Yes, the disguised belly dancers are new characters. (The four disguised painters Are Emma, Izzy, Danni, and Anna.) And there are still a few more new characters to introduce, along with some more old ones. Like I said, this will be a packed story.
Also, I don't believe Karima's henchwomen confessed. They've just been on the "Most Wanted" list for a while. Elusive as Karima is, she'd have a harder time evading the authorities if her girls turned against her.
And yes, Dr. Chen seems to be extraordinarily lucky. The kind of villain people love to hate.
I keep reading this ongoing tale and there is always the same issue...
what does 'our genre' become in severe winter conditions?
does the desire change ?
so far we had only a tale based in extreme weather , " Cold Moons Rising" by Dave Dorc, and some short stories by Lord Maul
I assume you looked into the issue, that's the real reason why the story has been based in Florida, not just because there are the NASA Shuttle facilities !
I think uniform stealing is less common during the winter, when women are more bundled up and it's more of a hassle to strip them of their clothes. It's easier during summertime, even if the risk of stealing a sweaty uniform becomes higher during those months.
In any case, the series is set in Florida because of the NASA thing. But the weather conditions don't hurt.
The morning sun kissed the Florida skyline with a warmth that beckoned the spring day ahead. Felicia breathed in the spring air as she and Bobbi strolled along the sidewalk.
"Gonna be a lovely day," she said. "I can feel it."
"Would be lovelier if we'd gotten more sleep last night," Bobbi yawned. "Not sure why we needed to catch such a late movie."
Felicia laughed. "Lighten up, Bob. Late movies are part of the thrill of spring break. No exams, no boring professors... No college whatsoever."
Bobbi sighed, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "I thought spring break was the time to catch up on sleep."
"It's the time for excitement!" Felicia replied. "Bridget said on the phone that she had something really exciting to show us. You'd really rather sleep the morning away?"
Bobbi shrugged. "I just hope it really is exciting. Don't think I can take another false lead."
"We'll find out momentarily," Felicia said as they arrived at Bridget's building.
The ace journalist let the two girls into her fourth-floor apartment with a smile. "Morning, girls. Bobbi, you look like you could use some coffee."
Bobbi shook her head. "I'm fine... thanks. What's up?"
"Pretty exciting find," Bridget said. "Let me hang up your coats and I'll tell you all about it."
"I'll take care of the coats," Felicia replied. She shed her own jacket and beckoned for Bobbi's. "Just tell us the scoop."
"Well, that's the thing," Bridget said, reaching for her phone. "I need you to verify that it is a scoop. You're the nerd-girl, after all."
"Nerdier than you?" Felicia said with a laugh, swinging open the closet door. "That's pretty unlikel- hey!"
She stood, dumbfounded, staring into the closet. A few coats were hanging off to one side, and two pairs of old shoes lay in the corner. But that wasn't what gave her pause. No, it was the fact that there was currently a chair in the closet, upon which was seated a pretty girl of Indian or Pakistani descent. The girl was clad only in her pink satin bra and panties. Her wrists were duct-taped to the armrests, and her ankles equally secured to the two front legs. A layer of tape covered her mouth.
Felicia turned to Bridget. "Friend of yours?"
Bridget sighed. "Long story."
The woman was conscious, but clearly confused and afraid. She whimpered into her gag and struggled against her tight bonds.
Despite her sleeplessness, Bobbi stifled a chuckle. "So while we were up late watching cheesy horror movies, you were busy tying up pretty ladies and stuffing them into your closet? Sounds like I got the short end of that deal."
"Hey!" Felicia protested. She shut the closet door, muffling the cries from within. "We've tied up plenty of pretty ladies together. Just last week, there were those two park rangers..."
Bridget raised an eyebrow. "Park rangers?"
"By the Everglades," Felicia explained. "Heard a rumor there was a crop circle down in the marshland. Patrons aren't allowed that far away from the park paths, but we 'persuaded' a couple of rangers to lend us their uniforms."
"Chloroform and duct tape are indeed quite persuasive," Bobbi agreed with a laugh.
"Sounds fun," Bridget replied. "Did you find anything?"
Felicia shook her head. "Every path we try turns out to be a dead end."
