"Oh Nick, can you sign this please-- it’s for my sister."

"John, can I -- can I have a picture?"

"Damn," Ahme muttered to herself as she tried frantically to change direction as she pulled the trigger. She was nearly knocked off balance by two pushing females to her left. The launcher fell off her shoulder hitting the sidewalk behind her and almost bounced as it fired. A huge net shot straight up in the air and collapsed on her.

Nick hastily scrawled his name on a book jacket and handed the pen back as he followed John to the car. Barely avoiding a netted figure in his way, he frowned and his head ticked to the side.

"That’s odd," he said to himself.

Ahme heaved a sigh and tried to wriggle off in the direction of the limo. It didn’t look like she’d be at the Hippodrome tonight.

"It was impossible," Ahme insisted as Sting cut away the net surrounding her. "With those brats nearly knocking me on my face I could have gotten a concussion."

"I’m not sure that would make a much of a difference," Sting retorted through clenched teeth as his assistant was finally freed. "Obviously we’ll have to try something more complicated in which you’ll attract less attention. Bobby," he told the young man in the front seat, "go get me a doctor’s uniform. You’ll drug him and David and I will come up and take him ‘to hospital’. We’re going to be back as soon as they come in tomorrow morning."

"You mean you don’t have the Latin Rascals mix of it either? What records of theirs do you have?" the blonde frowned and fanned herself with her black derby. Ahme, sweltering in her all-black outfit, didn’t feel like answering. She didn’t feel like waiting outside this boring place with these idiotic people for another four hours either. Because medical equipment could not be procured the evening before she had missed their morning arrival and now the group threatened to stay inside the building until nightfall again.

She was jerked to attention as shrieks began.

"Roger! Do you remember me? I sent you a letter last month, my name’s Kimberly--"

"Oh God, it’s Nick, oh God he looks so gorgeous--"

"Oh Simon, please sign my t-shirt--"

Ahme forcefully pushed to the front of the crowding fans and tried to reach across to Nick, the hypodermic held firmly in her right hand.

"Oh Nick, could I have a picture," a girl smiled and held up a camera.

"Oh, hi," Nick turned to her. "Sure."

"And what’s your name?" Ahme was interrupted by a voice above her.

"Huh?" she looked up at Simon.

"For your autograph," he replied, smiling at her.

Ahme started to shake her head. "I wanted to talk to Nick," she stammered. "I want to shake his head."

"His head? You want to shake his head?" Simon repeated in amusement.

"I mean, "Ahme floundered, "I want to shake his hand."

"Here, have my autograph instead," Simon began writing. "You still haven’t told me your name."

"Nick!" Ahme called frantically.

The keyboardist was already in the car however, and she nearly stomped her foot in frustration. Smiling engagingly, Simon handed her a slip of paper and made off with another girl’s pen as he turned to enter the car. Glowering, Ahme slapped him in the bum with the hypodermic.

"Ouch," Simon complained as he sat besides Roger. "Some of those fans get a little pushy, don’t they?"

"They’re not all bad," Roger said.

"No, actually there was this one girl who wanted my autograph--she’s rather pretty. I just didn’t get her name," Simon said.

"What did she look like?" Roger asked.

"Oh, long hair, a kind of light brown. Very pretty eyes," Simon glanced out the window, feeling rather woozy. "She’s had quite an effect on me."

A moment later he had slumped backwards, half on Roger’s lap and half on the floor of the car.

"Obviously," Nick looked at him.

"Sugar low," Roger suggested.

"It was a simple matter," Sting ranted. "The tape is missing. Rhodes has it. We capture Rhodes and he returns the tape to us." He paused and his eyes bored into those of his assistants. "But obviously some things aren’t simple to some people. Now we’re going to try this again in a very straightforward manner. We will follow Rhodes until we have him alone, and if he happens to have the tape on him, we will remove it. If not, we will force him to tell us where it is." Dropping himself down into a chair he looked up at the others with a tight smile and a look of benevolent patience. "Now, is that too complicated for anyone?"

"Oh, let’s stop in here, Simon," Nick touched his companion’s arm as they approached an electronics store. "I need to get another Walkman."

"Did you lose yours?" Simon asked as he complied and followed Nick in.

"Not really," Nick drawled as he looked about him. "I lent it to John. He lost it."

"Hmm," Simon nodded as he looked at some miniaturized televisions. "Maybe you should buy a spare while you’re at it. I think he just lost another one."

"I wouldn’t be surprised," Nick murmured as he was distracted by a display of keyboards. As he inspected one, Sting and Ahme entered the store and tried to look inconspicuous while moving in his direction.

"Can I help you?" a salesclerck asked Nick.

"Uhm, yaees," Nick pushed his sunglasses up on on his nose and looked about him. "I was looking for a Walkman."

"They’re over there at the counter," the salesclerk replied. "Are there any special features you wanted on it?"

"Nothing too unusual," Nick replied and followed her to the display booth. "I’d like auto-reverse on it and radio as well."

"In that case, you might be interested in this one. We have a Panasonic that’s similar on sale right now," she pulled a player out and handed it to him. "Would you like to see how that sounds?"

"Mmm, yes," Nick fitted the headphones to his ears. "Uhm, I’ve got a tape here," he added as the salesclerk rooted for one. Reaching into his jacket he pulled one out and inserted it into the device.

"That may be it," Sting hissed into Ahme’s ear as they stood behind a VCR display. "Get that tape from him."

Ahme quickly strode down the aisle towards Nick just as Simon was joining him from the other direction. He stopped in surprise.

"It’s you!" he declared.

"Uh, no I think you’re mistaken," she smiled quickly, hesitating as he moved up to her.

"No, I’m not," Simon looked down at her with a grin. "You were the girl outside the studios yesterday afternoon. You wanted my autograph."

"No, I didn’t want your autograph," Ahme disagreed sharply.

Sting cursed and decided he would have to resolve the matter himself. As he was about the brush past the bickering couple there was a tap on his shoulder.

"Hello. Aren’t you Sting?" a young man in tweed jacket asked.

"Uh, no," Sting shook his head and smiled quickly. "People are mistaking me for him all the time."

"Christ, he even talks like him, doesn’t he Evan?" the tweed jacket asked his dreadlocked companion.

"Hhmph." Evan regarded Sting silently from behind his shades. "White boy reggae."

"So glad you like the music," Sting nodded briefly, forgetting he wasn't himself. "There's a friend I was going to talk to over there." He tried to move away.

"Oh, wait," the young man patted his jacket, "I just have to get your autograph. My girlfriend would kill me if she knew I met you and I didn't even ask for one. I'm sorry I don't have one of your tapes with me. I'd have you sign it."

"Why don't you have him sign a Bob Marley tape?" Evan sneered.

"Well, I come here often," Sting stepped away. "Perhaps another time," he looked behind him trying to see past Simon and Ahme.

"It'll just be a minute," the tweed jacket replied, "Here's some paper and my pen. Her name's Lori."

"Oh," Sting fumbled with the objects thrust into his hands. "Lori", he repeated as he hastily scrawled a message.

"L-O-R-I," the young man added.

"I think the sound is fine," Nick frowned as he took off the headphones and handed the sample back to the salesclerk. "It's just that that tape--"

I have another one here," she offered.

"That's all right," Nick waved his hand. "I'll take two of that model. I'm sure the problem is the tape itself. I haven't heard it before and it's rather odd sounding."

"Ok," the clerk said. "How would you like to pay for your purchase?" she handed the tape back to him.

"Charge," Nick's attention returned to her as he put the cassette back in his jacket.

"No, I don't want to go out with you," Ahme said firmly.

"Then at least give me your phone number," Simon persisted. "You may change your mind," he warned her with a smile.

"I don't think so," she smiled back at him, and realized in dismay that Nick was showing signs of leaving. "Excuse me," she glanced back up at Simon before moving past him out the door, averting her face from Nick.

"Are you ready to go?" Nick came up to Simon.

"Did you see that girl?" Simon replied as he pointed at Ahme's back, going out the door.

"I didn't see her face," Nick turned, following Simon's finger.

"That was the girl I saw yesterday at the studio," Simon told him.

"Oh, the one who had such an 'effect' on you?" Nick asked as they left the store.

"Yeah," Simon mumbled, a bit puzzled. "I've never had that reaction to a woman before."

"I've never seen YOU have that reaction to THEM before," Nick emphasized as Sting tailed them out onto the sidewalk. Before they'd gone a block Ahme met up with him.

"Swami, he recognized me," she whispered. "I couldn't get to Nick at all."

"This is going to be harder than I thought," Sting agreed looking around for their limo. "Let's get back to the car. There are some disguises in it that may work."

"Is this the jacket you liked so much, Simon?" Nick paused as the two surveyed the display window of a men's clothing boutique.

"Yeah," Simon agreed. "I didn't have time to stop and get it when I saw it last week."

"Hm. Nice," Nick commented as the two entered the shop. Spotting some examples of the jacket inside, Simon went over to the display. Nick, meanwhile, strolled over to a pants' display and toyed with the material.

"Why isn't there anyone around?" Simon asked in annoyance as he came over to Nick with the jacket.

"I thought I heard someone in the back room when we came in, "Nick motioned behind a cash register counter.

Simon walked up to the register and dinged the bell at it with impatience. A few moments later a scurrying of feet brought out a bespectacled dark haired man with a full beard.

"Can I help you?" he asked in an Australian accent.

"Yes," Simon replied, pushing the jacket at him. "I'd like to get this in my size. You do custom make them, don't you?"

"Of course," Sting replied and snapped his fingers. "Mei-Ling. We need to have a customer fitted," he called into the back room.

With a shuffle a diminutive Oriental girl wearing heavy make-up and wearing a hideous black yarn wig emerged, smiled shyly at the two men and pulled out a tape measure.

"If I could get your measurements, sir," she told Simon in soft high-pitched tone.

Neither could resist staring at her, although their reasons differed. Trying to keep his composure, Nick turned away and returned to the pants that had interested him. Sting followed quickly.

"Would you be interested in a jacket like your friend's?" he asked.

"Uh, no," Nick shook his head. "We--uh," he glanced back at Simon, "kind of have our own tastes."

"Then perhaps I could interest you in a few other selections we have," Sting practically forced him towards a rack displaying different jacket styles. "This material looks like it would suit you. Why not try it on?" Sting handed him a jacket at least two sizes too big for him.

"No, thanks," Nick refused to touch it. "I thought those pants back there were interesting, though."

"But you'd have to have a jacket to go with it," Sting insisted and handed Nick another one. "That will probably go well with it. Try it on."

"Hmm, thirty-four, "Ahme continued as she jotted down a figure, "If I can measure your arm now, sir."

Simon obligingly extended his left arm as she started the tape at his shoulder, then took a close look at her.

"I knew you were familiar!" he exclaimed. "It's you! The girl from the studio!"

Startled, Ahme nearly dropped the measuring tape.

"I think sir makes a meestake. I never see you before."

"No, you have. I know it's you!" Simon exclaimed and took her hand. "I saw you just an hour ago at the electronics store."

"No sir, ees a mistake. You think of someone else," Ahme said, withdrawing her hand and trying to put some distance between them.

