Daniel and Connor lay beside each other in the dark, breath and pulse slowly returning to normal after a round of good sex. They were quieter than normal. Usually this was a time for whispered confidences and teasing, but both of them had serious thoughts tonight. Daniel rested his head on Connor's shoulder, one hand idly tracing circles on his lover's sperm-slick abdomen. Then, as he had years ago on that beach in Rio, he licked his fingers clean, tasting the familiar flavor of his essence mingled with that of Connor.

He felt Connor nudge him. Smiling, he dipped his finger again and lifted it so Connor could suck it into his mouth. Daniel sighed as Connor stroked his finger with his tongue, then nipped it gently before releasing it. After a moment Daniel said softly, "Do you think they're serious?"

Connor was silent, then said, "Yeah, I do." He sighed. "It looks like you're goin' to get your wish, laddie." He stroked Daniel's soft hair thoughtfully. "Can I tell ya something, and you'll promise not to get mad at me?"

Danny turned his head to look up at him, resting his chin on Connor's chest. "You know I can't promise that, Con. I love you, but you really piss me off sometimes. I can promise you that whatever you say won't make me stop loving you, not even if you flew to Virginia and took out a full page ad in the biggest paper, telling the world that I'm a bottom boy slut." He smiled. "Of course, I'm so notorious back home that it would hardly surprise anyone."

"I've lied to you, Danny." Daniel's expression became serious. He didn't deal well with lies. Connor took a deep breath. "I never thought that I'd get out of the business alive, Danny. You know how we talked about settin' up wills, and insurance and all that. He touched Danny's cheek. "You've always been the sensible one about things, but you never nagged me about it, and I love you for that. But I did it, Danny."

"Did what?"

"All of it. Everything we discussed. My will. I leave my shares in my family's businesses to them, but the rest of it goes to you. Everything--the business, the flat, the cars. Me mum's to have what she wants of my personal effects, but you know how she feels about you, love. She won't clear things out. There's an insurance policy." He chuckled. "A million, double indemnity. The agent almost came in his pants when I signed for it."

Daniel studied Connor and said, "When did you do all this?"

"A year after we found each other." Daniel sat up suddenly, looking at him with a stunned expression. "I'm ashamed that I waited that long."

"I... I don't know what to say, Con."

"There's more. Come here." He pulled Danny back down and held him close, tucking his head under his chin. Daniel felt a chill of apprehension. What did Connor have to say to him that was so difficult to articulate that he couldn't look him in the face?

"My mum has an envelope. There's another insurance policy in it. It's a burial policy." He felt Daniel tense, and held him tighter, continuing to talk. "There's a detailed list. The coffin's paid for, the stone, except for the dates, the plot--a double plot." He squeezed Danny, and felt him shaking. There was a dampness on his chest. "Shh, love. It's all planned; the music, and all. I don't want you to have to deal with it if anything happens. We can leave it to Mum. She's a tough lady. She had to be, raising me in that neighborhood. Tell me you'll stay with them, at least for awhile. You'll need each other..."

"Stop it." Danny's voice was small.

"I'm sorry."

"No, just give me a minute." Connor waited, silently cursing himself . At last Daniel wiped his eyes. His voice was husky as he said, "I don't want to think about this, Con." He hugged him hard. "But God, darling, why are you telling me this now?"

He shrugged. "There just never seemed to be a good time. I knew it would upset you."

Daniel sighed, "Oh, Connor." He sat up, looking down at his lover. He said gently, "I love you for wanting to protect me, but you have to realize that I'm not all THAT fragile. I went through some nasty things before I found you. There are things I don't like, and things I'd rather not deal with, but if I must deal with them, I can." He settled back down. "When this is over, we're going to your mother's and we're going to get that list and go over it together. I'll probably cry, but this is something that I'm not going be left out of. Now, go to sleep. We need to have a talk with our keeper in the morning." He yawned. "Aren't you glad I went ahead and drew up those plans for phasing into legitimate business?"

Connor kissed the top of his head. "Yes, my own clever boy."

"So if your operatives are caught, they're on their own?"

"I din't say that, Mr. Ballard. I said that they were not officially acknowledged. Please be assured that we make every effort to be sure that our operatives do not suffer for their actions when they are in the line of duty." Control stood up. "Would either of you care for a refill?"

They were in a small room that was furnished and decorated in a bland style that was typical of thousands of mid-priced hotel rooms. There wasn't a single thing to distinguish it, no clue as to where they might be. For all they knew they weren't even in England. They'd discussed it before, but hadn't come to a conclusion. Control had a faint British accent, but the man who had helped capture Danny sounded American.

Daniel shook his head, but Connor handed over his glass. "Just a wee bit more. I must say, your organization does you proud on the potables. That's as fine a whiskey as has ever graced me palate."

As Control poured another inch of amber liquor in the short, heavy glass, he said, "As I was saying, we have our own methods of extracting agents who find themselves in sticky situations, but that's a last resort. We expect our agents to be resourceful, because every time we come up against the authorities there is a risk of exposure." He handed the glass to Connor and sat back down. "I won't lie to you--we have lost a few people. It's the nature of the game. But considering what we do, the casualties are surprisingly light."

"How is payment made?" Daniel asked. "I'm the practical one. I take care of the books, and I've managed so far to keep them looking innocent. Let me tell you, it isn't always easy. Learning English and Irish tax law was a bitch. I don't want the tax council to suddenly come down on us because we have unexplained, but legitimate income."

"That will be no problem. We have numerous businesses which can provide you with paperwork that would pass FBI inspection." He smiled. "And IRS inspection, which can be much more vicious."

