CAPITOL CITY CHARLESTON



Special Forces Team 1A - Level One


Team Leader: 
	 Oz, Agent 448:  Ruth Adamson, 44, M.D. and  sociologist, former leader of Team 2A


Team Members:
	Basarian, Agent 239:  Paul Martin, 34 -- electronics and computer
expert,former MIT professor
	Banner, Agent 126:  Justice O'Leary, 33 --  strategist, former CIA 
undercover chief
	Odin, Agent 45:  Stanley Greenberg, 37 --  chemist, former FBI 
Physical Analysis Section Chief
	Windsor, Agent 339:  Victoria Wakefield, 30 -- psychologist, former
NSA 	analyst
	Athens, Agent 413:  William Gray, 28 -- self defense/weapons  expert,  
former Navy SEAL



	Chink.
	Chink.
	CLACKETY CLACKETY CLACK.
	The bus driver sighed and glanced at her wristwatch.
	Chink.
	Chink.
	CLACKETY CLACKETY CLACK.
	The bus driver watched idly as the coins deposited by her cargo tumbled 
head over tail from the hopper down into the farebox.  She sat back in the too-
wide seat and rested her elbows on the mammoth steering wheel.  Glancing in
her rear view mirror she eyed the usual assortment of urban riffraff that 
looked back at her every shift.  Finally the bus ahead began to pull away.  The 
driver closed the doors and steered away from the terminal.  The bus lumbered 
around the corner like a drugged grizzly.  The driverÕs eyes skittered around 
the scene ahead, her eyes flicking from place to place, her face grim and set.  
The bus barreled down the street; she silently drove her route through the 
heart of Washington as one by one her passengers departed.  Finally the bus 
was deserted as she left downtown.  She reached up to pluck the radio mike 
from its slot.  She tucked it under her chin, tuned in the appropriate frequency 
and spoke into it.
	ÒBanner to Basarian, come back.Ó  A male voice issued from the speaker 
after a brief pause.
	ÒBasarian here, report.Ó
	ÒNothing.   You?Ó
	ÒThe same.  WhatÕs your 20?Ó
	ÒComing up on 13th and N.  Yours?Ó
	ÒSitting at site one, where else.Ó
	"Anything interesting happening?"
	"Well, let's see.  The stoplight on the corner stays red for exactly 35 
seconds, 421 cars have passed by me since nine this morning and I've 
determined that I breathe an average of 13 times per minute.  Any questions?"
	ÒGeez, sorry I asked.Ó  The bus driverÕs eyes perked at the sight of a 
small mousy man waiting at the next corner.  ÒWait...target sighted, 13th and 
K, same as usual.  Gotta motor.Ó
	Ò10-4, Banner.  DonÕt get cocky.Ó
	ÒLook whoÕs talking.  Banner out.Ó


	The bus driver gratefully clambered out of the driverÕs seat at the end of 
her shift.  In the bathroom she doffed her bus driverÕs uniform to emerge and 
climb onto a parked motorcycle.  She tugged a helmet over her red hair and
revved the motor.  She drove to site three, at the corner of 29th and Q 
Streets in Georgetown.  She parked the Yamaha and picked up her CB mike, 
tucking the helmet under her arm like a spare head.  ÒBanner to base, come 
back.Ó
	ÒOz here, report.Ó
	ÒJust arrived at site three.Ó
	ÒOz to Basarian, copy that?Ó
	ÒCopy, copy, copy.   Can we stop with the Smokey and the Bandit CB 
speak?  You guys watch too many CHiPS reruns.Ó
	ÒI'd like to report, if it's not too much trouble, Basarian.Ó
	ÒAll right, I'm listening.Ó
	ÒMuch as I hate to admit it, you were right.  The pigeon reboarded the 
bus three times...IÕd guess he doesnÕt own a car or hasnÕt the gumption to face 
the Washington traffic.Ó
	ÒIntriguing.Ó
	ÒIndeed.  My suffering at the hands of the Metro bus system seems to 
have paid off.Ó
	ÒOh, whine, whine, whine.  ItÕll take a few days to establish a 
pattern...we might want to consider electronic surveillance but itÕll be up to 
you to grease the wheels, so to speak...copy this, Base?Ó
	ÒCopy that, Basarian.Ó
	ÒBanner, keep station and monitor site three for signs of activity from 
our other friend.  Are you sure you have a good surveillance of the site?  
Remember what happened at Heathrow last time.  You donÕt want to fall for the 
old ladiesÕ room trick again, do you?Ó
	ÒI assure you that the surveillance is adequate.Ó
	ÒBut youÕre sufficiently protected?Ó
	ÒDo you even need to ask, Basarian?  Banner out.Ó
	

	Paul tossed the mike onto the seat beside him.  At least Juss was making 
some progress.  HeÕd been sitting here at site one for six solid hours and 
hadnÕt seen a goddam thing.  He rubbed a hand over his face.  And this was 
where theyÕd hoped to get the most results.  He took out his map and a red 
grease pencil.  Juss is at site three and IÕm here at site one, Stan should be at 
site two.  To tell the truth, Paul was a little worried about him...Stan was well 
trained, as they all were, but site two was in a neighborhood that was at best 
a demilitarized zone.  He picked up the mike.