"I wouldn't forget you. I always remember a face," Simon insisted.

Sting ushered Nick in front of a three way mirror.

"You see, sir, this jacket goes very well with your coloring," he insisted holding the fabric next to Nick's face.

Nick tried not to show his exasperation.

"Orange makes me look like a ghost."

"But that's quite an effect," Sting insisted, grabbing the back of Nick's jacket collar. "Let me help you take this off."

"That's quite all right," Nick disengaged himself with difficulty. "I'm not interested," he shoved the orange jacket back into Sting's hands and strode back to the counter next to Simon.

"Ees not me," Ahme insisted to him as she nearly vanished behind the cash register.

"But it is," Simon repeated. "You have the most beautiful eyes."

"Can not be me," Ahme said, as Sting, following Nick, stepped beside her.

"See," she snatched Sting's glasses off and put them on. "I am a bit short-sighted. I always wear glasses."

"So you're short-sighted too!" Simon exclaimed with a smile.

"Is there a problem here?" Sting stepped in as Ahme looked at Simon myopically.

"Come on, Simon let's go," Nick urged as he started to leave. "These people are just too pushy."

Ahme ducked into the back room as Simon was distracted and Sting's mouth set as he saw Nick walk out the door.

"What about my jacket?" Simon asked as he looked about for Ahme.

"I'm sorry, sir," Sting said firmly. "We don't do alterations. Excuse me, it's our tea break right now."

Simon watched in bewilderment as Sting too left and he heard a door slam in the back.

"But--" Simon spluttered.

"They've gone back to the studio, Swami," Ahme said as she saw Nick and Simon step out of the car and quickly be set upon by waiting fans.

"I can see that," Sting snapped. "We'll have to try again while he still has the tape on him."

"But how?" Ahme asked.

"Don't we have any disguises left?" he turned to their driver.

"There are only two," Ahme answered for him.

"What are they?" he asked. She pressed her lips together and looked at the roof of the car.

"Well?" he repeated. "What are they of?"

"Singing telegram for a Nick Rhodes," Ahme told the secretary at the front desk.

The receptionist regarded the clown and Elvira figures standing in front of her and her eyes briefly met those of the security guards behind them. Quickly glancing back at Ahme, the receptionist tried not to stare at the baggy suited clown's companion.

"Fred will show you to the studio," the receptionist nodded slowly to the security guard, who gestured to Ahme.

"Follow me," he told her. Ahme glanced briefly at Sting and then looked away quickly. She kept her eyes firmly on the guard's shoulder as he took them through the building.

"That's the studio door, right there," Fred indicated.

"Thank you," Ahme nodded. "We'll take it from here."

"Sure," Fred agreed, and walked away, glancing behind him to take another look at Sting.

"We could have altered this dress so it fit you," Sting hissed to Ahme as she turned around and nearly hit him in the face with the pom-pom of her polka-dotted cone hat.

"But he still would have recognized me," Ahme looked at the high topped, long tressed black wig and daringly cut, clingy dress he wore. "You're not wearing enough make-up."

Looking at the horizontal mass of blue frizzy wig she wore and her huge flopping shoes, Sting admitted, "Even I'd never recognize you in that."

"Let's go," she said and they clattered and flopped their way to the studio door, Sting nearly turning his ankle. As they were almost there, the door opened and the two froze.

Roger stepped into the hall, feeling a bit tired from the day's long session and a bit bored at the technical argument now ensuing in the control room. His gaze was quickly arrested by the two people standing and staring at him. His tongue froze in the action of licking his lips and he carefully surveyed their appearance. The clown nearly disappeared in her suit and shoes and her hair width nearly matched that of her shoulders--not that Roger was able to determine the clown's gender. Her face was made up in paisley designs. But the male wearing the huge falsies in the black satin dress was even more riveting than his companion. Perhaps it was the bare, unshaved legs, and feet obviously forced into high heeled black pumps.

Nodding imperceptibly to himself Roger turned and walked down the hall in the opposite direction. As he turned the corner he heard a furious exclamation of disgust, two thuds and hurried flopping sounds.

Returning to the studio a few minutes later Roger paused by the door. Strewn down the hall were a high heeled shoe, a pair of falsies and two wigs. He gave them a moment's consideration and then closed the door behind him.

"But what are we going to do about the tape?" Ahme asked as she ran to keep up with him.

"We'll keep following him," Sting retorted, "but no more Mr. Nice Guy. This time we'll make sure we can get the tape from him."

The receptionist froze as she saw the flat chested female impersonator stride towards her desk and trip on the hem of his gown. She jerked her head back as he snarled in her face and barreled out the door. The shrunken clown with long streaming hair smiled apologetically and followed him out.

"Oh no," John laughed as Nick turned into a store front. "You know we could be here all day."

"I just want to see if they have anything interesting," Nick grinned as he surveyed the rows of books.

"I thought you knew all of London's bookstores by now," John paused by a display. But Nick had already gone down an aisle and didn't answer. Idly, he walked down the aisle looking for the promised art and photography section. Instead, he noticed that on each row was a faced book titled Biography of Willie Nelson: An American Hero.

"Wonder if it's a pictorial," Nick frowned to himself as he glanced over other selections. "No, I have that, have that one. Have that."

Not really in a book browsing mood, John put his hands in his pockets and looked about the shop from where he stood. Curious to see what was on the second floor he started for the spiral staircase only to see a flurry of movement down an aisle. He stepped back to look down it but didn't see anyone. A moment later someone almost popped out in front of him but jumped back with an exclamation. Suspecting giggly fans he approached the next aisle. Feeling devious, he strolled down the row after the elusive figure.

Nick turned the corner, his eyes still trained on the shelf offerings. Seeing the Willie Nelson book again right at eye level, he glanced back at the aisle to see what section he was in.

"Psychology?" he read. "Someone new must be working here." Moving down the aisle he quickened his steps as he saw the music section, then realized he was on the wrong side and turned the corner to the other side of the shelves.

"Willie Nelson again?" Nick said to himself. "Must be some big promotion."

John was feeling provoked as he poked his head around another aisle only to find it empty.

"I know I saw someone come down this way," he told himself. Hearing labored breathing he stepped back into the aisle he had come from and saw someone's back dodging a corner.

"Something's going on," he determined, walking quickly down to the intersection.

Nick's interest picked up as he saw the biography section down at the far end of the store and strolled down to it, watching section headings as he went. He thus had his heart stop when someone nearly knocked him down as he crossed an aisle.

"John!" Nick recovered his balance. "What are you doing?"

"Uh, nothing," John said in distraction as he stepped past Nick and suddenly jumped into the next aisle. Half-tempted to follow John, Nick wavered a moment and then shrugged it off and continued down to the biographies. Standing there he sighed.

"Willie Nelson: An American Hero," he read aloud dryly.

Feeling annoyed and somewhat foolish, John retraced his steps to find Nick and looked up at the section heading.

"I thought he was coming here," he looked up at the sign reading "Biographies." Then, catching a glimpse of someone out of the corner of his eye, John whirled, and sprang after them, knocking two volumes off the shelf. Stopping to turn back and pick them up he was astonished to see a puff of white gas flowing out of one.

"John," Nick startled him as he appeared in the aisle. "Come on, let's go. The selection is really poor here."

"But," John pointed to the book lying on the floor, now looking perfectly innocent.

"I didn't know you liked Willie Nelson," Nick drawled. "But they've got so many copies of it I'm sure it's on sale. Why don't you ask?"

"No, let's get out of here," John urged and led him away.

"Hm, this is more formal than I thought," Simon said as he looked about the dining room. Upon leaving the studio that evening he had impulsively suggested the four try out the Spanish restaurant he had noticed nearby.

"Yeah, I didn't know they'd have entertainment," Nick agreed as he followed Simon's gaze to a nearby stage.

"You know, it's been a long time since we've been to Spain," John mused. "I can't remember what I ate there last."

"Paella, probably," Roger suggested as he sipped some water.

"Yeah, I did have that," John considered. "I can't seem to remember anything else. Didn't Andy get sick on some food there?"

"Oh, let's not talk about him," Simon suggested.

"Andy was always getting sick," Roger replied.

"And John's always getting hurt," Nick chuckled.

"That's what Jack Daniels will do to you," John answered Roger. "Say we've been waiting here a long time, haven't we?" John looked around impatiently. "What happened to our waiter?"

"It has been a while," Roger agreed, looking at his watch.

A few minutes later a waiter appeared next to their table with a tray of dishes.

"Finally," Nick murmured.

"Is the kitchen slow tonight?" Simon asked, then said, "You're a different waiter."

"Yes," the boyish faced waiter said in halting English. "Your waiter not feel so good. I take over."

"Oh, no wonder," John said as a plate was put in front of him.

"We thought you lost our order," Simon went on as the waiter carefully put the other dishes on the table and left.

"Hm, pretty good," Roger said as he sampled his food.

"My steak's undercooked," Nick complained.

"Send it back," Simon suggested as he spread out his napkin and unwittingly tucked the tablecloth edge into his pants.

"That waiter looked rather familiar didn't he?" John mentioned to Simon as Nick looked around for the man in question. "I'm sure I've seen him somewhere before."

"He did," Simon agreed. "I thought he looked like that guy on the old TV show. You know, the American one? I can't remember his name. He used to be a singer too."

"Oh, you mean the police show?" John waved a knife at Simon. "That one with the cop team?"

"Starsky and Hutch," Simon recalled with his mouth full. "No, but as a matter of fact this guy co-starred with that blonde one on this old show."

"I don't see him" Nick grumbled.

"Oh yeah," John agreed. "I know who you're talking about. God, I haven't heard a thing about him since then. What's his name," he frowned, lost in thought.

"I like my steak rare," Roger said at last. "Why don't you switch plates with me?"

"Oh. All right," Nick complied. "The service here isn't very good."

"No, it isn't," Simon agreed. "Too bad though, because the food is."

"I remember now," John said with a start. "Bobby Sherbet," he pronounced.

Simon, with a mouth full, shook his head and grimaced. "Or something like that," John added lamely.

"You're right, Roger, "Nick chewed a mouthful. "Yours is good."

Watching in dismay, Sting turned to Ahme.

"They've switched plates. Now the tranquilizer won't work. We've got to get Rhodes away from the table."

"Maybe we should send Bobby back to the table to get him another dish," Ahme suggested.

"No, no that'll take too long," Sting said dismissively. Inspiration struck as he looked around the restaurant. "Get on stage," he urged her.

"What?" Ahme looked appalled.

"Get on stage. Do a flamenco, or something," he glanced down at her. "You're dressed for the part anyway."

Pulling her long dark wig about her face Ahme protested, "but that's because I thought he might see me."

"Just hide behind your fan," Sting whipped it open and handed it to her.

"They'll dim the houselights and maybe no one will pay much attention when he leaves the table. I'll tell Bobby to say he has a phone call."

"But I don't have any music," she continued as he pushed her toward the stage curtain.

"Make your own. Here" he snatched up some spoons, "these'll sound like castanets."

Still protesting, Ahme appeared on stage and quickly put the fan up to her face and raised her arm dramatically.

"Oh, look," Roger motioned towards her. The others stopped eating momentarily to watch.