"Well, your luck may be starting to turn," Bridget said. She reached into her jacket and pulled out her phone. "Take a look at these photos."
Felicia swiped through the pictures. Her eyes slowly widened. "These markings... They're..."
"...familiar?" Bridget asked.
Felicia looked up. "Kind of... but incomplete. Like someone broke off part pf the rock."
"Can you read it?" Bobbi asked.
"Kind of. Something about.. the ocean? It looks like some key parts have been broken off." Felicia looked at Bridget. "Where did you find these?"
Bridget quickly summarized the events of the prior night. "My, er, guest told me they sent some cave samples to the MODS. Probably have 'em on display, or maybe locked away for analysis."
Felicia smiled. "Ladies, I'd say it's a wonderful day for the museum."
***************
The warehouse was not in good condition. It had been built sometime in the early 1970s, and the peeling paint and acrid smells stood as testimony to its age. Nevertheless, it was secluded and untouched by prying eyes - and to Dr. Chen, that made it lovelier than the Taj Mahal.
"Welcome, dears," she said with a grin, "to your new home."
The four women she addressed could only glare angrily in response. After all, they were still tightly bound and gagged, and sat uncomfortably with their backs against the wall in a cold corner of the warehouse.
"I'm sorry if you're cold or uncomfortable," Dr. Chen said, although she wasn't really sorry at all. "But if you all cooperate with my plans, I promise things will go smoothly."
She turned her attention to her two other prisoners, whom she had freed from their bondage. They also glared at her and the gun she pointed at them.
"And if Alice and Tamara agree to my demands," Dr. Chen continued, "I promise things will go extra-smoothly."
"What do you want?" Alice asked, her angered voice betraying only a hint of fear.
"Revenge," Dr. Chen replied simply. "Sweet, delicious revenge. And you're going to help me."
"Why would we do that?" Tamara asked defiantly.
Dr. Chen laughed. "Brave girl," she said. "You mean, apart from the gun I have on you? Well, how's this - if you help, I'll surrender to the FBI and help them catch Karima. That's what you ladies want, isn't it?"
Tamara paused. "And if we don't help you?"
Dr. Chen turned back to her four other prisoners. "Then I'll kill these four lovely ladies, one by one."
The four girls could only whimper helplessly in protest.
Dr. Chen was, of course, lying about both options. She would never surrender to the FBI, and the idea of shooting people in cold blood struck her as distasteful. Nevertheless, Alice and Tamara had no way of knowing this. They exchanged a quick glance.
"Okay, we'll help," Alice said begrudgingly. "What do we do?"
Dr. Chen's smile broadened. "To start with," she said, holding up a newspaper article, "you can bring me a journalist named Bridget Baxter."
***************
Karima's new hideaway - as a fugitive, she was forced to vacate her old one - was a long-abandoned bomb shelter. It had been boarded up due to fears of radiation fallout, but those fears had long since passed. Though its upper windows were grime-coated and its furniture worn, it was a perfect place to convene, away from any unwanted visitors.
Karima spoke on her cell phone. "Yes, I'd like to order a pizza... Black olives, thin crust. Deliver to 553 Pinewood. Thanks."
She hung up the phone and strode over to the table, around which Nadyne, Malika, and Sabira were seated.
Karima laid four photographs down on the table. Each was a picture of a beautiful yet dangerous-looking woman.
"Emmanuelle. Danielle. Annabelle. And Isabelle," she stated. "The Bombshelles. Explosive experts, and the 'hot new thing' in the criminal world."
Malika snickered. "Bombshelles. Which idiot thought of that name?"
"It's no laughing matter," Karima snapped. "These four women began operating in Florida a few months ago, and they've earned quite a reputation while you were in jail. Just last night, the Davis estate was blown up - probably by some rival entrepreneur - and the job has their fingerprints all over it."
She paced the floor. "The Bombshelles are bad for business," she declared. "Four good-looking white girls who like to blow things up. Folks are much more comfortable hiring them over a bunch of Arab women." She turned and faced her team. "We've been out of commission for a while, and the Bombshelles have captured our market. They've even taken some of our most loyal customers with them."
