Fifteen Years Later

by Kate D.

It was mid afternoon and Mickey sat at one of the tables in the mess studying the plans to the Wayward Star. He took off his reading glasses and rubbed his face. Chris sat at the opposite corner of the table. She hadn't spoken a word since she had woken up less than an hour ago and seemed simply content to watch. He had hardly been in the mood for conversation either. It was hot and he was frustrated. He should have followed Chris's example and slept all morning and dealt with this with a fresh mind in the cool of the evening. He looked up to see Scott leave the dormitory. Scott looked a lot better than yesterday. He had got up, bathed, shaved and was wearing a change of clothing Robert had brought for him. His injured arm was in a sling. Arm aside, he and Chris had done a good job of getting out of Marco's.

"What are we up to?" Scott joined them at the table.

"I'm trying to figure out how we're going to find a chess piece on this ship." Mickey answered him, put on his glasses and went back to the papers.

"Well." Robert came out to join them. "How goes it?"

"This is all I could get from Smith's computer on the Wayward Star." Mickey answered him. "If we have to go onboard, it could be interesting."

"Really?" Robert inquired.

"Yeah. It's got a lot of security for a small cargo ship. The accommodation is all shared, there's no way we can make enough time to search the whole ship and there's no easy way to get onboard even if it is in dock." Mickey flicked through the papers.

"It was three years ago that I tracked him there," Chris added sadly.

"According to everything we've got he's still there," Mickey reassured her. "The problem is, we don't really know if he's still got the chess set, and if he has, if he's got it on the boat." He shrugged at Robert. "One wrong move and we'll have the whole of this extremely well armed crew up against us."

"Chris and I could knock out the security," Scott offered. "What do you think we have been doing these last three months for Wise?" he argued at Mickey's disbelieving look.

"Getting shot," Mickey un-diplomatically pointed out.

"Not if we didn't have to rescue you," Scott challenged him.

"It still won't give us enough time to search for the chess set." Chris turned around Mickey's plans so she could see them.

"Ladies and gentlemen." Robert got their attention. "The objective is to recover Tresser's payroll without tipping off the opposition," he stressed, "so I doubt the flatten-the-place method Wise used is going to be effective, and Scott, you are injured: you are not getting on that boat. We only have a few days to come up with something." He sat down next to Mickey. "Now, how are we going to find that chess set?"

"Find Yuri when he gets off the ship," Mickey suggested. "Get him to tell us where the set is."

"He'll want to know why we want it and if he suspects he's holding the ball he'll go looking for a higher bidder," Chris informed them. "Unless we pose as a chess set collector." She drew herself up to sit straight. "Now, the commie knockoffs of the Artist sets are gaining a niche market. They think the knockoffs are going to end up worth as much as the real thing, but I think the price is inflated," she played to Mickey. The three men grinned at her put-on.

"Do you think you can charm it out of him, Chris?" Robert asked her.

"No, sir." She shook her head. "One, Yuri would definitely recognize me and two, I'm not to his taste."

"What is to his taste?" Mickey inquired.

"You are."

"Well that settles the argument then, go charm the pants off him, Mickey," Scott chuckled.

"Havana all over again!"

For the first time since Scott had been taken, Robert actually laughed.

*****
It was an overcast and miserable morning. The plane taxied into the hangar and the passengers disembarked and walked to the exit. Carter Brock stood in their path. Chris reached him first, looked him up and down as Robert, Mickey and Scott caught up.

"What you got for us, Brock?" Mickey greeted him.

"Everything you asked for," he answered. "You look like shit, Lady," he said observing Chris.

"Better than you did in Somalia," she replied.

Brock laughed at her reply as he held out a black duffel bag. "Compliments from Justin."

"Clothes?" She took it greedily.

"Plane," Mickey suggested for her to change in, but Chris was already on her way there.

"You know her," Robert stated as soon as she was out of earshot.

"Darkness? Met her once. We hit a place about ten minutes after her group did. The security got tripped and all hell broke loose. That woman got all of our guys out, all of her guys out, the guy she was rescuing out and the football. Got to respect that." He smiled at the thought. "Although she did charge the Company for the football. Jonah said you wanted to know about her." Brock realized his hands were still holding the files and handed them to Robert.

"Is she good to work with?" Mickey asked.

"Looked good from where I was, but I was carried out of there."

"Has Justin got the payroll?" Robert interrupted

"Not yet."

"He’s had a week. What’s he doing, sitting on his hands?" Mickey suggested.

"Justin has had problems," Brock defended him as he kicked at the concrete. "Half of his people suspect the other half of foul play. They’re shooting in the dark."

"I don’t believe it." Robert shook his head as he started to look through the files.

"He’s got a team together. I’m running errands for them." Brock stretched his back then slouched. "Keeping them under the radar."

"Well." Robert considered his position. "Are you able to call me when Justin gets hold of the payroll? Keep an eye on him for us?"

"Hell yeah, McCall."

"Van." Mickey held out his hand for the keys. Brock handed them to him as Chris reappeared wearing black pants with more pockets than a tackle box, a plain black shirt, a neat black jacket and leather gloves. Her still-heavy duffel bag was slung over her shoulder. The four walked out of the hangar and got into the van while Brock started walking down the street.

*****

"Well, this is it." Robert led them off the street, up the stairs to a loft overlooking the dock. The loft was creaky, dusty and bare.

"The Wayward Star." Mickey had walked straight to the window to check out the view. "That solves one problem." He waved at Chris to join him at the window.

"Which problem?" Robert asked as he put down the gear he was carrying.

"Back door on to the boat." Mickey pointed out the Wayward Star. "Can you abseil off that bridge Chris?"

Chris nodded in reply.

*****

Five hours later, she was still sitting at that window staring through a pair of binoculars. Mickey hovered next to her, alternating between being an extra set of eyes at the window and sitting on his butt, waiting. Scott had fallen asleep on the bench beside the wall and Robert was patiently reading a newspaper at the table. He had finished reading the files Brock had provided and they had answered his questions admirably. If he really wanted information on Chris Flynn, he was going to have to go to the Company himself to get it.

Chris lowered the binoculars and stared through the window. The sun would have been setting if it could have been seen through the rain clouds. It was getting dark.

"Anything?" Mickey asked.

"He's topside, talking to the security on the ramp." She put the glasses back to her face. "I can't get a good look, but I am pretty certain it's him. We should get going."

"We'll be right behind you in the van." Robert put down the paper and stood up to join them at the window. "Do not engage him, Chris, I don't want him frightened off."

"Yes, sir," she quietly agreed. She put one of Mickey's jackets on over the guns she had strapped over her shoulder. The jacket was a little too big for her and covered them nicely. She scouted downstairs and onto the street below. Mickey watched her take after their mark through the window.

"Wake up, Scott. Let's go."

*****

Yuri walked off the ramp and onto the dock with an entrenched look of boredom written on his face. He did not wish to be there but it was better than the alternatives. His eyes barely wandered to the bridge he was walking under or to the rows of warehouses above. He turned to the stairs and plodded up them. Hunched over, he didn't look for cars before he crossed the laneway.

Chris walked to the corner and watched him get ahead of her while she wandered at the pace of the traffic. The crew of the Wayward Star were not the only ones headed this way, and she followed them at a pace that kept her a part of the crowd.

At the end of the lane, Yuri stopped at a kiosk and bought himself a newspaper and some cigarettes. He did not talk to the salesman, merely nodded and pointed.

Chris waited for him to move on before she arrived there. She bought herself a dark colored baseball cap and moved on to follow him as he turned down the next street. By the time she had reached the street, her hair was completely under the cap and she did not look out of place or recognizable amongst the crowd.

There was a club on the opposite side of the road, the door guarded by bouncers. Yuri stopped at a railing and watched them as he finished his cigarette. When he was done, he crushed it with his foot, rounded the railing and wandered down the stairs leading to a bar below the street level.

