Atlantan Legacy XIX – Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat, Where Have You Been?

by Squeakypeep

Disclaimer: Not Mine.. no profit.

Acknowledgements: Mog’s Universe - Thank you.

Warning: OFC

Believe it or not I wrote a huge section of this then accidentally wiped it off. Very annoying. I’m not a JD by any stretch of the imagination and so I couldn’t find it and had to write it all again….

It’s been pretty silent from me just recently – I was away for the whole Summer – in Florida – to get away from the heat…!

Comments: Welcome - be nice.

Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat,
Where have you been?
I’ve been to London to visit the Queen.
Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat,
What did you there?
I frightened a little mouse under her chair.


‘As in England? Buckingham Palace? The Queen?’

‘You are not going to meet the Queen JD.’

‘Yeah kid, it’s not like she walks down the street with a crown on.’ Buck rolled his eyes dramatically.

‘I know that!’ JD was affronted. How stupid did they think he was? It wasn’t like he thought they’d bump into the Royal Family at the local Walmart, assuming they even had Walmarts over there. He subsided into his chair and hoped someone would change the subject.

‘So has everyone got a current passport?’ Chris gazed around at the assembled group. They all nodded.

Except Vin.


‘No. Never needed one b’fore.’ Vin ducked his head. He’d never been abroad, something else missing in his education.

‘Fear not, Mr Tanner, we can organise the legalities expeditiously.’

‘Get it sorted.’ Chris watched as his sharpshooter shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. Correctly assuming that Vin was intimidated by the thought of all that official paperwork he chanced a quick glance at the Undercover Agent who nodded imperceptibly. ‘Ez, you collect everyone’s passports and get one for Vin. Check them all, make sure we have all the necessary documentation. I don’t want to get to Heathrow and have to turn round and come back.’ He paused. ‘Scotland Yard are expecting us on the 16th.’ The blond leader leaned back in his chair. ‘Okay. Let’s go over it again.’

Chris pulled the brown manila folder forward and balanced it against his knee and the edge of the conference room table.

‘AD Travis received a call from a Detective Miles at New Scotland Yard. Apparently arms and munitions are being purchased for Irish Paramilitaries through Denver. Source unknown. We need to liase with their counter-terrorism squad to try and uncover the contacts and break the chain. Since we have three of you already on light duties, Team 7 have been asked to travel to London to meet with the Anti-Terrorist Squad at Scotland Yard to assist the British Police in identifying the perps. They have identified several suspects already and we will gather as much information as possible before returning to see if we can cut off the source here in the States. This is a fact-finding mission only and no weapons will be transported to Europe. Police in England do not routinely carry guns. We won’t either.’ He glanced at Vin who pulled a face. ‘Any questions?’

There was a moment of silence. Ezra shuffled in his seat.


‘The proposed trip coincides with Rorie’s mid-term break. I’d like to take her along, with your permission, naturally. I think I can persuade Terri to accompany us, with Olivia of course, so she will be available to supervise the children whilst we are otherwise engaged.’

Chris nodded and then pulled a face. ‘As long as I don’t have to sit next to her on the plane and she doesn’t bring any animals.’

‘My miscreant daughter will leave her menagerie at home.’ Ezra’s voice was firm but his eyes twinkled. Chris laughed.

Heathrow Airport London, England Sunday Afternoon

‘Why is that man wearing a dress?’ Rorie’s shrill voice rang out over the general crowd murmur in the crowd at passport control.

The southern undercover agent glanced down at his daughter, wincing at the grubby, dishevelled urchin currently sprawled bonelessly across his Louis Vuitton suit bag. He opened his mouth to answer but was beaten to the punch.

‘It’s called a Thobe. The gentleman in question is from one of the Middle Eastern Countries. Judging by his embroidered cap, probably the Sultanate of Oman.’ The seven men, one woman and two girls looked at the owner of the voice. He wore a police uniform and a black turban with a badge pinned to the front. He smiled at the small American, waiting for the inevitable with good humor.

‘What happened to your head? Did you bump it?’ Rorie took on a ‘poor you’ expression.

