Walking onto the Production Floor was something of an anti-climax for Savanarolova. 

She had worked for this moment for nearly three years and now that she was so close to the objective of her endeavours, she had to admit to herself that she was a little disappointed. The Production Floor was like any other industrial facility in any city in the world. Savanarolova had seen a thousand of them and they had all bored her to the same extent. Safety rails, gantries, overhead walkways, winches, lifting equipment, dollies for moving heavy loads and mysterious pipe work filled the vast room from floor to ceiling. Bare concrete walls could be glimpsed behind the accumulated dross of heavy metal castings. Work stations were positioned around the room within what looked like pill boxes. 

Peering into one, she could see a number of gauges and brass control levers all unhelpfully labelled in Japanese - a language that she was not entirely comfortable with. Turning her back on the control point she faced the vast block that sat in the exact dead centre of the Production Floor. Over one thousand tonnes of concrete and graphite rested on massive, curved steel rails that had been sunk into the floor. All being well, the Confinement Chamber should split open like a clamshell, the two halves rolling apart on the rails.

"Well, Mr Munro, we're here. I think we'd better get started. Layout the tools and then make sure that we are ready to receive visitors," she ordered the brooding Scot.

Munro smiled unpleasantly and proceeded unwrap a canvas package. Polished surgical steel glittered in the dim blue light that still lit the Production Floor as the fabric unrolled on the floor. Savanarolova walked over and lifted each tool in turn, inspecting them for evidence of any damage that they might have suffered in transit. Once again, she admired the craftsmanship that had forged each cruel-looking implement. It had taken quite a few attempts for the Dutch master-cutler to perfect the hooks, barbs and blades that the forthcoming extraction required. That he had done this from an old set of water-stained and incomplete blueprints was a marvel in itself. She supposed it was a shame that such a master craftsman had to end up floating face down in an Amsterdam canal but he had been such an inquisitive man that she felt that his questions were best answered terminally.

"They look good, Miss Savanarolova. It will be a pleasure to use these," Munro smirked, caressing one of the blades lovingly.

"Good. Now Mr Munro would you be so kind as to work on the manual release? I do believe we will be expecting visitors soon and it would be immensely satisfying to be able to welcome our guests properly. Keep your weapons close and make sure that you are ready for anything. It would be unwise to underestimate Rick Bravo."

***

"Charlie! Carmen!" Rick shouted through the door as it continued to rattle and shake under their combined blows. "Suzuki's locked you in! He's promised to let you go if George and I do what he says. We haven't got any choice but to go and see what we can do to help him out." The hammering on the door and the children's cries stopped. "Stay calm and for goodness sake don't take any risks! We'll be back as soon as we can."

"I promise you I will take care of them, Mr Bravo. Just make sure that you deal with that devil woman," Suzuki gestured at the pair with the pistol and directed them back up the corridor to the inner blast door.

George glowered at the Japanese. He did not doubt that he could take out Suzuki with one well aimed kick but the little man was too canny, staying out of reach of the big Tongan and Rick. Not only that, for such an old man, Suzuki showed surprising strength in the way he held the pistol. Not once did the muzzle shake, the barrel never once leaving Suzuki's intended targets.

"Pull the door closed behind you and step away from it." Suzuki ordered as he herded the reluctant men through the portal.

They pulled the big steel door shut. As the door boomed shut into its frame, Rick felt as if they were actually closing the lid of their own tomb. Once again they were plunged into the stygian musty darkness of the bunker. More like a mausoleum than a fortification, he thought miserably. After the door shut a series of ominous clicks could be heard from within it.

"I have locked this door!" Suzuki's voice could just be heard shouting through the thick steel plate. "You will not be able to return this way! There is an emergency exit on the Production Floor! You will need to get up to the highest level walkway to get to it!"

"Thanks for nothing, Suzuki!" George roared, his anger taking control. He slammed his hand against the door, yet he might as well have been slapping a mountain for all the effect that it had on the heavy metal.