	ÒBasarian to Odin, come back.Ó
	ÒOdin responding.Ó
	ÒYou certainly are.  Location?Ó
	ÒSite two.Ó
	ÒYouÕre a brave man, I wouldnÕt be caught dead at site two.  Then again, 
maybe I would be caught dead."  Paul paused a second, hoping for a chuckle or 
at least a smart remark about the poor quality of his jokes.  Silence.  He sighed 
inwardly and spoke again.  "WhatÕs happening?Ó
	ÒVery little.Ó
	ÒWould you care to elaborate?Ó
	ÒWhy does it matter if I 'care' to elaborate or not?Ó
	ÒWhatever.  You were saying?Ó
	ÒI don't think I was saying anything.Ó
	ÒA thrilling conversationalist youÕre not, Odin.  Report.Ó
	ÒThe pigeon has not been here, nor has our friend.  At approximately 
9:21 a.m. an unidentified blond woman arrived, entered the building through 
the cellar entrance -- incidentally the only entrance -- and emerged five hours 
later.Ó
	ÒAnd?Ó
	ÒShe left.Ó
	ÒWell, who was she?  We were only expecting the pigeon or our friend.Ó
	ÒUnknown.Ó
	ÒUnknown?  I thought you knew everything.Ó
	ÒI donÕt.Ó
	ÒAnd you admit that?Ó
	ÒTo deny the facts would be illogical.Ó
	ÒYeah, live long and prosper.  Make a full report to Base immediately.  
Basarian out.Ó
	Paul drummed his fingers on the dashboard.  Blond woman?  What fresh 
hell is this?  I thought weÕd identified all the players.  Paul found himself with 
a sudden and extreme case of the heebie-jeebies.  Then again, these days just 
talking to Stan was enough to disquiet a person.  He and Stan had been close 
friends for more than seven years, then a year and a half ago during a 
assignment Stan had been thrown off the roof of a five story building by a 
particularly nasty double agent.  HeÕd been lucky enough to land in some bushes 
which had saved his life, but heÕd been in a coma for over two weeks.  Upon 
awakening, his memory and mental functions had recovered unimpaired within 
a month, but his personality still hadnÕt come all the way back.  His emotional 
state was suppressed, and as a result his cerebral functions had undergone 
what his neurologist called a "compensatory expansion," which seemed to be 
the only explanation the quack could come up with for Stan's odd behavior.
Paul didn't know if it was bullshit or if it wasn't, but regardless of the reason 
for it these days Stan was better than an encyclopedia.  Their friendship 
seemed to have evaporated and Paul hadnÕt seen Stan show any emotion in God 
knew how long.  Paul was jolted out of this reverie by the sound of an urgent 
voice he knew well.
	ÒBanner to all units, our friend has emerged.  He is in a silver Mercedes 
license number 437 EFB, heading out of town on Wisconsin Avenue towards the 
Naval Observatory and he seems to be trying to..."  Her voice cut off sharply, 
then they all heard her suck in her breath.  "Shit,Ó she hissed.
	Paul grabbed his mike.  ÒBanner, what is it?Ó
	ÒItÕs him, heÕs seen me.  Goddammit, I just wanted to tail him now I'll 
have to initiate pursuit.  He'll try and lose me first, though.Ó  Paul waited for 
more as he started the car but none came.  He pulled away from the corner, 
smiling sardonically to himself.  Their friend thought he could lose Juss in a 
car chase?  Pigs might fly.


	Juss hunched low over the handlebars of the Yamaha.  He sped up, so did 
she.  The speedometer crept up to 70...80...85...and still she could not catch 
him.  He was trying all the standard tricks to shake a tail but Juss was much
more adept at following than he was eluding, and factoring in the greater 
maneuverability of her cycle he didn't stand a chance.  She accelerated
further, knowing that local police would have been warned off the area and 
instructed to divert traffic.  She was up to 95 and they were almost into 
Maryland when suddenly a van rocketed out of a hidden side street and stopped 
directly in front of her.  Juss tried to swerve and her cycle went off the 
embankment, glancing off the vanÕs rear bumper.  Her cycle skidded onto the 
shoulder, teetered on the edge for a moment, then began to roll down the steep 
embankment.  Juss threw herself off to avoid being crushed and rolled to the 
bottom, her head thumping painfully on the rocky hillside.  She opened her eyes 
and saw the van speeding off after the Mercedes.  She tried to raise herself up 
on her elbows when suddenly a wave of dizziness swept over her and she 
collapsed back.  It seemed she floated back forever, and when she finally 
landed in the rough weeds it was as if into a bed of clouds.


	ÒBanner?  Banner!  Base, any response?Ó
	ÒNegative, Basarian.  All units proceed to last known location, repeat, all 
units to Massachusetts Avenue near the Maryland border.  Oz to Windsor, 
report.Ó
	ÒWindsor here, IÕm en route,  Base.Ó
	ÒKeep posted status, all units.Ó
	Paul gritted his teeth as he sped along Massachusetts.  Stan was already 
there when he arrived.
	ÒJesus," Paul whispered, eyeing the two sets of skidmarks.  