‘No. I am a Sikh, my family is originally from India. All the men of my religion wear such a headdress.’ He crouched down and shook hands with the inquisitive child. ‘We don’t cut our hair. Mine is even longer than yours.’ He laughed as the little girl gaped at him. ‘London is very cosmopolitan. That means there are lots of people of different races and religions and you will see many things you probably haven’t seen before.’ He rose to his feet.

‘I am Constable Khan, with the Metropolitan Police. You are the group from Denver?’ He regarded the men with solemn dark eyes. His gaze came to rest on the man exuding an air of unquestioned authority.

The black clad blond stepped forward. ‘Chris Larabee. This is my team.’ Each man nodded in turn to the British Policeman.

‘Detective Miles sent me to meet you. If you will follow me, we will dispense with customs and collect your luggage. We have transportation waiting to take you to your hotel. You are not expected at the Yard until the morning.’

Josiah and Nathan exchanged glances. At least their hosts recognised they needed a rest after the tiresome flight.

‘Detective Miles will meet you in the hotel restaurant tonight at 7.30, just to introduce himself.’ As he spoke he ushered them towards a small office set to one side of the Customs Hall. Their passports were collected and stamped and within minutes they were downstairs in the luggage retrieval area.

The minibus ride into the center of London went as smoothly as city traffic allowed. The ATF Agents refrained from talking shop with their escort and instead listened as he chatted to Terri and the children. He told them that he had two boys of his own and which sights, in his opinion, the girls would most enjoy. By the time they arrived at the small hotel off Bond Street, the girls were rested and ready to start exploring.

Chris watched his team checking into their rooms. Rorie and Olivia were bouncing around the lobby causing havoc with other guests while Terri chased after them trying to get them to settle down. It had been a long trip and they both had energy to burn after the long hours in the confined space of their airline seats.

Speaking of which… his gaze settled on his youngest team member. JD was hopping from foot to foot and casting longing looks at the glass doors leading out to the street. Red double-decker buses thundered past as small black taxis dodged through the rush hour traffic. Pedestrians fought with uniformly black umbrellas in the strong wind and pouring rain. London in Fall. He looked back at their biggest ‘Kid’. Clearly he also had too much energy. Buck would have to take him for a run or something.

He glanced over the others, automatically counting heads. Buck, Nathan, JD, Ezra, Josiah…

Where the hell was Vin?

He scanned the lobby again and finally located his sharpshooter.

The quiet Texan had all but disappeared between a marble statue and a bushy plant. The only part of him visible was from the knees down. Chris would recognise the worn denim and scuffed brown boots anywhere.


A shaggy head appeared in the crook of the statue’s marble elbow. ‘Yeah?’

Come Out.

Don’t like crowds.

It’s only for a week.

Cain’t breathe.

Chris sighed and picked up his bag as Josiah handed him the passkey for the room he was sharing with his second in command. A whole week in a small hotel room, in a rainy, over-populated foreign city, in the company of a severely claustrophobic Texan.


At least he wasn’t armed.

The group crowded into an elevator and he met Nathan’s eyes as they glided slowly upwards, serenaded by the squeaks and groans of the cranky, ancient, Otis. The medic glanced pointedly around at the others who were jostling for position in the confined space.

Buck and JD were arguing. As usual.

Josiah was trying to read his London Guide Book. Aloud.

Vin had his eyes tightly shut and was taking deep breaths. No Surprise there.

Ezra was chastising Rorie for pressing the buttons for all the floors she could reach. The elevator would be stopping at levels 7 to 12 and 14 to 24.

Terri was attempting to clean a dirty smudge off Olivia’s cheek with a handkerchief.

Nathan raised his brows at Chris and leaned a little closer so only his leader could hear him.

‘Best hope Scotland Yard have enough to keep them all busy or there’s going to be trouble.’

Chris pulled a face. ‘Isn’t there always? Let’s just hope they don’t blow up the Houses of Parliament or get locked up in the Tower of London.’

Thursday Morning

Amazingly, the official part of the trip was accomplished without incident. Having exchanged as much information with their British counterparts as possible, the group from Denver switched their emphasis from business to pleasure and took on the role of American Tourists abroad. Even Chris got into the swing of things, announcing that he intended to see Tower Bridge and the Crown Jewels, Buckingham Palace and the Changing of the Guards.

