Greetings to all fans of the Swat Kats.  This is my fifth fanfic.  Please note 
this in any flames that you send.  A few points to remember.
1) Swat Kats: The Radical Squadron is owned by Hanna Barbera.  Which in turn 
is owned by Ted Turner, the same man who has just merged with AOL!
2) I own Tim Hunt and associated characters.  Please inform me if you wish to use them
3) As Tim Hunt is an Australian, he pronounces some words differently.  For 
example Lieutenant is pronounced as _LEFT_tenant and his rank would be Flight 
LEFTtenant.
4) All flames and praise can be sent to Mark Johnson at <johnnosk@hotmail.com>

Touchdown
By Mark Johnson

The room was relatively small, but well lit.  This surprised Tim; he was 
expecting a bare room with only a single light bulb.  Instead he was 
delivered into a room designed for interrogation.

Furnished with a desk, a half a dozen or so chairs and a video camera, the 
room was not luxurious by any standards, but Tim suspected that it would 
serve the purpose that it was designed for.

He paced - step step step turn, step step step turn.  The waiting was 
driving him crazy.  Through a gap in the door he heard footsteps 
approaching.  He sat down in the chair at the far end of the room.

From his position he could see through the glass partition in the door and 
the two air police standing guard.  The same two had been there since he 
and his wingman Major Callen were detained after their return to Dreamland.

The door opened and Tim looked up expecting to see the local representative 
from the CIA; instead he looked into the cool blue eyes of the base 
commander.  Tim stood at attention as General Drybeck stared at him.

"I didn't believe it when they told me," said Drybeck "And quite frankly 
I still don't."
Tim remained silent, he had only said the one phrase when he landed and 
hadn't said a word since.

"Your friend claims that you are my missing pilot.  What have you got to 
say about that?"
Tim continued to stare straight ahead, his gaze unwavering, his breathing 
even and his mouth closed

"What's wrong, mister?" asked Drybeck "Cat got your tongue?"
"No, Sir!"
"Then who are you?"
"I am Flight Lieutenant Tim Hunt"
"Flight Lieutenant Hunt is missing, try again"

"I am Flight Lieutenant Tim Hunt of the Royal Australian Air Force!" Tim 
asserted
"What makes you say that?" Drybeck replied, raising his voice
"What is this? A philosophy exam?"
"Of a sort.  Unless you can prove yourself to my satisfaction you will 
disappear."

There was a knock at the door.  Drybeck turned and saw three people through 
the glass partition; he motioned them in.  "This is Major Allen Hall," 
said Drybeck, indicating to the taller of the two men, "and Captain Heather 
Mackenzie from Intelligence.  You should know Kit Dwyer from Psych"

Tim nodded as the trio entered the room and proceeded to make themselves 
comfortable.  "Please sit down," said Hall. "We're here to ask you a few 
questions.  Just take your time and answer when you're ready"
"Would you like something to drink?" asked Mackenzie "Coffee? Tea? 
Er... milk?" 
"Thank you, but no" replied Tim as he sat down.

"How did you get into Flight Lieutenant Hunt's aircraft?" asked Hall.
"I opened the canopy and stepped in."
"Where was the aircraft when you opened the canopy."
"It was on the ground."

"You have an interesting accent," said Mackenzie.  "Where did you learn to 
speak our language?"
"I could say the same to you, Captain.  However, my parents taught me their 
language, like all parents do.  Even your's."
"Can you speak any other languages?"
"Yes"
"What ones?"
"A few European languages, some from Asia and the subcontinent and a 
couple from the Middle East.  I also speak a couple of regional dialects."

<You're lying> said Hall in Russian.
<Maybe> replied Tim, using the same tongue. 
[How old are you?] asked Mackenzie in Japanese.
[I'm twenty-nine]
{I don't believe this!} said Hall in German.
{Neither do I!} 
~Is he for real~ Mackenzie asked Hall in Spanish.
~Yes I am~ Tim replied, before Hall could open his mouth.  ~Did you know 
that your Spanish has a Californian accent? ~

In the glass in the door, Tim saw the reflection of Dwyer making notes.  
'Bloody shrinks; always scribbling!' he thought.

"Where are your parents now?" Mackenzie continued, reverting to English.
"Deceased."
"I'm sorry.  Any brothers or sisters?"
"I had a brother."
"Had?"
"Also deceased."

