By mid-afternoon, Steve had awoken from his nap, headache finally gone. He stood and stretched, noticing that Heckle had disappeared, leaving Jeckle to guard him. He mulled over a plan, trying to come up with an idea, but the fact was that Jeckle was still heavily armed.

“I don’t suppose I can get any food around here,” Steve commented. As expected, he didn’t get a response. He wandered around the cell, stopping at the sink. After splashing some water on his face, he returned to the board, sitting on it, cross-legged.

“How about a crossword puzzle to work on?” Jeckle’s glare was his answer. “No, I suppose not,” Steve said.

He leaned back against the wall, waiting, for what, he wasn’t sure.

Steve’s class was upset that he didn’t appear for the day’s lesson, especially since they returned to their normal schedule for the day.

Anton sat quietly, wondering what could have happened. He had gone to bed prior to Colonel Austin’s departure, so he never actually saw him leave the embassy. ‘Where could he be?’ Anton thought, ignoring the teacher’s lesson.

At lunch break, he went to the office to make a phone call. Although students weren’t permitted to use the phone, he was an exception due to his father’s status.

Surprisingly enough, he managed to speak with his father, who briefly explained the situation. Anton thanked his father for speaking with him directly, and apologized for disturbing him during the busy day.

Anton returned to the classroom, seating himself in a desk near the window.

Talbot walked passed the room, noticing the boy sitting at the window. “Anton?”

Anton turned to the teacher who entered the room. “Mr. Talbot, how are you today?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” he said. “Do you know why Colonel Austin isn’t in today?”

Anton shook his head, not wanting to reveal the information he received from his father. “We were only told that due to circumstances beyond his control, Colonel Austin would not be in class today.”

Talbot thanked the boy and returned to his classroom, pulling out the letter he received earlier in the week. He proceeded to decrypt the message, waiting for lunch to end.

Cassie and Sam arrived at the office, only to be directed down to the video lab. Down on the fifth floor, they wound through the maze of corridors to a room at the end of the hall. Cassie entered the room with Sam following.

Oscar sat in front of the monitor, watching the tech put the final touches on the enhanced tape. He motioned them to nearby seats. Cassie accepted, but Sam stood near the back of the room.

Oscar glanced back, “Sam, please sit. I need your help too.”

Sam hesitated, shifting from one foot to another and back again, finally taking a seat next to Cassie, away from Oscar.

“Done,” the tech announced.

“Thanks,” Oscar said.

The tech swapped monitor cables, attaching the largest monitor to the tape unit.

Oscar turned to Sam. “I know you probably don’t want to see this, but remember you’re doing this to help your father.”

Sam nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Facing the monitor, she waited for the tape to start.

Oscar pressed a button and the monitor came to life, starting with the van appearing the hour before.

The details of the van stood out now that the tech lightened the tape. They now had the make and model of the vehicle, an American made utility van.

Knowing the approximate size of the vehicle, Cassie guessed the man who checked the tire to be about six foot tall, give or take an inch.

“He’s muscular as well,” Cassie noted, pointing out how the jacket sleeves bulged on the arms and was tight across his back.

No other significant details were gleamed from the tape; the angle of the camera prohibited a look at the license plate.

The screen went blank, causing Sam to blink. She didn’t realize how attentive she had been to the pictures before.

A moment later, the screen showed another angle, the one where Steve enters the frame from the bottom.

They watched him talk with the guard, then head to the car. Both Sam and Cassie cringed as Steve was hit at the back of the head. Oscar let the tape play out before rewinding it for another viewing.

“Ready?” he said, knowing Sam would say ‘yes’ even when she was apparently disturbed.

He started the tape again, in slow motion. Sam watched intently, trying to catch any small clue, anything at all.

As the tape rolled, Sam watched the upper corner where the van sat. “Stop the tape.”

Oscar stopped the tape. “What do you see?”

Sam pointed to the upper corner. “Look, it appears to be part of the license plate.”

“What’s on it?” Cassie said, leaning closer.