From the corner, Chris moved to catch up with him: running as if hurrying to cross the road and then walking down the stairs. Robert passed in the van as she disappeared from view.

*****

"At the end of the bar next to the wall," Chris reported to Mickey as they reached her. She squashed herself next to the wall next to the door. Robert and Scott moved out of the way to let some of the clientele pass them on the narrow stairway. The bar was below the street level and the entrance was gloomy and wet. It was not at all what Mickey had pictured, more like the club on the opposite side of the road, she could tell that from his face. "How you want to play it?" she asked both him and Robert.

"Scott and I will back Mickey up and you can be unseen in the van," Robert instructed. Mickey handed her the keys and she slid away back to the vantage point in the vehicle.

"After you," Mickey swept his hand to the door, a trace of insecure sarcasm in his voice. Robert chuckled as he entered the bar with Scott, a little less sure of himself, at his heels.

Mickey gave them time to get settled. Another group pushed past him to get in the door. Mickey found himself adopting Chris's nervous posture against the wall. A deep breath and he entered. Ducking inside, he took stock of the room. Robert had managed to obtain the closest table to Yuri, close at hand if things didn't go well. He'd put Scott with his back to the bar and they appeared to be casually discussing drinks.

He quickened his pace through the crowd as the seat beside Yuri became available. Yuri was no catch. He looked like an old Russian sailor, which was probably fair, considering that was his current occupation. White spirit in not well worn enough hands, a few days' growth of beard on a rugged face, a once large man wrapped up in a large well-worn coat, Yuri Cristo played with his drink. As Mickey reached the seat, he fought the urge to greet him 'Hello sailor' and settled for "Excuse me," as he purposefully leaned over to catch the bartender's attention. "Heineken, please." When the bartender moved to fill the order, Mickey pretended to notice Yuri for the first time. "I'm sorry," he apologized as he shifted his weight so he was more centered on his stool. "Didn't mean to interrupt you."

"No matter." Yuri picked up his drink and drank to him with his piercing blue eyes before settling them back to the glass and the bar.

The man seemed relaxed, consumed in his thoughts, part of the scenery: aware but not involved in what was going on around him. *Relax, relax,* Mickey chided himself as he started to tense up. *Pretend this is a bar full of women and this is the most beautiful, desirous one, right beside me.* Mickey took a measured dose of his beer as soon as it reached the bar in front of him.

"Haven't seen you around before." Mickey glanced over Yuri as he picked up his bottle and tried not to drain it as soon as the words left his mouth.

"Have not been around before." Yuri's voice hit a charming tone that matched his eyes but not the rest of his appearance. He watched his fingers stroke his glass.

"So you're one of the passing sailors?" Mickey tried to make his voice sound like this was an enticing thought to him.

"Yes," Yuri answered precisely but with amusement in a manner that made Mickey think that he was hit on like this every night and enjoyed playing hook.

"Really. What's your favorite place?"

"Greece. I like the Mediterranean." Yuri considered his glass again.

"Great fishing there," Mickey allowed.

Yuri almost laughed. "I have been at sea too long to find fishing attractive," he said. "There is great history in Greece and Italy."

"Machiavelli, Da Vinci and Socrates. Can't forget Jason and his Argonauts."

"And you?" Yuri emptied his glass. "Another?"

"Yeah, thanks." Mickey smiled.

"You are not coming from New York?" Yuri noted to prod the conversation.

Mickey's beer arrived. He took a drink while Yuri paid. Putting the beer down, he replied. "No. Houston."

"Texas? You are cowboy?" He seemed genuinely excited.

"If you want."

"No, no, no, so really, what do you do?"

"You won't believe it," Mickey warned him.

"I believe anything," Yuri saluted him with his drink as the barman supplied it and drank.

"I'm an independent. I find stuff that people want and I sell it. Right now, I have a client who wants a specific chess set, can you believe that?"

"Then you travel much, too?"

"It's a living," Mickey agreed.

"And you make much money hunting down chess sets?"

"Some are worth a very great deal of money." He shrugged. Yuri snorted his agreeable disbelief and acquired another refill from the barman. Mickey unzipped his jacket and withdrew an article from his inside pocket. "Like these," he said, passing it over. It detailed several chess sets that had gone for astronomical amounts of money. "The thing is that a lot of people don't even know that what they have is valuable." Mickey made his voice husky, conspiratorial. "Got a $1000 set from a guy who thought it was nothing because there were many produced. The thing's a collectors item."

Yuri whistled. "That is a lot of money."

"Communist Russia, the factory was shut down when the market opened but the figurines weren't the standard Staunton set." Mickey gave a description of Chris's chess set. Mickey saw a brief flash of interest in Yuri's eyes before he picked up his beer and drank again. "Thing is, there are so few left in good condition, the collectors love them." Mickey dangled the bait. He hoped like hell that Yuri would take it.

"I have a set from one of those factories but it is twenty years old. It is probably not the right one. I use it. I like to play chess when I find a good player." Yuri was playing with his glass again.

"I can tell you if it's worth something -- and I'm a good player."

*****

Chris brought her mind to attention as she saw Yuri come up the staircase with Mickey in tow. Yuri had a bottle in his hand. They looked friendly enough, so it must have worked. They crossed the road and began to walk the few blocks to the dock. Chris startled, gun in hand, as Robert came to the door. Without comment, she turned back to watch Yuri as Robert and Scott got in.

"He seems to have taken the bait." Robert started the van and drove them the short distance to the bridge.

*****

Mickey followed Yuri nervously onto the ship. The security looked just as serious and well armed as they had through the binoculars at the warehouse. He counted six guys, two earnestly checking everyone on and off and four hanging around just for back up. Yuri slipped one a couple of bills as he made his way past, but they still crowded him menacingly as he pushed past. Obviously, boyfriends were permitted for the right price.

*****

Robert made his way to the rail as soon as he parked. He focused the binoculars to observe Mickey's progress at the other end of the boat while Chris secured the rope and Scott fetched the rest of her gear. The bridge spanned the dock and the traffic was limited to those wanting to get to the ships on the other side.

"You are up for this?" He asked her. He had no idea if she would hold together or even if she was still capable of performing to her reputation. He viewed the security onboard the Wayward Star.

"Too late now," she said seriously, taking her gear from Scott and observing the ship below her as she fastened the rope to the bridge. It was a fair drop. "Should be a simple walk."

"Right kids, Mickey's inside." Robert lowered the binoculars. "Stick to the plan and we'll pick you up under this bridge in fifteen minutes," he advised her, giving her an encouraging nod.

Still in Mickey's jacket and the non-descript baseball cap, Chris climbed over the railing. She briefly checked over the ship to make sure she'd be unobserved before lowering herself to the deck. She crouched and hid while she detached the rope from her harness. Making sure she was still unnoticed, she fixed the end to the ship and then threw the slack onto the dock for Scott and Robert to pick up. Quickly, she made her way across the bow as Scott and Robert returned to the van.

Chris entered the interior, trying to look as if she owned the place. A little self-conscious, she adjusted her cap to conceal more of her face, checked that the way was clear and slipped down the corridor. Soon, she found the box she needed. She waited for a group of crewmen to walk past, flattening herself against the pipes and cables to give them passage; then she opened the box and disconnected the lock. Efficiently, she closed the electrical box and made her way to the security room.


Robert looked at his watch, still wearing his worried expression. They had moved the van in to position below the bridge. Precisely on schedule, he heard Chris's "check" over the radio. She had looped the video and disarmed internal traps. Satisfied, he smiled and nodded at Scott.


Mickey followed Yuri down the companionway into the internals of the ship. He passed through several passages, swing down beds three high on one wall and lockers on the other, as they made their way from the rear quarter. They passed through a utility room before turning into a small room containing four beds.