	Stan looked slightly puzzled.  "I can't be sure about these tracks, that's 
Athens' area of expertise, but since he's not here I shall fathom a guess.  
These tracks," he said, indicating the tracks made by the van, "were made by 
some vehicle, which seems to have come out here, stopped, and then left in a 
big hurry.  The others are undoubtedly Banner's cycle tracks..."  He trailed off 
as he and Paul followed the tracks to where they led over the embankment.  
They peered over the side and spotted Juss lying spread eagled at the bottom, 
her helmet still on her head.  Paul scrambled down the steep hillside to kneel by 
her, uncertain what to do next.  Stan came up next to him.
	"What should I do?  Should I try to move her?"  Juss stirred and made a 
small groaning noise.
	Stan shrugged.  "It would seem reasonable that if she can move her head 
like that her spine's probably okay, and unless we want to deal with the cops 
and paramedics we should try to get her out of here ourselves."  
	Paul needed no further encouragement.  He unstrapped her helmet and 
eased one arm beneath her shoulders, raising her as gently as he could.  Finally 
her eyes opened and she looked up at him, her eyes unfocused.  "That you, 
Paul?"
	"Yeah, it's me.  Can you move at all?  Anything broken?"
	"I don't think so...I can feel everything, there's no pain.  I'm just really 
dizzy."
	"Okay, let's get you out of this ditch.  Can you stand?  No, forget that, 
just hold on to me, okay?"
	Juss groggily raised her arms and Paul draped them around his neck, 
slipped his other arm beneath her knees and lifted her.  He carried her up the 
embankment and helped her into his car.  He picked up the mike.  "Basarian to 
Base, come back."
	"Oz here, report."
	"I've got her, we're heading in.  Basarian to Windsor, status."
	"Windsor.  I'm almost there."  As she said this Paul could hear the chop of 
the helicopter blades approaching.
	"Pick up Banner's cycle and bring it back with you."
	"10-4."
	"Oz to Basarian."
	"Go ahead."
	"Instruct Odin to proceed to Dulles and pick up Athens, his plane has just 
arrived."
	"Excellent timing, Oz!  No wonder they call you the Wizard."
	"Quit sucking up and get Banner back here, Basarian, she needs medical 
attention."
	"On our way."


	Juss opened her eyes to find herself lying on a couch at base.  She winced 
as Ruth applied hydrogen peroxide to a gash on her forearm.
	"Well, Oz, what's the prognosis?"
	"Excellent.  You didn't break anything, just got the wind knocked out of 
you, a few bumps and bruises.  Pretty lucky."
	Victoria stood at Juss's feet, eyeing her disapprovingly.   "I'm sure 
Basarian nearly killed himself getting there," she remarked sarcastically, "to 
save his dulcet darling."  Juss gave her a withering look.
	"If you thought he'd come running to your rescue, you'd go out there right 
now and throw yourself in front of a speeding truck!" she spat.  Victoria 
scowled, her sky-blue eyes darkening.  She whirled and left with a swish of 
blond hair.  Ruth bent over Juss's arm, tsk-ing scoldingly.
	"You shouldn't be so hard on Windsor, Juss, she's really very concerned."
	"M-hm, sure.  You just keep telling yourself that, Oz...maybe it'll come 
true," Juss retorted, a little more harshly than she had intended to.    Ruth sat 
back, looking a little hurt.  Ruth often chose to believe the gentle fiction that all
 her team members were terribly fond of each other.  Juss propped herself up 
on her elbows and put a hand on Ruth's shoulder.  "I hate to break this to you, 
Oz, but Vicky hates me, she's always hated me, she will always and forever 
hate me, world without end, amen.  I guess it's sort of become part of her 
identity, like her damn Hyannis Port accent or her nose."  Juss sat back, 
sighing.  "Vicky is so accustomed to having men fall at her feet, eyes glazed 
and checkbooks open, that she couldn't fathom why Paul should go for me and 
not her, that's a little half-baked analysis there.  After all, she's the great 
Windsor, Vassar Class of '81, which of course means very Upper-class of '81. 
 And who am I?  Some Irish broad from Queens, no one she's used to having as 
competition, I can guarantee you that...yet I somehow managed to win when I 
wasn't even supposed to make the qualifying heat, and she'll never forgive me 
for it."
	Ruth shook her head sadly.  "Juss, I can't believe that she'd still be angry 
about Paul, I mean it's been years!"
	"Oh, she'll be angry to her last breath, Oz.  That woman wrote the book 
on holding grudges."  Juss sighed and ran a hand through her long red hair.  
"Well she's welcome to him now...such as he is."
	"Juss!  I thought you and Paul were...well, that you were..."
	Juss frowned.  "Where have you been?  Sorry, Ruth, the showÕs been 
canceled due to poor ratings and dismal reviews."
	"How can you say that?  You've known him forever!  Paul's a good guy...I 
don't know anyone who doesn't like him  And that's not even to mention how he 
still feels about you.  I don't think any amount of hostility from you will change 
that."  She got up and started to leave, the bottle of hydrogen peroxide in her 
hand, then turned back at the door.  "Juss, I don't know exactly who you think 
you're fooling...certainly no one around here, except maybe you.  We lie best 
when we lie to ourselves, you know."  She left.  