“I’m not sure,” Sam said. “I wish we could enlarge the picture.”

“Let’s continue and I’ll have the tech work on it afterward,” Oscar said, starting the tape.

Moments later, the man dressed in black crept across the street toward Steve. Just as he raise his arm to hit Steve, Sam had Oscar stop the tape again.

“I see it this time,” Cassie said. “Looks like a tattoo.”

The tape continued, frame by frame.

Sam noted the attacker was wearing a watch, but didn’t see any other detail. When the second figure came into view, both Cassie and Oscar noticed the tee-shirt peeking out from under his jacket. Oscar stopped the tape so they could contemplate the image.

“A sports team, maybe?” Oscar said.

Sam grabbed a nearby pen and piece of paper, copying the image onto the sheet. She sat staring at it, knowing she had seen it before, but couldn’t quite place it. She started sketching out possibilities, ignoring both Oscar and Cassie. It took a few minutes, but she figured it out. “Boston Red Sox,” she said.

“Boston Red Sox?” Oscar said.

“Yeah, look.” Sam shoved the paper across the counter top to Oscar. “Some kids at the orphanage wore them. I doubt it’s going to help.”

“Every piece of evidence helps, Sam,” Cassie said, comparing the design on the paper to the screen.

After a couple of minutes of discussion, Oscar started the tape. They didn’t have much more to go on from that point. They watched the tape one more time before Oscar called the tech back. Cassie and Sam left the room while Oscar worked with the tech, trying to enlarge their selections.

smdm smdm smdm smdm smdm

Cassie led Sam down to her office, which she shared with one other agent. They sat and discussed what they had seen, drafting possible scenarios. After an hour, the phone rang. Cassie listened for a moment then returned the receiver to the cradle.

“Let’s go,” Cassie said, heading for the door.

“Where to?” Sam said, following close on Cassie’s heels.

“Video lab. They’ve got something.”

They quickly hurried to the lab, wondering which piece of evidence the tech had managed to produce.

“You’ve got a partial?” Cassie said, seating herself next to Oscar.

The tech was still working on sharpening the picture even further; hoping some additional details of the attackers would appear.

“I’ve already passed the information on, and with the partial, make and model of the van, we stand a good chance of identifying it,” Oscar explained, not taking his eyes off the screen.

Sam paced the back of the room, listening carefully. “How may digits?” she said.

Oscar turned to face the pacing Sam. “Four, three letters, one number.”

Sam continued pacing, thinking, contemplating the odds of a low percentage of similar vehicles that would fall within the number scheme. Unfortunately, she was missing a couple of pieces of information, the number of vehicles registered within the four digits, and the number of similar vehicles within the group.

Oscar left Sam to her thoughts, returning to the monitor.

Another hour passed before Agent Zuercher returned from his assigned task. “Good news and bad news.”

“Good news first,” Cassie said, turning around in her chair to face him.

“Only one black van of the type we’re looking for is registered within the license sequence,” Z said.

“Bad news?” Sam said, still pacing.

“The owner reported it stolen last week. I have a copy of the police report. The owners are an elderly couple that use it to transport their dogs to competitions,” he said, seeing the crestfallen look on Sam’s face.

“Just great,” Oscar said. “Alright, what do we know?”

“We have a stolen van, two thugs, approximate heights and the direction in which they fled,” Cassie said.

“Don’t forget the details about the thugs,” Sam said.

“I was just listing the highlights,” Cassie said. “We’ve got the details on paper.” Turning to Oscar, “So what’s our next step?”

Before he could answer, Sam said, “I want to talk to Paul Talbot.”

“What?” Oscar said, turning his attention to Sam.

“My Dad doesn’t think he’s part of this, but is an unwitting participant who is being framed. We had come up with a plan on how to get Talbot talking, and maybe reveal some information about his friends and contacts in the mathematics community,” Sam explained. “We can’t sugar coat it, though; we don’t have time. I’d have to be direct.”