"Simple." Yuri threw his bottle on to the bed and indicated Mickey should close the door and join him sitting on the bed.

"Nice." Mickey smiled and nodded agreeably.


"All right, Chris, Mickey's one floor below you, port side, forward of the rear quarters," Robert's instruction reached her as Chris came to the end of the platform.

"Copy," she replied as she turned and marched down the stairs.

"I'll guide you in."


"Anyway." Yuri produced some not quite clean glasses and filled them with vodka. "This, this," he retrieved the chess set, which was a beautiful wooden box containing the pieces inside, "this is the set and if it is not worth anything we can always play chess with it." He stood up and offered Mickey the prize.

Mickey took the chess set from him gently with both his hands and turned away to study it in better light. It was a nice set; probably not worth anything but he could understand why Chris was loath to have it taken from her. Now, if he could just check the queen. He felt Yuri come up close beside him. He felt the sailor's hand rest gently on his behind. Knee-jerk reaction, not quite as comfortable with his role as he had seemed to be, he knocked Yuri cold, his elbow to Yuri's head.

As Yuri noisily hit the deck, Mickey turned the set over in his hand to find the queen. Almost immediately, the cabin door opened. There was no time to move before the person entered: Chris, gun held at the ready.

"Come to defend my honor?" Mickey quipped lightly as he retrieved the queen from the set.

"Come to make sure you're not dead on the floor."

"Not tonight." A hint of warmth was in his voice. He turned over the chess piece again. "Where'd you say you stashed it?"

She took the piece out of his fingers to examine.

"This isn't my chess set." Chris grabbed the rest of the set and looked it over, shaking her head.

*Ah, Christ!* Mickey swore inwardly.

"My set is marked." Chris looked over her shoulder to make they could cover the door. "Same type, but this isn't it."

Frantically, they set to work checking the tiny cabin for her set.

*****

Back in the van, Robert sighed as he overheard Chris. This was not going well. He checked his watch as he overheard them toss the room.

"It's the wrong set," he informed Scott, when he registered that the confused look was due to his son not being able to hear.

*****

"Damn." Mickey sat back on Yuri's bed and tore back his hair. "We have to leave. We'll take him with us." He stood up stiffly then bent and hefted Yuri over his shoulder, carrying him in a fireman's hold.

Chris stepped out first, making sure the access was clear. Then, she waved for Mickey to follow. Mickey stepped aside and indicated for her to lead. Attempting to look as casual as possible with a sailor slung across Mickey's shoulder, they began their way toward the bow of the ship. They moved as silently and as quickly as they could, with the dead weight slowing Mickey down. Deftly, he climbed the stairs to the next floor.

As they moved into the next passage, a security guard stepped in front of them. He looked at Mickey, then at Yuri and then at Chris. As the situation dawned on his face, Chris brought up the gun under her jacket and shot him as he pressed his alarm.

"Shit!" cursed Chris as she broke into a run, trying to keep the way clear for Mickey and his burden. She took cover behind some crates as they crossed an open room. Security appeared from everywhere; they fired at her while she waited for Mickey to be ready to cross, then she sprayed the room trying to buy him time to make it.

The next volley of shots came from a new direction, a floor up and ahead of them, causing them both to dive for cover. Mickey dropped Yuri on the ground. Chris still had his gun strapped with hers under the jacket.

"Chris!" he shouted. She glanced back at him, unclipped the gun from inside the jacket and slid it to his position. This little walk had turned into a firefight. Nowhere to go; gunshots above and ahead, security on their tail; Mickey eyed the ladder. In his younger days he would have stormed it, created a diversion downstairs and sent this floating can of death to the bottom of the sea, but now he was the responsible one. Shit! Chris. She was ten feet away and had the same thought. He waited for her to move and then covered the distance between them and threw her to cover.

"Head up and cover me from the upper level, I'll clear below." He sent bullets back at the security as she darted up the stairs. She opened fire on the gunman ahead on the opposite side; briefly, Mickey looked up at her feet through the grillwork as she turned to take advantage of her higher ground position to shoot at the security behind them on the other side of the cargo.

Mickey picked up Yuri and pressed on into the next room. Security had gotten to the ladder and was heading up after Chris. She seemed to be holding her own. A stray shot hit the wall next to him as he heard her run ahead above him to dispatch the shooter. Mickey dropped Yuri at the exit, taking up his weapon to provide cover for Chris as she slid down the framework to join him.

"I'll stop them here. You get him off," he instructed.

Chris grabbed Yuri by the back of his coat and dragged him to the bow of the ship, while Mickey made a fighting retreat to a more defendable position.

Having reached the point at which she had entered the ship, she quickly took up the rope and fixed it more securely to a fastening point nearer to the center of the deck. She paused as she considered Yuri. Taking him had not been part of the plan. Pulling some slack in the rope to get it to him she unclipped her climbing harness and tied it onto the unconscious man.

Mickey wished he'd picked up another clip, as he ducked behind the crate listening for where the shots were coming from. As it was, he'd have to use his remaining ammo carefully. He glanced forward to Chris. The tightening line was lifting Yuri on a harness and he flew down the rope as soon as he cleared the hull. It was time to move. He listened hard, waiting for the bullets to let up.

At the next pause, he shot out the clip as he dashed to Chris's position. Grabbing the gun around her, he took her to cover as the ship's security took the opportunity to advance. He felt her stiffen as he used her gun to shoot the closest opposition. Her spare clips were spent. They were running out of time. He couldn't worry about that now. They needed to find a way off the ship themselves, before they were overrun. She had used her harness for Yuri.

"Together, now," he ordered. They moved to the rope. She took up the gun as Mickey released it and fired the last of the ammunition as he clipped the harness under his jacket to the line. He grabbed her as, in unison, they took three steps to propel them off the boat. She clung to him desperately as the pulley screeched under their combined weight, the force of her transferring through him to the straps. She loosened her hold as they flew over the dock but he did not let her go until his feet hit the ground under the bridge.

They hit the ground running and the momentum almost sent them crashing into the van where the other end of the rope was tethered. Robert cut the rope, ushering them into the back of the van, as he followed them, closing the doors behind him.

"Go!" he ordered Scott to step on the gas.

******

Inconveniently Yuri regained consciousness just as Scott pulled the van into the warehouse. Mickey threw open the side door and let him out. Yuri took a few steps to steady himself. The room was secure and he could always shoot the Russian if he tried something to escape. Following him, Mickey kept close just in case. Robert simply stepped out of the driver's side and stood against the door. Disoriented, Yuri stumbled as he turned around to face Mickey. Scott slipped out of the back of the van behind Mickey, and Chris walked up behind from securing the entrance.

"What? What is this?" Yuri put his hand to his aching head, still trying to steady himself.

Mickey smiled, showing too many teeth for Yuri's liking. "Thought you'd like to give back a chess set you acquired."

Yuri's eyes fixed on Chris and his expression turned to fury. Then, he rushed at her. Chris either had complete trust that Mickey and Scott would hold him, or didn't mind taking a few blows, because she did not even blink an eyelid as Mickey grappled with him.

"You? You work for her?" His voice filled with disdain. "That lying..." His words digressed into a litany in Russian.

Mickey tsked. "Such language in front of a lady!"

"What is it these days, Katrine? Julia?" He turned back to Mickey. "She is a lying dog. You cannot trust her. Smuggling, thieving bitch. You never answered my question. Are you Russian? Yes? Is that it? Are you betrayer too? Why do you want chess set? Katrine? What you playing this time?" He pushed himself against Mickey in an effort to get past and harm Chris.

"The person who gave me that chess set is deceased. I want my memories back. All of them." Her voice sounded frighteningly crisp and truthful. "My chess set, Yuri?"