"So what do we do?" Nadyne asked.
Karima grinned. "What do you think, girls?" she asked. "We remove the competition."
She spent the next five minutes outlining her plan. Her henchwomen listened and occasionally nodded.
"No room for error, girls," Karima finished. "We need to be the top bombers in the business, no questions asked."
A knock came from the door. Karima smiled. "Ah! That would be the pizza. Such prompt delivery."
"Sorry, Karima," Nadyne said. "Don't mean to be rude, but... I don't eat pizza."
"Neither do I," Karima said, walking to the door. "But this is a... special order."
She swung open the door. A smiling girl in red and white striped uniform, red cap over her brown hair, and white sneakers stood there, holding a flat square box.
"Good morning! Pizza delivery for - wha?" She gasped suddenly as the grinning Karima grabbed her by the arm and yanked her into the dimly lit shelter. The door slammed with a deadened thud.
Soon, the helpless pizza girl was down to her bra and panties, tied and gagged and crammed into a cupboard. Malika was closest to her in size, and thus was given the honor of donning her uniform.
"All right, girls," Karima declared. "Time to get ourselves back on track."
************
"No, Moira," Mrs. Drake said tersely.
"But..." Moira paused, flustered. Her hands sunk into her jacket pockets. "But it isn't fair! I work my ass off to bring you stories, and you bury me on Page 17!"
"Bring me a Page One story, and I'll put you on Page One," Mrs. Drake said. "I'm running a newspaper, dear, not a daycare. Bring me a story that'll grab readers' attention."
"Bridget always gets Page One," Moira muttered.
"Bridget is an excellent journalist," Mrs. Drake said. "She investigates well, and she writes well. She's probably out researching something now, but you could learn a thing or two from her when she gets back."
Moira scowled and turned toward the door. "You'll see. I'll bring you a story - the story of the year!"
"Looking forward to it," Mrs. Drake replied, her eyes now back at her computer.
Moira stormed out of Mrs. Drake's office, her blonde curls bouncing furiously. She'd find a story - one that would put the Baxter bimbo in her place.
She'd nearly gotten a juicy write-up of the NASA scandal that broke a few months ago. But a sudden and inexplicable gas attack had put her out of commission. Five of her fellow reporters had gotten their clothes stolen by some astronauts in an incredibly strange turn of events.
Moira eyed Bridget's empty desk. Bridget had written up the full NASA story, and had somehow gotten a more detailed account than any other publication. How? What was her secret?
If Bridget was indeed out investigating, that meant her apartment was probably empty.
Moira was an investigative journalist. It was time to do some investigating.
****************
Zuhal groaned, and slowly opened her eyes.
She was in a hospital bed, that much was clear. Judging by the bars on the windows, she'd been taken to the prison infirmary.
Her neck still ached where Karima had dealt a judo blow. She groaned in pain and frustration.
"Well, well... Good morning, sleepyhead," said a sweet, buttery voice. A blonde nurse stepped up to the bed, clad in blue scrubs and a surgical cap. "You've been out for a while. Hope you had a nice rest."
Zuhal looked around. She had been stripped of her stolen guard uniform, and was now in a hospital gown.
"I was worried you'd had a concussion," the nurse continued. "We found you unconscious in the closet, along with a few of your fellow guards. Poor dears, they'd all been tied up, and their uniforms had been taken! Who would do such a thing?"
Zuhal looked back at the nurse, who held out a small cup.
"This medicine will help you back on your feet. Take it, be a good girl... whaaaa!?!"
Zuhal had grabbed her arm, twisted, and flipped the nurse over onto the bed. An elbow to the face took her out.
Zuhal glanced at the door to the infirmary, wondering if any guards would come rushing in. But the brief altercation had gone unheard. Zuhal rolled the nurse onto her stomach and began unfastening the back of her scrubs.
Pretty soon, Zuhal was wearing the scrubs, and tucking her dark hair beneath the surgical cap. The nurse now lay unconscious in her bed, blanket pulled up to her nose. Zuhal had tied up and gagged the nurse with medical tape, although neither that nor her underwear-clad form was visible beneath the blanket. She just looked like a patient getting some sleep.