Oscar contemplated her request, not adding that he, too, had thought of bringing Talbot in for questioning. He turned to Cassie. “I’d like you to bring him in. We can’t afford to wait for school to get out to apprehend him.”

Cassie looked to Sam, who was shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another. “I can’t take you with me.”

Sam looked nervously to Oscar, then back to Cassie. “I know. Hurry back.”

Cassie quickly left the room, heading for the school. She was concerned about leaving Sam behind with Oscar, afraid she might bolt. Shaking the thought from her mind, she concentrated on the task at hand.

Oscar coaxed Sam back to his office, where he ordered up some lunch from the cafeteria. Sam seated herself at a table on the other side of the office, her back to Oscar.

While waiting for Cassie’s return, Oscar decided to use the time to catch up on his messages.

Cassie pulled into a visitor’s parking spot, directly in front of the school. She quickly found the front office.

The office supervisor approached Cassie. “May I help you?”

Cassie pulled out her ID, showing it to the woman. “I need to speak with Paul Talbot immediately.”

“He’s in class…”

“Did you look at my identification? This is a federal matter,” Cassie said, slightly irritated. She showed her ID once again. “We are above the FBI and CIA,” she added, emphasizing the word ‘above’.

The secretary hesitated a moment, then informed a co-worker that she’d be right back and to locate a substitute teacher for Talbot’s class.

The woman led Cassie through several corridors to the classroom. Talbot was in the middle of a lecture when the secretary knocked on the door.

Talbot, slightly irritated at the disruption, instructed the kids to look over the next couple of pages. He walked to the door and stepped out into the hallway.

“Yes?”

“Paul Talbot?” Cassie said.

“Yes, and you are?” he said,

Cassie flashed her ID. “I need you to come with me.”

“I’m in the middle of a class,” he said. “I can’t leave now.”

“If I have to put you under arrest, I will,” Cassie said.

The color drained from Talbot’s face. “What is this about?”

Cassie glanced from him to the secretary and back again. “Not here. Now will you follow me or shall I get out the cuffs?” Cassie didn’t carry handcuffs, but she didn’t have to tell Talbot that little fact.

Paul sighed, resigning himself to the situation. “Let me grab my briefcase.” He returned to the class for a moment and explained that he had to leave, but he would be back the following day.

Talbot followed Cassie outside, heading for his car.

“My car,” Cassie said. “I’ll bring you back when we’re done.”

“What’s this about?” Talbot said, putting on his seatbelt.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Cassie paid attention to the traffic, wanting to get back to the office as soon as possible.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No one said you did.”

They rode in silence for the remainder of the trip.

Oscar looked up as Cassie and Talbot entered the office. After a brief introduction, Cassie and Talbot sat in chairs across from the desk.

Cassie looked around, looking for Sam. Oscar, seeing her concern, “She’ll be right back.”

“Why am I here?” Talbot asked.

“You are here because of your background in cryptography,” Oscar said. “At first you were our prime suspect, but now certain individuals believe you are an unwitting victim, being set up to take the blame.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. I’ve been out of the game for years now.”

Oscar brought him up to speed on recent events, explaining the deaths of numerous agents and the circumstances behind them.

“You mean Steve was at the school to watch me?” Talbot said, becoming extremely irritated.

“Yes. We believe someone at the school is responsible for the traitorous acts, and originally, as I said, you were the prime suspect,” Oscar said. He leaned forward on the desk. “We need your help.”

“And why should I help you?” Talbot said, venom in his voice.

“Because my Dad believes you are innocent and he needs your help,” said a voice from the back of the office.

Talbot turned around to see a teenage girl standing by the closed door. “Sam?”

By mid-afternoon, Steve was frustrated. Jeckle didn’t move from his post, and with his arsenal there was no way he could escape without risking death. Earlier in the year, he might have taken the chance, but he now had Sam to think about.

He stopped his pacing when he heard footsteps coming down the hall. A moment later, the mystery man from earlier in the day arrived along with Heckle who carried a tray of food and drink.

“I apologize for the delay, Colonel. A meal and drink has been prepared for you,” the man said.