"You are insane." Yuri pushed Mickey back but, although Mickey rocked back momentarily, he didn't move. Yuri did not try to push through him again. "She is insane," he said to Mickey. Yuri shook with his anger, then made another attempt at Chris. Mickey wrestled him to the ground. With a stern look and a definite point at the door, Robert indicated he felt this would be easier if Chris was elsewhere. Scott eagerly left with her.

Robert retrieved a chair from the wall and brought it up behind Yuri for Mickey to force him onto. Yuri stared at them with contempt, but getting rid of Chris seemed to calm him down.

"You work for a thief. A people-smuggling thief," he spat.

"We don't care. She wants the set back. Where is it?"

"I don't have it," Yuri said. "She has it."

"No, she does *not* have it, you do," Mickey corrected him coldly.

"Bitch took it, took everything, destroyed everything! Took it. Took Niki." Yuri attempted to stand up. "You have no idea what she is."

"Try again." Mickey increased his pressure on Yuri's shoulders, forcing the man back to the chair.

"She's the lowest scum that walks on the earth. She lies to you," Yuri yelled at him then slumped in the chair, a chord of misery hanging in his voice.

"Really, and here I thought that was the KGB." Mickey's voice hardened. "*Where* is it?"

"Go to hell," he said flatly.

"Not before you," Mickey replied sweetly. Mickey looked at Robert. It was clear that Yuri did not feel threatened by his situation and was not the type to give it up by sheer brute force. He'd have to negotiate. "What do you want for it?" Mickey asked.

"What?"

"For the chess set."

"I don't have it," Yuri snorted. "That woman stole far more valuable thing than chess set. I not help her for anything."

"You *do* have it or you know who does."

Yuri gave him a dirty look.

Robert sighed and left after Chris; joining that conversation was a waste of breath. Chris unlocked the door and began to secure it behind him.

"What is going on?" Robert demanded, a tad gruffly.

"Yuri was in a lot of trouble before he threw me in prison." Chris lowered her voice to a whisper. "There was this group from Moscow that were investigating some goods I was misappropriating and they stumbled onto Yuri's selling arms to the mafia business." She paused, considering what she was saying before continuing. "Yuri's only living relative was a nephew, Nikolai. He was getting caught in the crossfire so I relocated him. It sounds like he gave him the set."

"Where did you move him to?" Robert inquired.

"Salzburg, under the name Nicholas Bora."

"Ascertain that he still resides there," he ordered her.

"Yes, sir," she replied. "Can I borrow Mickey's phone?"

He nodded in assent. He watched her pick up the phone from the table as he heard Mickey's knock on the door. He opened it. Mickey stood in the doorway rocking on his feet. Robert leaned past him. Yuri was heavily duct taped to the chair.

"He wouldn't co-operate." Mickey shrugged.

*****

Half an hour later, Scott was sitting with a gun pointed at Yuri. Robert and Mickey were sitting at the table watching him though the open doorway, discussing a plan.

"So what you got for me?" They overheard Chris's soft voice talking in to the phone. "Nikolai?" They heard her pause while whoever was on the phone gave her the details. "Kostmayer?" There was a longer pause. McCall chuckled as Mickey's expression soured as he heard his last name.

"I suppose we can't object to Miss Flynn wanting to check out the company she's keeping," Robert said with a smile.

"Really?" She listened again, her back still toward them. "And McCall?" Again she listened. Robert stiffened. How *dare* she check up on *him*?

Mickey, noticing this, reminded him with a good impersonation, "I suppose we can't object to Miss Flynn wanting to check out the company she's keeping,"

"Ok, thanks." Chris turned off the phone before walking back to join them. From the stiffness in her back, they knew she had heard some of what they had said, but how much? "Niki's with a dance troupe in Vienna." Chris handed Mickey his phone, letting a slightly amused expression crawl across her face. "He performs at a few venues. We'll have to find out which."

"I'll have a contact meet us at the airport; give us a location," Mickey said and Robert nodded.

"Sounds like a plan."

"What are we going to do with him?" Mickey thumbed at Yuri.

"I've got something that I’ve always wanted to do to him," Chris stated. "And I've still got an official in China who can set it up for me." Both men looked at her with a mild look of surprise. "But we'll have to drop him off on the way."

"You do know that China is not on the way to Vienna."

"Depends which way you go."

*****

A patch of turbulence buffeted the small aircraft. It was set up for one thing and one thing only, skydiving, and the inside was totally utilitarian.

"How long do you think it will take him to get back?" Chris asked.

"No money. No passport. No cell." Mickey stood over Yuri, who lay on the floor strapped into a parachute.

"He doesn’t speak Chinese and the Russians are still after him," she added.

"Could take him a while."

"As long as it’s long enough for us," Chris answered. "At least three months, I bet."

"You know, I think he’s coming around," Mickey remarked.

"Little soon." She briefly glanced at her watch. "But I guess this bit of China’s as good as the next." Chris stood up and hooked the parachute cord to the line.

"We might even get a meal before our next flight." Mickey grabbed the gradually stirring man by the shoulder strap, dragged him to the open door and tossed him out.

Yuri regained consciousness as the icy air hit him. Then, he realized he was falling. The ripcord caught the line. Mickey watched the chute open, then signaled to the pilot.

*****

Mickey and Chris landed at a small airport to catch another flight and finally boarded an international flight to Vienna from Kuala Lumpur. It wasn’t the fastest way, as it was based on what flight was available rather than time and expense. Chris looked like a businesswoman with a briefcase and Mickey, a tourist with a coat and a pack. They discarded every metal thing they had to get through the security checks as quick as possible. Chris carried two PSZ knives, each in a leather sheath, which she wore as decoration in her hair. They had been the kit Brock had given her with her fake passports, clothes and collection of small arms. Mickey sat a few rows behind her and watched to see if anyone took an interest. It was a long flight and they each caught a shift of sleep. After they got through customs, Chris led the way to what appeared to be the nearest airport café and found herself a seat at a table. Mickey stood at the bar and drank coffee. Chris drank a mixture of orange soda and cola. It was not long before a very polite 'tourist' looking for a seat joined her. He said he was leaving. She said she was arriving and asked if he could recommend something to do that night. She acquired a free map from tourist information and he marked a concert hall on her map. Then, he looked at his watch and said he had to catch his plane and left. Mickey knew the guy was supposed to slip her a gun, but didn’t see the exchange.

Chris went to the ladies' room. Mickey sat nervously, keeping an eye out for anyone watching Chris. The airport had its share of armed guards; it would not pay off for anyone to make trouble here. Chris reappeared with a well worn, baggy black sweater, hair loose and her briefcase hidden inside a medium sized pack to make her look more like a tourist. He followed her to the train and took an aisle seat just close enough to get to her if there was a need. A few familiar faces from the airport traveled with them, but that was hardly unexpected on the airport train. The view outside was bleak and industrial. Briefly, he thought he should have brought a thicker coat.

Once out of the train and on to the streets, Mickey hung back a little while Chris played tourist, ducking into doorways to look at her map, admiring the parks and the architecture but still setting a reasonable pace. She bought tickets from a man in costume dress outside St Stephen’s Cathedral and asked him for directions as well. Another walk to the building, and she waited for him just inside the door.

"His dressing room is down the corridor to the right." Chris looped her arm around Mickey’s handing him the tickets.

"Did our friend give you everything we need?" He asked.

"Of course." She smiled as Mickey showed the entry tickets. The building was decked out in white and gold. They timed it so no one was looking, then ducked down the corridor. Quickly and silently, they searched for the room. Mickey stopped and waited for her to notice, then he pointed at the door. She knocked politely. The door opened and, recognizing Nikolai, they forced themselves inside.

The man didn’t argue; he just glided back to his seat. He was dressed in tights and a bald cap for a wig.