"Where did you learn how to fly Hunt's aircraft?" asked Hall.
"Here."
"Here?"
"Yes, here; this place; Area 51; Dreamland."
"When did this happen?"
"June this year."
"What year is it?"
"It is the year 1999."

"Did you always want to be a pilot?" asked Mackenzie.
"Not really," said Tim thoughtfully. "It depended on what was popular 
that week."
"Popular?"
"Whatever made the news - you know, Heart surgeon, formula one driver, 
even a fireman rescuing little kitty cats that have been stuck up a tree."


Hall leaned forward. "You say that you learned to fly Hunt's aircraft at 
this airbase.  When did you last take-off?"
"Seven days ago at 0900 hours."
"And where did you fly?"
"My flight plan was to fly over SAM site Beta, through canyon Echo 5 and 
ending up on the missile range."
"So, where did you fly?"

Tim blinked, it was the most reaction that he had shown since the interview 
began.  "Ah.. Good question," said Tim. "Do you want the truth or a 
plausible lie?"

Behind Tim, Drybeck suffered a fit of coughing; the creature was using 
similar smart alec remarks and one liners to his missing pilot; pity it 
didn't look like his missing pilot.

"We're just here to find out what happened," Mackenzie said. "Whatever you 
say won't leave this room."
"And if I tell you what has happened, I'll be in a rubber room!"
"We understand that this has been a very traumatic experience for you, but 
we want to help."
"What makes you think that I require help?"
"You are the only one of your kind on this planet; there are many other 
people who would not be as understanding as we are being."

Tim's eyes momentary narrowed, then resumed their normal appearance.  "What 
would you know about traumatic experiences, Captain?" asked Tim.
"I've had a couple," Mackenzie replied.

To Tim, something wasn't right; a slight odour had suddenly emanated from 
the captain, that combined with some subtle body language convinced Tim 
that she was lying, but considered against telling her this little tidbit 
of information. 

"Major, Captain," Drybeck's voice sounded from behind Tim, "I believe a 
short recess is in order."

Both Hall and Mackenzie nodded and stood.  From behind, Tim could also hear 
Drybeck and Dwyer stand and lead the two interrogators from the room and 
down the hall.  "I would advise you to be careful," Dwyer said as soon as 
they had gotten out of range of Tim's hearing. "The subject is not 
responding to any pattern that I can recognise and I cannot predict its 
actions."

"The trouble is that we have a being in there that has convinced three 
separate pilots that he is Tim Hunt," said Hall. "He even talked to Major 
Callen face-to-face and he is convinced that the creature is Tim Hunt."

"That's what bothers me," replied Drybeck. "Callen is my best pilot and it 
was his recommendation that brought Hunt to this project; it is very 
unlikely that his judgment would be so drastically effected."

"Mind control?" suggested Mackenzie. "Drugs, hypnosis, power of suggestion?"
"I haven't received the results from the lab yet," said Drybeck, "but the 
preliminary report is negative."

"How well did Callen know Hunt?" asked Hall.
"From all reports, fairly well" replied Drybeck. "They've gone head-to-head 
a few times in the past but have always been there when the other needed 
help."
"What type of help?" Hall asked. "Money, drugs, gambling debts?"

"Callen's wife went into labour while he was in Australia on exercise," 
began Drybeck. "Hunt got permission from his Wing Commander to take an 
F-111C direct to Sydney.  En route, he arranged and payed for a business 
class seat on a Qantas flight to Los Angeles."

"You're kidding!" said an outraged Hall. "Nobody does that!"
"I hadn't finished, Major," Drybeck said calmly. "When Callen had touched 
down at LAX wearing nothing but his flight suit and carrying his helmet and 
gloves, he was escorted to a private jet and flown to Colorado Springs.  
From there a helio took him to the hospital." 

"Sir, do you know what happened to Callen's wife?" Mackenzie asked.
Drybeck broke into a huge grin. "She gave birth to a healthy baby girl just 
after Callen landed at Colorado Springs.  They named her after Hunt's 
brother."
"Sounds romantic.  Who arranged the private jet and helio?"
"Probably Hunt," replied Drybeck. "All that Callen knows is that they were 
waiting for him at both airports."

"Can we ask the subject about what happened?" Dwyer asked. "We know what 
happened, we can use this information as a baseline to determine its 
reactions."
"That's fine," said Hall, "except for the fact that we are not sure that 
the creature is Hunt."