Heckle slid the tray through the food slot, waiting for Steve to take it. Steve hesitated for a moment, then retrieved the tray and placed it on his bed.

“How do I know it’s not poisoned?” Steve said, eyeing the men on the other side of the bars.

“Come, come. You are of no value to us dead,” the man said with a slight chuckle. “And I must say you have been less than truthful with me.”

“What do you mean?” Steve said, afraid his cover had been blown.

“You claim you were at the school as a NASA educator. I happen to know you were there to spy on Paul Talbot,” the man said.

“Who is he?” Steve said, still trying to play dumb.

“I grow impatient, Colonel. You are attempting to locate the person or persons responsible for breaking the American codes and selling them to the Russians,” the man said, pacing in front of the cell.

“The Russians?” Steve said, with a sincere look of surprise on his face. He knew they were suspect, but to be confirmed by this man was something else.

A slow smile played across the man’s face. “Ah, so you were unaware the Russians are involved?”

Giving up on his cover, Steve said, “We suspected as much, but had yet to prove anything.”

“You would have caught on soon enough, since you were keeping an eye on the Ambassador’s son,” the man said.

“You have someone in the school.”

The man laughed. “Yes, we do.”

“Who is it?”

“Tsk, tsk, Colonel. Do you really think I would share that information with you? Granted, the chances of you escaping are nil, but why take the chance?”

Steve shrugged; tiring of the conversation, suspecting he had all the information the man would give him.

“I do hope you have designated guardianship for your daughter.”

Steve’s blood turned to ice water, freezing in his tracks.

“Yes, we know about your daughter as well. Do not worry, she is of no interest to us, at this time.” The man glanced at his watch, “Well, I’m afraid I must leave you to your meal. I have a meeting to attend and mustn’t be late.” Before his prisoner could say a word, the man spun on his heel and left the room. Heckle and Jeckle once against stood guard over Steve.

Steve’s stomach attempted to turn, but he fought the nausea. Minutes later he sat on the bed and inspected the meal. Despite his lack of appetite, Steve knew he had to keep up his strength. As he picked at his food, he continued to go over the facts revealed to him a short while ago.

Sam and Paul sat at the table, going over every detail of Paul’s contacts and reviewing the magazines to which he subscribes.

Every now and then, Sam would supply Cassie with a list of names to check while she returned her attention to Paul.

Several hours later, Agents Zuercher and Brody returned from a short assignment, arms laden with publications. Both Sam and Paul agreed that looking through the magazines might provide them with clues.

In the meantime, Oscar and Cassie waited patiently for the latest results from the list of names provided.

Sam and Paul split the magazines in two piles, subscription only and magazines in which he publishes.

Starting with the publication pile, he and Sam went through the magazines methodically, noting all names of individuals who published codes, questioned codes or even had a more than passing interest.

The day dragged into early evening, with the two still going through the magazines, oblivious to the people and activity around them.

In the meantime, Oscar and Cassie thoroughly examined the results from the lists. A total of twenty names came back, but only five names stuck out.

The five individuals, four men and one woman, all had backgrounds in code breaking, and at one time worked for the government. Oscar made inquiries of other agencies, while Cassie dug into any background names mentioned in the files.

Sam and Paul finished with the publication pile by late evening, having gone through every possible name. One name popped up in seventeen different issues, M. Robertson; no clue to the first name or sex.

While Paul handed the information over to Oscar, Sam curled up on the couch, falling asleep within a minute.

“Cassie?” Oscar said, trying to quietly get her attention.

She looked up from the folders, finding Oscar standing in front of the table. “Yes?”

“See if you can get Sam to go with you for a few hours sleep. She’s exhausted,” Oscar said, motioning to the couch.

“She’s not the only one,” Paul said, approaching the table. “I’d like to get some sleep as well.”

Oscar agreed, “But I want you back here first thing in the morning.”

“I figured as much. Before I come in, I’ll gather all correspondence from individuals and bring it in,” Paul said. He wasn’t positive, but he thought the name ‘Robertson’ sounded familiar.