"Hello, Nikolai," Chris greeted him.

"I remember you, Lady." Nikolai stared at her. "I do not know where my father is, so go away."

"Oh." Chris walked over and perched on his table. "I saw him recently. He is still alive, and one step ahead of the Russians and everybody else."

"I don’t care. I don’t want to know where he is. I don't want his trouble or yours." Nikolai was not pleased.

"No, I understand." Chris nodded her head. "He told me he gave you the chess set he stole from me, and it was given to me by a someone that meant a lot to me, so I want it back."

"You flew to Vienna for a chess set?"

"No," she laughed, "I had to fly to Vienna anyway."

"He said you were a thief." Nikolai stood up and opened a drawer, took out the chess set and put it on the table next to her. "You asked me what I wanted. I wanted to leave the army and be a dancer in Vienna, and here I am."

"I think you said Paris." Chris picked up the chess set and checked the pieces. Confirming it was her chess set, she smiled at Nikolai, then she froze as the door handle moved and her eyes slid nervously to Mickey. The door opened and a very pretty ballerina appeared. The two unexpected guests took her aback.

"My wife," Nikolai explained. "An old friend, Lise."

"We were just leaving." Mickey offered his arm to Chris and nodded his way out. Closing the door behind them he said. "That is your chess set, right?"

She nodded as she checked the queen piece, handed it to Mickey, and hastily stowed the rest in the backpack. "We’re going to have to move if we're going to catch that plane."

They had to wait at the airport. The contact collected the gun from Chris and she tied her hair back up with the blades. Their seats ended up closer together this time, Mickey two rows back and across the aisle. He spent the trip casually searching every passerby for a familiar face. Chris had bought herself a scarf from a gift shop while they were waiting, which had softened her ‘touch me and you die look’, and she melted into the sea of passengers.

*****

"Dad, stop fussing." Scott sat at the bare table. He had been there all afternoon while Robert kept watch out the window, and a weary silence had developed between them.

"I am not fussing, Scott," Robert said irritably.

"Fine. Stop staring at the phone, then staring out the window."

"If everything went according to plan, Mickey should ring in three hours." Robert checked his watch.

"Then, we have a while to wait."

"Yes, we have a while to wait." Robert continued, keeping watch out the window.

They waited.

"Brock should have called by now." This time, Scott got fed up with the silence.

"Yes," Robert agreed.

"If Justin’s men don’t succeed, they're going to come after us?"

"Justin does not know about this place. You will be safe here."

"That’s not what I’m worried about." Scott stood up and joined Robert at the window. "Chris is reliable, Dad. She and Mickey will look after each other."

The phone rang and Robert answered it.

"Robert McCall." He listened for a while; the news was not good. "Damn." He put down the phone and looked over to Scott. Scott looked tired.

"Justin didn’t succeed?"

"No. Tresser torched the entire thirty-seventh floor with four of Justin’s men inside. The other two were captured."

"Brock okay?"

"Yes, yes," Robert reassured him. "He didn’t go in the building."

"So, it’s up to Mickey and Chris."

"I want to be well away from this cabin to receive Mickey’s call."

*****

At the airport, Mickey and Chris made their way through customs and to the taxi stand. Chris got through first and dawdled. There was a group of passengers waiting for taxis. She blended into them, and Mickey made his way to the payphone to call Robert.

"Hey, McCall." Mickey kept an eye on Chris as he listened to the reply. "So you got back three days ago."

"Yes," Robert replied. "I wish I could say that the weather had been good."

"Been okay here." Mickey took a second to take in the bad news.

"At least there was an upside," Robert continued. "Spent a lot of time inside with my friends."

"I guess. See you when we get in." The group of passengers Chris had joined caught their ride, leaving Chris standing alone as Mickey finished. Mickey picked up the cab and offered for Chris to share. They did not talk in the taxi. As soon as he was sure they didn’t have a tail, he directed the driver to shopping center, bought a CD, transferred the list from the chess piece to inside the cover, put it in a padded mailing envelope, addressed and posted it. Then, he returned to Chris in the taxi and they made their way to their chartered flight.

"How are we doing?" Chris asked as the taxi pulled away. She was tired and worn out.

"By the sound of it, Justin went bust, but he still thinks McCall’s got the package," he said quickly as a man approached them.

"Mr. Kostmayer, so good to see you again," the tall, lanky pilot greeted him.

"Good to see you, too. Thanks for agreeing on such short notice."

"This is one of your clients?" He nodded to Chris.

"Yeah," Mickey agreed, "and there might be trouble at the other end, so I want you to be able to drop us off and get out of there."

"Sure thing." The pilot led them into the hangar. "I just need five minutes to get ready. Then, you can come on board." He pushed ahead as Mickey and Chris slowed to a halt.

"He's a former client?" Chris seemed depressed. "I am a pilot, you know."

"I thought it'd be best if we're both alert when we land; besides this isn't just any pilot, this is ex-Air Force Captain Thomas Patterson," Mickey said, with enthusiasm. "You know, I like the way you work, Chris. Stalling Yuri in China - very creative." Mickey tried to cheer her up.

"Not the first time I've pulled that one." It worked; she smiled a little. "Dumped three of Control’s guys there a few years ago for spying on me. Quickest back was three months, but I dumped him a little closer to civilization."

"Hey! I used to be one of Control's guys," Mickey pointed out.

"I helped a lot of them, too," she protested as she slowly peered across the hanger. "It's almost over, Mickey. We're almost home." Her voice hinted of a mood beyond exhaustion. "Our plane?" she asked, as one began to taxi toward them.

"Our plane," Mickey confirmed.

She shouldered her bag and took off toward it. Mickey followed her, and soon they were in the air.

*****

"Damn!" Robert slammed down the phone.

"Dad?" Scott woke abruptly from his doze on the couch.

"Jason found out about Mickey’s flight."

"What are we going to do?"

"There is nothing we can do, Scott. Tomorrow I am going to pick up the list from Jonah, but until that list is decoded, I cannot be seen by the Company."

"If you tell me what to do, I could get to a radio and warn them."

"You cannot be seen by the Company, either," Robert reminded him. "You need to be here, beside this secure phone, to get their all clear signal as agreed; otherwise, when they are finished playing decoy, they will have no way of contacting us." Robert joined him on the seat. "Scott, I doubt Mickey needs our help. I just don’t like the thought of them being surprised," he explained. "Brock is going to tip off Justin. We just have to hope Justin controls them."

"What if it’s Justin on Tresser’s Payroll?"

"He will not allow them to be killed until he has that list. It’s Jason we have to worry about."

*****

The plane ride was turbulent. Mickey had wedged himself in the seat and dozed, in between watching Chris sleep fitfully against the opposite window. Captain Patterson dropped them off inside the hangar and turned the plane around, immediately taking off as agreed. Exhausted, they marched through the hangar to the exit. As they reached the door, a dozen cars pulled up at the gate. In unison, they stopped, took a couple of steps backward and about-faced. Mickey took the lead, guiding her to shelter amongst the shelves and crate storage in the shed at the side. Chris took her knives from her jacket pocket, where she had stowed them after she pulled them out of her hair. She offered one to Mickey. They were no good for throwing, next to useless against a gun but better than nothing. They pushed their backs against the crates, willing themselves invisible, their packs slipping down their shoulders to their hands.


"The plane has taken off. They're inside somewhere," Jason informed the team leader, a very official looking man in a suit. "They have the payroll on them. Go and get it." The man signaled for one of the groups to go in one side and another to go around the back. He scowled at Jason as he led the rest of them in. Jason dawdled in, well behind them.


Mickey peeked over the crate to estimate how many opponents were entering the next room. His estimate was: too many. He indicated to Chris that they should move to a more defendable location. She crept to the next row, but Jason's agents were already searching ahead. Mickey and Chris backed away into the crates.