	Juss sighed again and closed her eyes.  She thought of Paul, and how long 
she could keep up this charade of hating him.  She thought of Vicky and how her 
hatred of her was definitely not a charade.  At a small noise she opened her 
eyes to see Paul sitting in a chair next to the sofa.  She felt glad to see him in 
spite of herself.  He smiled down at her.  She remembered that she was 
supposed to hate him.  Oh hell, she thought, and smiled back.
	"How are you doing, Easy Rider?"
	"I'm okay.  Little sore.  Is my cycle salvageable?"
	"No worries, Athens is working on it right now."
	"Oh, he's here?  I didn't get a chance to say hello."
	"You will.  We're definitely going to need you at his briefing.  Remember 
he's been in the Middle East for five months so he's a little out of the loop."  
Paul's expression turned concerned as he eyed the bruises on her neck.
	"Whiplash," she explained.
	"Oh.  I thought maybe Windsor had been at you."
	Juss laughed.  "Well, she probably would have been, but Oz was here too, 
so I guess she'll have to wait to make good on her long-standing death threat.  
She couldn't resist a few smart remarks, though."
	"I imagine they concerned me."
	"Some," Juss said, withdrawing her hand, slightly annoyed at his conceit.  	Paul sat back, seemingly oblivious.  "That woman never ceases to amaze 
me.  You'd think all that vitriol would be a drain on a person's energy 
resources but she seems to thrive on it, doesn't she?"  He chuckled, then 
sobered.  "She didn't rip into you again, did she?  I mean, you need to take it 
easy for a day or so...you don't need her giving you all kinds of grief right 
now."
	Juss cocked an eyebrow.  "Paul, I can handle Vicky.  God knows I'm used 
to it."
	He shook his head, brow furrowed.  "You shouldn't have to be used to it.  I 
don't care what happened in the past, you don't deserve this constant hostility 
from her."
	She smiled, mollified by his concern.  "It's okay, really.  If everyone 
were nice to each other, think how boring the world would be."
	Paul nodded, grinning.  He cleared his throat.  "Well, it sure seems as if 
you've been trying to make sure my world isn't boring lately," he said mock-
casually, looking at her guardedly out of the corner of his eye.
	Juss looked at him, not fooled.  "Paul....just donÕt go there, okay?  
ThereÕs nothing to say."
	He looked at her for a moment, seemed on the verge of further comment, 
then nodded and stood.  "See you at the briefing," he said as he left the room, 
leaving Juss alone with her troubled thoughts.


	The six team members sat around the table at Base.  William sat to Ruth's 
right, a tall muscular man with dark hair and a neat beard.
	"All right, Athens, pay attention, things get complicated fast.  Banner?"
	Juss stood and moved over to the wall upon which was stuck a map of the 
city, all marked up with red grease pencil.  "We are monitoring two targets.  
The first, we've taken to calling him the pigeon, is a files clerk at the State 
Department.  The other one is an very dear old friend of ours."
	"A very expensive and dangerous international assassin of our frequent 
acquaintance," Paul added.
	William looked up from the file on the table in front of him.  "Not Chasser!"
	"It always seems to come down to that, doesn't it?  I'm afraid it is 
Chasser, Athens.  And so far, we aren't doing too well with specifics.  We do 
believe they're working together.  The files clerk is being bribed, we don't 
know by whom.  He is copying information from the State Department files and 
delivering it to Chasser.  From there, it could go anywhere."
	"For what purpose?"  William asked.
	"Well, Chasser is known to have connections in dozens of terrorist 
groups.  It's possible that the information is being sold to them."
	"What sort of information?"
	Stan spoke up.  "Nothing terribly vital.  Things like possible proposals for 
the remodeling of government buildings, the comings and goings of minor 
officials, even modifications in mass transit systems and city planning 
agendas."
	"How do you know all this?"
	"Our State Department plants are keeping an eye on him for us."
	"You said the State Department..."
	"Yes," Ruth spoke up.  "All the information concerns Israeli state affairs."
	"That would seem to suggest that the terrorist groups are associated 
with Israeli-hostile countries, even the PLO."
	"Very good.  Now you see why we recalled you?" asked Paul.
	"You mean it wasn't because you missed my rapier wit and my infectious 
personality?"
	"Well, that too, but also your extensive lexicon of Middle Eastern 
intelligence connections."
	"Israel, huh?  Then the clerk must be receiving his payoffs from the 
terrorist groups," William said.
	"Perhaps."
	"Why would they want that kind of information?"
	Stan answered, his eyes on the file he was leafing through.  "The 
information I mentioned is not public domain, but nor is it top secret.  It is just 
loosely enough handled for the clerk to snatch it, make copies, and replace it 
before it's missed.  This also enables our plants to keep track of his activity 
without his knowledge.  While not high security stuff, this data would be useful 
in certain circumstances.  A group of terrorists trying to break into a building
would have difficulties if their plans were outdated."  William nodded sagely, 
stroking his beard.