"What information has Major Callen given us?" Drybeck asked. "Anything we 
can use?"
"Only that he believes that the creature is Flight Lieutenant Hunt."
"On what did he base that?" Dwyer asked.
"On anecdotal evidence; Callen was satisfied on the story that he was 
told," replied Hall.

"According to Callen, Hunt spoke Russian," Mackenzie said, "Hunt's file 
states only that he speaks English and German."
"Is it possible that he learned other languages and didn't tell anybody?" 
Hall asked.
"Hunt's psychological profile suggests that he wouldn't mention anything 
personal, unless directly asked."
"Is it just me," began Hall, "or does any of this remind you of tall, 
blonde and furry inside?"

The three Air Force officers ran towards the interrogation room where Tim 
was waiting.  Flashing their passes at the two guards, they burst into the 
room to be met with a bored looking kat.

"Who the HELL are you?" thundered Drybeck as he stormed to the desk where 
Tim was sitting.  Bored, Tim looked into Drybeck's eyes and said, "You know 
who I am."
"You're a duck in a chicken suit!"
"No, I'm a kat in a flight suit!"
"GUARDS!!!"

The two air police entered the room and stood just inside the door.  "Escort 
the prisoner to the cells!" Drybeck said to the air police who roughly 
grabbed Tim's arms to lead him out of the room. "Use extreme caution; it 
can be very dangerous!"

In response to Drybeck's statement, Tim struggled against the guards' 
treatment of him, starting by punching his first assailant in the gut, 
causing him to double over and gasp for breath.


The second guard met with Tim's elbow, causing blood to spill from his 
nose.  As Tim was about to strike the first guard on his unprotected neck, 
the guard punched Tim's knee, making him lose any height advantage he had 
and preventing him from completing his blow.

Seeing that the creature was on the ground, the second guard attempted to 
kick it in the ribs but was prevented by the creature grabbing his foot 
in mid stride and delivering a powerful blow to his groin. 

Swinging with his left paw, Tim backhanded the first guard across his face, 
sending him backward onto his butt.  Righting himself, Tim turned to fight 
the second guard but saw that he was still on the floor, clutching his 
groin.  Quickly, as not to lose his advantage, Tim turned and faced the 
first guard when he felt something very hard smash against his back.

Stumbling, he took a single step before falling on top of the first guard, 
who was picking himself up off the floor.  Drybeck looked at the remains 
of the chair in his hands, the pieces of wood on the floor and the 
splinters on the creature's back.

"Restrain it," Drybeck told the guard. "Get it into a cell anyway you can 
and get your friend down to medical!"

Tim felt himself being rolled; with a titanic show of strength, he grabbed 
the breast pocket of the guard that he was being rolled off in his right 
paw and delivered a quick left cross with the other.

Drybeck picked up a second chair and idly examined the finish of the 
wood.  "I wonder if you can survive another one."
"Another one what, sir?" Tim grunted as he tried to stand.
"Another chair!" Drybeck said. "Now be a good kitty and lie down quietly."
"I can live with that!" Tim said as he felt his arms give way beneath him. 

Within seconds, Tim felt his paws being shackled behind him.  He was 
fortunate that the guards were a little too punch-drunk to search his 
paws; if they had they would have found the pen lid that he stole from the 
first guard, when he punched him, palmed off in his right paw.

"We've got to talk about this, General," Tim said over his shoulder as he 
was being led down the hallway away from the interrogation room.
"Oh, we will."

Tim was silent as he was half marched/half dragged to the detention 
cells.  Stopping in front of an empty cell in the middle, Tim's restraints 
were released and he stepped into the cell, but not across the threshold.

"Sorry about that fight before," Tim said, turning. 
"Step back, prisoner!" the guard replied.

'Obviously not a cat person,' Tim thought as he stepped back and to the 
left, readying the purloined pen lid.  As the cell door was shut, Tim 
jammed the lid into the locking mechanism; allowing the cell door to remain 
shut while at the same time giving Tim a means of escape at anytime.

****************************************************************************

"Was there any reason for that, General?" Dwyer asked after the creature 
was escorted away in handcuffs.
"Tell that to the two guards it assaulted!"
"That's not what I meant," Dwyer said. "Why did you provoke it?"
"To see if I could get a reaction out of it."
"And?"
"I got one!"

Drybeck walked in the opposite direction to that the creature was taken 
and towards another interrogation room.  In that room sat a human, a major 
in the United States Air Force, a major in the first stages of debriefing.