"Why aren't they playing any music?" Nick wondered.

"Maybe they don't have a sound system," John shrugged.

"There's something familiar about her," Simon murmured as he watched her movements with fascination. As she did a series of twirls he suddenly sprang up from the table. "It's you!" he cried. "Again! This must be Fate!"

As he made for the stage, intent on finally talking to the mysterious girl, the tablecloth followed him and with a crash of plates Nick and John's meals ended up in their laps.

"What's is he doing?" Roger asked as Simon jumped on the stage.

"Oh God," Nick uttered in distaste as he put his soiled napkin on the table. "I'm going to clean this off." Getting up, he made his way to the men's room.

"You must tell me your name," Simon told Ahme. "Are you another Scorpio?"

Ahme fanned her face furiously, only her eyes appearing over the fan edge.

"Please return to your seat. You are interrupting my dance," she said in a strongly accented tone.

"I'm sorry," Simon apologized, as he noticed the attention of the other diners. "But you must tell me your name. Why are you always running away from me? Is it the patchouli oil? I swear I won't wear it anymore."

"Go away!" Ahme swatted him in the nose with the fan and, as he jerked back, she pushed him off the stage. Tripping, Simon landed in an ungraceful heap at the bottom of the steps. Ahme hurriedly ran back hehind the curtain.

"Hey! How many jobs do you have, anyway?" Simon called after her.

In the men's room Nick was dabbing at his trousers with a wet paper towel.

"I'm glad these aren't ruined," he muttered to himself and tossed the towel away. Before he could get another he was suddenly grabbed by the lapels and slammed against the opposite wall.

"Where's the tape?" Sting demanded.

Confused, Nick looked in his angry face and thought to himself, "How perfectly uncouth."

"I want to know where it is right now," Sting shook him, banging his head against the wall. "Do you have it on you?" he patted Nick's jacket.

As he did, John entered the room to tend his own clothes and paused in amazement at the sight of Sting searching his friend. He was about to back out of the room when Sting again seized Nick by the lapels and Nick squalled, "Joooohn!"

As Sting whirled, dragging Nick by the collar, John abruptly realized Nick was in peril. He looked about him for a handy weapon. As Nick fell on the floor Sting turned on John. John seized a condom dispenser and, with a burst of adrenalin, tore it off the wall and brought it down on top of Sting's head. The back of the box came apart and condom packets scattered all over the bathroom floor.

"Are you ok?" John gasped as Sting slumped on the floor, dazed.

"Let's get out of here," Nick replied, scrambling to his feet and making for the door. John started after him, then paused and grabbed a handful of packets, stuffing them in his pockets as he followed.

"What's is the meaning of this disturbance? Don't you and your friends know how to act like civilized people?" the manager berated Roger as busboys cleaned the table.

I’m sorry, it was an accident, "Roger said, trying to keep his voice down.

"That girl, your dancer," Simon approached them. "What her name?"

"What dancer?" the manager asked. "I don't have any dancers, just musicians and they don't come on until nine."

"But there was a flamenco dancer on your stage not five minutes ago." Simon insisted.

"Then she doesn't work for me," the manager replied. "Now please leave this restaurant. You are disturbing the other patrons."

"Fine with me," Simon glared at him. "Your service was lousy anyway."

Seeing a disheveled Nick and John rushing towards them, Roger broke in asking, "What's wrong?"

"Let's get out of here," John answered.

"No time to explain," Nick said simultaneously.

"Look out!" Simon said as their waiter tried to brain Nick with a serving tray.

As the four scattered, the blow fell on the manager instead, causing him to slump over the waiter. The four wasted no time in rushing for the exit.

"What was all that about?" Simon demanded as the four drove away in John's car.

"I don't know," Nick explained. "I was attacked in the men's room."

Simon glanced back down the street. "I didn't think it was that kind of restaurant."

"No, no," Nick waved the comment aside. "The guy who attacked me was Sting!"

"What?" Simon looked astonished. "What would he do that for?"

"It happened very quickly," Nick answered. "He wanted some kind of tape. He thought I had it with me."

"Do you?" John asked.

"No," Nick shook his head.

"You had one with you yesterday," Simon remembered. "In the electronics store."

"I did?" Nick looked puzzled, then agreed. "Oh yes. The one from Limahl."

"Limahl?" John said. "I always told you he was a waste of time."

"Yes, he sent me this strange tape," Nick ignored him, addressing Simon. "I only listened to a few moments of it, but it was hard to describe. Kind of hypnotic."

"Where is it?" Simon asked.

"My house," Nick said.

"Well, why don't we go there?" John asked. They made a turn at the light.

The cassette stopped playing and Nick shut it off before the auto reverse function engaged. The room was quiet. John sat, chewing on a thumbnail, and looked over at Roger. Roger sat, with a fist to his cheek, and looked over at Nick, who was taking the tape out of the player and turning it over in his hands. Simon, sprawled on the couch, was still looking down at his hands and looked inscrutable.

"What should we do?" Roger finally asked.

"I'd like to know what that is," John broke in with a torrent of words. "How does it work? Do you think it would work for us? Or does Sting just want it back because he doesn't want anyone else to know about it?"

"Do you think he's used it?" Roger asked.

"He's a pretty good example of it, isn't he?" John replied. "A good looking pop star who's written top ten hits, a couple of classics even, and who can still gain critical respect."

"Why do you think he wants it back?" Nick said.

John shrugged. "I don't know."

"Maybe it's the only copy he has," Roger offered. "Maybe the tape can't be duplicated."

"There's one way to find out," Nick said, intrigued by Roger's suggestion. He went over to his stereo system, found a blank cassette and inserted it in his tape-to-tape player.

"I don't think we should give it back," Simon finally spoke up. "Not if it's the only one."

"Why not?" John looked over at him.

"I think it's important. That's why he wants it back so badly. Why couldn't he just ask for the tape?" Simon said.

"That's strange," Nick muttered.

"It's very strange," John agreed.

"No, I mean the tape," Nick said. "Roger's right. It doesn't re-record properly. It sounds all distorted. Listen."

As he played a short segment of the attempted copy, John made a face.

"Egh. Turn it off."

"Who did you get this tape from?" Simon asked as he sat up and brushed his hair out his face.

"Limahl," Nick and John answered within seconds of each other.

"Why would he send it to you?" Simon frowned.

"I wonder what happened to him," Nick replied, looking the tape over again.

"I think you should take it to the police," Roger suggested. "Let them decide what to do with it."

"But then we could never use it," John said quickly.

"And there would be pu-blicity," Simon doodled a design with his finger on Nick's coffee table. "I think we should keep it," he looked up again.

"But not in this house," Nick decided. "If he comes looking for it again, I don't want to be here, and I shouldn't have the tape with me either."

"How bad do you think he wants it?" John asked, a finger tracing his lower lip.

They all glanced at Nick, who left the room in search of a jacket.

"Where should we keep the tape?" John changed the subject.

"Safe-deposit box?" Roger suggested.

"The banks aren't open at night," Simon disagreed. "We'd have to wait until morning."

"What about someone else's safe?" John pointed a finger.

"Who's?" Roger asked. John grinned in reply.

"Our lawyer. He has a night drop in his office. Just put a note around it, asking him to keep this in his safe until we call for it," John spread his hands. "The problem's solved"

"Yeah," Simon grinned.

"Why are we going to get the tape back so soon?" Roger asked as he and John arrived at their lawyer's office the next morning.

"Because Nick called me from the studio and wants to try duplicating the tape with the studio's equipment. Maybe we can find out what's causing that distortion," John answered. "If we can make a copy then we can just return the original and we won't have any trouble. Hi," he turned to the receptionist. "I'm here to see Frank Oelida."

"Mr. Oelida is in conference right now. Could I schedule a later appointment?" she asked.

"Uh--no. Is Frannie busy? I can talk to her," John shook his head. "We just left something here in the drop box for him last night and we need to borrow it for a while."

"Oh, yes," the receptionist nodded. "Why don't you just go on back."

"Thanks," John smiled, and Roger nodded as they walked into the offices. A few moments later, panic ensued.

"You want it back?" Frannie looked at the two in dismay. "But I sent it off this morning."

"You sent if off?" John looked horrified. "Where? Where did you send it?"

"Why, to California," Frannie answered. "I send it to Andy Taylor's management offices."

"What?" John almost shouted, and Roger looked aghast.

"I saw Nick's note asking Mr. Oelida to keep the tape and I thought it was the collaboration tape Mr. Taylor's lawyer has demanded in the suit," she explained."That was all agreed to last week as part of the settlement."

"I know about that tape," John waved the matter off. "But this was a different tape. It doesn't belong to him." Feeling ill, he added, "We brought it here for safekeeping."

"Oh," Frannie shrugged. "I'm sorry. It must have been a mix-up. We'll just cable his lawyer and ask to have the tape returned as it was a mistake."

John looked impatient. "How soon will the tape get there?"

"We sent it off express mail this morning," Frannie said cheerfully. "It will be there tomorrow."

John looked at Roger.

"Can we use your phone?" he asked.

"This all got settled faster than you expected," Roopal told her client as she opened the package on her desk. "Unfortunately I got a call from their lawyer saying they've sent the wrong tape. We'll have to wait another few days for the right one."

"I can tell. Master tapes wouldn't fit in that package," Andy looked on her desk. "What did they send?"

"I don't know," she enunciated clearly, turning the cassette over in her hand. "It says "Final Lesson" on it." Handing it to him she asked, "Does that mean anything to you?"

"Huh-uh, no," Andy shook his head. "But why don't we play it and see what they're up to?" he asked with a grin. Roopal returned it and took the cassette over to her tape player. Well over an hour later the two still sat, absorbed, as the tape clicked off.

"What do you think?" she asked doubtfully.

Andy was stunned. "That's incredible. I thought it was a joke at first." He looked at her alertly. "Do you suppose this is something they made?"

"Does that sound like one of them talking?" she asked.

"No, it doesn't sound like any of them. But it's familiar. Real familiar," Andy racked his brain. "I just can't think of it."

"What do you think we should do with this?" she asked as she took the tape back out of the player.

"Huh, don't give it back," Andy shook his head. "I'm going to use that. Let them keep the demos. I'm not sure I could have made anything of those anyway. But I want to start reworking some of my solo album tomorrow, and I'm keeping that tape," Andy said with conviction. "Just think," he sat on Roopal's desk, took off his glasses and wiggled his eyebrows at her. "You could be managing the hottest rock and roll star in the business."

"Great night to be out," Simon looked at the dismal and drizzly evening around them.

"What do you think he'll say when he sees us here?" John asked Simon as Roger rang Andy's doorbell.

"Oh, probably something charming and endearing like--"Nick began.

The door slammed open, and Andy, bottle in hand regarded the four people standing on his stoop in a combination of surprise and outrage.

"What the hell are you doing here? I didn't invite you," he said belligerently.

"May we come in. It's raining outside," Simon said bitingly as he pushed past Andy and the others followed him in.

"No, as a matter of fact, you can't," Andy faced them, door still open behind him. "This is my house and you can get the %$# out!"

"We'll leave as soon as you give us something that doesn't belong to you," Nick told him.