Cassie gently woke Beth, “Come on kid, we’re heading to my place for a few hours sleep.” She led the groggy teenager down to the car with Paul following close behind. After dropping Paul off at his car, Cassie headed home.

Once in the apartment, Sam dropped on the closest couch, falling asleep instantly. Cassie dug a blanket out of the closet and covered Beth. She then retreated to her bedroom for a few hours sleep.

Meanwhile, a mere ten miles away and three stories underground, Steve lay curled up on his bed, his mind endlessly replaying the past 24 hours, trying to think of any clue that he may had missed or seemed insignificant at the time.

Outside his cell stood two new guards, the night shift so he was told. Once again unable to obtain names, he dubbed them Chip and Dale. They were considerably smaller than Heckle and Jeckle, but both were still heavily armed. The only light in the cell filtered in from the silent hallway. Another hour passed before he drifted off to sleep.

Sam rose shortly before sunrise and began rummaging through the kitchen for something to eat. Finding the makings of a traditional breakfast, she whipped together a stack of light, fluffy pancakes while cooking the sausage and eggs.

The aroma of coffee drifted down the hall to Cassie’s room, slowing waking the tired soul.

“Morning,” Cassie said through a yawn. She poured herself a cup of java and seated herself at the kitchen table.

“Morning,” Sam said. She placed a plate of food in front of Cassie, then took a nearby seat. They ate in silence, both wrapped in their own thoughts.

When finished, Cassie cleared away the dishes while Sam freshened up. They were at the office shortly before seven, finding Oscar already on the phone, checking on some leads.

Paul arrived shortly after seven, arms laden with manila envelopes full of letters. He dropped them on the table where Sam had already started into the second pile of magazines.

He pulled one envelope out of the pile. “We need to look at these. All of the letters are from M. Robertson,” he said, seating himself at the table.

Oscar and Cassie seated themselves, helping sort through the letters.

Cassie held one letter, reading it over several times. “It’s a man,” she announced.

“How can you tell?” Oscar said, looking up from his letter.

“It’s they way the letter is written; extremely formal and to the point. No wasted words also no contractions. And the tone… My gut tells me it’s a guy,” she said. Cassie tried another letter and found the same thing.

By the time they finished with the Robertson letters, they had a few clues to work. Everyone agreed the author is a man, a few choice words indicate a military background and the underlying tone is anti-government.

Paul sat back in his chair, astonished. “I never would have put all of that together,” he said.

“You had no reason to do so,” Oscar said, gathering the letters. “Other than the four of us, has anyone else touched the letters?”

Paul shook his head.

“Fingerprints?” Cassie said.

Oscar nodded. “We have prints of all four of us, so any strays would be another lead.”

“Sam too?” Paul said.

Oscar, Cassie and Sam exchanged glances, trying to figure out what to say. They ignored the question since there was no reason to announce that Sam is part of a government project.

“It’s a long shot,” Sam said, “but it might work.”

Oscar called Zuercher into the office, instructing him to take the letters down to the print lab and have them go over each one carefully. “Stay down there with them and report to me the first time a stray print is found, if at all.”

Zuercher took the envelope, which contained the letters and headed out the door.

While Oscar started discreet inquiries of persons with the last name of Robertson, Cassie, Paul and Sam looked over the remaining letters in case they were wrong about Robertson.

Shortly before noon, Cassie suggested they get some lunch. Oscar declined, opting to stay in the office.

The trio headed down to the cafeteria for a quick lunch.

Steve rose with the morning sun, or so he thought by his internal clock. He looked toward the doorway, amazed to find it unguarded. He leapt to his feet, assessing the situation.

Unfortunately, footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway. His spirits dampened, Steve started pacing the cell, trying to keep his emotions in check. Going on day two of his captivity has proven one thing to him, his love for his daughter, whom he truly missed.

“We have a suspect.”

“What?” Sam said, looking up at Oscar. Paul and Cassie followed her gaze, spotting Oscar as he grabbed a chair from a nearby table.