"...So then he hands me his empty magazine with the box of bullets and 
walks off with out a word!" Callen said, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Nice guy," his interrogator said. "Where did he go?"
"Not too sure. I think he went to talk to the Commander."

The room fell silent as Drybeck entered; both Callen and his interrogator 
stood at attention.  With a curt nod from Drybeck, they both relaxed. 
"Sir," said Callen. "What's happening with my wingman?"

Drybeck was about to cite 'national security', 'need to know' and, his 
personal favourite, 'that's classified' when he saw the concern in Callen's 
eyes.  "I can't say too much, Major," Drybeck began. "But, at this time, 
things are looking favourable." 

Callen thanked the general as Drybeck sat down.  Resuming his seat, Callen 
looked towards the rest of the debrief team with a gleam in his eyes. 

Callen's interrogator looked through his notes. "Is that Commander Feral 
or Steele?"
"Feral; Steele was shot before."
"Where was Steel shot?"
"In the hangar."

The interrogator gave a small chuckle. "I meant where on his body?"
"Left thigh."
"And Hunt shot him?"
"Yeah, he put two rounds into Steele's leg."

"What did you do after Hunt gave you the bullets?"
"I refilled both magazines before he called me over to where he was 
speaking to Commander Feral."
"Why did he do that?"
"He needed my map of the canyon to help plot his course," said Callen. "We 
agreed that we would reverse our original course."

"Did you know the risks of such a manoeuvre?" Drybeck asked.
"I did and Hunt explained them to the others that were there."
Again the interrogator looked through his notes. "And that was T-Bone, 
Razor and Commander Feral?"
"That's right."
"Where was the lieutenant?"
"We found her later by the F-22."

"What was she doing there?" Drybeck asked, concerned that somebody could 
have sabotaged one of his aircraft.
"She was...," Callen paused, unsure of his wording. "...Stroking it."
"Say again, Major."
"Closer to petting it, sir."

Drybeck rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Let me get this straight," he 
began. "Some alien she-furball got close enough to a multi-million dollar 
top-secret test aircraft to pet it?"
"Yes, sir." 
"And nobody thought that this was a little bit unusual?"
"Not at the time, sir.  She is a pilot and Hunt trusted her."
"Good grief."

And the debrief continued.

*****************************************************************************

As the day progressed, Tim waited for the right time to make his move.  
Uneaten, his meals were returned to the guards.  When night came, Tim knew 
that soon he would be able to make his escape.

But escape wasn't his plan; on this night his plan was simply to talk - talk 
to the one person who seemed to know more than what he was telling.  A 
person who would have such high security surrounding him that it would be 
nearly impossible to get near him.

Tim loved a challenge.

Bed-check was done every three hours; Tim heard footsteps approaching, 
although he didn't have his watch, Tim assumed that it was about nine o'clock 
and that the lights would be turned out.  After that the next bed-check 
would be at midnight.  Between then and three am, he had to escape, talk, 
and if all went well, return.

As Tim had assumed, the lights were turned off; mentally he began a 
countdown.  He knew that the next check was in three hours, but he allowed 
himself ten minutes leeway in case the next check was a little early.

Tim had noticed that the door to his cell squeaked when it was opened. To 
prevent this he spat on the door hinges to lubricate them.  When a 
sufficient amount of saliva coated the hinges, Tim allowed the doors to 
swing open.

Tim watched the door where the guard was stationed. Using the same 
instincts that house cats use when stalking mice, Tim stealthily crept 
towards the guards' station.  Without warning the guard began to turn.  In 
the darkened corridor, Tim froze.

Satisfied that nothing was happening, the guard turned back to whatever had 
his attention.  Tim continued to creep, his eyes fixed on the guard, wary 
in case he might have to freeze again.

Metres away the guard took a sip of his coffee.  Tim's nose wrinkled in 
disgust; no matter where in the world he went, military coffee was the 
same - bad!  Tim was now behind the guard when the phone rang.

"Detention, Airman Peters," the guard said as the other voice on the line 
spoke. "The prisoner, sir?  Not a word sir."
Again Peters was silent as the other party spoke.  "Yes, sir.  I just 
checked on it.  Very good, sir!"

Peters placed the phone back on its cradle.  "Brass must think I'm 
incompetent!" he muttered.
"I wouldn't go that far!" Tim said.