"What's that?" Andy managed to make the question sound like an accusation.

"A tape that was sent to you by mistake," Nick kept his cool. "Here are the tapes you should have gotten." He handed Andy a packet.

"Ok," Andy hefted the packet experimentally. "Now what tape are you talking about."

"A cassette tape sent to your manager instead of this," Simon said.

"You'll have to talk to her about that then," Andy shrugged as he walked over to a wall cabinet and deposited the packet there.

"We did," Nick answered. "Her office said she was going to be here tonight for a 'celebration' get-together."

"What are you celebrating?" Simon folded his arms and looked across his shoulder at Andy as he sat on a sofa back.

"Hey," Andy grinned and waved the bottle before reaching for a cigarette pack. "My career's going pretty well."

"You seem to be the only one who thinks so," John muttered as he rubbed his nose.

"Yeah, well you were scared to try," Andy shot back, his temper easily sparked and he put the bottle down on a table. "Now bugger off you sodding $#@'s!"

"Yeah, well #*& you!" John retorted.

"You're such #!@%& bastards! Do you think I care what -- " Andy shouted back.

As a very lopsided fight threatened to begin there was a storm of feet, the sound of pouring rain and someone shouting "All right, break it up!"

All five froze and turned to see Sting, Ahme, an Uzi and the latest line-up of Menudo facing them.

"Who the --" Andy began as he loosed his hold on Simon's arm and regarded the intruders. "Sting," he muttered in confusion, as the Uzi in Sting's hand turned in his direction.

"It's you!!" Simon cried out in the same instant. "You're with the enemy!" he realized in dismay as Ahme looked at him.

"The enemy," Sting chuckled. "Is that really," he strolled forward, "what you think, Simon? An enemy?"

They all held up their hands cautiously as Sting came forward.

"I wouldn't call him a friend," Nick volunteered.

"What are you doing here? What's going on?" Andy demanded, intimidated but still a homeowner.

"Don't be smart," Sting looked at him and shook his head a bit. "It doesn't suit you. Now," he let his gaze rove over the others, "who has the tape?"

"What tape?" Andy yelled.

"My bloody tape!" Sting yelled back in his face. "And I don't care if I have to shoot up your whole house to find it!"

"Go ahead," Nick muttered under his breath.

"Search them," Sting ordered roughly and whirled Andy around, shoving him down on the couch.

"No," Ahme interposed as one of the Menudos approached John. "This one's mine. Nice pants," she told John as she patted down the leather.

"Uh--thanks," he said in distraction.

Simon regarded the two with extreme jealousy and decided to suffer his heartbreak in silence. He was just as startled however when a shout sounded and the lights suddenly went out leaving them all momentarily blinded by darkness. A burst of gunfire was directed at the ceiling and everyone went diving for cover. A moment later the front door was thrown open and then slammed shut again. Ahme took advantage of the darkness to pin John to the floor, which he didn't find entirely unpleasant. Several of the Menudos were hampering Roger and Simon and Sting caught up to Nick scrambling for the door.

"Where-is-the-tape?" Sting caught him by the neck and shook him as somebody restored the lights, "Where-is-the-tape?"

"The-slimy-little-traitor-you-just-let-get-away-has-it!" Nick gagged back.

"What?" Sting threw him to the floor and opened the door the rest of the way to look outside at the rainstorm. "What are you looking at?" he yelled at his assistants. "Go find him!"

Everyone but Ahme left, and Sting faced the four, looking rather fearsome in his black commando outfit and damp blond hair.

"Now while we're waiting for your friend," Sting walked up to them dragging a chair with him, "we're going to have a little chat." He slammed down the chair in front of Roger and told Ahme, "Find something to tie them up with."

Fifteen minutes later they all sat back to back, their hands tied together with reel to reel tape.

"I think I should interrogate them," Ahme suggested to Sting. "I'll start with this one," she knelt by John.

"Why me?" John tried to inch back from her.

"Yeah, why does he get to be interrogated first?" Simon demanded. "Why can't I be interrogated first?"

"I'll interrogate you later," Ahme sighed.

"But why wait," Simon sat up further. "I'm all ready to be interrogated."

"The Swami can interrogate you," Ahme explained as she leaned closer to John's face.

"I don't want him to interrogate me. I want you to interrogate me," Simon retorted.

"Shut up all of you," Sting cut them off, then turned as he heard the door open.

The Menudos returned to tell Sting that Andy could not be found.

"He got away in a car," one explained.

"So why didn't you go after him?" Sting demanded.

"Aren't they underage to be driving?" John asked Simon.

"The man's holding us hostage with a machine gun and you think he's worried about driving without a license?" Simon hissed.

"What's eating you?" John shrank back.

"What do you think?" Simon said.

"There's a big mudslide on the road," the explanation went on. "He must have just gotten through."

"California. What a great place to live," Nick muttered.

Sting cursed, kicked at a chair and then came to stand over his four prisoners.

"All right. You tell me where your friend's going," Sting asked shortly.

"He's not our friend," Simon answered.

"How should we know?" Roger asked.

Sting pointed the Uzi at Roger's nose.

"He might be at his manager's house," Nick said in the back of his throat. "We don't know where that is. But her phone number might be in the book."

"I know who his manager is," Ahme said. "I'll check for her number." As she went off and the Menudos searched the house for dry clothes, Simon spotted something shiny by his foot, partly under a sofa. Glancing at Sting, whose attention was not on them, he scooted the object towards his hands. With a final kick of his heel he scooted the lighter in between himself and Roger and he leaned far enough over to his right to grasp it in one hand. Setting his teeth he struggled to make the flame catch.

Looking over his shoulder, Roger muttered "Tilt it to your left."

Simon tried to comply and soon felt the tape burn through. Still sitting perfectly still as Sting looked their way, he moved the lighter over to free Nick's hands.

"Here it is," Ahme handed a number to Sting. "It should be close to here. It has the same prefix number."

"Dial it," Sting inclined his head towards the phone. Ahme did so and handed the phone to Sting.

"Hello. I'd like to talk to Andy," Sting said with a glance back at the four, still sitting immobile. As Nick's bonds came free, Roger, in between Nick and Simon, also pulled his tape loose.

"Andy, this is your houseguest," Sting announced. "Here in your house I have your four bandmates hostage. Unless you deliver the tape to me in half an hour, you're going to be doing a solo act."

Three things happened almost simultaneously. Still holding the lighter Simon burned through John's bonds singed his wrists. John yelped. Sting winced and held the phone away from his ear as even the four could hear the hysterical laughter on the other end of the line interspersed with cries of "Do it! Do it!". Then Simon jumped to his feet and drew the curtains back from a patio door with a dramatic "Whirrrrp"

"We told you we don't have the tape, and it's up to you to disploose us!" he called, then frowned in consternation. "Disploose us?"

"Jump!" Roger yelled as he, Nick and John also sprang to their feet and together the four crashed through the door just ahead of the rapid crack of gunfire. Not fifty feet ahead of them the yard sloped away, and, quickly vaulting the fence in the blinding rain, the four found themselves tumbling and rolling down the hillside to the road below.

"Nick," Simon's voice rudely interrupted Nick's peace.

"What?" Nick started awake, and found that his headache was still there.

"Andy and Roopal have left town. The tape must have gone with them," Simon explained.

Nick sat up in bed and looked around him in an ill mood. After a two hour trek in the rain they had been able to secure transportation into Los Angeles and had gotten rooms for the night. Except for some cuts, bruises, and in John's case, a budding cold, they had survived the evening with little injury.

"Where did they go?" Nick asked as he reluctantly made his way to the bathroom.

"We don't know," Simon's voice followed him. "Roger and I have been on the phone calling all over. All we know is that they left this morning and they apparently have taken the master tapes of Andy's solo album with them."

Nick paused and put the toothpaste tube down.

"Why would he do that?"

"Roger thinks he may have taken them somewhere to work on them," Simon offered.

Nick kept contemplating his toothbrush. "A studio somewhere," he replied.

"But there are so many studios," Simon complained. "He could have gone anywhere."

"Somebody's got to know where they've gone," Nick complained as he began to brush.

"Yeah, but they're not talking to us," Simon agreed. For at least a minute there was the sound of steady brushing and then hasty, emphatic sputtering.

Appearing back in the room with a half moon of white foam on his mouth, Nick grinned.

"We've got our sources too".

Somewhere in Alabama a red phone was ringing. At LAX John stood sniffling into a phone and then blew his nose loudly. At last the receiver was picked up.

"Hello? Duran hotline."

"Hi Melinda, dis is John," John said.

"Oh hi, John," she answered. "I've got the information you need. Roopal and Andy left at 7 AM this morning on a flight to Zurich. But I don't think that was their final destination. We haven't gotten any hotel bookings confirmed, but they definitely weren't leaving the country."

"Switzerland," John muttered indistinctly.

"Just a minute, John," Melinda paused as a beep sounded on the line. "There's another call coming in."

As he was put on hold, John blew his nose again and tried to think where he would go if he was Andy. The germ of an idea coalesced as Melinda got back on the line.

"Hi, John," Melinda said, "We've got a hotel for them. They're in--"

"Montreux," John finished with her. "Danks for everything."

"Sure. How's your cold?" she asked.

John sniffled. "Oh, getting bedduh. I'll sleep a lod on de plane."

"Poor baby," Melinda sympathized.

"I still don't understand why you didn't tell me Andy left the group before," Sting beat a dead horse as he and Ahme killed time over the Atlantic.

"I told you, I thought you knew," Ahme explained again.

"This was all supposed to be so simple," Sting sighed and looked out the window at the blackness of night. He did not feel tired.

"How about playing some cards?" Ahme suggested as she pulled out a deck.

"Don't feel like it," Sting shrugged off the suggestion. "We should have gotten on a frequent flier plan when we started this hunt," he shook his head. "I've got to remember to call the compound in Montserrat and tell them to tie Limahl down on a Texas fire ant mound."

Ahme shook her head. "I really thought he'd be promising."

"He was promising," Sting agreed. "He would have been next. I don't understand why he did it."

"What's going to happen now to Nick Heyward?" Ahme asked.

"He'll just have to wait until we get back the tape. He has a new album in the works," Sting tapped his fingers on the arm rest. "But he doesn't want to finish it until his program's finished. This is really going to delay it." Looking down at the cards she was spreading out on the tray top he picked one up and looked at it.

"Duran Duran playing cards?" his expression was caught between shock and disgust. "Where did you get these?"

A little intimidated, Ahme replied, "Some girls traded them to me for my buttons. I didn't need them anymore."

"Bah," Sting slammed her tray up against the seat back in front of her. The cards spilled everywhere and she was wise enough not to protest. But when he wasn't looking, Ahme slipped the four of hearts with John's picture on it into her pocket.

The Swiss air was sharp and clean. The snow lay, undisturbed and smooth, stretching everywhere the eye could see. The vista was serene. But marching through a recording studio's hallways were several people unaffected by the scenery's pacifying benefits.

"Ok, where is he and where's the tape?" Simon demanded as he burst into a control room and Roopal span around.

"He's not here," she recovered her poise.

"I know he's here," Simon poked a finger at her as towered over her. "We just came from your hotel."