	Paul rubbed his hands together.  "Stan's been watching the alleged 
information exchange point, identified mainly by surveillance on the pigeon, but 
in three days he's seen nothing except today an unidentified blond woman who 
appeared and then left.  She's the new variable in the equation and it threw us 
for a bit of a loop.  We thought we'd accounted for everything, then she shows 
up."
	"She could be a link between this clerk...what the hell's his name 
anyway?"
	"Koenig.  Hans Koenig."
	"Right.  She could be a link between Koenig and Chasser."
	"A distinct possibility.  She could also be delivering payoffs, 
instructions, or both.  The thought of her as go-between occurred to us; 
perhaps she had the wrong day today."
	"Where exactly does Chasser fit into all this?  Why don't the as-of-yet 
anonymous terrorists deal with Koenig directly?"
	"We're not sure why Chasser is involving himself with small time stuff 
like this, and frankly, it's the only reason that the higher-ups assigned us, 
their only available level one team, to this piddly little clerk with his piddly 
little paper trail.  It's bothered me all along," replied Victoria.  "This leads me 
to believe that there's more going on here than one might at first think.  Right 
now we're still in the barest preliminaries, but once the background is in place 
and the real digging begins, I have a hunch that things will develop fast.  
Chasser is flamboyant in his way, arrogant, and totally secure in the belief 
that he is invincible, a belief that's not entirely unfounded...witness how much 
success we six highly trained operatives have had in detaining him."  Sardonic 
chuckles from all around the table.  "He usually does high visibility stuff.  The 
public doesn't know he exists, but lift the curtains and there he lurks, always 
in the picture...I bet not an insignificant number of high government officials 
lose sleep every night wondering if they'll be his next target.  Some believe 
he's been behind many of the most famous and consequential assassinations in 
history.  I've been suspicious ever since I learned of his involvement."
	Juss returned to her seat.  "I've been driving the bus route that Koenig 
rides trying to get a handle on his routine, and we'll be using our State 
Department plants as per usual to keep tabs on him there."
	"We're proceeding on the not necessarily correct assumption that Koenig 
is a blind contact, that he does not know who it is who's paying him off or
where his information goes," Paul said.  "That's standard with small time 
espionage like this.  All he knows is that he's making a fast, easy buck.  With us 
so far?"
	William grinned.  "You bet your life."
	"Say the secret word and win a hundred dollars.  Anyway, we've been 
monitoring several key sites in the area," Paul continued, moving to the map.  
 "I've been monitoring site one, the corner of 23rd and C streets which looks 
right into the rear entrance to the State Department building.  We thought we 
could spot Koenig leaving when he thought no one was looking but so far zilch."
	"He could be using the tunnels," William interjected.
	"Nope.  No clearance, we checked.  Odin's been watching site two, here 
near New York avenue, which is the information exchange point."
	"Dangerous neighborhood."
	"That's an understatement, Athens," Victoria remarked.  "I was 
disappointed in Chasser's choice of locale.  He usually falls back on reverse 
logic and chooses a more central location as his base of operations, knowing 
full well that conventional investigative wisdom mandates that someone with 
something to hide will get as far away as possible from those he wishes to hide 
from.  They always look in obscure places, so he hides in obvious places.  You'd 
be surprised how well it works, but we know his techniques.  He didn't do that 
this time, which sets off the klaxons in my head for sure...something's up."
	Paul nodded.  "Anyway, site three is just Chasser's residence in 
Georgetown...that's just standard procedure, we really don't hope to learn 
anything from it, he's too careful...although I have to give Banner credit for 
sacrificing her body in the attempt," he said, winking at Juss, who only rolled 
her eyes.  He blew air through his teeth and looked around the table.  "I guess 
that about sums it up.  You're up to date."
	William pursed his lips and nodded.  "So, what's the next step?"
	Juss tossed a copy of the complete file over to him.  "Do your homework. 
 In a few hours you and Basarian get to take a little road trip over to site two 
and poke around.  What you find there will figure largely in determining the 
next step."


	Paul drove silently down New York Avenue.  William lounged in the 
passenger seat, glancing over at him surrepetitiously.  
	"Penny for your thoughts," he said.
	Paul snorted.  "I'm not that easily bought."
	"Ha.  I remember a time in the not so distant past when you would've sold 
your soul for a plug nickel."
	Silence.
	"Well, you've brought me up to date on the official business, so now how 
about the unofficial business?"
	Paul checked his mirrors and changed lanes.  "What do you mean?" he 
asked levelly.
	"What do you mean, 'what do you mean?'  You know!  What's going on with
 Banner?  She didn't catch you with another cocktail waitress, did she?"
	Paul glanced at him.  "Come on, that was five years ago."  He sighed 
deeply.  "I don't know, William.  I don't know what happened...this time, that is. 
 All I can say is that she's doing her damnedest to make sure everyone knows 
exactly how much she hates me, which makes me suspect that it's all a putup.  
If it were real she'd keep it to herself."
	William looked at him intently.  "So did you end it?  Or was it her?"
	"That's not the point."
	"The hell it's not.  Don't tell me fish stories, I know you too well."