"When you get to the corridor outside the Production Floor you will find an old guard-post. There should be some weapons that you can use inside it. I am sorry but that is the best that I can offer!" Suzuki replied, ignoring George's outburst.

They stood there helplessly in the dark, seething with frustration. Rick could not believe how close they had come to getting away from this mess with the children. Now they were being plunged right back into the mire right up to their necks! He was not keen to be heading back to confront Iphigenia, nor her sidekick, the psychopathic Scotsman. However, as Suzuki said, what other choice was there? Head back up though the bunker and chance the crater and its population of blue ghouls? Then what? Spend days searching the sides of the volcano for Suzuki's back door? He had to face it. There was only ever one place he was going to. He was headed right to Iphigenia Savanarolova and her vengeance fuelled embrace.

"Well, George," he said eventually, morosely, "We'd better get a move on. If there's some fighting to be done, I would hate to be embarrassed for want of a gun. Let's go and root out some shootin' irons!"

***

Charlie, on the other hand, was being rather less philosophical about the destiny that Suzuki was attempting to lay out for him and Carmen. Once he realised that they were prisoners of the Japanese, he immediately recoiled at the thought of being locked in and looked for a way out. It was like being back at school again with Trev. Charlie was no stranger to planning an escape. He had been incarcerated enough times at school in his younger, wilder days with Trev, to have had the experience of breaking out from a locked room. All he had to do was consider the obvious, something that would be guards rarely did when they had to organise an impromptu prison cell. He started looking around at the "jail", searching for weak spots.

"What are we going to do, Charlie?" Carmen groaned. "What's going on!" Stomping back to the door, she hammered it with her hands. "Let us out!" Carmen screamed at the top of her voice. "Let us out!"

Charlie paused in his inspection of the room, "Just keep on banging on the door, Carmen. Perhaps Suzuki will change his mind and let us out," he said sarcastically

"How can you be so calm? We're locked in!"

"What else should I be? All you're gonna get by banging on the door and screaming like that are broken fingers and a headache."

"Oh, and you've got a better idea have you, Mr I-am-so-much-better-at-being-locked-up-than-you?" she snapped.

"Uh huh," was all the reply that she had.

Furious, she went back to thumping and shrieking through the door, rattling its handle for good measure, and all to no avail.

At the back of the room, peering down the back of some metal shelving that was storing a range of tins, bottles and packages of American and Japanese origin, Charlie caught sight of what he was looking for. He whistled rather cheerily and strode over to Carmen, "Keep shouting, but not too much, just enough to let Suzuki know we're here, y'know. Kind of...er...shout quietly."

Puzzled, she raised her eyebrows but turned back to the door and continued her protests but a slightly lower volume.

Charlie returned to the shelves. Quickly, he cleared them of some of the foodstuffs, moving them to the floor. When he had removed enough, he dragged at the shelves, pulling them away from the wall. He winced as the metal feet squealed across the concrete floor but, he reflected, it probably could not be heard over Carmen's cries. Revealed behind the shelves was what he had been looking for. The first step when escaping from a locked room was to find another way out. At the foot of the wall was a small ventilation grill. It was not covering a huge opening by any stretch of the imagination and Charlie could not imagine his father or George trying to go through it. A vision of an ample behind, wearing cargo shorts, getting stuck quite firmly in place, just like Pooh Bear in Rabbit's burrow, sprang to mind. Charlie sniggered unkindly to himself as he bent to inspect the grill. He could just see beyond the mesh that some kind of shaft ran along the wall behind the grill. Now all he need was something to loosen the screws that held it in place.

He turned back to the room and almost immediately saw what he wanted. There were indeed two haversacks at the back of the room and on those haversacks the ends of the straps were protected from fraying by thin metal covers. Perhaps he could use one of those as a makeshift screwdriver?

Gesturing impatiently at Carmen to continue with her world class despairing prisoner routine, Charlie shattered a glass jar as quietly as he could, spilling the contents on the floor. Picking up a razor sharp glass shard, he hacked away at one of the haversacks, eventually cutting through one of its straps. Then using the wall to help press the small piece of metal against, he formed a lip that would fit snugly inside the slot-headed screws that fastened the ventilation grill in place. All in all, by the time Charlie had remove the screws and ventilation cover, their imprisonment had lasted less than fifteen minutes.