Peters turned and reached for his sidearm as Tim delivered a left cross 
to his jaw knocking Peters off of his chair and into a forced slumber.

Tim looked around.  As a general rule, posts were manned by two people.  
Airman Peters' companion was noticeably absent.  Wasting no time, Tim ran 
towards the only exit from the detention area.

And right into Peters' companion.  

Basic Airman Aaron Robinson was returning with fresh coffee for himself 
and Peters when he walked into a large creature running in the opposite 
direction.  Robinson tried to cry out for help but was cut off when the 
creature grabbed his throat.

'That solves the companion problem,' thought Tim as he grabbed the throat 
of the Airman that he had run into.  Squeezing the Airman's throat, Tim 
used his free hand to put pressure on the Airman's carotid artery, making 
him blackout.

Tim gently lowered the unconscious form of Airman Robinson to the floor.  
Ignoring Robinson's sidearm still in its holster, Tim continued to run out 
of the detention area.

Nearby Corporal Graeme Newman was patrolling with Airman Kirby Grant.  
Newman was showing Grant, who had just transferred to the night shift and 
was on his first patrol, what to look and listen for.

Ahead, the door of an office supply cabinet was slightly ajar.  Newman drew 
his sidearm and indicated the door to Grant, who nodded and also drew his 
sidearm.  Cautiously they approached; Newman took up position slightly to 
the side of the door while Grant stood by to pull the door open.

When Newman gave the signal, Grant gave a pull on the door and it opened to 
reveal... Nothing.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Newman put away his sidearm and closed the 
cabinet door.  "That, son" Newman said, as he locked the cabinet door, "is 
someone being careless.  But it could also have been an intruder and you 
have to be on the lookout for anything out of place."

Tim listened in on the conversation between Newman and Grant from a safe 
distance.  It was an old trick when dealing with assessment - leave 
something for someone to find.  That way the assessors relax slightly and 
miss other little faults.

As Newman and Grant continued their patrol, Tim came out from around the 
corner where he was hiding.  Eyeing the progress of the two security 
personnel, Tim stealthily moved in the opposite direction towards the 
bachelor officers quarters.

Quarters were arranged by rank. Tim being a Flight Lieutenant, was toward 
the lower end of the scale, while his target was at the extreme opposite.  
Treading softly, Tim noticed that several of the lights where on and paid 
special caution when near them.

When Tim reached Drybeck's door, he noticed that there was light coming from 
beneath the door.  Drybeck's was awake!

Steeling himself, Tim knocked at the door.  "Who is it?" Drybeck answered.
"Major Callen, sir" Tim said, mimicking Callen's voice and accent.
"Enter!"

Tim did as he was bid and entered Drybeck's quarters, shutting the door 
behind him.  The General was sitting at his desk, reading over a report, 
and did not look up as Tim entered.  "What's on your mind, Major?" he asked.
"It's about Flight Lieutenant Hunt, sir," Tim answered, keeping up the 
charade of being Callen.

Drybeck stiffened slightly.  Only a few hours ago Callen had asked a 
similar question.  "You took your time getting here, Delta Two-Nine," said 
Drybeck, playing a hunch.
"Who's that?" Tim said, returning to his normal voice.
"I read your file, mister.  I know who you are and what you did."
"Information like that isn't in my file."

Drybeck turned around and gave a wry smile, "It's in your other file."
Tim reached to his left hip for his sidearm, and found it missing.  
'Stupid, should of taken one of the guards guns,' he thought. 'Now what?"

"What other file, sir?" Tim questioned.
"Oh, you know," Drybeck answered. "The one that fills in all the blanks in 
your life."
"How did you get it?"
"Apparently, someone thought I needed to know."

"Now what?"
"Sit down, make yourself comfortable, and tell me what happened."
"This could take some time, sir."
"I'm not going anywhere."

Tim took a deep breath.  "After entering the canyon, I ran into what I 
thought was a weather anomaly.  I passed through it and ended up in 
another place looking like this," Tim said, indicating his current form.

"Where did you end up?"
"This is where it becomes complicated, sir.  The place is called MegaKat 
City; that is spelt kilo-alpha-tango, sir.  It seems to be a parallel 
universe where the big cats evolved into the dominant life-form instead of 
the apes."