"Mickey." Chris made her offer, barely above a whisper. "Get out of here. I'll make a diversion. They're after me; they won't look for you."

He slowly shook his head, demanding that she stay with only his expression.

"I can assure you I will not be taken in," she added. "These are the good guys, Mickey, we can't kill them just because they have been given bad orders."

"They won't give you the same option."

"There's nothing they can do to me. I have nothing left that the Company can take away." She looked toward the sound of an agent searching nearby. "Go," she appealed.

"Forget it," he answered her.

"Please, Mickey," she begged.

"There are things worth living for, Chris." Mickey crouched in front of her, moving forward. He picked up their bags and hid them in the crate. "Follow me and don't try anything stupid."

Timing it between the advancing agents, he led her across to the storage room; quickly they advanced through the shelves of old equipment and boxes. He signaled for her to wait while he checked the way was clear before he crossed the aisle and advanced to the next row. These shelves were filled with dusty pieces of machinery and they stooped as they walked so that they would not be seen. It was a long shelf, more agents were entering into the storage room, and Mickey broke into a run to reach the end before someone could get a clear shot. He briefly checked the next aisle before crossing. The last set of shelving was longer than the previous. He could hear the agents coming in at the other end of the storage room. They were going have to move quickly if they were going to make the door. He took a left down the aisle and began to sprint toward the door. Three rows down, and the door to which they were heading was thrown open. Both Mickey and Chris lurched into the nearest row, Mickey two rows ahead of Chris. Ahead of him, an agent turned into his aisle. Silly boy wasn't looking. Mickey rolled into the bottom shelf and fitted himself between two boxes, waiting for the man to come to him.

Chris calmly ran the length of the shelving, checked the aisle, and crossed back several rows of shelves further from the exit and closer to the hangar. She doubled back to the aisle with the exit. Realizing her path was blocked, she slid between the shelves and the far wall, pulling a carton into the space she had slipped behind to conceal herself.

Mickey grabbed the advancing agent, tripping him up and wrestling him to the ground with a minimum of noise. He held him in a chokehold until the man lost consciousness, then he took his gun and pushed him into the hiding space he had just vacated. He heard a crash.

Chris hit the agent who had discovered her hiding place with the butt of her not very heavy knife and bolted. She tore through the row of shelving knowing full well her chance of making it depended on her reaching the next aisle before he got up and shot her. She did not even see the pipe being swung through the shelves before it hit her full in the face, knocking her from her feet. She did not get up.

"This what you looking for?" The agent dumped Chris at Jason's feet. She struggled to find the balance to kneel, her hands now cuffed behind her back. Jason's agents were milling back to the hangar for the show. "Still looking for the other one," he reported.

"What did Justin call you, now? Julia?" Jason bent over her. "This time, I'm holding the gun." He took out his pistol and aimed in the general direction of her head. "So, you'll do what I say." Chris, her face bloodied and bruised, rested her head on the ground over her knees, curled up underneath her. "Get her up," he ordered the nearest man, who pulled her up by the hair to a kneeling position. "Give me the Payroll," he demanded.

"Go fish," she replied.

"Look, you smart-assed little traitor, you're going to give it to me, or you're going to die." Jason pointed at the man on his right who complied by hitting her. She hit the ground as the force of the blow dislodged the other man's hold on her hair.

"Want, want, want to," she stuttered, "want to finally kill, kill me, Jason?" She swallowed as she struggled to lift her head and face Jason's gun.

"I think your former employers would call this fair game, don't you? This is a job, isn't it?" he postulated. "You have what I want. I think even they consider that fair." He was waving the gun about aimlessly as he spoke. "Now, hand it over."

"Tell me, gentlemen," she called on the group, "what gives the Company the right? When you joined the Company, did you not take that decision seriously? What right do they have to take that from me or from Vincent White? I don't even know the kind of life I have fought so long to preserve." She gasped to regain her breath, but she was not begging for her life, this was venom, this was self-pity, this was resignation. "I have never just walked in a park, or gone to school. The Company gave me life and now The Company takes it away." She scowled wickedly. "Think, gentleman: I am your children. This is your world." She groggily faced Jason in defiance.

"Give the con artist bitch something to bring her back to the subject," Jason ordered, unimpressed. The man on his right obeyed by knocking her to the ground with another blow to the face. Chris fought to lift her head again to face her attacker in pure defiance. She wavered unsteadily, slipping sideways. The man behind her grabbed her up by the neck. She said nothing. "Well," Jason said to the agent, "I need that payroll." The agent looked at the woman, then at Jason. Jason's stare gave him permission to go as far as necessary. He struck her again until she fell to the ground and could no longer raise her head.

"Well the sun rose on the courtyard/ And they all did hear him say/ You always was a Judas/ But I got you anyway..." She produced a choking laugh. Furious, Jason grabbed her back up to him by the collar and shoved his gun against her forehead. That wretched song was all he had on those bloody interrogation tapes. Her acceptance fueled his frustration. "Free uh," she choked back at him, her eyes rolling back into her head.

"Jason!" Mickey's voice cut the air. "Let her go. She doesn't have it."

"Kostmayer." Jason and his gaggle of agents eyed the perimeter looking for him. "Give me the payroll, or the Lady's dead."

"Why do you need the Payroll, Jason?" Mickey drawled. "We're giving it to Justin. The only reason you'd want to stop us doing that is if it's your name that's on it." Mickey watched for the reaction of the surrounding agents. Chris's little speech, they had been uncertain of, but his was a clear message. "Only Tresser's mole would need to stop us, or someone who worked for him," he added. What Mickey was saying made sense, and the majority of those standing around now looked confused. Mickey stepped out from the shelving. The gun he had acquired pointed at Jason as he walked over to him. "Let her go."

"You don't have it." Jason lost certainty, but his gun was still pressed into Chris's head. "It's well known that she betrayed us."

"She's innocent." Mickey brought out the chess piece and held it up to him. "She doesn't have it. Now, let her go."

"Hand it over." Jason eyed the chess piece.

"Think about it, Jason," Mickey snapped. "Whoever got you to do this is the bad guy, not her."

"Hand it over," Jason repeated.

"Would you people think?" Mickey appealed to the roomful of agents. "The only reason anyone would want to take this is if they worked for Tresser." Mickey lowered the chess piece to his pocket, his gun still leveled at Jason. "Let her go."

"She is a traitor and you're not in a position to argue. Somebody take his gun and arrest him." Jason's hold on Chris's collar loosened slightly, but his gun was still against her temple. She hung on his hold, her eyes open but unfocused. No one seemed to know quite what to do.

There was a sound from outside and the side door opened, the light outside outlining the shadow of a man. Taking a step forward, the figure was revealed: Justin. Further agents entered from the remaining doors. Most of those working for Jason lowered their weapons in confusion. Justin strode up to the action and surveyed the situation.

"Jason, I know you were forced to crawl out from under your desk when you were set up, but you really should have crawled back underneath it by now," he murmured. "Or at least had the sense to stay out of the way."

Jason froze. Slowly, he let Chris go and she fell with a loud clatter.

"We'll take care of that, now." Justin turned his head sideways to Mickey and held out his hand for the payroll.

"No way," Mickey derided. "How do I know it isn't you?"

"You don't."

"Where it goes, I go." Mickey put away the gun and bent down to examine Chris. Before he could get something to pick the lock, the agent on the left handed him the key. "Can somebody call her an ambulance?" The man nodded and, with confirmation from Justin, took out his cell.

"Kostmayer." Justin held out his hand with a very dark expression.

"What are you gonna do, *shoot* me?" Mickey asked scathingly. Having dealt with the cuffs, Mickey gently slid Chris's knees from under her body and put her body in the coma position.

"If I have to." Justin waved a hand at the group of men still surrounding them, guns ready.