"Ta da!" he sang brightly to Carmen. "It's time to go!"

She gazed at him in wonder, the black tide of her fears for herself, her father and for Charlie receding, "Charlie Buttons, you're amazing!"

"It's just something I can do. Normally, I'm not so proud of this skill," he replied, wincing at the memory of all sorts of angry faces who had berated him when "recaptured" in the past. "I just hope that we can get away far enough before Suzuki realises we've gone."

Getting down onto his hands and knees, Charlie squeezed his thin frame through the narrow opening and forced his way round into the ventilation shaft beyond. "Come on, Carmen," he called softly, "and for goodness sake, be quiet!"

***

"What do you mean you cannot find the manual release? The blueprints are quite clear!" Savanarolova snarled. "Are you blind, Mr Munro? It should be over there under an access hatch in front of the Confinement Chamber."

"I'm sorry, Miss Savanarolova, it just isn't there!" Munro growled in frustration.

"Let me see!" she snapped and strode over to where Munro stood waiting with his hands on his hips, glaring at the floor.

"I'm telling you, there's nothing there!"

"I can see that, Mr Munro, but perhaps you could offer something more constructive? Such as finding the blasted thing?" Savanarolova pressed her forefinger and thumb together around the bridge of her nose. She could feel the headache that had been plaguing her for the last day threatening to flash into a wild-fire. Something had to go right soon or she was going to have to kill someone if Munro didn't get his act together he might need to watch his back. "Try looking around the perimeter of the Confinement Chamber platform," she added, weary from her whole experience of Solitude. "It's got to be here; after all we have found the control wheel."

***

The return trip down the darkened passageway to the Production Floor complex was not as hazardous as Rick feared. He and George managed to negotiate it without incident and they soon found themselves back in the semi-circular corridor that circled the Production Floor chamber. Rick squatted just inside the doorway, holding the door part closed, and squinted through the narrow gap at what lay beyond. The corridor seemed empty and was certainly quiet. The acrid smell of burnt explosives filled the air and he could see that a haze of thin smoke still clung to the ceiling above, spookily luminescent in the dim blue light.

"All clear," he whispered to George who loomed behind him.

"Lead the way, Little Man," George said icily. "Let's get this job done. I want to get back to Carmen yesterday!"

"Now where do you think we are going to find a guard post?" Rick mused.

George pointed a thick, gnarled finger over Rick's head at a door just beyond the workshop that Munro had gone into when they had last been here. It was hard to make it out in the gloom but the outer curve of the corridor's semi-circular wall was interrupted by a projecting annex. What looked like a steel hatch was set into the side of the annex. "There!" he said. "That hatch covers the corridor and this door. If that's not a machinegun port then I'm from Western Samoa!"

Sliding through the partly open door as gracefully as five hundred pounds of male flesh could, the two men crept down the corridor as silently as they could. There was no sign of Savanarolova or her murderous thug, of that they could be thankful. Within a minute they had reached what they thought was the guard post. The annex turned out to be a curving section of wall that formed an open sided cylinder which had enough space within it for a couple of soldiers to shelter behind. George's suspicions were confirmed; a machine gun had been mounted behind the hatch but it had long since been taken to pieces, the scattered parts lying on the firing step beneath the hatch. Rick wondered at who was the last person to have worked on the gun. Was it some lowly private who had been routinely cleaning the weapon before some emergency drove the bunker's personnel from the shelter of the complex? Was it Suzuki? However, of much more interest to the two men was the rack of guns that was attached to the outer curve of the corridor.

George looked at Rick and grinned, rubbing his hands with happiness. Softly they selected weapons from the rack and inspected them. Just as the other items in the complex were strangely well preserved, so were these guns. Rick allowed George to choose the weapons that they would use, trusting in his judgement. The big man quickly made his decision and thrust a short sub-machine gun into Rick's hands. An awkward looking weapon with a heavy wooden stock and a curving magazine that stuck out on the left hand side, the secrets of its operation were hastily revealed to Rick as George showed him how to load, unload, cock and fire it.