	Pause.  "You know it wasn't me, William."  He seemed lost in thought for 
a moment.  "You left for the Mideast five months ago, and everything seemed 
okay.  Then suddenly, it wasn't okay.  She said she was tired of being on this 
roller coaster with me and that she was getting off before she lost her mind.  I 
believed her, and I told her that I didn't want to lose her but if she really 
wanted out, there probably wasn't a whole lot I could do about it, but that if 
she changed her mind I'd still be here.  She seemed fine and satisfied that she'd 
done the right thing even though I was worse than miserable.  Then I had a 
visitor about a month ago while Juss was on vacation.  It was her sister 
Africa."
	"Which one is she, the accountant?"
	"No, that's Delancey.  Africa's the oil line worker in Alaska.  She came 
into my office one day and demanded to know what I'd done to her sister.  I was 
confused.  Africa told me that Juss has come to visit her for a few days before 
moving on to Ontario where she was planning to vacation and that she'd been 
miserable and downcast the whole time, and she told Africa that it was 
because of a certain co-worker with whom she'd had a very complicated 
relationship with in the past."
	"You."
	"Very good.  Now this was of course all news to me, and I told Africa 
exactly what had been going on, and she just sort of chuckled and said that that 
was just like Juss to be too scared to stay in a relationship, blame it on the 
man, act like everything was fine and dandy and then be miserable."
	"So what did you do?"
	"Nothing.  And as much as it kills me to know she's unhappy, that's what I 
plan to keep on doing, William.  Nothing.  She wanted out for a reason, and I 
think it was because she needs some time and space to figure things out and I 
guess I do too.  We have been on a roller coaster ride together for about eight 
years and I think we're both sick of it.  A year on, six months off, two years 
on, three years off, six weeks on...it gets a little old.  If we get back together, 
we get back together...but it'll have to be when we both decide at the same 
time that we want to."
	"So let me see if I'm hearing what I think I'm hearing:  You both 
desperately want to be together, but you've both got it into your heads that the 
other one doesn't want to get back together and you've both got this crazy 
notion that you need 'time and space' and you need to 'figure things out' and so 
rather than be together and be happy you'll be apart and be miserable.  Do I 
have it right?"
	"That about sums it up, yeah." 
	William threw his hands up in frustration and picked up the radio mike as 
Paul pulled up to a corner about two blocks from site two.  "Athens to Base, 
come back."
	"Base, report."
	"We're here, Oz.  How's the weather look?"
	"Odin says the weather looks free and clear from this end.  Site two is 
emissions quiet.  Proceed."
	"Copy that, Base.  Over and out."  William and Paul got out of the van and 
walked casually over to the condemned brick building that was site two, not 
calling attention to themselves in any way, even though they both kept their
right hands free.  They slipped into the alley behind the building and knelt 
beside the bulkhead doors to the cellar.  Paul shone a red hooded flashlight at 
the new Yale padlock on the doors.  He glanced at William.  "Can you do it?"
	William looked at him, surprised.  "You're kidding, right?"  He took the 
padlock in his hand and produced a tool resembling a bolt cutter from his hip 
pocket.  A few seconds later the padlock lay in his hand, the hasp split neatly in 
two.  "Walk in the park.  They sure didn't take much care with the padlock.  
Was there a frontal alarm system?
	"Yeah, a good one.  Chasser's used it before.  It's usually sufficient to 
deter your average spy but no match for Basarian the Great.  I took care of it 
before we came over."  He thought for a moment.  "You know, I've been 
thinking about what Windsor said about Chasser's methods and the reverse 
logic thing?  Maybe he doesn't know about this place, that would explain it.
The blond woman could be his middleman to Koenig...Chasser might not have 
ever even been here."
	"But you said that the alarm system was one he'd used before."
	"Geez, William, anyone could know that.  He might have even told them 
what kind to use.  At any rate we can't be positive so it's best to be on the safe 
side.  Chasser always employs three outer alarm systems on buildings and this 
padlock hardly qualifies as one of them so worst case scenario we've got two 
more hurdles to jump."  He put out the flashlight and pulled out a pair of 
infrared glasses.
	"Don't I get a pair?"
	"We only have one, stupid."
	"I'm not even going to think about all the money that Congress isn't giving 
us."  Paul put a hand on William's arm.
	"Okay, we've got laser motion triggers over this here door, Athens.  The 
detectors are hidden in those two bricks, see they stick out a little?  We won't 
be able to open these doors."
	"Well, at least not upward.  Gimme that screwdriver."  William carefully 
knocked the pins out of the hinges.  "How much room between these door and 
the trigger?"
	"Not more than three inches."
	William eased the unhinged door upward just a crack.  "Check underneath."
	Paul put his eyes to the crack and peered through.  "Clear."
	"Beautiful."  William pushed the door downward into the stairwell and 
lifted it out.  After he did the same with the other door he and Paul climbed into
 the stairwell, William bearing the flashlight, Paul in the goggles.  They came 
to the door at the bottom.  "Funny.  No lock."
	"That doesn't mean anything.  The best locks are the kind you can't see."  
Paul examined the door, the hinges, and the knob.  "Looks clean...guess we 
chance it."  He grasped the knob and opened the door.  "Whoa."
	"What?  Empty room, big deal."
	"Empty, yeah, just like there was no alarm on those bulkhead doors."
