It had been a dark and stormy night and now it was a beautiful morning.

Frodo Baggins sat in his favourite café, enjoying the early sunshine, a milky cappuccino and a cigarette. He looked like a normal young man, a student fresh into college perhaps, and not the least like the operative of a secret organisation. Frodo had been a talented thief, a small-time crook on his way to juvenile jail when The Council had recruited him out of high school. Years of training had turned him into the perfect con man, one of the best in his profession. It helped that people tended to underestimate Frodo. His shock of black, constantly tousled curls, his big blue eyes and his boyish smile made him appear years younger and more innocent than he really was.

Thoughts of The Council were the farthest thing on Frodo's mind. He'd come home from an exhausting assignment two days ago and now he just enjoyed the rare time off. No one expected Frodo to save the world at the moment, no one expected him to ingratiate himself with some criminal mastermind. No one was trying to shoot him, poison him, blow him up or kill him in any other way. But if his boss needed Frodo, he'd know where to find him, he always did.

He was idly trying to decide what he would do after breakfast – go for a walk or go back to his apartment to finish the book he'd been trying to read for months – when someone roused him from his reverie.

"Master Baggins," said a familiar gravely voice. "Your services are needed."

Frodo looked up. "Hello, Gimli," he said to the red-bearded man standing before him.

Gimli was tall and broad-shouldered, and his finely-tailored suit did nothing to hide his muscular frame. But he was more than your usual strong man. He was an expert in unarmed combat, made a mean cup of coffee, provided a compassionate heart, an open ear and a shoulder to lean on for Frodo and his three colleagues, and often ended up being their driver and baby sitter. In short, George Gimli was the boss's girl Friday.

"Can't a guy have a moment's peace? What is it this time, Gimli?" Frodo asked.

"I'm not authorised to tell you, I'm only here to take you to the briefing. Gandalf will tell you soon enough."

Frodo sighed. "All right, I'm coming." He stood, left some money on the table and said goodbye to the sunshine and his plans for the day before he followed Gimli to the car.

The back seat was already occupied by one person.

"Hey, Frodo," Sam said.

Samwise Gamgee was Frodo's best friend, on the team and off. He usually ended up playing Frodo's bodyguard, being an expert on every conceivable weapon and martial arts. Sam was 10 years Frodo's senior, though he didn't look it, with his compact body that was pure muscle, his reddish-golden locks and soft, dark blue eyes.

"Hello, Sam," Frodo said. He still wasn't happy about having his leave cut short, but it wouldn't do to take it out on Sam. "So, what's up? Do you know why the boss needs to see us so urgently?"

"Nope. I was out running this morning when Gimli showed up and he wouldn't tell me anything."

Sam smiled and Frodo's gaze was drawn to his mouth which was the perfect Cupid's Bow shape, and then further down to his body clad in a snug t-shirt and track pants.

'Stop it,' Frodo berated himself. 'Sam's a colleague and your best friend. Don't go there.'

"So we're going to have to wait until Gandalf deigns to tell us, as usual. I wish they'd give us at least some information if they insist on dragging us into the office in the middle of our leave," Frodo said. "What about the others?"

"They're meeting us at headquarters."

"Good enough." Frodo said, leaning against Sam's solid shoulder, closing his eyes, and they sat in companionable silence.

"I know that ass," Sam suddenly said and pointed out of the window.

Frodo looked out, too. He saw two men sharing a motorcycle and the ass of the one in the back looked very familiar indeed. No one wore tight jeans as fetchingly as Merry, their colleague. "Since when do the Infernal Two own a motorcycle?"

The motorcycle flanked the car for a moment longer, then accelerated and swerved across the road right in front of them. Gimli cursed under his breath before he took a turn and followed it into the parking lot of "Middle-earth Inc.".

As soon as he stopped, Frodo and Sam jumped out, both of them eyeing the motorcycle.