“Robertson?” Cassie said.

Oscar pulled out a notepad and started reading aloud. “Marshal J. Robertson, born in 1932 to a wealthy couple from Cape Code. Served in the military, and then joined the CIA upon discharge. He was a field agent until released from service. It seems he became disillusioned with the Government and started spouting off about the Agency.”

“He wasn’t a code-breaker?” Paul said, puzzled. He figured the culprit would be a code-breaker, possibly a civilian militant.

“Not according to the Director,” Oscar said.

“How do you know it’s him?” Sam said, hanging on every word.

“Besides the match of initials, I read a couple of letters to the Director and he agreed the tone is that of Robertson. Thankfully a couple of the letters were written manually, so a handwriting expert is on his way with samples of our suspect’s handwriting. He’s also bringing a copy of Robertson’s file, which includes fingerprints.” Oscar stopped, waiting for questions.

“Does the Director have a lead on where the suspect might be living?” Cassie said, hoping the answer would provide an address where she could start looking for her Blue-Eyes.

Oscar shook his head. “Robertson dropped from sight a little over a year ago; another reason to suspect him.”

“Would he work alone?” Sam asked.

“The Director doesn’t think so. Robertson has the brains, but not the guts to injure anyone. He refused field duty in the service so he wouldn’t have to kill anyone. He’s likely the brains and has help from one or more people.” Oscar felt this may be the reason that Steve hadn’t escaped on his own, knowing that Steve wasn’t as reckless as he used to be now that Sam depends on him.

“So we sit and wait,” Cassie said, becoming even more frustrated.

“I’m afraid so,” Oscar replied. “Once the fingerprint data comes back from the lab and the handwriting specialist does his thing, then we’ll have a better idea of what direction to take next.”

Sam leaned back in her chair, exceedingly frustrated. She felt there wasn’t much more she could do to help, which meant she’d have to stand on the sidelines and watch.

By mid-afternoon, the handwriting expert had confirmed Robertson wrote the letters while the crime lab matched the fingerprints from the letters to the fingerprints in the file.

Oscar called the CIA Director with the news. “Now that we have a suspect, we’ll need to develop some leads. I don’t suppose we could borrow one of your behaviorists?”

The Director was more than willing to share resources, including additional agents to help search for Steve.

Hanging up the phone, Oscar turned his attention to the anxious faces. “Help is on the way. A behaviorist will help build a profile of Robertson and additional agents will aid in the search for Steve.”

Sam, Cassie and Paul had been standing nearby, listening to the conversation. All three were relieved to hear the CIA would provide assistance.

“Cassie, I want you to head the team looking for Steve. I’ll have Zuercher head the team searching for Robertson. I suspect the two teams will cross paths,” Oscar said, knowing he couldn’t hold Cassie back if he wanted.

Not saying a word, Cassie left the office in preparation of the search. Taking what little information they had on Robertson, she knew it would be a struggle to put the puzzle pieces together. Difficult or not, she knew she had to succeed, for Steve and Sam’s sake.

Oscar thanked Paul for his assistance, letting him know they’d be in touch. Paul regretted leaving at this time, but he knew he wasn’t trained for fieldwork. He said goodbye to Sam, then left the office.

Sam retreated to the other side of the office, looking over some of Paul’s magazines. She heard Oscar issuing orders over the phone, dreading when he’d hang up and they’d be alone.

A few minutes later, Oscar returned the phone to the cradle. Looking up he noticed Sam sitting as far away as possible with her back to him. He stood and rounded the desk, leaning against it.

“Sam?”

A chill shot down Sam’s spine.

“I need to figure out what to do with you at this time,” Oscar said, trying to sound pleasant.

“What do you mean,” Sam said, barely in a whisper, her back still turned to Oscar.

“It’s not safe for you to go home, Cassie will be looking for your father and I’ll be working on this end. I think the best thing would be for you to join Rudy in Virginia until all this is over,” he said, not expecting a reply.