"How did you get here?" Roopal stalled for time.

"Swissair," Simon smiled grimly.

"No, I mean, how did you find us?" Roopal took a few steps back. "What made you think of Montreaux?"

"Maybe because Andy always liked blondes," Simon followed her around the room. "Now where is he?"

"You can see he's not here," Roopal waved her hand shrilly. "Leave me alone."

"In case you didn't know it," Simon said in an anxiety-producing undertone, "we're not the only ones who want that tape. You see this?" he held up a bandaged wrist, "I got this jumping through Andy's patio door because someone was going to shoot me. And if we don't get that tape back so we can give it back to its owner, somebody's going to shoot at me again." Grabbing her shoulders, he shook her firmly "And I don't like that."

"Let go of me," Roopal grabbed a clipboard on the table beside her and beat Simon over the head with it. "Guard! Guard!" she shrieked.

"Simon," John appeared at the door with breathless gasp. "Andy's outside, on a snowmobile. A-CHOO!"

Simon pushed Roopal against the wall and pushed past John. John hesitated, another sneeze coming on and as his eyes watered and he held his breath, Roopal watched intently, her mouth slightly opened and her clipboard raised.

"CHOOO!" he sneezed, his head jerking forward.

WHAP! Roopal's clipboard connected.

"Where are they?" John gasped as he hurried across the snow to meet Nick.

"There was another snowmobile here," Nick explained, "Roopal's, I guess. Simon and Roger took it. They went that way," he pointed.

"Isn't there anything else around?" John looked about.

"Uh," Nick hesitated. "Sort of."

"What?" John inquired. Seeing Nick's expression, he repeated, "Well, what is it?"

"Can't we go any faster?" Roger yelled in Simon's ear.

"I'm trying," Simon yelled back. "He got too much of a head start. Besides, we're a lot heavier than he is."

Roger was silent for a moment and then yelled, "We've got company!"

"Is it Nick and John?" Simon tried to see behind him.

"Not unless they've multiplied," Roger called back.

Shortly after they sped over a snow dune, six figures followed on skis.

"They're going too fast," Sting yelled to Ahme.

"I'm sorry," she yelled back and just avoided skiing into him. "None of the Knack knew how to drive a snowmobile."

"What's there to know?" Sting called back, and then decided to save his breath. As they rounded a curve, he called, "Wait, I think I know a short cut. Follow me."

"We're losing him," Roger called again some twenty minutes later as Andy suddenly veered in a sharp turn and headed away from them at a right angle.

"I know," Simon yelled back. "Something's wrong!"

Roger listened to the machine. "Maybe we're running out of gas."

"Damn!" Simon yelled as he too pulled the machine into a right turn. But they were obviously slowing. The reason for Andy's turn soon became clear to Simon as he looked off to his left. But Roger called his attention away again.

"There are those skiers again," he pointed. "Do you think that's Sting?"

Simon squinted. "I don't know." But as the machine slowed to an idle and the skiers loomed closer with alarming speed he suddenly shouted. "Yes! It's her! That's the girl!"

"They're going to catch us," Roger said nervously.

Simon looked ahead to Andy, but he was already out of sight. As he looked back at the skiers though, he realized they weren't slowing fast enough.

"Look out!" he called as both he and Roger involuntarily ducked. Moments later six skiers skidded past them both, and down the ski jump to their left. Two immediately went down in a tumble of arms and legs, and Roger and Simon watched as two sailed down cleanly and two others veered wildly trying to keep their balance in the downwind speed.

"Well, they're not going to be coming back up anytime soon," Roger said pragmatically. "I guess we'll have to walk back to the studio."

Simon looked up at the sun. "I think we've come kind of a in a circle." Looking off in the direction Andy disappeared, he pointed. Both he and Roger got off the snowmobile and began trudging through the snow.

"God, how do the drivers stand the noise all the time!" Nick yelled over his shoulder at John. "It's an awful racket!"

"They probably think rock and roll is an awful racket too," John tucked the tissue in his coat pocket. "Look out, we're steering towards those trees," he looked at the snowplow's controls. Nick tried some adjustments and with a jerk the snowplow started going in a circle.

"Oh, not again," John complained.

"Sorry," Nick called as he corrected the situation.

"Why don't we just give up. We'll never catch up to them on this thing, and I left my cold pills at the hotel," John continued his grumbling.

"I think I've got the hang of it now," Nick ventured.

John was about to protest when he saw an explosion of snow in a large bank not far ahead of them.

"What was that?" he asked.

"What?" Nick tried to see over the half raised plow.

"I saw something, in the snow," John explained vaguely. "Right up there in the bank."

Nick tried to stop the machine. "Let's see what it is."

As the plow slowed to a stop John jumped off and lifted himself up on the plow itself to see over the bank's edge. What he saw made him grin.

"Look what we found."

"Get me out of here," Andy called up to him.

"How did you get there?" John half-laughed.

"The snowmobile skidded and I hit the bank," Andy said impatiently. "Are you going to get me out?"

John looked back at Nick and continued grinning.

"I guess we might, if you turn a certain tape over to us."

"I don't have it," Andy shouted.

John just smiled and pretended to fold his arms.

"All right," Andy gave in after several minutes of curses. "Here," he reached inside his jacket as best he could and pulled out a cassette case. "I can't throw it that far."

John realized he was probably right and the snow might swallow the tape if it was dropped.

"Scoop him out, Nick," he called as he jumped down from the plow edge.

"That's easy for you to say," Nick muttered as he tried to figure out how to do it. John climbed back up beside him and tried to see over the bank. The plow lifted at first, then lowered and plowed the bank away at an angle. Backing up, Nick tried again until enough snow was removed that he and John could dig Andy out, (Nick making sure they had the tape in hand first.)

"What are you going to do with it?" Andy asked as they returned to the plow and he tried to start the snowmobile.

"That's for us to know--" John began.

"And for you to find out!" Nick yelled as the plow started with a grind of gears.

"Hey, this doesn't start!" Andy yelled as the snowmobile's motor failed to catch.

"Exercise, you sot!" John yelled in reply. Andy's answer was inaudible over the motor but John understood the various arm and hand movements.

"He can just follow our trail," Nick said pacifically.

"ATCHOO!" his companion commented.

Six hours later however, the two were plenty worried.

"You don't suppose Sting got them, do you?" John voiced what both had been suspecting as he paced the room restlessly.

"Maybe he got all three of them," Nick answered, becoming fidgety himself.

"And with us holding the tape, we're just sitting ducks waiting here for them."

"Maybe we should go to the airport and leave a message for them here," John caught his friend's apprehension. "I hate this waiting."

Nick was about to agree when John held up a hand. A moment later the connecting door opened into their room and Roger poked his head in.

"What happened to you?" Nick asked.

"Are you ok?" John said immediately after.

"Just tired," Roger said in his modulated tones. "The snowmobile broke down."

"We got the tape!" Nick held it up.

"And tickets to London for tonight," John added as Roger brightened. "Get your stuff together," he and Nick followed Roger into the other room.

"Sting's here," Simon advised them as he came from the bathroom. "We just missed him this morning."

"Let's get out of here," Nick retreated into his room for his bags.

"I just don't understand what she's doing with Sting," Simon shook his head as he put various articles in a traveling case.

"Who?" John asked. Simon looked at him sharply, and then his face began to pucker.

"ACHOO!"

"Gesundheit," John replied and handed him some cold tablets.

"But you have to understand, there are people after us," John said passionately.

The Scotland Yard inspector tapped her thumb knuckle against her teeth. Sitting in her office were the other three, Simon tending his cold in a corner.

"Well of course there are people after you," she said calmly, folding her hands. "You're Duran Duran. Even I've heard of you."

John said something under his breath and turned away from her desk, pausing by Simon's chair and looking out the window.

"Do you think we'd make up something so crazy?" Nick leaned forward.

The inspector raised her eyebrows and sat back in her chair. "Well," she sighed, "I understand that rock and roll musicians still use a lot of drugs, don't they?"

"And you think we are all having a mass hallucination?" John stepped away from the window and waved his fingers around at the others.

"Let me recap what I've heard this morning in my office," the Inspector leaned forward, elbows on her desk. "I have heard about a mysterious tape, the contents of which you will not divulge to me, which is allegedly the cause of all this trouble. I have heard about a horde of musical hooligans, led by a busy popular musician who just happens to be the father of four. I have heard about life-threatening attacks which have occurred, so far, in three countries in the past four days. I have heard about a mysterious woman, whose importance in this story I don't understand," she didn't pause, but everyone looked at Simon. "I have heard about a legal battle with a former associate who has now also become part of the threat against you--"

"But we know he and his manager followed us back to London," Nick interrupted.

"According to you, but you won't tell me who your sources are for that," the Inspector continued pointedly. "And now you four want me to issue police protection so that you can complete recording an album which," she looked at them one by one, "is not, as far as I know, a matter of national defense."

"So you just don't believe us," Roger summed up.

"In short," she paused as her phone rang. "Chief Inspector's office," she picked it up. "It's for you," she held the receiver out to Nick.

Nick started to get up but Simon jumped up before him.

"Waid, id's dem!" Simon insisted. "No one dows we're here."

They all looked back at the Inspector who regarded them a bit wearily.

Uncovering the receiver with her hand, she spoke in a nasal draw, "Hello, this is Nick Rhodes."

"I don't really sound like that, do I?" Nick asked Simon, who was now standing behind him.

"Sounds more like Roger with a cold," John answered for him.

"ACHOO!" Simon sneezed on cue. Nick squinted up at him in distaste and scooted over in his chair.

The Inspector was gazing at the window vacantly and she suddenly walked to it, dragging the phone receiver with her. The four all looked at each other strangely. The phone did not reach far enough, however, and it suddenly tumbled off her desk, jerking the receiver from her hand to snap back and dangle over the desk edge in front of Nick's chair.

"Da Da Da De, Doo, Doo, Doo, De, go to the window, the window," came tinnily from the receiver.

"Id's him!" Simon exclaimed.

Released from the mesmerizing sound, the Inspector looked confused.

Realizing the danger, Nick jumped up and grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the window just before it shattered and a heavy object hit her desk with a solid thump.

"Id's a bomb!" Simon yelled.

"It's a message," Roger said as he looked closer. Wrapping a large stone was Ahme's t-shirt of John. On the back was a message in red paint. "Last chance. The tape is mine," Roger read.

"Welcome to our hallucination," John told the Inspector sarcastically.

"You're right," she blinked. She rushed back to the window but saw nothing unusual on the street below. "No one else is going to believe me, but you're right."

"We need prodection," Simon insisted.

"And you shall have it," she put her phone back together. "Get me her Majesty's Secret Service," she ordered her secretary.

"Have you figured out what the problem is?" Simon entered the control room.

"Yeah, but we don't know how to get around it," Nick answered as Roger lifted his head from the chair back and opened his eyes. "The tape is full of subliminal messages, which you can pick up when it's slowed down enough. But those messages don't really reproduce on cross-taping, and there's some kind of bug that causes the distortion on copies."

"So we can't copy it?" Simon took a chair as their recording engineer excused himself from the room.