	William sighed.  "How bad?Ó
	"Bad.  Looks like four separate beams, reflected all over the room."
	"Well there's no way we're getting out of this one with the same old cute 
little tricks like the one I pulled with the bulkhead door."
	"Come on, William, have a little faith!  You've been gone awhile and I have
 all new cute little tricks.  Go take the rearview mirrors off the van."
	"Why, you wanna check your blind spot?"
	"Will you just do it?"
	"All right, all right."
	William returned a few minutes later and handed Paul the mirrors.
	"Thanks, this oughta do the trick."
	"Whatever you're gonna do, I'm just glad I didn't get arrested for stealing 
the mirrors off my own van."
	"The whole principle of laser motion alarms is that when someone moves 
in the room they interrupt the beam, but the triggers aren't able to detect 
changes in the length of the beam, so if we use these mirrors to reflect the
beams from the triggers back against the wall, the beam isn't broken and the 
room is cleared for superspies Athens and Basarian."
	"But...we only have two mirrors."
	"That'll be enough.  If I pick the right two beams to reflect, it'll clear the 
room enough for us to make our way across."  He looked around the room and
finally fixed his attention on the detector on the wall to his right, closest to 
them.  "Looks like this is one of the two cause it's the only one I can get to 
right now."  He moved carefully over to the detector.
	William watched him, standing prudently in the doorway.  "Boy, I am 
really wishing for a pair of them goggles right now."
	"Don't worry, you can just follow me across.  Of course you'll have to 
mimic my movements precisely."
	"I can play Follow the Leader as well as the next guy, Paul."
	"Hey, do me a favor and get in that duffel bag...there's a wad of silly 
putty like stuff in there.  I need some."
	William rooted around till he found it.  "This stuff is disgusting, what is 
it?"
	"It's like tofutti, only better, all right?  Just hand it to me!  If you extend 
your arm straight out from your shoulder and put it in my hand you're clear."  
William did as Paul told him.  Whatever the identity of PaulÕs unknown 
substance it held the disembodied rear view mirror to the wall at the angle 
Paul wanted it with no problem.  Paul took the other mirror and more sticky 
stuff and did the same, after careful consideration, to a detector on the far 
wall. 
	"Well, that's much better.  This shouldn't be a problem."  He made his 
way over to the doorway where he stood directly in front of William.  "Okay, 
here I go.  Now follow me and do exactly what I do.  Keep the duffel clutched in 
tight to your chest."  The two of them began making their way carefully across 
the room.  "So I guess this is it...three alarm systems and we've hit them all."
	William slowly planted his foot on the concrete floor.  "I wish I had such a 
positive outlook.  What if there's another entrance to this place?  Like maybe 
the front door?  Then he'd want to secure the upper floors too."
	"Negative, the other entrances are bricked up.  The cellar doors are the 
only way in or out....and if there's one thing I learned as a professor it's to be 
positive, especially when you don't know what you're talking about."
	"That's very confidence-inspiring, thank you.  Say, why did you bring 
that sticky stuff, anyway?  What other convenient little plot contrivances 
have you got in here?"
	"William, you were obviously never a Boy Scout.  Besides, you'd be 
surprised how useful that sticky stuff is."
	"So you thought to bring the sticky stuff but didn't think to bring your 
own damn mirrors."
	"Will you get off my back?  Your precious mirrors are replaceable, we're 
not."
	"All right, point taken."  William let his breath out in a rush as he made it 
to the bottom step of the stairs.  He and Paul crept stealthily up the stairs, 
guns drawn.  The door at the top was closed.  Paul shouldered it open slowly.
The two agents found themselves in the kitchen of the ratty old house, and all 
was silent and seemed deserted.  Paul motioned with his head for William to
search the upstairs and he'd take the downstairs.


	"So we searched the entire house and found nothing."  Juss slammed her 
hand down on the conference table, frustrated.
	"Nothing!  Are you telling me we've been watching an elaborate decoy?"
	"Will you let me finish?  At first glance it didn't seem like there was 
anything of interest, but I found it extremely unlikely that such trouble would 
have been taken to safeguard the premises if there weren't something there to 
safeguard."
	William jumped in.   "I went back down to the cellar, which had only the 
two entrances, one to the outside and one to the kitchen, and it seemed that it 
was a lot smaller than the first floor of the house, which suggested that there
might be a hidden entrance to another part of the cellar."
	"So we examined the first floor more carefully and located a very 
cleverly hidden trapdoor which led to a basement chamber, in which there was 
only a table, a chair, and a filing cabinet."
	Juss sighed and looked relieved.  Ruth pursed her lips.  "Filing cabinet?  
What for?"
	Paul cleared his throat.  "Now is when it starts getting weird, because 
the cabinet itself was empty.  I was stumped until William suggested that 
maybe the cabinet was there not to put things into but to cover things up...and 
lo and behold we uncovered an underground safe underneath the cabinet.  
Naturally, Willy the Wonder Worm took it upon himself to break into it.Ó
	"And it wasn't easy, either."
	"Yeah.  Well, there were about a dozen documents in it, we of course took 
the liberty of making unauthorized copies," he finished, waving a portable 
scanner.  Stan grabbed it and plugged it into the computer, which obligingly 
ejected the documents into his hands.  He spread them on the conference table 
and twelve eyes peered intently down at them, and one by one six brows 
furrowed in puzzlement.  Victoria broke the silence.