"I think you don't waste valuable resources." Mickey stared at Justin then reconsidered his position. "What do I care? It's the Company's problem. You guys can fight it out." He sighed as he took the chess piece out of his pocket. "I want your assurance no harm comes to her." He wasn't in a position to negotiate, but it didn't mean he wasn't going to try. Justin barely assented as he took the piece.

"Get her to a hospital and him to detention," Justin ordered.

"Hey! What did I do?" Mickey objected. When three men started to approach him determinedly, Mickey said flatly, "I'm not leaving her."

"You'll be free to go once this situation is sorted out." At a slight nod from Justin, the lead man stopped in front of Mickey. "Take him to the hospital. If he gives any of you the slip, you will *not* be able to hide from me. That's all, gentlemen."

*****

Jonah studied the CD package that had come in the mail, as he peered at his monitor showing the less than happy men knocking at his door. Briefly he wished he had hung a 'gone for lunch' notice to encourage them on their way. He looked at Mickey's message one more time: 'Urgent. Need to find match with company employees. Target is coming after it.'

Ignoring the knocking at the door, he slid a blank piece of negative into the cover and placed it on the shelf with several hundred other, similar cases. Then, he retrieved the microfilm from the negative scanner, slipped it under the paper cover of his cookie tin and put it back in the kitchen. He scowled as he returned to his computer screen. As well as the flashing warning of a wireless interruption, there was now a cable reconnect as they had pulled the connection, stopping him from sending it elsewhere.

He looked at the monitor again for the person in charge. There was no way he would have enough time to crosscheck the list on the microfilm with the Company file, even if he had some way of getting into it, but he could run one name. He spotted the man standing by his sleek silver car and brought up the search 'Justin Lanard'.

Jonah glanced over to the monitor showing the front and back exits. The experts at the front door finally decided that the electronic lock could not be picked or hacked and resorted to brute force. The back door break-and-enter attempters were being a little more inventive, trying to drill out the hinges.

He looked back as the computer screen listed the ten closest matches. Nothing that could be even be an OCR misread for the man in charge of breaking down his door. The rest would have to wait until later.

He heard the back door fall in as he gave the command to scramble the hard drive.


Robert knew he was too late the moment he turned into the street. He parked his car and marched into the commotion. Jonah was sitting outside on his neighbor's stairs, guarded by a couple of suits. Robert was hardly surprised that guns were drawn before he made it to Justin. He ignored them.

"Just what do you hope to achieve with this, Justin?" he demanded, observing the equipment being confiscated from Jonah's house and piled into a van.

"You and Kostmayer have been wasting time," Justin growled back.

"You are wasting even more time by doing this," Robert snapped.

"You were supposed to bring it to me."

"I wanted to make sure your name wasn't on it before I handed it over. Jonah is perfectly capable of doing that, and if you had asked him nicely, would have run the entire scan."

"This is a Company matter, and you should have passed it on to me."

"Oh yes, that would be great if it just happened to be you."

"Even you don't believe that!"

"No; I would not want to believe that, but I have been around long enough to know better. Now, put Jonah's equipment back and let him finish."

Justin stared at him furiously.

"He isn't on the list," Jonah said quietly, breaking the tension. "I ran his name before his goons broke down my door." He didn't look at either of the men.

"What have you done with Mickey Kostmayer and Chris?" Robert continued. "I called you so that no harm would come to them, and they should have called in hours ago."

"And yet you just accused me of orchestrating this," Justin answered with equal anger. "McCall, you are so far..." Justin stopped yelling and rethought his strategy. "Kostmayer is being detained and I am having you detained, as well, until I get a copy of that payroll."

"Jonah?" Robert questioned.

"It's in the cookie tin," he supplied co-operatively.

"You will be detained until it is verified," Justin pushed.

"I will do no such thing. You will tell me where Mickey is and I will drive there myself."

Justin gave him a long hard look before he turned and began walking back into Jonah's house.

"Justin!" Robert snapped angrily.

"If you want Kostmayer," Justin said as he faced him, "you will go to the Company offices until I have time to tell you where he is." Justin turned and marched into the building.

Robert looked around the collection of nervous armed men in suits standing around the pavement for a familiar face. Finding none, he started back toward his car. The closest moved to block his path.

"I'm going into the office as I was asked," he sneered.

"I was going to offer to drive," the very game young man tried.

"I am perfectly capable of driving myself," Robert said as he pushed past.

They didn't bother trying to stop him leaving in the Jag, and they were reasonably discreet about following him. He had to give them that. He waited a few blocks before he took a sudden turn through the oncoming traffic and down a faster moving street. The one car that stopped to consider whether to follow him was rear-ended.

He turned into the next block before he pulled the battery out of his phone and threw it on the seat. It was pure spite. He had every intention of paying a visit to Justin's office, but he was just angry enough to deny them the warm fuzzy feeling of checking that he was doing so.

He had no trouble getting through security, either, which surprised him a little considering his last visit and that he did nothing to hide his current foul mood. Control's office was not quite as flash as the old one; it didn't need to be as he spent next to no time there. The only thing kept there were files that he told the Company they still needed and that he couldn't take out of the building. They were on paper, which these days meant nobody actually bothered to read them, unless they were told to go and find them. He meandered his way down there by a decently long route. Justin was unlikely to do anything other than detain Mickey. Chris Flynn, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter.


It seemed very little time before he shifted his eyes up from the pile of files he had moved to the desk to the disturbance at the door.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Hanging his head around the door Justin scowled at him before he entered.

Robert didn't bother to answer as he lowered his eyes back to the file.

"Mickey Kostmayer is free to go," Justin informed him. "He's at the hospital with Darkness. Jason got there before I did. It will be a few days before the doctor will consider discharging her. Is there anything else you want?"

"You could release Miss Flynn from her contract." McCall lowered the file he was reading to glare at the man. "She never really stood a chance, did she? What do you think the attitude was? She's a Company bastard; no one is going to miss her? She was illiterate, seventeen and as soon as she realized what she had signed herself into, declared her contract illegal and took off."

"I wouldn't know. That was before my time."

"Then let her go," Robert instructed.

Justin sighed as he pulled a face like he had an oncoming headache. "The instruction to keep her on the books comes from higher up. There is nothing I can do about it."

"Why? Because she embarrassed them all by walking out? She's been around the Company too long to be considered safe? One major screw up? Some big secret she shouldn't know? I don't think so," Robert growled.

"I don't know," Justin conceded.

"Yes. And it is damn near impossible to find out isn't it? This file is far from complete and, considering that I had to dig down here to get it doesn't exactly make it common knowledge."

"The fact that she joined the Company at all is not common knowledge, and I think it should be kept that way." Justin was losing his patience and it was beginning to show in his voice. The day had gone badly for him. He had wasted half the morning after Kostmayer had given him that chess piece, Control was still in a coma and now someone really did have to do something about Darkness. "The Company would be willing to come to an agreement with her."

"Like this one that she agreed to but refused to sign?" Robert held up a piece of paper from the file. "No association with Maven, no association with her mercenaries, no association with computer experts, Company surveillance." He got to his feet. "You took away her reason for living, because she wanted to save one little boy from the same choices she had to make," he said as he crushed the document in his hand. "Maybe you should take a good look at this woman you are so keen on letting the Company destroy. She could burn just who she needs to to get herself out of your little prison, but she is too bloody decent to do so." He stared Justin down to shame. "You will come up with something a hell of a lot better than that!"

Justin did not lift his eyes from the floor as Robert McCall's piercing gaze bore into him while the older man walked past him and out of the room.

*****

By the time Mickey was showing Chris to her seat in O'Phelan's, she was uncharacteristically smiling. Robert had sat her between them during the concert and she had remained silent and tensely on guard, but as soon as they had got out of the taxi and into O'Phelan's she'd relaxed, somehow recognizing it as a safe place.