“No.” Sam said quietly, still looking through a magazine.

“What?” Oscar said, not sure he had heard Sam correctly.

“I’m not leaving,” Sam said a little louder.

“You can’t stay here.” Oscar hadn’t anticipated an argument and didn’t have any other options for Sam’s well being.

“I’m not leaving. I want to be here for my Dad when you find him,” Sam said, defiance in her voice.

Oscar knew not to argue with Sam, but didn’t know what to do. “Alright, you can stay, but you’ll have to stay here in my office until I can figure out who you can stay with.”

Sam sat quietly at the table, flipping through a particularly interesting cryptography magazine while Oscar issued orders to field agents via radio. Sam was a bundle of nerves, not wanting to be in Oscar’s presence, but also not wanting to be too far from her father.

Flipping off the radio, Oscar returned to his desk. He leaned back in the chair, hands folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

“Sam?”

Sam answered with a tentative “yes?”

“Suppose you were Robertson. You were in the business of stealing codes and selling them to the Russians. You’re not willing to risk your security so you come up with another means of sending and receiving the information. How would you about it?” Oscar said. He knew the best thing for him to do at this point was to use Sam’s intelligence, permitting her to be useful. He hoped it would allow her to focus on the task at hand and not turn inward on herself.

Sam contemplated the scenario for a couple of minutes. “First, I most definitely wouldn’t work alone. I’d distance myself from my business partners as much as possible.” Sam turned around in her chair to face Oscar. “I’d also hire someone who knows the craft; someone who handles the contacts, but doesn’t know who I am.”

“What about a hideout?”

Sam thought for a moment before answering. “The best place to hide, in my opinion, is in plain sight, in front of others. Being in the open makes you look less suspicious.”

Oscar leaned forward in his chair, staring at Sam, who didn’t care for the direct attention. “Sam, you’re a genius,” he said, reaching for the phone.

Sam shrugged, returning to the magazine.

By late afternoon, Oscar's office was full of agents, both OSI and CIA, going over documents provided by the school board. Sam's suggestion of hiding in plain sight prompted Oscar to investigate every employee within the school. Anyone hired up to two years prior had his or her folders flagged for an in-depth investigation.

Sam sat on the floor, in the corner of the office, reading a book, choosing to stay out of the way. Prior to the arrival of the army of agents, Sam had perused Oscar's bookshelves, spotting a copy of T. H. White's 'Once and Future King', Sam's favorite. She imagined being Archimedes, the wise old owl who answered only to Merlin and himself. Deeply engrossed within the book, Sam was oblivious to the activity around her.

Glancing up from one of the many employee dossiers, Oscar noticed Sam sitting in the corner with her book. He hoped Ross would be able to shed some light on Sam's situation. There had to be a reason Sam didn't like to be in his presence, but he hadn't a clue why. He also had no idea what to do with Sam until the situation was resolved.

"Mr. Goldman?"

Oscar, pulled back to the duty at hand, looked up at the CIA agent patiently waiting to report. "Yes?"

The agent handed him seven red flagged folders. "All of these fall within the two year time frame, in order of hire date," the agent said.

"Did any stand out from the rest?" Oscar said, thumbing through the stack of files.

"Yes sir, fifth from the top."

Oscar counted down the pile; slightly annoyed they weren't in order of importance. He held his tongue, though, thankful for the help and that the CIA handles things differently from his organization.

Setting the other folders aside, Oscar opened the selected file and started reading. As he read through, the furrows on his brow deepened.

The agent stood patiently nearby, waiting for orders.

Oscar slammed the folder shut, looking up at the agent. "Dig as deep as you can. If you need strings pulled, I'll pull them. Move quickly. Time is our enemy."

The agent left the office quickly, dragging a couple of other agents with him.

Oscar reviewed the other folders, then handed them off to other agents for further investigation. He stood, stretching, not realizing how long it had been since he last moved. Standing at the window, he looked out over the Washington scenery. "Hold on Steve. We'll find you," Oscar said quietly to himself.

...Continued