In the Standish’s hotel room, Rorie was impatiently waiting for her father to finish his morning ‘ablutions’ as he called them, so they could go sightseeing. After 10 minutes the child got bored and, casting a quick furtive look at the closed en-suite door, started flicking through the manila folder on the bedside table. She was examining one of the mug shots when Ezra emerged from the bathroom.

‘What do you think are you doing young lady?’ He frowned his disapproval at the nosy child.

She’d been so engrossed she hadn’t seen him coming and jumped guiltily. ‘Sorry Daddy. I know I’m not supposed to mess with your work. I was just looking. There’s nothing to read in here and the TV is crap. They’ve only got five channels. Can you believe that?’

The attempted redirection backfired with the use of bad language. The frown deepened to an unamused scowl and Rorie gulped. ‘Oops. Sorry Daddy. Uncle JD said I wasn’t to use that word. I’ll try to remember.’

‘Ensure that you do. I will not tolerate crude language Aurora.’ Ezra took the folder and closed it, tucking it away in the safe and pulling out his wallet and credit cards at the same time. He needed to talk to the surrogate uncles again about their language.

‘Who are those people? Are they bad guys?’

Ezra raised one brow at the inquisitive child. She was undaunted.


Ezra sighed. ‘They are Americans who may be selling weapons to ‘bad guys’ in Ireland. We suspect one, or perhaps some, of those men may be causing trouble over here so we have to look for them when we get back to Denver.’ He pulled on his jacket and picked up the small green coat with the black velvet collar. Catching sight of an expression that forewarned of more questions he stepped into the breach. ‘Let us depart and meet up with our travelling companions. What do you want to see today?’

He successfully redirected her attention and the undercover agent cast a quick look over the room as his daughter preceded him into the corridor. The door closed with a soft click and hand in hand the pair set off for their outing.

Later, having spent the morning in individual pursuits, the seven and Rorie met up for lunch. Terri had taken Olivia off on her own for the day, the pair were planning to catch an afternoon performance at one of the theatres in Covent Garden so the small Southerner was theirs to entertain.

Chris and Vin had been to Tower Bridge and the Tower of London. Josiah had passed on that particular attraction when he learned about the Ravens. Apparently tradition stated that if the ravens at the Tower ever left, the monarchy would fall. To prevent that from ever happening, Beefeaters made sure they stayed by feeding them. There was even an official Raven Master.

The History didn’t interest the big profiler in this instance.


Big crows.

Nobody could get him to go willingly to see crows.

He and Nathan had spent the morning at Buckingham Palace, watching the changing of the guard.

‘Did you see the Queen?’ JD asked the question before he’d got his brain in gear. He scowled as Buck cuffed him round the back of the head, again.

Nathan answered. ‘She wasn’t in.’

JD’s mouth dropped open. ‘How do you know that? What did you do, ring the bell? Is there even a bell?’

Chris rolled his eyes and Vin chuckled.

‘There was no flag. The flag, or Royal Standard as it’s called, only flies when she’s in residence.’ Josiah tapped his ever-present copy of The Official London Tour Guide resting beside his empty plate. ‘Says so in the book.’

Taking pity on their youngest member, the Southerner quickly decided to change the subject and turned to his daughter. ‘And did you behave for Mr Wilmington and Mr Dunne, Honeybee?’

‘Yahuh.’ She glanced around the table, making sure she had the undivided attention of her adoring audience. Satisfied, she began an enthusiastic account of the morning she had spent with Buck and JD at the Sherlock Holmes museum in Baker Street. JD managed to hold his tongue and allow the child her moment, despite the urge to interrupt and embellish the telling. When she seemed to run out of steam the others turned to him expectantly, knowing he needed to get his own opinion off his chest.

‘We went to 221B, you know, what was supposedly his address. It’s a Building society, or Bank or something.’ He sounded disappointed.

Ezra nodded. ‘Well Gentlemen, I had a successful morning visiting the tailors in Bond Street and the various purveyors of fine shirts in Jermyn Street. My wardrobe will be ‘suitably’ replenished shortly after we return to the States, if you’ll pardon the pun.’ He dimpled at the groans and rolled eyes.