"We can get around the distortion bug," Nick said, "but unless we have the master tape, this is as good as it's getting," Nick waved the cassette. As Roger got up and stretched, a silence descended on them.

"Your cold sounds better," Roger changed the subject.

"Yeah, it's almost gone," Simon agreed. "But it's chilly in this castle, isn't it?" he gathered his coat into himself in dramatization.

"Yeah. Drafty too," Roger agreed. "But it looks like we gave them the slip. It's been almost a week and no one's bothered us here."

Nick was absorbed in thought and didn't reply.

"And I hope they don't," Simon answered firmly. "It's a drag having all these uniformed men with guns hanging around us all the time."

"This is Ireland," Nick broke his concentration and also stood up. "I'm not sure anyone notices."

"I like Ireland," Simon declared, getting up also as he realized the two were leaving. "It's just that --" he broke off and they all stood still as a loud cracking reached them, followed by shouts.

"What's that?" Simon asked nervously.

"Sounded like gunfire," Roger said as he opened the control room door and hurried across the recording room to look out the windows. The other two followed him.

"I can't see anything from here," Nick complained and the three went to another door. A military guard was there yelling into a walkie-talkie.

"We need reinforcements at Slane Castle, Meath County," the guard ordered. "We are under attack." The radio crackled and he listened, then answered hurriedly, "No sir, I don't think it's the IRA."

"Where's the Inspector?" Roger asked Simon.

"I don't know," he answered as they all rushed to another exit.

"Wait," Nick grabbed Simon's arm as they ran. "Where's John?"

"Oh no," Simon stopped in his tracks. "He went for a walk around the castle, up near the roof!"

Involuntarily they all looked up as if hoping to see him.

"We've got to find him," Roger declared. Back-tracking they all took the stairs up to the roof. Just as they all reached the highest level, they met John at the stairwell.

"What's going on?" he asked as they panted, too out of breath to greet him.

"Attack," Simon gasped. "Must be Sting."

"They're all over the place," John gestured for them to follow. "Look." The other three followed him to the wall edge and looked down at scurrying figures below.

"Where did he find so many people?" Simon asked.

"I think they're all one-hit wonders," John replied thoughtfully. "I saw Oliver and the Trashmen a few minutes ago. And that looks like the Starland Vocal Band and Patrick Hernandez over there."

"Who?" Simon looked at him.

"That's the point," Nick commented.

"Come on, this isn't Music Trivial Pursuit," Roger reminded them. "Those guys are already in the castle."

"And we're trapped on the roof," John agreed.

"Maybe they won't get this far," Simon looked up for a chopper.

"What if they do," Roger said. "I don't think we should take the chance."

"Let's try and find the Inspector," Nick suggested. "She'll want to know where we are anyway."

They descended the steps, Simon reluctantly. Mayhem reigned throughout the building with constant shouting and occasional gunshots. The recording room was deserted and they continued to descend farther down the castle levels while still trying to stay out of sight.

As they came out of the stairwell and began hurrying down an outside walkway, Simon and John in the lead jumped back from a corner as a soldier backed into their path, sending a hail of bullets down the opposite way. All four yelled, cringed and clutched at each other in surprise, then wasted no time in running back in the opposite direction. Reaching the stairwell they thundered down to the ground level.

Creeping carefully through the deserted hallways, and looking into rooms as they went, the four were unaware of two figures trailing them. As they paused to look into another room, Ahme sighted her rifle and fired.

"Ow!" John yelled, and reached down to pull a tranquilizer dart out of his hip.

"What did you hit him for?" Sting yelled at Ahme. "He's the wrong one!"

Ahme shrugged innocently. "I guess I missed."

At the same moment the Inspector and a soldier came out of the open door.

"Behind you!" she pointed.

The soldier took aim and Sting and Ahme raced off in opposite directions. As John slumped to the floor, shots rang out and the other three dashed down the corridor to an outside door. The Inspector meanwhile couldn't decide whether to go after the boys, Sting, or to take care of John. When Ahme raced up to grab John's leg however, the decision became clear.

"You're under arrest," the Inspector told her.

"Who are you?" Ahme retorted suspiciously as she tried to drag John away.

"Inspector, Scotland Yard," she replied. "Let go of him," The Inspector grabbed John's other leg and the two began pulling him back and forth as his unconscious body skidded between them. Finally the Inspector lost her hold as one of John's boots came off and Ahme fell over, with John landing on top of her. The Inspector scrambled over him to grab her and the two women went rolling across the floor, wrestling fiercely.

"Stop fighting over the wishbone," Sting yelled as he raced back through the corridor, the soldier still in pursuit. "They went the other way!" He leaned down and yanked Ahme to her feet and they followed the band's path outside.

"After them," the Inspector gasped to the soldier who ran, doggedly, on.

Starting after him, she stopped and threw up her hands.

"Oh, hell," she cursed and went back to John's body, dragging him inside the room.

Outside the three were finding no means of escape at hand and few soldiers to aid them. Suddenly Simon skidded to a stop.

"Did you hear that?" he asked.

"What?" Roger wheezed back.

"In here," Simon rolled open some double doors beside them. He was nearly hit by a frightened horse, made nervous by the gunfire and commotion in the castle.

"There's someone behind us," Nick looked over his shoulder.

"There's another one," Simon noticed as he caught the horse's bridle and another horse appeared in the doorway, both already saddled. "Come on, get on."

"I can't ride," Nick protested.

"Come with me," Simon offered as he mounted the horse. Roger caught the bridle of the other animal and handed it to Simon. Before he could help Nick on the horse however, a woman in white appeared behind them, leveling a crossbow.

"Stop!" she called.

"Who's that?" Roger said into Nick's ear.

"Looks like Andrea True," Nick whispered back.

"Hold it right there," came another voice, and an attractive, intense man in a tuxedo stepped out from behind a tree and leveled a pistol at her. "Secret Service."

The three looked at each other.

"You don't think," Simon hissed to the other two.

"Naah," Nick and Roger shook their heads in unison.

"Go on, get out of here," the man with the pistol shouted to them.

Not waiting further, Roger boosted Nick up behind Simon, and then took the reins of his own horse. As Sting and Ahme arrived on the scene, Simon rode straight for them forcing both to dive for cover as Roger followed.

Standing up and watching the three ride off, Sting's expression was incredulous.

"Fifty people, and we still can't get a hold of one 120 pound, musically indifferent pop star?"

"Maybe Mercury is in retrograde this month," Ahme suggested.

The three quickly left the chaos of the castle behind as they rode into a wooded area. Except for Nick, who was in fear of falling off the horse, they began to relax. But the relaxation began too soon as suddenly two figures, shouting and waving, jumped from behind some trees. Both of the horses were spooked but while Simon's reared up, Roger's veered off the path and ran under a tree with low hanging branches. As Nick closed his eyes, held his breath and hung on for dear life, Simon brought his horse under control and it continued on down the path. At the same time Roger missed ducking a branch and was swept out of the saddle. His horse cantered back on the path and followed the other one.

"Oh, no," Roopal groaned as she walked over to where Andy was checking Roger for injuries. "We got the wrong one."

"He doesn't have the tape on him," Andy agreed. "But with all that mess going on at the castle, who knows where it is."

"Is he all right?" Roopal said with some concern as she looked down at Roger's unconscious body.

"Yeah, it didn't look too bad to me," Andy said. "I think he just bumped his head when he fell. The horse didn't hit him or anything. But get the car over here."

"Are you going to take him to a doctor?" Roopal asked.

"Only if he doesn't wake up soon," Andy shook his head. "Even if he doesn't have the tape, they know where it is. And if we have him," Andy tapped Roger's chest, "they'll give it to us."

Roopal smiled. "Good idea." Then she sprinted off for the car.

"The Bahamas?" Simon asked.

The remaining three bandmates were sitting in the Inspector's office back in London, discussing Andy's ransom note, which had arrived that morning.

"Very brief and to the point," the Inspector agreed as she pored over the note with a magnifying glass. "Send the tape to Andy Taylor c/o Compass Point Studios, Nassau Bahamas in two days or you will never see Roger again."

"But Andy isn't in Nassau," Nick drawled. "Why does he want the tape sent there?"

"How do you know that?" the Inspector looked up. The three glanced at one another.

"Uh--friends," John explained.

"I thought you just received this note," the Inspector looked vexed. "How do you know that already?"

"Well, it's a small island," Nick shrugged. "Doesn't take too long to find someone on it. He's not going there."

"He's not going there," John agreed.

"He just put it around that he's going there," Simon agreed.

"Just so everyone would think that he's going there," the Inspector joined in.

"I'd like to go there," Nick considered.

"You wouldn't like it," Simon told him.

"Where's he going then?" Nick returned to the subject.

"Never you mind," the Inspector looked back at the note. "We'll do a complete investigation on this note and with the customs authorities. "If he's left the country and taken Roger with him, we should be able to find him."

"But we only have two days," John protested. "We need an answer before then."

"The Bahamas," Simon mused again. "Why would he say he went there if he actually went to " Simon trailed off and looked at Nick, who caught his breath. John suddenly opened his mouth and stepped forward as Nick leaned towards the Inspector's desk.

"Sydney!" they all chorused.

"Sydney," the Inspector said woodenly. "Why Sydney?"

"We did that once before," Simon said as they all got up.

"Bigger island," Nick shrugged as the three headed for the door.

A name rang out over and over through the city of Sydney. From the waterfront to exclusive neighborhoods, from the Sydney opera house to an INXS concert, from coral reefs to the roads leaving the city, three young men in dyed hair and designer clothes called out "ROGER!", attracting police officers, hordes of teenagers who sought their autographs, photographers, and , once, a large bull dog. But their conspicuousness also attracted other, less benevolent types.

"You realize, of course that the taxpayers are going to a great deal of expense on your account," the Inspector chided as the four strolled down a street in Sydney.

"That's ok," Simon said as they looked around, "we pay a lot of taxes."

"You know," Nick said thoughtfully, "I think we've been going about this all the wrong way."

"What do you mean?" John asked.

"Well, if you were Andy, where would you be?" Nick told him. "In any city?"

"Oh, probably--" John began with a laugh, and then they all looked at each other.

"Where?" the Inspector tried to look at all of them at once.

"Come on," John and Simon each grabbed one of her arms and hustled her along.

"I don't think your idea is panning out," the Inspector told Nick wearily. "There are only three other pubs in the city that we haven't gone through."

"And there's one of them," Simon pointed as they walked across the street.

"Come on, let's order something at this one," John sighed as they walked to it. "I'm really thirsty."

"Who isn't?" Nick agreed. "It's miserably hot."

As they entered the pub, the Inspector left them.

"I'm going to find a phone and call the police department. They may have found something."

"I doubt it," John said as he and his companions tried to find seats at the bar. "The police haven't been good for anything in this story."

"What'll it be?" the barmaid asked them.

"Two lagers and lime," Simon ordered looking at the Twins, who nodded, "and, uh," he regarded the barmaid's chest with distraction, "two lagers and lime."

"Who's paying?" Nick looked at the other two as she left to fill their order.

"Not me," Simon looked back at him. "I haven't got any dollars."

John stood up with a frown and checked his pockets. The he looked back at the other two and shook his head.

