Lord Stiletto and his blood brother, Alex Lagenschripp Esquire, known to his friends as ‘Schripp, were on their way to the rendezvous. To avoid attention, they had picked up a car in San Francisco, and currently were driving through the back roads and ways of Yosemite National Park. There was no satellite navigation out here, just well-honed experience, and an old-fashioned paper map.
Although it was August, by the time they reached the vicinity of the cabin, it was dark and very cold. Pulling his greatcoat tight for warmth, Stiletto had swapped his top hat for a bear skin cap with flaps that covered his ears and laced warmly under his chin. His trusty goggles remained perched on the top of his head. Funny how things worked out! He patted his hat like an old friend, which in a way, it was.
Silently the two friends approached the cabin through the freezing night. ‘Schripp had a selection of sharp and blunt weapons concealed about his person and for silence carried an ultra-modern crossbow he had picked up at a hunting shop in San Francisco. Stiletto’s fingerless gloved hands cradled a gun of some sorts, and just for the hell of it, he had set it to Medusa.
‘Schripp could feel the sweat trickle down his cheek and freeze in place as they stood waiting on either side of the cabin door. With a nod of understanding Stiletto put his hand silently on the latch which opened easily and with a determined rush the two friends were inside.
‘Schripp was the first to get his bearings. Years of travelling with Stiletto had honed his sense of spontaneity. He handed his crossbow to the Maître d’, took off his coat, and accepted a glass of brandy. Although the dining room was lit by a dozen chandeliers from the high ceiling, there was only a single table laid for dinner by the fire. Dressed in an immaculate nineteenth century dinner jacket and seated in an armchair by the fire was the Enabler, last seen by Stiletto and ‘Schripp, two days earlier, outside a bar in downtown San Francisco.