The Cobra

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"There she is," Decker said, as they started to eat.

Blake Douglas took a bite of hamburger and watched the young woman step through the doorway of Bestburgers. She looked to be in her twenties. Her blond hair hung straight to her shoulders. She wore a sweat shirt, jeans, and leather boots. Her purse hung from her shoulder by a long strap. Blake was sure she was carrying a pistol in it.

"She's pretty," he said.

"Don't let her looks fool you," Decker told him. "She's a snake, or she wouldn't be a member of the People's Strike Force."

Blake took a sip of his milk shake. The woman named Lana Jeffers walked to the counter, sat on a stool, and leaned forward to pull a menu from behind the napkin holder. It made him feel bad to think that someone so pretty was a terrorist.

"She comes in here at five in the afternoon every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday like clockwork," Decker said. "We thought the counterman might be her contact with the PSF, but we haven't seen any funny stuff. I guess she just likes the hamburgers."

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