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<blockquote data-quote="Andrew D. Gable" data-source="post: 1967269" data-attributes="member: 4144">A black man with close-cropped hair, he looks up at Pike's words.&nbsp; &quot;I'm here for the convention.&quot;&nbsp; He grins slightly as he tosses his cigarette on the ground and stomps it out.&nbsp; He extends his hand.&nbsp; &quot;Johann Baldwin at your service.&nbsp; Inspector with the USPS.&nbsp; Yup, ladies and gents, even your friendly Post Office is in on this thing.&quot;&nbsp; Baldwin turns and pulls the door behind him open and ushers the agents inside.&nbsp; As he leads them through the hallways, he gives you a brief run-down of what has occurred so far.&nbsp; &quot;Yesterday, we received a Express Mail package for shipment.&nbsp; One of our postal handlers noticed a chemical smell coming from the box, and it was leaking some sort of liquid.&nbsp; Our Postmaster, Jim Hardwick, called the bomb squad in here.&nbsp; Whatever was in that box, the bomb-sniffing dogs didn't care for it too much.&nbsp; They didn't particularly act like it was a bomb, either, though.&nbsp; So we ran it through the X-ray and got the outline of a skull.&nbsp; A canine skull.&nbsp; So we did what anyone would do, we opened it up.&nbsp; I wish we hadn't.&quot;Inside was a dog's head packed in ice.&nbsp; The mouth was constantly working, like some sort of reflex.&nbsp; Rick Rafferty reached in there to pull the thing out, and I'll be damned if it didn't hop right out of there and bite him on his hand.&nbsp; Freakin' thing was still alive.&nbsp; Well, it wouldn't let go and the only way Rafferty got out was emptying the clip of his service revolver into it.&quot;&nbsp; He leads them through a short hallway into a breakroom.&nbsp; At the table sits a thin, slight-looking man in wire-rimmed glasses, with gray-streaked black hair.&nbsp; As the agents enter, he sits down his coffee and the newspaper he was reading.&nbsp; &quot;John Drake,&quot; he says, rising.&nbsp; &quot;CIA, well, former CIA.&nbsp; Glad you could join us in our little production of Die Fledermaus here.&quot;&nbsp; He winks, and then turns and opens the refrigerator behind him.&nbsp; &quot;Baldwin already told you what to expect.&quot;&nbsp; He reaches in and pulls out a large crate of corrugated plastic, and sits it on the table.&nbsp; &quot;Let's see what's behind Door #2.&quot; Drake cuts the packing tape and tips the dog's head onto the table.</blockquote>

[QUOTE="Andrew D. Gable, post: 1967269, member: 4144"] A black man with close-cropped hair, he looks up at Pike's words. [B]"I'm here for the convention."[/B] He grins slightly as he tosses his cigarette on the ground and stomps it out. He extends his hand. [B]"Johann Baldwin at your service. Inspector with the USPS. Yup, ladies and gents, even your friendly Post Office is in on this thing."[/B] Baldwin turns and pulls the door behind him open and ushers the agents inside. As he leads them through the hallways, he gives you a brief run-down of what has occurred so far. [B]"Yesterday, we received a Express Mail package for shipment. One of our postal handlers noticed a chemical smell coming from the box, and it was leaking some sort of liquid. Our Postmaster, Jim Hardwick, called the bomb squad in here. Whatever was in that box, the bomb-sniffing dogs didn't care for it too much. They didn't particularly act like it was a bomb, either, though. So we ran it through the X-ray and got the outline of a skull. A canine skull. So we did what anyone would do, we opened it up. I wish we hadn't. "Inside was a dog's head packed in ice. The mouth was constantly working, like some sort of reflex. Rick Rafferty reached in there to pull the thing out, and I'll be damned if it didn't hop right out of there and bite him on his hand. Freakin' thing was still alive. Well, it wouldn't let go and the only way Rafferty got out was emptying the clip of his service revolver into it."[/B] He leads them through a short hallway into a breakroom. At the table sits a thin, slight-looking man in wire-rimmed glasses, with gray-streaked black hair. As the agents enter, he sits down his coffee and the newspaper he was reading. [B]"John Drake,"[/B] he says, rising. [B]"CIA, well, former CIA. Glad you could join us in our little production of [i]Die Fledermaus[/i] here."[/B] He winks, and then turns and opens the refrigerator behind him. [B]"Baldwin already told you what to expect."[/B] He reaches in and pulls out a large crate of corrugated plastic, and sits it on the table. [B]"Let's see what's behind Door #2."[/B] Drake cuts the packing tape and tips the dog's head onto the table. [/QUOTE]

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