"What happened when you got there?"
"I was unconscious when I first arrived, sir.  When I came to, I was 
being examined by two of the world's inhabitants.  I was still in the 
cockpit of my aircraft."
"Did you crash?"
"No, sir.  I was pulled out of the sky by a hook, sir."
"A skyhook?"
"No, sir.  More like a grappling hook."

"Who was examining you?"
"T-Bone and Razor, sir.  They're similar to Batman and Robin in their 
activities - consider them unsanctioned law enforcers."
"So they're friendly?"
"Yes, sir.  They are."

"When T-Bone and Razor examined you, what were they looking for?"
"General injuries, sir.  Cuts, abrasions, breaks, lumps and bumps."
"Did they know you were different?"
"Not until after we reached their hangar, sir."
"What happened then?"
"I remained calm and explained what had happened to me."


"How did you remain calm?"
Tim raised an eyebrow. "I thought you read my file, sir."
"I did, and I still don't understand." 
Tim's ear twitched in amusement. "Good."

"What happened after T-Bone and Razor examined you?"
"They kind-of adopted me, sir.  They introduced me to a friend of theirs 
who developed the device that allowed Major Callen and me to return to this 
dimension."

"Is that the short version?" Drybeck asked.
"Yes, sir.  It is."
Drybeck checked his watch. "You have less than an hour to make it back to 
your cell without being seen.  You'd better get going."

Tim was about to reply when a klaxon sounded throughout the base.  "I was 
meaning to tell you, sir.  It wasn't a clean escape.  I had to knock out 
two guards."
"They're awake now!" said Drybeck, picking up the phone and punching out 
a number.  He listened for a moment before instructing, "Concentrate the 
search around the hangars, the motor pool and in the direction of Las 
Vegas."

Turning back to Tim, Drybeck smiled. "I'll call off the search in half an 
hour.  Try to be back in your cell by then.  Dismissed."
"Yes, sir" Tim said as he saluted and left.

Fortunately, as the base personnel scrambled to their posts, they flowed 
towards the major nerve centres of the base.  At a glance, Tim realised 
that the direct route to his cells was out of the question.

The only option was to take an indirect route through the canteen. This 
pleased him. After missing lunch and dinner, a detour through the canteen 
was a welcomed diversion.

Entering the canteen was extremely easy.  Visually scanning the room, Tim 
noticed that it was empty of personnel.  Foodstuffs were placed in storage 
for the night, and utensils had been placed in their drawers.

Tim opened the first cupboard that he came across.  It was filled with 
powdered goods.  Grimacing, he went to the next cupboard; this one was 
filled with bulk sized cans mixed with smaller cans of C-Rations.

Tim selected one of the small cans at random and examined its label.  'Tuna. 
I would have preferred salmon,' Tim thought as he read the label, 'but a 
Kat's got to eat.'

Next, Tim spied the cold-room. He licked his lips, anticipating what would 
be inside.  As he continued his scan of the canteen, he reached for the 
latch to open the cold-room's massive door.

With a small grunt, he pulled the cold-room door open, releasing a wave of 
chilled air and mist.  Peering into the man-made fog, an object caught his 
attention.

'Milk!' Tim thought as he reached for an empty half-gallon container into 
which to ladle the contents of the bulk milk. 'Just the thing for a thirsty 
Kat'. Closing the cold-room door behind him, Tim hurriedly made his way 
back to his cell.

Fifteen minutes later the alert was called off.  The klaxons ceased their 
howl and personnel returned to their quarters for the night.  And Tim 
quietly ate his tuna and drank his milk while sitting in his cell.

*****************************************************************************

The next morning, Tim was marched back to the original interrogation room 
where Major Hall, Captain Mackenzie and Kit Dwyer were waiting. Major 
Callen was quietly standing off to one side.  "Apparently, during your 
excursion last night," began Hall, "you managed to convince General Drybeck 
of your identity.  Unfortunately, you needed to convince me."

"And how do I do that?" Tim asked.
"Just answer one, simple, little question."
"And what would that be?"
"Simple. Who is," Hall paused for dramatic effect, "Paul Keating?"

For a brief second, Tim's heart stopped.  What sort of question was that?  
Was he thinking of the same Paul Keating as Hall?  What were his answers 
supposed to sound like?

Tim started by taking a deep breath.  "What would you like to know?" he 
asked.

"Everything that you know," Hall answered.

"Paul Keating," Tim began. "Born in the January of 1944, became the 25th 
Prime Minister of Australia in December of 1991.  Left formal education 
at 14 and joined the Australian Labor Party at 15.  Elected to the House 
of Representatives in 1969 at the age of 25." 