‘Daddy, why did you waste your morning shopping? Can’t you do that at home?’

‘Don’t get him started on the quality of Bond Street tailors Rorie.’ Chris shook his head at his undercover operative. ‘I already know more about that that I ever wanted to.’

Ezra raised a brow and looked Chris up and down. ‘One would never have guessed…’

‘So whatcha wanna to do this afternoon, Pumpkin?’ Vin threw Standish a look that clearly asked if he was suicidal and then smiled at his niece as he shovelled another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

‘Please can we go to Madame Toosoo’s? To see the candle people?’

Vin gazed at her, confused. ‘Candle people?’

‘I think she’s talking about Madame Tussaud’s Waxwork Museum, like the one in Vegas.’ Josiah flicked through the guidebook to the appropriate page. ‘The one here in London was the original.’

‘I could go for that.’ JD nodded and the others quickly agreed.

Madame Tussaud’s

Ezra glanced at his watch. It was nearly time to meet the others in the State Room. They’d had to split up since the Southerner had declared the Chamber of Horrors to be inappropriate for his only child. He shuddered as he imagined the type of questions that would arise if he were to lead her through the torture chambers, past the figures of the notorious Dr Crippen, Jack the Ripper and all their nefarious counterparts.

Taking Rorie’s hand they sauntered past a scantily clad Kylie Minogue and made their way towards the designated meeting point, in the majestic State Room, close to the figures of President Bush and Jacques Chirac. Rorie was quickly bored by the waxwork Heads of State, not having heard of most of them. She eventually wandered over to examine the display of Queen Elizabeth being crowned, in honor of the 50th Anniversary of the Coronation. Ezra kept a wary eye on her from a distance.

Soon the rest of Team Seven began to drift in.

Chris, Buck and Nathan joined Ezra by their President while JD and Vin wandered over to look over the Royals with Rorie. They were just waiting for Josiah.

‘Where is he?’ Chris frowned at his watch.

‘He was examining the face of the Moors Murderers when I left him. He was kind of engrossed. He may be a while.’ Nathan shrugged.

There were a few people still milling around the room, looking at the statues, despite the fact that the attraction was due to close in a few minutes. Ezra had wandered away from his companions, to come face to ‘face’ with Ghandi, when Rorie’s shrill voice rang out across the room. Her words had him spinning on his heel and he was vaguely aware of his team-mates also coming alert as he turned.


Across the expanse of the great hall he could see Rorie pointing at two other visitors, both with ‘Deer Caught in the headlights’ expressions. For a split second nobody moved. Then all hell broke loose.

Colorado based arms dealer, Carter Binks, who was more familiar with Team 7 than he ever wanted to be, couldn’t believe his eyes. What the fuck was this bunch doing in London? He drew a magnum.45 from the small of his back and took cover behind former Prime Minister, Dame Margaret Thatcher, clad typically in a beige tweed suit and dreadful shoes.

Binks’ companion, Yasser Al Hamidi, a Palestinian American, was slower to move but took his lead from his associate and leapt behind Henry Kissenger. He peeked out from between the figure’s legs, aiming his gun at the nearest breathing person.

Two unfamiliar armed men took up stations near the door.

Meanwhile, Team Seven were in a bit of a shambles. Chris cursed as he realised that none of them were armed. He crouched behind the shorter, but more ample, figure of King Abdullah of Jordan and scanned the room for the rest of the team, his mind racing, trying to come up with a plan.

Near the formally decked out Royal Family, Vin Tanner reacted immediately, on instinct rather than thought. He grabbed his small niece and hastily thrust her under the throne.


‘Stay still and be quiet.’ His tone brooked no argument. He grabbed the fake ceremonial staff from a nearby Cardinal and took up position behind the seated Monarch.

JD folded himself as small as he could into the nearest available cover, courtesy of the Archbishop of Canterbury. His eyes roamed the room looking for his boss and, hopefully, instructions.