Zuhal strode out of the infirmary and toward the prison exit. Karima was going to be very, very sorry.
"Well, that's the thing," Bridget said, reaching for her phone. "I need you to verify that it is a scoop. You're the nerd-girl, after all."
"Nerdier than you?" Felicia said with a laugh, swinging open the closet door. "That's pretty unlikel- hey!"
She stood, dumbfounded, staring into the closet. A few coats were hanging off to one side, and two pairs of old shoes lay in the corner. But that wasn't what gave her pause. No, it was the fact that there was currently a chair in the closet, upon which was seated a pretty girl of Indian or Pakistani descent. The girl was clad only in her pink satin bra and panties. Her wrists were duct-taped to the armrests, and her ankles equally secured to the two front legs. A layer of tape covered her mouth.
Felicia turned to Bridget. "Friend of yours?"
Bridget sighed. "Long story."
The woman was conscious, but clearly confused and afraid. She whimpered into her gag and struggled against her tight bonds.
The museum was quite massive, one of the largest in the southeastern US. And true to its advertising, it was quite popular, its halls constantly filled with excited patrons.
As of this morning, however, its doors had not yet opened. It was thus that some early arrivals - in this case, a group of girl students from the local university - were restlessly awaiting the museum day's commencement.
The thirty or so girls, all in their late teens or very early twenties, shifted uncomfortably in their school uniforms - red jacket and dark red tie, black skirt, white knee-length stockings, polished black shoes. It was a hot day, and the girls not absorbed in their phones were fanning themselves to stay cool, and grumbling about the necessity of this trip - despite the words of their headmaster.
"Settle down, ladies," said Ms. Richmond. "I just received a call from our tour guide. She's parking her car in the backlot, but she asks that we wait for her arrival before entering the museum."
The university girls grumbled in response, but returned to their phones.
Near the back of the crowd, one girl quietly nudged her friend, then gestured to the alleyway behind the museum. She mimed a quick cigarette-puff. Her friend's eyes lit up, and she nodded. Giggling, the two girls slipped away without any of their group noticing.
"I hate these field trips," the brunette said, pulling out a pack of Marlboros from her jacket.
"Awful," her blonde friend agreed, taking one of the cigarettes. "I wish we could just stay back here all day."
"Wish granted, sweetie," came a voice from the shadows.
The blonde looked up. "What the... helllmmmppppphhhh!" She was pulled, stunned and hand-gagged, into the alley.
The brunette jerked her head up. "Lina? What's going... uunnngggghhh!"
A quick neck chop had sent her slumping to the floor.
Bobbi dragged the unconscious coed to the back of the alley, where Felicia had already begun stripping her blonde friend. "Fortunate that these two happened by, isn't it?"
"You might say it's a blessing... in disguise," Felicia chuckled.
Jackets, shoes, skirts, and stockings were cast off. Felicia tossed the cigarettes into a trash can.
"Doing them a favor, I'd say," she remarked.
"How do you suppose Bridget is getting along?" Bobbi asked.
"Guess we'll find out."
Not far off, a sleek white sedan sat idly in the museum parking lot. Bridget sat in the front seat, applying lipstick. After all, museum tour guides had to look their best.
Bridget checked the sit of her red outfit - jacket, skirt, and heels. She flicked a piece of lint from her white button-down shirt.
Perfect, she thought with a smile.
A muffled thump-thump noise came from the trunk. Bridget sighed. She was glad that she'd thought to move the car to a corner of the lot, but the protests of the real tour guide were beginning to irritate her.
She stepped out of the car, strode over to the trunk, and eased it open.
A raven-haired, underwear-clad woman, slightly chubbier than average but no less attractive, glared at her. She muffled something through the tape which gagged her mouth and strained against the tight bonds on her wrists.
Bridget couldn't understand the woman, but given the furious expression on her face, it was likely that her muffled protests contained a few words not suitable for innocent ears.
"I heard you talking on the phone earlier," Bridget told her captive. "Right before I jumped you, you were talking... to the school administrator, right? That means she knows what your voice sounds like - British accent and all."
The woman banged her feet against the side of the trunk furiously.
"Easy, love," Bridget said in a very English-sounding accent. "It's your car. Wouldn't want to damage the boot, eh?"