"Why don't we let the taxpayers buy this round," Nick suggested as the barmaid started setting out glasses in front of them.

"Sounds good to me," Simon agreed, as he eagerly took a swallow of the beer.

Glancing across the bar as he sipped, Nick noticed a long tressed blonde surreptitiously winking at him from behind a pillar. He winked back and she waved her hand in impatience.

"I seem to have a lot of people winking at me these days," Nick commented as Simon slurped down some of the froth. "It used to be you, didn't it John?"

Simon followed Nick's gaze and suddenly began to choke on his beer.

"Don't drink it so fast," Nick pounded him on the back.

Coughing vigorously, Simon pointed across the bar.

"It's her," he croaked, "it's that girl again."

"Damn you, how can you always tell?" Sting cursed as he suddenly sprang towards them from behind the bar and swung a bottle at Nick's head. The bottle instead connected with Simon's still cough-racked form and he slumped off his bar stool. John grabbed Nick's arm and pulled him towards the door but their way was suddenly blocked by various members of the Osmond family.

"Stop right there!" the Inspector came racing towards them from the back of the pub, brandishing a pistol. But as she passed the pillar where Ahme had been hiding, Ahme stuck out her foot and the Inspector went sprawling into a table.

As Sting leaped over the bar and headed towards him, Nick picked up a chair and defended himself against the wild swings of Sting's bottle. John, meanwhile, took a running leap into the middle of the Osmonds bringing down at least four of them in a tangle of arms and legs. Ahme raced towards them but the Inspector got to her feet and jumped on Ahme's back, bringing them both down on the floor. With cheers, several of the Australian customers began to clap and various others joined in the fray, swinging at random.

Suddenly Nick felt himself being grabbed from behind and dragged off. He dropped the chair and Sting made a grab for him. Before he could reach him however, John tried to grab hold of Sting but missed and fell instead, then grabbed onto his trouser cuff. As Sting tried to elbow his way through the crowd, John hung on, being dragged several feet until he nearly got a stray foot in his mouth and let go.

Whistles and shouts for order heralded the arrival of several police officers.

As Sting saw them he turned and wriggled through the crowd, escaping. As Ahme caught sight of Sting leaving she pulled loose from the Inspector and headed after him, barely missing a wild swing from an intoxicated Aussie. The Inspector started after Ahme but lost her in the tangle of bodies by the door. Instead she and John had instant visual communication as he was grabbed by an Osmond brother. Just as he was about to be taken out the door, she seized his hand. Although stopping him, she could not pull him back in because of the people in their way. Slipping and sliding she finally braced a foot against the door frame and pulled with all her might. John and a policeman fell on top of her.

The melee was finally subdued and the policemen began slapping handcuffs on the offenders. Flashing her identification, the Inspector looked over the prisoners.

"Are these all of them?" an officer asked.

"Well, two got away," she admitted.

"How many Osmond brothers are there?" John asked her.

"Five," the Inspector replied. "Performing ones, anyway." He looked at her in surprise. "Well, they did a Royal Command Performance, you know."

"No, I didn't," John admitted. "Oh God," he suddenly gasped and slapped his forehead. "We have one too! We've got to play a gig the day after tomorrow!"

"Then we'd better find your drummer," she said dryly. "We wouldn't want to disappoint the Royal Family."

"And Nick," John looked around. "He's gone. I saw Andy and Roopal drag him off during the fight."

The Inspector looked around. "Quickly," she told the police officers, "search the whole block. We've had another kidnapping."

"Are you ok?" John bent down next to Simon, who was sitting up and nursing the bump on his head.

"I don't know," Simon said, poking his head carefully. "I may have a hemorrhoid"

"What?" John exclaimed.

"I mean a hemorrhage," Simon said crabbily.

"Shh," John commanded. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Simon groused.

"I heard--" he paused, "a sneeze! There it is again," John pointed at the floor. "There's someone under there. Maybe it's Nick!"

It was Nick. In the basement where Roopal and Andy had dumped him through an outside window, he too had been startled by the sneeze.

"Roger!" he exclaimed in delight, then froze as he heard a growl.

"Wadch out," Roger told him as they both regarded the tiger they shared the basement with.

"How did it get in here?" Nick hissed at him.

"Andy pud him in here to keep me from gedding oud," Roger answered. "ACHOO!"

"How can you have a cold in this weather?" Nick asked in surprise.

"Id was de damn change in temperadure," Roger complained.

"We've been looking all over Sydney for you," Nick told him. "Sting attacked us upstairs," he pointed. The tiger growled again. Nick looked at it nervously. "Do they feed it?"

"Yeah, dod't you recognize him?" Roger asked as they inched closer to each other. "Dat's the tiger we did the Seven and the Ragged Tiger shoot wid."

"It is?" Nick said with curiosity. "How come?"

"Remember how they kept de tiger drugged?" Roger murmured. Nick nodded.

"Well, de tiger kind of gets dizzy when he hears The Union of the Snake," Roger explained. "Some kind of flashback."

"You've got to be kidding," Nick told him.

"No," Roger insisted, shaking his head. "Andy plays tapes of it and he can do anyding he wants wid him. I tried singing it, bud I can't sing wid dis cold. You try."

Feeling foolish, Nick attempted a few bars but the tiger merely began to act annoyed.

"You're all oud of key," Roger shook his head.

"Well, I can't sing," Nick defended himself. "That's what we have Simon for."

Up above, John had gotten the Inspector and several of the bar patrons and policemen back inside the restaurant. They looked around but no one could find a door to the basement.

"Doesn't anyone work here?" Simon looked around.

John had a moment of inspiration. "Here, let me try something," he said.

He tipped over a glass on the counter. A trap door in the floor suddenly opened.

"How did you do that?" the Inspector asked in amazement.

John shrugged. "Well, I figure it worked in the movie."

"Nick! Roger!" Simon called down into the basement.

The tiger looked up at them and roared. Simon's head came back from the opening.

"Is that a tiger?" the Inspector kneeled down by the trap door.

"Sing "Union of the Snake" Simon!" Nick called. "Hurry!"

"Why?" John looked at Simon, who glanced back at him, then complied.

"Telegram force and ready, I knew this was a big mistake," he began, "There's a fine line drawing my senses together and I think it's about to break."

"Break!" John and Nick joined in.

"If I listen close I can hear them singers..."

"Whooaa-ooaa-oo," the Inspector, Nick and John chorused.

"Voices in your body coming through on the radioo," Simon continued

"Whoaa-oo," they chorused.

"The union of the snake is on the cli-imb," Simon began to get into it. "Moving up--"

"It's gonna race, it's gonna break through the borderli-ii-ine," several patrons began joining in.

Hearing the swelling chorus of voices above, the tiger stopped walking, then sat.

"There's a chance you could be right," Simon crooned. "Everybody!"

"If I listen close I can hear them singers, whooaa-ooaa-oo," everyone chorused, including the police officers, as the bar filled with people who came in off the street out of curiosity. "Voices in your body coming through on the radio-o-o!".

The tiger lay down and slowly rolled over, his eyes closing drowsily. As Roger and Nick crept closer, Nick turned to his companion and said drolly, "He's asleep!"

"It's gonna race, gonna break gonna move up to the borderli-ii-ine," the chorus spread out into the streets as cars stopped and even cabbies sang. "The union of the snake is on the cli-ii-imb!"

"Ok, you can stop now," Nick yelled up as he and Roger climbed to the window and prepared to exit the basement.

"It's gonna race, gonna break, gonna move up to the borderli-ine!" mothers sang to their children as they walked on the street. Vendors chorused back to their customers, "The union of the snake is on the cli-imb!"

"God, I hope we don't mess up this gig as much as we did the Prince's Trust one," John drew a hand over his face wearily. "We haven't had much time to rehearse."

"Or sleep," Roger agreed. He looked as if he was doing just that on the dressing room sofa. Simon had just finished showering in the adjacent bathroom. Outside in the hall, feet were scurrying back and forth as the show began with other performers. Their own spot would be closing the show.

"I wish the Sydney police had caught at least Andy and Roopal," Nick said, crabbily. "They almost did when they were dumping me in the basement."

"We were lucky they got there so fast," John reminded him. "I hadn't realized the Inspector was in constant touch with them." He pulled his shirt off in preparation for taking a shower himself.

"Well, you couldn't expect her to protect us all by herself," Nick shrugged.

"Where is she, anyway?" he mumbled.

"I think she's checking out security by the stage," Roger said as he tried going back to sleep. But the nearness of their appearance made him too restless.

"What's the matter with you?" John asked Nick as he pulled off his shoes. "You've been acting like a jerk all day."

"I'm getting sick of all this," Nick snapped. "We should just give that damn tape back and forget about it. We don't need it anyway. Who cares what the critics think? That never stopped us before."

"That's what I think," Roger agreed, feeling somewhat relieved at hearing someone else voice his opinion at last.

"Let Andy and Sting fight about it," Nick went on peevishly as Roger yawned and sat up on the sofa.

"What are you arguing about?" Simon poked his head outside the bathroom as he heard the sound of raised voices.

"The tape," John explained. "Nick thinks we should give it back."

"Why?" Simon asked as he walked into the dressing room, still toweling off. "After all we've been through to keep it?" he sounded defensive.

"That's just the point," Nick emphasized.

As the argument escalated, two different caterers were wheeling carts down the corridor outside, headed for their dressing room. Ahme checked her flame red wig and extra thick-lensed glasses. They were supposed to make her look myopic but in actuality they made it hard for her to see properly. She wheeled her cart carefully down the corridor, trying not to hit too many people in the process. When reaching what she thought was the correct door, she was actually forced to lower the glasses to read the writing on it. Reassured, she knocked boldly and then entered.

"Caterer," Ahme announced as she wheeled the cart in.

Nick, Simon and John all stopped in the act of shouting in each other's faces and Simon's jaw dropped.

"It's you!" he exclaimed, to Ahme's horror.

"NO!" she yelled back in frustration and stomped a foot. "It's not me!"

Before Simon could reply a second cart was wheeled through the door and Roopal announced, "Caterer!" Then her words died in her throat, not only from the shock of seeing another caterer already there, but also from the sight of the four men in various degrees of undress. A moment later both catering carts rattled as a figure emerged from each one.

"Freeze!" Sting leveled a pistol.

"Nobody move!" Andy did the same from his side. Then the two pointed the pistols at each other.

The standoff lasted only seconds before a loud "ATCHOO!" distracted them both. Being more trigger happy, Andy started, and fired just over the spot where's Nick's head had been before it flew forward in the sneeze. Simon quickly jumped forward and grabbed for his gun. As Sting turned back to cover him, Roger snatched a plate of hors d'oeuvres off one of the carts and threw it in Sting's face.

Ahme snatched off her glasses so she could see what was going on and spotted Roopal tackling Nick. She stepped over Sting and Roger and was about to grab her off when John hit her over the head with a tray of finger sandwiches.

Andy's gun had skidded under a counter and Simon was trying to pick him up sideways. Struggling and kicking Andy reached over to a cart and grabbed a bowl of potato chips, throwing them in Simon's face. Simon dropped him on the floor.