He'd asked Michelle to help him pick something that would hide the scarring on her arms and not make her feel self-conscious. They had bought her a simple silky blue dress. He was surprised it suited her. They might not have got the information off Tresser's payroll yet, but she deserved to enjoy her fee.

"It was wonderful. Who'd have thought the sound would be so powerful with just the instruments, so pure, delicate, not like a CD or ..." She stopped herself as if something told her to behave. "I've done the live electric guitars and drums thing but I hadn't been to a real concert before."

Mickey stopped himself from laughing at her protest. "Would you like wine?" Mickey asked as he sat opposite her. Jeremy and the waiter, unobtrusively, came to take their orders.

"Well, actually, I'd prefer something else."

"Good. 'Cause that means I can drink beer," Mickey said enthusiastically. He waited for her to order her bourbon before he asked her what she'd like to eat. "Hey, Scott, you got a fan," he greeted the McCalls as they entered.

"Really?" Scott was nursing his injured arm as he joined them at the table. Robert took a little longer, stopping at the bar to talk with Jeremy.

"It was beautiful. Thank you." Chris got to her feet and shook Scott's hand sincerely.

"Scott, she has been raving about how wonderful it was since we got here." Mickey tried to knock over her seriousness. He'd not let her get away with not telling Scott she was awestruck.

"Yes." Chris blushed as she found her seat.

"You look beautiful, Chris." Scott complimented her as he sat beside her. Robert took one look at the bourbon and the beer and decided not to bother with a bottle. Scott was drinking only water and he'd prefer something stronger. "I'm missing their next tour, so I don't play for the next six months," Scott continued. "I'll be stringing along teaching jobs after my arm gets better."

"You have to let it rest, Scott. It takes time." Robert fitted himself into the seat opposite his son. "Mickey, you have done an extraordinarily good job with this young Lady, she looks nothing like the one who rescued you from being shot at the stake." He offered Chris a toast. She picked up her glass and touched it to his before drinking. She lifted her hands away as the young waiter placed her meal in front of her. The others were soon to follow.

As if by some unspoken agreement, the subject of the Company was avoided for the meal. Robert made the occasional comment, but seemed distracted by his own thoughts, Chris listened intently but had retreated into silence while Mickey and Scott talked about cars, basketball and what they had missed in the last four months. Soon, the bar was deserted and the plates cleared away, last drinks upon the table. The door opened and he let himself in; almost skeletal in appearance he stood in his coat and scarf admiring the scene. Robert stared at him as if he could not believe his eyes.

"Hello, Darkness," Control's voice silenced the conversation.

"Hello Life." Chris had been the only one who did not turn to the man at the door.

"Mickey." Control nodded at his one-time most favored agent. "Scott." He smiled at him. "Robert." He was happy his old sparring partner was still in one piece.

"My God," Robert greeted him as he got to his feet.

"What the hell did you do, escape from the hospital?" Mickey asked almost before Robert had uttered the words.

"Something like that." He made his way carefully to the table, brushing off Robert's offer to help him "No need, old son." Chris stood aside for him, giving him her seat and offering her arm to steady himself. He looked worn and thin. "I had to get out of that place."

"They didn't even tell me you were conscious," Robert objected. The last few weeks had been so busy he couldn't even remember when he'd last walked by Control's room.

"That's Justin being over-protective. Don't take it personally. Besides," Control indicated to Jeremy that he wanted a drink, "they would not have let you in anyway."

"They would have let me in," Robert insisted as he returned to his seat. Chris realized he would not sit if she was standing, snagged another chair from the next table and sat.

"I owe you all a deep apology." Control breathed, staring at the table in front of him. "Robert, I intended to ask for your help but the situation got out of hand far more rapidly than I predicted. I am sorry and you, too, Scott."

"Yes, well." Robert's stare softened. He had been so angry with his friend when he thought he had lost Scott, but now he was just relieved that they were both all right. He sighed in annoyance and looked at his son. Scott had an uncomfortable look on his face, as if he did not know how to accept the apology either.

"Gonna replace my car?" Scott asked.

"Why?" Control was cautious with the younger McCall: he had an annoying way of getting around him and he knew Scott's car had not been damaged.

"I got into it the other day and all I could think about was being grabbed."

"Scott," Control looked at him sympathetically, "the Company will pay all your medical expenses, but replacing the car might not help."

"I know, but it will go better than the old one," he replied with a gleam in his eye. Mickey tried to stifle a laugh, not wanting to draw his old boss's attention on him as Robert looked at Scott with a cross of affection, pride and a touch of outrage.

"I'll consider it." Control let Scott have his way. He was responsible for getting him kidnapped and shot, so it was probably better to give him his request provided he didn't break the bank. "Robert?"

"I'm past being angry with you about this," he confessed. "Next time, just tell me, and for God's sake do not write a list."

"There won't be a next time," Control said.

"After all these years, you expect me to believe that?" Robert asked.

"No, really, the Company discharged me from my position on medical grounds more than a month ago," he argued.

"Can't believe you let them!" Mickey scoffed.

"You're retired?" Robert couldn't believe it.

"Yes, yes, well, I'm a consultant." The idea seemed to amuse him. He picked up his drink and enjoyed it.

"A *what*?" Robert couldn't believe it.

"It's a kind way for them to get rid of me." Control pointed out. "Seriously, though, I no longer have a position. Justin said it would give me more time for my other projects."

"Well. That's certainly something I never thought I'd see." Mickey didn't wipe the grin from his face. "Here's to ya." He raised his bottle of beer, tilted it towards Control, then downed a slug.

"Mickey," Control said with thanks as he accepted his toast, draining his glass and then filling both his and Chris's glass from the bottle.

"Yes, well, I'm really quite stunned." Robert belatedly raised his glass to touch Control's newly filled one.

"I believe you lost the bet, Child." Control did not even turn to Chris as he addressed her.

"I'm not ready to pay it." Her voice was tinged with Darkness's sad tones.

"I heard you and Justin came to an equitable agreement." He turned to meet her eye.

"Not any more equitable than when I made it with you. He doesn't shoot me and I pull a miracle for him once in a while," she replied, mimicking his tone. "He will not accept that I could never join your Company, that I would never make a promise I have not got the ability to keep."

"One day, he will respect you for that. Right now he needs to make contact with your former employers." Control's voice softened as he drew her close. "You can’t blame me for everything that’s wrong with your life. You could have walked away a thousand times before it got to this."

"Nobody ever told me that." She stood as Justin entered.

"Well, look who it is?" Mickey's eyes hardened and his voice dripped contempt, "Justin. Private party."

"I won't disturb you, Kostmayer, but this is urgent."

"Too late; you already did,"

Justin took in the sight of Chris, not changing expression even at her cleaned up and dressed. "I need to contact your replacement."

Chris brought up her hand and neatly fanned a stack of business cards across the center of the table.

"Be careful where they go. They are numbered. They will know they came from you." Chris's voice was crisp but almost robotic.

It was a simple card: 'Maven Inc.' in the center, a phone number in one corner and a serial number in the other backed by a simple motif.

Robert took up a card and stared at the motif. He had seen it once before. She swept up the rest of the cards and handed the pile to Justin. Control had meant for him to see it and his little theatrical trick, palming the stack to Chris to hand Justin. Although, by all accounts, Chris and Control hadn’t spoken to each other for years, Robert was certain of one thing, Maven belonged to Control. Perhaps it was that she didn’t know, or wish to know, that saved her, but she was right when she had said he should have left her dead in Jason's cage. What she could put together was a danger to Control personally.

He had seen the motif, on what, at the time had seemed a brilliant piece of fiction, above a declaration which began 'We, the undersigned, pledge our lives, and our resources, to the world wide defense of human rights..."