The woman's expression changed from anger to surprise - Bridget's voice sounded almost exactly like her's.
Bridget smiled. "That's the reaction I was looking for." She shut the trunk.
Felicia and Bobbi rejoined the group, adjusting their uniforms. They'd left their two acquaintances back in the alley, tied up in some trash cans.
No one seemed to have noticed their absence. Most of the girls were still engrossed in their phones.
"Hello, ladies," a British accent spoke out. "Top of the morning to you all."
Bridget strode into view, smiling at Ms. Richmond and the girls.
"Who's ready for some fun?" Bridget asked. "Follow me, ladies."
The girls followed her into the building, Bobbi and Felicia bringing up the rear.
"Why the hell is she doing an accent?" Bobbi whispered.
Felicia shrugged. "I've learned not to ask questions."
*************
"This the right address?" Tamara asked.
Alice nodded. "That's what Dr. Chen said. Fourth floor."
Tamara sighed. "I can't believe we're taking orders from that bitch."
"It's only for the moment. We'll find a way to stop her. But for now, we've got to play along, and make sure no one gets killed."
Tamara nodded. "Okay... but how do we get inside? It's not like this Baxter woman will just let two strange ladies into her apartment."
Alice glanced around. A small truck parked down the block caught her eye. Two women in delivery uniforms - green jumpsuits, caps, and black boots - had just left a heavy package for the residents of another building, and were now returning to their vehicle.
Alice nudged Tamara. "There's our ticket in."
Tamara squinted. "They're a bit small for us... but beggars can't be choosers. Let's hurry."
The two deliverywomen were chatting idly as they returned to their truck. They approached the large rear double doors, intending to shut them. However, as they reached for the doors, two hands grabbed them by their collars. Alice lifted both women up off the ground and flung them into the back of the truck.
"Change of plans, ladies," she laughed, clambering into the vehicle. "You're getting off work early today."
Tamara followed her inside, shutting the doors behind them. The truck rocked back and forth on its suspension for the next thirty seconds, then grew still.
Fifteen minutes later, Alice and Tamara stood, exhausted, trying their best to zip up their jumpsuits.
"Damn, these outfits really are small," Alice muttered.
"Told you," Tamara replied. "I can barely breathe in this thing. Not sure we can pull this off."
"Let me give you a hand," Alice said. She gripped the zipper. "Just suck in those breasts... There we go."
"Oof," Tamara exhaled. "I feel even more constricted than they do."
"They," of course, referred to the two real deliverywomen, who now sat back to back on the floor of the vehicle. Stripped to their underwear - the blonde had chosen a turquoise color, while her dark-skinned friend had gone with pink - they were gagged and bound with copious amounts of duct tape.
"That Chen woman is going to pay for this," Tamara muttered. "And so will Hernandez. I'm definitely getting cash for overtime."
Alice laughed. "Not likely. I've dealt with Rosa before - she still owes me two hundred dollars for covering her Christmas shift."
Tamara rolled her eyes as they exited the vehicle. "You should kick her ass."
"I just might," Alice replied, drawing a large crate from the truck. "But that'll have to wait."
Tamara nodded. "Let's take care of this Baxter woman first."
***************
The ambulance Zuhal had stolen moved like a dream. In no time at all, she had made it to Karima's old hideout.
Judging by the tracks around the bomb shelter, the hideout had been used recently. Could Karima and her team still be inside? Zuhal wasn't sure. Still, she was sure of her plan - to kill Karima and make herself the new team leader. She smiled at the thought.
Approaching the entrance, she opened it cautiously. No one seemed to be inside.
She stepped in. "Malika? Nadyne? Anyone?"
There were some photos on the table. Zuhal moved in for a closer look.
Suddenly, a cloth pad was forced over her mouth, and a hand grabbed and twisted her arm. Zuhal sharply inhaled in surprise - a poor move, as it allowed the chloroform-soaked pad to more easily do its job.
Zuhal tried to struggle, but it was too late. She was already dazed from the first breath. Her limbs turned rubbery, and she slid back into her assailant's grip.
"Nitey-nite," Lauren said with a smile.