Undaunted, Ahme got up and pulled Roopal off Nick by the shoulders, sending them both backwards to the floor. Nick got up and tried to step over them to join John but he tripped and smacked into a cart, sending a bowl of dip flying over his head onto the opposite wall.

John meanwhile had snatched up a bottle of champagne, thinking to bean Sting with it. He and Roger, still struggling, were clawing their way to their feet. But as Nick too was getting up, several bizarrely attired men appeared in the door.

"Stop or I'll shoot," John called.

Sting and Roger, their hands around each other's necks, froze. Simon, with his hand over Andy's face, and Andy about to punch Simon's crotch, also did. Ahme and Roopal both stiffened in torturous positions, still clenching each other's long tresses in their hands. Even the members of Sigue Sigue Sputnik paused in the act of entering the room.

Grimacing, John shut his eyes and let the champagne cork fly with a loud bang. His aim was true and he beaned one of the men coming in right between his eyes. The Sputnik bassist's eyes crossed and he sagged to the floor.

The fight resumed as John threw the bottle at another man and he and Nick grabbed the carts, shoving them over the two remaining band members standing in the doorway. They promptly ran down the corridor, followed by Simon and Roger.

"Follow them!" Sting bellowed as he grabbed a tray of gooey pastries and ran into the hallway himself.

Out in the audience Prince Charles and Princess Diana looked at each other quizzically as shouts and crashes backstage marred the National Danish Polka Kings musical set. Glancing up at the royal box Diana noted that the Queen mother continued nodding her head in time with the music and Queen Elizabeth looked undisturbed.

"I never knew they were such big fans of polka," she murmured to her husband.

The set ended and the jeweled, gowned people in the front rose and applauded. But as the band leader took his bows a pastry puff flew out from offstage and attached itself to the side of his head. The audience gave a little gasp as eleven people ran out on stage led by John, who nearly fell as he skidded to a stop in his socks. Those behind him nearly knocked over the departing Polka Kings.

"Oh, no," John gasped.

Just behind him, Simon's stomach curled up in a knot and he was sure his entire body turned red. Just behind them, Sting wore a sickly smile as he faced the audience. There was a deadly silence in the Royal Albert Hall.

"ATCHOO!" Nick sneezed.

Suddenly there was the sound of a lone pair of hands clapping, followed by another. Seeing the royal couple applauding, the audience followed suit. The people on stage began to bow.

"I'm going to enjoy reading the tabloids in the next few days," Charles asided to Diana.

"What do we do?" Roopal grabbed Andy's arm as the members of Sigue Sigue Sputnik bowed next to her.

Andy caught Roger's eye next to him. It did not take a longstanding familiarity for them to understand each other's thoughts.

"Play," Andy replied and shoved her towards a microphone.

The others also dove for instruments, just avoiding a shoving match.

"What'll we play?" Simon asked John as he took the main microphone and tried to hide behind John. Sting and Nick got behind the piano.

"Anything you think we might all know," John looked around him.

Simon glared as he surveyed the motley band backing him and saw the Sputnik drummer and Roger sharing the same set of drums.

"What the hell would that be?" he asked.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, your Royal Highnesses," the announcer said uncertainly, "Duran Duran and --guests."

Simon took all his bandmates in with a glance and nodded his head.

"Come on, come on," he bellowed, "come on, come on. Come on it's such a joy. Come on it's such a joy "

"Come on let's make it easy, come on let's take it easy," Ahme, Roopal and Sputnik's lead singer chorused at the backing mikes.

"Take it easy," Sting roared in as the band exploded in accompaniment. "Take it easy "

"Everybody's got something to hide except for me and my monkey," Simon yodeled. The Sputnik keyboardist squeezed a hand organ as Andy jammed on his guitar.

The song went on in perfectly convoluted manner-- the drums skipping beats, the piano frequently tripping up, the bass joining in when it could and four voices all doing their own version of the Beatles and occasionally winging the lyrics. Only the guitar played flawlessly, the song dragging on as Andy did a long solo. However, considering its spontaneous creation, the song's end result was commendable.

"We can't keep playing much longer," John told Simon as they moved together towards the piano. "What are we going to do?"

"They don't dare do anything to us in front of the people," Simon suddenly decided as Andy ended his solo. "We'll have to leave through the audience."

John looked at him in his black bikini underwear.

"You're braver than I thought."

The song drew to a close with Simon making the round from the piano to the drum, still trying to keep John in front of him. The fans continued shrieking all through the song.

"Except for me and my monkey," Simon said with a wave of his hand. "Me and my monkey. Me and my MONKEY!"

As he drew his hand down, they all played their final chords and waited tensely for the audience response. The people stood again and applauded politely.

John and Simon rushed to the front of the stage and jumped off, followed by Nick and Roger. As Andy took Roopal's hand and they followed, the four ahead of them strolled up the aisle and shook hands with the delighted, offended and sometimes giggly, audience members. Simon shuddered inwardly as Prince Charles leaned over and offered his hand, and Diana smiled up at him. As he backed away she surreptitiously tucked a five note in his underwear.

The four barely made it out of the building as fans poured down the stairways from the upper seats. They caught Andy and Roopal in their midst and besieged them with requests for autographs and excited questions.

"Whew, I can't believe we made it," Roger said as they jogged down the street.

"I can't believe we actually managed to play the song!" John laughed. "I don't think I'll ever get stage fright again."

"I will," Nick declared. "I'll be afraid someone in the audience was at this show."

"I think the Inspector's going to get Sting now," Simon declared, "unless he follows us."

"Let's go home," John said as they slowed to a stop and he shivered in the cold.

"All right, get in the car," a bobby announced as he approached them and waved for a police car to drive up. "What's the idea, exposing yourself like this in public?" he gestured at Simon and John. "And in this weather."

"Uh, it's an accident," Simon was huddling himself. "The Inspector's inside," he gestured back at the Hall. "She'll explain."

"I'm sure you can do plenty of explaining yourself," the bobby hustled him inside the car. "And you'll be nice and warm at the station while you do it. Get in, all of you."

"But we really want to go home," Nick said as he sniffled into a tissue.

"You can have someone pick you up as soon as you post bail," the bobby assured him.

"Bail?" Roger exclaimed.

As they scrunched together in the back seat of the car and Nick miserably blew his nose, John looked down at him.

"No wonder you were in such a bad mood. You must have caught Roger's cold."

"Cold," Simon muttered with self-pity. "I'll be lucky if I don't die of pneumonia."

Sitting in the cell, Nick wadded up a tissue and stuffed it in his pants pocket, then pulled out another one. Over to his left, John was pretending to sleep and Roger was doing a more convincing imitation on the opposite bench. Simon was sitting beside Nick, his legs stretched out and head tilted back towards the ceiling, studying the cracks in it. It was morning and there was renewed activity in the police station.

"You know, I've been thinking, Nick, that maybe you're right," Simon said.

"Right about what," Nick made a half hearted attempt at blowing his nose.

"About the tape," Simon rolled his head over to look at him. "We don't need it."

"Hmm. Well, I may have been wrong," Nick admitted. "John was right. I just wasn't feeling well."

"No, you were right," Simon repeated. "I mean, just look at the way we played when we got on stage. Ok, we didn't sound too good," he conceded as Nick looked at him out of the corner of his eyes, "but we had hardly practiced for our own set, let alone a song we've never done before, with people we've never played with before."

"Who weren't playing either," Nick added.

"Now how many bands could have done that?" Simon asked. "We did it because we believed in ourselves," he stressed. "We knew we just had to do it."

Nick nodded and waved to him to lower his voice.

"Maybe," he sniffed. "Out of the mouths of ailing people " he trailed off.

Simon also looked at the door as the Inspector, a guard, and Ahme appeared.

The guard turned the key in the lock and the Inspector entered.

"Good morning," she said dryly. "I expect everyone slept well."

"Just like at the Savoy," Nick said even more nasally than usual as John and Roger sat up.

"Well, you will be pleased to know that you are now able to go on with your lives as usual," the Inspector informed them, "whatever that may mean."

"What's she doing here?" John pointed at Ahme.

"She's been giving us information as to Sting's sideline activities," the Inspector looked at Ahme. "After you left, the audience wanted to hear Sting play. So he was forced to go through some numbers with Sigue Sigue Sputnik."

"He never even got through the second one," Ahme smiled. "He lost his patience with them, screamed at them and then harangued the audience for giving those 'morons' even one hit song. When he attacked the lead singer, the police came and dragged him off the stage."

"He's now being held on assault and battery charges," the Inspector explained. "And after we finish filing charges on the information Ahme has given us," the Inspector looked at her, "I believe he may be facing some serious charges of tax fraud."

"Tax fraud?" Roger repeated.

"After all he did to us?" Simon asked.

"Well, there's no real evidence for many of your claims," the Inspector folded her arms and looked at the four. "Unless of course, you wish to go through the publicity of a trial and serve as witnesses."

The four looked at each other. One by one they shook their heads.

"Naah", John spoke for them. "Tax fraud has a nice ring to it."

"I thought as much," the Inspector smiled ironically and tipped her hat to them. "If that's all then, gentlemen, you're free to go. And the next time, you encounter such problems," she paused at the cell door, "please do it in someone else's jurisdiction."

"Yeah, we're real fond of you too," Simon said as they all got up and John and Roger walked to the door, stretching.

"What happened to Andy?" Roger asked Ahme as the three others also filed out of the cell.

"Uh," Ahme considered the news, "your impromptu reunion is all over the newspapers. Apparently, Andy's record company hasn't been too happy with his sales and would like him to do more reunions with you to boost his popularity."

"That'll be the day," Nick snorted.

Ahme shrugged. "He and his manager were supposed to be flying back to the States today to clear the matter up."

"Sounds like he's got his own problems," Roger commented as they made their way to the building entrance.

"I've got a cab outside," Ahme said. "I can drive you all home, if you'd like."

Various shrugs passed among them as Nick thanked her. Simon, however, had remained silent the whole time and did so all the way to Nick's house where she dropped the other three off.

"Simon," she stopped him from getting out. "I'd like to talk to you if you don't mind."

"What about?" he asked.

"Not here," she smiled and spoke to the driver.

"Victoria Station?" Simon asked as they got out of the cab.

Ahme indicated for him to follow and shortly afterwards they were ushered into a train berth.

"Where is this train going?" Simon asked her sharply as she sat by the window.

"That all depends on you," Ahme said with a deprecating shrug. "I'll admit I was attracted to John, but seeing him on stage last night with his shirt off " her mind drifted away for a moment. "You were so wonderful," she told him earnestly, meeting his blue eyes with her brown ones. "The way you took command of the stage, the way you held your head up when you left," she emphasized. "Simon, I'm mad about

Simon was silent a bit longer and looked hard at her, then the floor, then the door and the edge of the bed. Finally he came to sit down beside her.

"Well, what shall we do on this train ride?" he asked.

"Oh," Ahme sighed and reached into her purse as the train got under way. "I thought I might do a tarot reading for you."

"Oh?" Simon tried not to look too interested. "All right."

Ahme took out her cards and one suddenly dropped in her lap.

"What's that?" Simon asked as she held the card out the window and let it go.

"Nothing," Ahme smiled as John's picture floated away on the four of hearts card. "It didn't belong "

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