It was a Kawasaki, black and powerful and fast. One of its riders was Peregrin Took, Pippin to his friends. He was the team's master of disguise and could change his own and the others' appearance like a chameleon. In civilian life, Pippin was slender and wiry, with fine features. He looked upon the world with pale, grey-green eyes which were alternately sweetly innocent and full of mischief. He was also Scottish and fiercely proud of it. He peeled off his helmet and gave his friends a cheerful smile. The leather get-up he wore made him look simply hot.

Merry, Meriadoc Brandybuck, the owner of the fine ass, peeled his helmet off, too. His blond hair stuck up in all directions, but that didn't make him less handsome. He was a hacker, but not of the geeky sort. Merry was lean and muscled, with chiselled features, a knobbly nose, an endearingly crooked mouth and bright blue-grey eyes.

Merry and Pippin were not only colleagues, but best friends. They lived together and words like 'inseparable' and 'joined at the hip' were applied to them. There was some wild speculation about how close they really were. Sam and Frodo called them 'the Infernal Two', and the four of them were known as 'the Hobbits' at The Council.

"So, back together again, eh, guys? How could I have survived two days without you?" Pippin said, giving Frodo and Sam a wry grin.

"That's because you have me to keep you company, Pip." Merry threw an arm around Pippin's shoulders and tousled his short hair.

Behind them, Gimli cleared his throat. "Masters, you don't want to keep Gandalf waiting."

"Of course we don't," Frodo said, speaking for the others.

The four hobbits composed themselves, trying to look somber enough for their boss, and followed Gimli into the building.

"Middle-earth Inc." was a maze of corridors, but Frodo had walked them countless times before. He didn't need to pay any attention to where he was going, he just followed Gimli, listening absent-mindedly to Merry and Pippin talking to each other.

He'd often wondered how he had ended up here. One moment he'd been a normal boy. Well, maybe not normal, he'd been an outsider all his life, but as normal as someone like him could be. And the next moment he'd become a secret agent. It was dangerous work, but he loved it. His team mates were his family, the only family he knew. He loved Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took like brothers. And Sam Gamgee, his trusted Sam, took care of Frodo whether he wanted him to or not. Sometimes Sam made Frodo feel safe just by being there, reliable, sensible and solid.

Frodo looked up when he saw someone coming along the corridor in their direction. The man was tall, graceful and slender as a young tree. He wore a black tank top, black sweat pants and had a shirt knotted around his waist and a towel around his neck.

Adam Elrond was one of the highest-ranking members of The Council, but he was still active in the field. His team, nicknamed 'the Elves', consisted of Jonathan Glorfindel, Galadriel Smith and Stuart Haldir, each a legend in their own right.

Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin straightened up unconsciously when Elrond passed them.

"Hobbits," he said in greeting, giving them a smile and a nod.

The hobbits thought Elrond was extremely cool. They aspired to be like him - and all four of them had an unspoken crush on the charismatic older agent.

When the reached Gandalf's office, Gimli didn't knock, he just stuck his head into it. "Charlie, they're here."

The hobbits heard a curt "Bring them in" and then Gimli flung open the door, shepherding them inside.

Sir Charles Gandalf looked up at them from his desk. He was what most people would call distinguished-looking, with grey hair, a neat beard and bushy eyebrows. It was hard to determine his age. Usually, his demeanour was grave and dignified, speaking of acquired wisdom and life experience. But Gandalf was wont to surprise you with an unexpected smile and a twinkle from blue eyes. Only Gimli and some other old friends of his dared to call him Charlie. He was known as 'the Wizard' within The Council and he commanded the respect and awe of all agents, especially the hobbits.

"Hobbits, so good of you to join us," Gandalf said. "Take a seat and I'll come right to the point. We have a situation on our hands."

While the four young agents shuffled with their chairs around the large conference table, Gandalf typed a command into his computer and a panel on the wall opened up to reveal a large view screen.

"We'll make this brief, hence the word briefing. This, gentlemen, is Alexander Boromir. Ex-soldier, self-made entrepreneur and businessman."

Frodo studied Boromir's image on the screen. The man was tall, blond and extremely good-looking in a lean, masculine way. He appeared tough and no-nonsense, but there was some-thing in his green eyes that spoke of kindness to Frodo.