"Excellent work," Amber stated. "I knew this would pay off eventually."
Lauren squinted. "Wait a minute... This isn't Karima."
"It's one of her henchwomen," Amber replied. "She'll have to do for now."
"Why is she dressed in a nurse's outfit?" Lauren asked.
"Don't know, don't care. Just strip her out of it, check for weapons, and tie her up. I'll start the car; we can put her in the trunk."
"Roger that."
***************
Moira knocked twice on the door to Bridget's apartment. No response. Taking a deep breath, she removed a hairpin from her blonde bob and began picking the lock.
It took a bit of work, but eventually her patience paid off. Moira stepped quietly into Bridget's apartment, shutting the door behind her.
The apartment was quite roomy, and certainly nicer than Moira's. A small kitchen, a standard foyer. Some art deco paintings and framed newspaper clippings lined the walls.
Moira studied the clippings. Most of them weren't Bridget's, but rather from famous female reporters of years past. Breaking stories, all by talented women.
Clearly, Bridget was a fan of old-school journalism. Moira had never given it much thought. Perhaps that was part of the problem...
Moira's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a muffled banging noise.
Heading into the adjoining room, Moira noticed the sounds were coming from the coat closet. She raised a cautious eyebrow. Then, recalling her reporter's instinct, she gripped the knob and swung the door open.
Her mouth dropped. Inside the closet was an Indian woman, bound tightly to a wooden chair. She was tape-gagged and clad only in her underwear.
"Wha... Who the hell are you?"
In response, the woman moaned into her gag. Moira instinctively reached for the gag, intent on helping this poor woman.
Then she paused.
Bridget Baxter was keeping a woman bound and gagged in her closet. Moira did not know why, but she knew one thing: This was a story.
Moira quickly pulled out her phone and began snapping pictures of the woman, who gave a muffled and indignant cry in response.
"I'm sorry," Moira said. "I swear I'll free you in a minute. Just need to get some pictures for the paper first."
After snapping a few more photos of the distressed woman, Moira pocketed her phone. "Okay, I'm going to set you free. But you have to promise you'll give me an interview. Nod your head if you agree."
The woman nodded, clearly desperate to be set free.
"Okay." Moira reached for the gag again. Then a knock came from the front door.
Moira froze. Who could that be?
"Special delivery," came a woman's voice.
Moira exhaled. Bridget must be expecting a package. She wondered what it could be.
She turned back to the bound woman. "Be right back."
The woman moaned loudly into her gag once again, but Moira shut the door and headed back across the apartment.
She opened the front door with a smile. Two tall, firmly built women in delivery uniforms stood holding a large crate.
"Package for Bridget Baxter," the woman on the left announced.
"That's me," Moira lied. "You can leave it right inside the door."
"Of course," the blonde deliverywoman said. She held out a clipboard. "Just sign here."
Moira looked down at the clipboard. "There's... nothing written on MMMPPPHHHHH!"
She struggled suddenly as the other deliverywoman tightly pressed a cloth pad to her nose and mouth.
"Pleasure to meet you, dear Bridget," the brunette said. "Now why don't you get some shuteye."
Moira struggled mightily, but she was clearly outclassed in strength. She breathed deeply and repeatedly, the sweet-scented cloth filling her lungs with intoxicating air.
Finally, she could take no more, and fell unconscious.
Alice pried open the large crate, which was empty. Tamara tied Moira up, gagged her, and dropped her inside. Alice shut the lid again; no one would suspect anything as they left the building.
"Let's get the hell out of here," Tamara said.
"Fine by me," Alice replied. "We'll have to take the delivery truck, though - can't have people wondering why two uniformed delivery girls are driving a little sedan."
Tamara nodded. "Gotta drop off the real drivers somewhere, though," she said. "Maybe crate them up and leave them in some alley. They won't be hurt, but they won't be found for a while."
Alice smiled. "You're pretty clever for an independent worker. Come on, let's go."
The women exited the apartment, shutting the door behind them.
From the closet, Prema sat scared, wondering what those noises outside meant. It sounded like a struggle... and now, all was silent.
What the hell was going on?
