Over the centuries our organization has gone international and our goals have evolved away from your basic court intrigue. To quote our bylaws, "We're a global secret society dedicated to the covert management of socio-political situations as detected through prophetic and occult devices."

A good S.T.O.P - N.O.S. agent has to have a basic understanding of a broad range of topics, 'cause you never know where one of your clues will come from. But it's a wide, wide world out there, so we each have our area of expertise. Mine's unusual phenomenon in atmospheric conditions and the animal kingdom. Hence the call on my night off.

I replayed the tape. The story wasn't ringing any bells as far as prophecies went. But with more than 10,000 prophecies in our active data-base, that didn't mean anything. Still, by definition, deep-sea fish don't migrate up fresh-water rivers. This one needed an on-site inspection.

I checked the clock. It was past Major Thom's bedtime. I thought about waiting another hour so I could rouse him out of a really deep sleep, but controlled the impulse. I didn't want him to be all grumpy for his first shot at field data collection.

Maj. Thom's not really a major and he's not in the military. He's an ex-army brat of a three-star general. He'd travelled around the world twice by the time he was 15. After all that culture, he still favors the British. He claims he's a pacifist but boxes to keep fit. Worst of all, he's a David Bowie look- alike from the pre-glitter days. He's also a rookie agent in S.T.O.P - N.O.S. and I was stuck playing nanny to him.

On the fourth ring his answering machine kicked in.

"So sorry chap, but I'm afraid I can't make it to the phone just now. Leave a message and I'll ring you when I get in. Cheerio!"

I uttered a couple of loud obscenities to shock him awake and continued to grumble till he made it to the phone. "Sorry to drag you away from your beauty sleep darling -- but it's mission time!"

"Charlie? Charlie! Oh, crimeny!"

Coming from Maj. Thom, "Crimeny" was strong language. I took off my headphones and looked toward the passenger seat of my car to see what was wrong. He'd kicked over one of my coffee cups and it had splashed all over his chinos. Globs of curdled cream dotted his cuff. "Haven't you ever heard of travel mugs?" he demanded, dabbing at his pants leg with a monogrammed handkerchief.

There were more than a dozen cups and saucers littering the floor of my little orange Pinto. Maybe it was time for a cleanup.

"While you've got the headphones off, do you suppose we could talk a bit?" he said.

"What about?" I asked.

"Anything! We've been working together for six months, car- pooling everyday, and the only thing I know about you is that you drink too much coffee, you're a lousy housekeeper, you have an amazing way with plants and you're from the Midwest."

"How do you know I'm from the Midwest?" I said, suspiciously.

"Your accent."

"Look who's talking."

He sighed. "Is there anything you're prepared to tell me about yourself?"

"Alright," I sighed. "I was born somewhere in the Heartland. I'm five foot two, 35 years old, a natural blonde, my weight's none of your business."

"Charlie, I have eyes."

Yeah, and they're way too blue, I thought to myself.

"Tell me something about you I don't know," he coaxed.

"I've got a Bachelors in Medieval Literature and a Masters in Occult Mythology. My bad habits include reading trashy novels -- no more than two a month. I play the stereo too loud and dance naked in the living room at 4 a.m. -- neighbors tell me I don't always remember to close the blinds."

He choked on that one, but I kept going.

"My pet peeves include Norman Mailer, David Bowie's "Space Oddity," the Grunge look, Call Waiting and New Age tarot decks. I love Monty Python, hate Barry Manilow. Love incense, hate potpourri. Believe in ghosts, don't believe in reincarnation. And," I gulped a breath, "I have a hard and fast rule about dating men younger than me. So, tell me about yourself."

After a prolonged silence from the other side of the car, I checked to make sure he was still with me.

"I can't follow that," he said.

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