"Be careful with this," George said intensely. "It's a Nambu Type 100 - about the worst SMG ever made. If it jams, cycle the bolt to clear it and make sure that you're under cover otherwise Munro'll fill you with lead from your head to your beautiful baby-soft toes!"

In addition to the two sub-machine guns, George and Rick picked up a couple of automatic pistols, similar to the one that Suzuki had, as well as several spare clips of ammunition that they shoved into their pockets.

Feeling rather more secure now that he was armed to the teeth, Rick blessed Solitude for its bizarre effect on man-made objects. At the end of the curving corridor he could just see the debris scattered over the floor from the explosion. Seeing the litter brought home to Rick what they were about and what lay beyond the shattered door. He rubbed suddenly sweaty palms on his thighs and tried to hide the nervous tremor in his voice with forced cheeriness, "Well, we're here. I wonder what we'll find in Grandma's House. Any ideas on how to do this, George?"

George slowly turned his massive head and bared his teeth. Rick could see the sweat beading George's face but he doubted it was fear that was causing it. The big man was quivering like an attack dog desperate to be let off the leash. Understanding dawned on Rick. George did not expect to live through this so he was desperate to be let loose, to get his own back on the Scotsman, to deal with Iphigenia once and for all.

"How we do this, Rick?" George grunted. "We go in shooting, get to cover and kill them all!"

"Kill them? We're not gonna kill them, George!" Rick gasped in horror. "However, I don't mind frightening the hell out of them. We've got to stop them doing what their doing and then we'll figure out what to do once we've captured them."

George looked at Rick incredulously, "Rick, are you crazy? How are we gonna make sure that they stop what they're up to? Capture them? You're gonna have to let 'em go sometime and then they'll be back to carry on with what they've started. If we make a mistake they'll kill us sure as night follows day!"

Rick nodded but he was alarmed at George's bloodlust. "George, we're not gonna kill 'em," he said carefully. "I've been thinking. What is it the Japanese were doing with whatever it is that's locked up in there?" He waved carelessly in the direction of the Production Floor. "I don't think that Suzuki has told us all the truth. If there is a dragon in there then how did it get there? If that creature is as dangerous as he said then are you really telling me that the Japanese shipped it out here? Just think of the dangers inherent in that idea." He shifted position, ensuring that he could keep end of the corridor in full view. "As I say something doesn't add up. If the janjanbi are part of the dragon then why aren't they in there with it? What separated them? Why is Solitude so weird? What is it about what's in there that affects it?"

Rick paused, collecting his thoughts. "If there's a dragon in there, where did they get it from? It's gotta have come from somewhere? Where do dragons live? Why is it they haven't been seen or photographed?"

George blinked in surprise and then looked up at the ceiling. "Where are we, Rick?" he said, knowing that Rick knew the answer.

"Yup." Rick replied matter of factly. "Where do dragons live? In a volcano. No photographs or sightings because people are usually pretty burned up before they can take that magic snap."

"So why build in a volcano?" George asked.

"Because that's where the dragon is. They didn't ship it here, they found it here. And I'm guessing they built all this around it."

"Some effort. Still doesn't tell us what we've gotta do."

"Yes it does! Don't you see? If you were to build any facility that contained highly dangerous substances, are you telling me that the architect will not have included some safety systems in case of emergencies?"

"A safety valve!"

"And all we've got to do is find it."

"So we're back in the game then? You're not thinking this is a one way trip?" George said.

"George," Rick said solemnly, "We are always in the game. Now let's deal with the crazy lady!"

"Go in with all guns blazing, then?"

"I guess, unless you've got a better idea?"

George smiled. Rick was reminded of a particularly aggressive crocodile he had encountered on a trip to the Nile years back. "Nope! Guns blazing'll be fine. Just don't get in the way, Small American Man!"

---

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