***************
The Bombshelles' hideaway was an old barn, located about two miles from the rest of the city. The outside of the barn was old and decrepit, but the inside had been refurbished into a makeshift laboratory, complete with steel-lined walls. While working in the lab, the girls all wore skintight yellow radiation suits, black boots, and goggles, the better to experiment with. The seclusion allowed the girls plenty of privacy, and a lack of attention when they set off small explosions.
Today, though, the only "explosion" occurring was Danni's temper.
"Don't touch that!" she snapped at Anna. "This bomb I'm working on is highly sensitive. Any sudden jarring could set it off."
"Oh, calm the hell down," Anna snapped. "It's just a prototype... Too small to kill anyone. Stop being such a drama queen."
Danni glared at her. "You're pushing your luck, Annabelle."
"Ladies, knock it off," Izzy called from nearby, not looking up from her fashion magazine. "I'm sick of hearing the two of you fight all the time."
Danni glanced at her. "And I'm sick of being lectured by Miss Cosmopolitan," she said. "Some of us are trying to work today."
"Girls!" Emma called from the far end of the room. "Enough. We're supposed to be a team, remember?"
Danni gave an exasperated sigh as she adjusted her goggles. "I'm just trying to work," she said.
"And I'm just supervising," Anna said. "I'd rather you NOT make a mistake and get us hurt."
Danni was about to reply when a knock came from the door. The four women looked up, surprised.
"Pizza delivery," a voiced called from the other side of the door.
Emma blinked. "Which one of you girls ordered pizza?"
Anna, Danni, and Izzy looked at each other quizzically, then at their boss.
Emma glanced at the security monitor. The video camera outside picked up a young woman in pizza delivery uniform holding a wide box, standing near a parked company van.
"Could be a trap," Anna said cautiously.
"Or it could be a confused pizza girl," Izzy said. "Either way, we missed breakfast, and it's almost lunchtime. I'll go see what she wants."
Anna reached for her belt, fingers near her gun, as Izzy went to open the door.
On the other side of the door stood an attractive young woman of Middle Eastern descent. She smiled at Izzy. "Your pizza, miss."
"There must be a mistake," Izzy said. "We didn't order pizza."
The pizza girl frowned. "Hmm... They must have mixed up the address. Sorry." She turned back to her van.
Izzy felt her stomach rumble. "Wait!"
The pizza girl turned back. "Yes, miss?"
Izzy reached into her pocket, pulling out her purse. "I'll take it. Gonna go to waste otherwise, right?"
The pizza girl smiled. "All right, then. That'll be thirteen dollars."
Izzy took the box and handed the woman a twenty. "Keep the change, dear."
The pizza girl tipped her hat as she accepted the money. "Have a lovely day."
Izzy smiled sweetly and shut the door.
Malika walked back to the van. She opened the rear doors, where Karima, Nadyne, and Sabira sat waiting.
"Ready?" Karima asked.
Malika nodded. "Do your thing."
Smiling, Karima pressed a small button on her wristwatch.
From inside the barn came the sound of a gaseous explosion. There were brief screams, which quickly died down as the fast-acting chemicals did their work.
"On with the gas masks, ladies," Karima said. "We haven't time to waste."
Strapping on their black filtered masks, the four women shuffled from the van towards the barn.
As expected, the Bombshelles were all unconscious, lying awkwardly, limbs overlapping, on the sod floor.
"Get to work, ladies," Karima said. Her voice was muffled by the mask, but the girls knew exactly what to do.
Because of (thanks to?) the power of the procrastination, I leave a comment for both this entry and the previous. Although both are similar: progressively interwining the different storylines. I always love to see how the agendas of the different characters bump into each other, and how some plans are foiled by mere coincidences (such as Zuhal's). I think it's a good idea to alternate implied and described takedowns as you do in these parts. Gives nice scenes while not breaking the flow of the story.
I would have one nitpick though. I think it's a little unrealistic that FBI agents Tamara and Alice would obey Chen that easily. I know that she has hostages, but she's not monitoring them either so they could easily call reinforcements while doing their 'mission' for her (if they have no choice, after stealing someone's cellphone). I guess these two are part of the B-team...
And now I'm worried for the future of the six women with her. 