'A dangerous enemy or a great ally,' the hobbit thought. 'A man who's hard to pin down at first glance."

"Boromir is one of the richest and most powerful men in the world. He operates out of Minas Tirith." Gandalf's gaze was met by four blank stares.

"The capital of Gondor." Gandalf still received only blank stares from the hobbits. What did they teach these young agents nowadays?

"Gondor is a small, a very small country in Europe," he said, sighing.

"I knew that," Pippin piped up, making everybody laugh.

"This man," Gandalf went on, "is Dr. E.S. Aragorn, Nobel Prize scientist, artist, poet and musician. Some people call Dr. Aragorn a genius and renaissance man, some call him a lunatic."

Aragorn looked more like a hippie than like a scientist. He had shoulder-length dark hair and a scruffy beard. A look of intense concentration from blue eyes was focused on the person taking his photograph. Gandalf was right: it was easy to see the genius – or the lunatic – in that man.

"Dr. Aragorn has vanished a month ago. We have reason to believe he is now working for Boromir. Which might pose a problem. Aragorn's latest project is the Reality-Interfering Negative Gravity device. Negative gravity energy has been a theoretical concept so far and is supposed to be safer and cleaner than nuclear energy and ..." Gandalf could see he had lost his audience again. "Oh, well, I am no physicist either! In short, the R.I.N.G. is able to harness immense powers that can be used for almost anything. It could become a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands. Now, I'm sure you all know who the next person is."

The four hobbits looked at the image of a tall, lanky young man with long, silver-blond hair, high cheekbones and blue eyes. Not many people knew his real name, but the whole world knew his face. He called himself Legolas, like Cher had done, or Madonna. Legolas was an international model who'd been on the cover of every major magazine, but also a gifted athlete –he'd won the silver medal in the archery competition of the recent Olympics.

"Four days ago, Legolas was kidnapped. His kidnappers have delivered an ultimatum: either Boromir hands over the R.I.N.G. or they will kill him."

"Excuse me for asking, sir," Sam said, "But what does Legolas have to do with Boromir?"

"That is a very good question, Master Gamgee. You see, Legolas is Boromir's younger brother." Gandalf seemed amused by the astonished silence that followed his announcement. "Boromir wants his brother back, regardless of the cost. He will comply with the kidnappers' demands and give up the device. Now you probably ask yourself how we acquired this information. Well, Boromir himself has contacted us and asked for our help. There's not much we can do as the exchange of Legolas for the R.I.N.G. will already take place tomorrow morning. But we will try to get the R.I.N.G. back."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Pippin asked, his accent thickening. "I mean, we're good, but we're not that good, are we? It's going to be like finding a needle in a haystack."

"We know exactly where to look for that rather special needle. We're up against our old friends from S.A.U.R.O.N. once more," Gandalf said. "The four of you will go to Minas Tirith and Gimli will accompany you. In the meantime I must see the head of The Council. He is knowledgeable and experienced in dealings with S.A.U.R.O.N. Now go, and be ready to be picked up at 5 o'clock tomorrow."

The hobbits quickly filed out of the office, Frodo already worrying about the upcoming mission. He looked up when Merry jabbed an elbow into his side.

"I said, are you coming to Bilbo's party tonight?" Merry asked.

"Are you kidding? We can't go to the party tonight, we're leaving first thing in the morning. We're going on an important mission, against S.A.U.R.O.N.! How can you think of going to a party?" Frodo looked at Merry like the other hobbit had gone mad.

"Oh, come on, Frodo," Pippin said, "you should have a bit of fun before going on this mission ... quest ... thing."

"Yes, come on, Frodo," Sam said, "you really should go. Bilbo would be so disappointed if you didn't come to his birthday party."

Frodo felt himself relent. How was he supposed to say no when Sam looked at him like that? One look from those eyes could melt a stone.

"Okay, you win. I'm going to the party," he said and returned Sam's smile.