Chris, who was armed only with the First Lady’s pocketbook, was still trying to locate Nathan and Ezra. He spotted the medic eventually, nearly invisible behind a smiling Nelson Mandela. He raised his eyebrows at him as their eyes met and held up seven fingers, which the medic correctly interpreted as meaning ‘Where the Hell is Ezra?’ Nathan nodded towards a Zulu King, resplendent in furs but empty handed. As he watched the undercover agent appeared stealthily beside him, carrying a tribal spear.

Then the shooting started.

Josiah Sanchez was nose to nose with Ivan the Terrible when there was a sudden influx of people running from the direction of the State Room. He glanced at his watch. He was late which meant the others… a shiver went down his spine even before the sound of the first gunshot. Grabbing a mace and an axe, both fake, from a couple of murderous looking waxwork Goths, he started towards the commotion.

By the time the dust, or rather in this case, wax, settled in the museum, the once beautiful exhibit was looking very sorry for itself. Chris slowly rose to his feet and took stock of the devastation.

A few of the wax figures were still standing, although The Duke of Edinburgh seemed to have lost his head and Winston Churchill and the now one-legged Stalin were leaning together, mouth to mouth, seemingly in a clinch. Julius Caesar had been stripped of his royal toga and stood bare to the breeze while Cleopatra looked on with her remaining eye and smirked. The waxwork Pope had fallen face first into the lap of a smiling Wallace Simpson and Queen Victoria continued to look down her regal nose at them all, or she would have, if she still had one.

Chris shuddered. Travis was going to kill them, after they’d been deported of course. Even now he could hear the sirens wailing in the distance.

He swept his gaze around, checking on his family.

Vin was finishing tying up the last of the prone criminals, with a bejewelled sash liberated from Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother. Three were out cold and the fourth was groaning as he writhed around like a Mummy in Caesar’s clothes.

That explained the nude emperor.

Buck was covering him with a faux ceremonial sword and one of the illegal guns confiscated from their targets.

Josiah was leaning against the ample torso of Henry VIII while Nathan probed the bloody wound on his upper right bicep with gentle fingers. The Preacher met Chris’s look and smiled in grim reassurance. ‘He took more damage than I did brother.’ He nodded to his left and Larabee noticed for the first time that the long-dead King had a huge hole where his decorative codpiece should have been.

Shuddering with the horrific image that ‘injury’ conjured up in his mind’s eye he nodded and continued to survey the room, searching out the remaining three, as yet unaccounted for, members of his group, Ezra, JD and Rorie.

Ezra was standing in front of the throne gazing at the young Bostonian, comfortably ensconced on the Queen’s lap. He was out cold.


‘The youthful Mr Dunne is just taking a nap, Mr Larabee.’ Ezra grinned at his leader as Chris, Vin and Buck came to stand at his side.


‘One of the miscreants shot out part of the chandelier,’ he scuffed his expensive loafer through the glass on the floor at their feet, ‘he was standing below, preparing to launch the sceptre to aid our comrades when he was felled from on high.’ The undercover agent chuckled and looked back at his peaceful comrade. The golden sceptre was still clutched tightly in his hand as he perched on the royal knee.

‘Daddy? Can I come out now?’ There was a sneeze from somewhere below the ermine and velvet skirts. ‘It’s awful dusty under here. Don’t they ever clean?’

Vin reached under the throne and pulled out the filthy child, carefully avoiding the sharp shards of glass. ‘I stayed still and quiet Uncle Vin, like a little mouse.’

‘Ya did good pumpkin.’ Vin tweaked her nose and tried to hand her to her father who took one look at the dirt and wrinkled his nose. ‘Perhaps she should stay with you, Mr Tanner.’ Vin laughed and settled her on his hip, unconcerned about his own tatty jeans. ‘Is Uncle JD sleepin’?’


‘He got to sit on the Queen’s lap. What’s the stick for?’

‘Sceptre. It’s part of the coronation ceremony. I’ll explain it later Honeybee.’

Rorie looked appraisingly at her youngest uncle, ignoring the noisy arrival of the Metropolitan Police. A devilish smile crossed her face. Chris shuddered.

Wriggling in Vin’s arms she reached out and took the crown from the battered, ‘holey’ Archbishop and set it gently on the dark hair, carefully avoiding the prominent bump.

‘By the power ‘vested in me, I p’nounce thee King Dunne. Who’s got a camera?’

The End

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