Casually glancing at Hall, Tim sought some sign that he was on the right 
track.  Finding none, he continued.

"From 1975 to 1983, he had various posts in the shadow cabinet until 
Labor won the 1983 election and he became Deputy Prime Minister under 
Prime Minister Hawke, also serving as Treasurer.  He became Prime Minister 
in 199x.  Would you like me to tell you of his time as Treasurer of 
Australia, or how about his time as Prime Minister?"

"Let's hear about his time as Prime Minister," Hall sneered.

"As Prime Minister, he continued micro and macro economic reforms, 
resulting in substantial economic growth.  He strengthened political and 
economic ties with a number of Asian nations.  He advocated an Australian 
republic.  He resigned from politics after Labor suffered a massive defeat 
in the 1996 poll. 

"Now, would you like to hear about his liking for fine Italian suits?" Tim 
snapped his fingers.  "I know; you want to know about his collection of 
antique clocks and timepieces.  He's considered to be quite knowledgable 
in the field, you know."

"Who's Hawke, again?" Callen asked.

"My fellow Australians," Tim began, in a voice reminiscent of an old motor 
cycle, a fair imitation of the former Prime Minister of Australia.  

"Oh, yeah.  That's right," said Callen.

"Gentlemen!" Hall said in a tone that implied that he was using the term 
loosely. "This is neither the time, nor the place, to have a political 
discussion on a former head of a foreign state!"

"JC, how about we continue this in your quarters in about 15 minutes?"
"Sounds good. How about you bring some of your tea with you?" 

Hall was outraged.  The creature had taken a standard debunking session 
and turned it into a circus.  "This is an interrogation!" Hall cried, "not 
the Boston Tea Party!"
"Would it help if we threw you overboard?" Tim said deadpan. 

"Listen, Furball," Hall said, pointing a finger at Tim, "I've had just 
about enough of you!"

"Good," Tim replied as he grabbed Hall's finger in his right paw, pulling 
it towards him, causing Hall's body to follow his wayward finger.  With 
his left paw, he partially extended his claws and rammed them into the 
soft skin of Hall's throat.

"If I extend my claws, nothing that you say or do could stop me from 
ripping your throat out," Tim growled. "Now, are you satisfied with my 
identity?"
"Ugh," Hall gurgled.
"Good, now leave!" growled Tim as he released his grip on Hall's throat and 
tossed him back several feet.

Hall rubbed his neck.  Feeling a slight dampness, he looked at his hand 
and saw that it was smeared with his own blood.  Furious, he was about to 
call for the guards when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Major, your work here is done," said Callen in a firm voice that brooked 
no argument.  Hall looked to Dwyer for support, but was met with the 
psychiatrist's steely gaze.  Hall then tried to appeal to his partner but 
Tim cut him off as soon as he opened his mouth.

"JC, shut him up or shut him down," said Tim. "I don't care which."
Callen merely opened the door and unceremoniously shoved Hall through.  
"Anybody else?" Tim asked, eyeing Mackenzie.

Dwyer stood up, straightened his tie and made his way to the door.  Facing 
Tim after opening the door Dwyer said, "I expect you to make an appointment 
so that we can talk about this soon, Flight Lieutenant."

Callen snickered when he saw Tim's ears and tail partially droop.  "Hunt, 
I want a full and complete report on my desk by the end of the week," said 
Mackenzie, standing to follow Dwyer. "And then we'll go over every minute 
little detail together.  After that you are going to Medical for as many 
tests as they can think up!"

Tim's tail was now touching the ground.  Callen burst into laughter at the 
sight of his dejected wingman being totally lost for words and actions.  
"C'mon, Tim," he said as he stood in the threshold of the door. "I'll buy 
you a milkshake!"

"Thanks, Jade," replied Tim as he moved to follow Callen into the hallway 
and past Major Hall.  "Hey, Furball!" called Hall as he marched towards the 
two pilots. "Where do you think you're going?"

Tim casually turned and waited until Hall was within arms length.  When 
Hall was close enough, Tim's arm shot out at a blinding speed and connected 
with Hall's jaw.

The Intelligence Major collapsed like he had been hit by a truck.  "Do you 
think the canteen can make a strawberry shake?"
*****************************************************************************

To be continued...

"High explosives, cool!"