Daniel and Connor exchanged glances, and Control sensed the silent communication that he'd suspected before. Finally Connor looped an arm over Daniel's shoulder and nodded. "I can't say I like the way we were recruited, but I don't think this is a chance we can pass up. Yeah, okay. You want us, you got us."

Control extended his hand, and shook with both men. "Splendid. You're going to be an asset to the group, gentlemen, and I believe you will benefit also."

Daniel spread his hands. "So, what now? I assume you aren't just going to pop us back on the street."

"No, I'm afraid not. Our men are still in Columbia. If you two were sighted and word got back to Montana, they would be fatally compromised. In fact, we received a contact from one of them just last night. There may be a problem."

"What is it?" Connor asked. When Control was silent, he said, "Damn, man, we're goin' to be a part of this, and what's happening to them may affect us. We should know."

Control considered, then said slowly, "We expected Montana to express a certain amount of interest in our agents, in the guise of you two. Our Connor clone has expressed concern about Montana's attitude toward the agent representing Daniel."

Connor sat forward quickly, his eyes sharp. "Is he threatening him?" Now that he had joined the organization his anger with the men who had kidnapped him and Daniel had faded.

"Not physically," Control assured him. "But his attitude is ominous. From what I read between the lines, Olivero is acting possessive. Tell me, does the name 'Duncan' mean anything to either of you?"

They both gave it some thought. "First or last?" Galbraith asked. Control shrugged. Connor rubbed his chin. "Well, there were a number of lads named Duncan where I grew up, but I can't think of any connection they'd have to Montana or your lads." He shrugged. "Most of 'em are in jail or in the grave."

Daniel shook his head. "The same here, though the ones I knew are summering on Martha's Vinyard these days. Disgustingly respectable."

"I'm going to refine the records search. I believe that it's vital to our agents' safety that we know what connection this person has to Olivero. I'd hate to abort the mission, but I will if it's indicated. We can find some other way to discredit Montana with the other drug czars, now that an alliance with you is out of the question. I need to go check on the research results now. You two have the run of the house, but please do not go outside." He got up and went to the door. "One never knows who might be watching."

The research man handed Control a sheet of paper. "We got a little with the added parameters, but not much. There was a Gloria Duncan who sold him a parcel of land two years ago. There's a Duncan's Detailing that cleans his car every month. There was a Duncan Broussard, son of an ex-employer, and a Duncan Peterson. He's a possibility. Last year Monatan was apparently testing the waters for export, and Peterson was working as a mule. He swallowed several balloons of pure coke, and one of them aparently ruptured. He Od'ed in an airplane restroom."

"That's a more logical connection than the real estate or the car washer, but Olivero isn't the kind to grieve over the loss of what was to him product packaging." He thought, his eyes skimming the page. "What about this Broussard? Can we get more information on him?"

"Shouldn't be difficult."

The agent started tapping the keyboard industriously. The minutes ticked by. "This is odd."

"What?"

"There's no listing for a driver's license or ID card. There's no college record, or even record of a graduation from public school. Social security shows no wage deductions. His family was well-to-do, but hardly rich enough for him to live an idle life." He tapped a bit longer. "This is weird. He seems to have dropped off the face of the earth sometime in the mid eighties."

"Run a check on his family."

Another pause, and the man made a surprised sound. "Well, no wonder he wasn't leaving a paper trace out in the world. He's been in a private sanitarium for nearly twenty years. It can't be him, then."

"I'm not so sure. Is there anything unusual listed for his family around the time that he was committed?"

"You're reaching."

"You never get any results if you don't. Please continue."

He did. Finally he stopped tapping and stared at the screen, then looked silently at Control. He hit 'PRINT'. "Look at this. I'm going to pull up the photos on the missings that were requested, then I'm going to run a sort on them while I try to get a photo of Duncan. There may be one in the alumni section of his Louisiana prep school."

Control read the report, feeling a chill settle in the pit of his stomach. A visiting American teacher had been murdered--eviscerated and emasculated. Duncan Broussard had been found with the mutilated corpse--abused, raped, and near catatonic, the dead man's severed penis lashed so tightly to his hand that the police had to slice the bindings. "This," he said, "is very bad."

"It gets worse. I had the program sort the photos of the missing men from that area of Columbia, matching physical characteristics, and look at this." He punched a button and a series of pictures appeared on the screen.

Control blinked, feeling his alarm rise as photo after photo of brown haired, hazel eyed, tall, lean young men filled the screen. He remembered the photographs he'd seen of Fox Mulder, and thought of Daniel Ballard, somewhere nearby. "And here's Duncan Broussards's photo when he was a junior."

The agent clicked his mouse, and a photo of a good-looking teenager who might have been the younger brother of any of the missing men appeared. "Good God," Control muttered.

"Olivero was a suspect in the murder and assault, but he was alibied by his roommate. Forensics weren't all that much over there in the eighties, so they didn't hold him. The boy's mother was convinced it was Montana, but apparently her husband was too frightened to use his influence to put the screws to Montana. From the sound of the crime scene, I don't blame him."

Control said, "I want a printout of all this. This should be very effective in case Mr. Galbraith has second thoughts about the wisdom of getting out of his former occupation. Then I want you to send this information to Mr. Hunt."

"Check." The agent was already typing as Control walked toward the door. "Oh, do you have a message to go with it?"

Control paused at the door. His expression was as bland as ever, but his eyes were bleak. "Yes."

The agent picked up a pencil, dragging a notepad closer. "What should it say?"

Control looked again at the description of the crime scene, picturing the blank faced, blood-smeared boy. He raised his eyes to the waiting man. "Get out." Without another word he turned and left.