	"If memory serves, those are the very documents that our people 
reported that Koenig had lifted."
	Juss frowned.  "What are they doing locked in an underground safe?"
	Victoria tented her fingers under her chin and thought a moment.  "Well, 
two possibilities present themselves.  Either Koenig or Chasser is hiding them 
there.  These documents are obviously copies, as our plants reported that the 
originals had been returned.  Regardless of who is hiding them there, it's 
reasonable to assume that they are hiding them from the other one, in which 
case I'd hypothesize that it's Koenig, seeing as Chasser has much better places 
to hide documents.  Okay, so let's say it's Koenig.  Why would he do this?  
Obviously to protect himself, which definitely means he's not a blind 
contact...any good files clerk will tell you to always keep a backup.  It seems 
stupid that he would leave them there rather than take them home, but that's 
consistent with what we know of him...someone new to the espionage game 
would instinctually keep such incriminating evidence as far from himself as
possible.  It's also likely that Koenig doesn't know about Chasser, hence the 
blond woman's function as a go-between.  That would suit Chasser just fine, 
he'd rather be anonymous."
	Ruth sighed.  "Listen, people, this is all purely speculative.  All we really 
know for sure is that Koenig is lifting State Department files and someone is 
hiding those files in a slummy building on the east side.  Somewhere in there fit 
a blond woman and Chasser."
	William leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling  "'Angels and 
ministers of grace, defend us,'" he mused.
	"Hamlet, Act I, scene 4," Stan muttered.
	Paul stood.  "I think it's time we got some answers."


	"Oz to Odin."
	"Odin."
	"Any contact with Goldilocks?"
	"Negative, base, she hasn't shown up yet."
	"She's off the schedule."
	"I know, I know."
	"Speculate."
	"What on?  She's not here, what do you want me to say?"
	"10-4, Odin.  Over and out."
	Stan replaced the mike with a sigh.  He'd heard the frustration in Ruth's 
voice and felt it himself.  He'd been watching this damn building for two weeks 
and they'd thought they'd had the pattern locked down.  Every third day 
between nine and ten in the morning the woman they were calling Goldilocks 
entered the building.  Shortly thereafter Chasser showed up, always of a 
different description but easily recognizable to Stan whose team had been 
chasing him for years.  Chasser always left before Koenig showed up, which 
was usually around noon.  No later than three Chasser appeared again and only 
stayed inside for a few minutes before reappearing.  Shortly after that 
Goldilocks left.  According to the pattern they should have been here 
yesterday, but no one had showed...it was drawing near to the usual arrival 
time but Stan was unsure if they'd just skipped a day or what.  Sighing again, 
Stan raised his binoculars just in time to see Goldilocks' car pull up to the curb 
next to the building.  He reached for the radio.
	"Odin to base, target sighted."
	"10-4, Odin.  Proceed as planned."
	"Copy that, base."  Stan switched on the audio equipment with which Paul 
had rigged the basement chamber and listened with one ear while he watched 
the building.  Usual sounds, the woman entering the room through the trapdoor, 
sitting down, humming tremulously to herself, etc.  With each passing day Stan 
was more and more sure that this woman was no spy.  She seemed nervous and 
high strung, she moved with the staccato walk of someone who believes in 
their heart of hearts that they're going to meet with a fate worse than death at 
any moment; she also exhibited none of the cautionary behaviors that a 
professional would have, like the use of simple disguises, arriving from a 
different direction with each visit and simple visual reconnaissance of the area.
	Half an hour later Chasser showed up.  Sound of the trapdoor opening, 
Chasser's feet landing on the floor and the trapdoor closing.  Footsteps.  
Chasser's voice.  
	"Here's the money, and the instructions."  There was a pause, and then 
suddenly the woman spoke, which she never had before.  Stan lowered the 
binoculars and gave his full attention to the audio, popping in a cassette to
record it.  
	"Uh, Mr...um..."  She cleared her throat.  "I'm afraid I don't know your 
name."  
	Chasser snorted laughter.  "I'd hardly expect you to, miss."  Pause.  "I 
suppose it doesn't matter if I tell you."  Stan's jaw tightened.  This woman's 
days were numbered.  "I am called Chasser.  Pleased to meet you."
	"You mean...the Chasser?"
	"I see my reputation precedes me.  It usually does."
	"The...um...assassin?"
	"Now, I think that's a little harsh, isn't it?"  Pause.  "You had something 
to ask me?"
	"Yes..I, uh..."  The woman stammered a bit, clearly shaken by the 
knowledge of Chasser's identity.  "I've been doing this for weeks, sir, and I 
wonder what exactly it is that I'm doing...what it is that is being exchanged
here?"
	Long pause.
	"I'm just...curious."
	"M-hm.  I hardly think it's in your best interests to be asking questions 
about things that do not concern you and are really none of your business, do
you?  You have your instructions.  Do as you're told and no harm will come to 
you.  Ignorance is the wisest state of mind for you to have, miss...and the one 
that will insure your safety most effectively."  There was another pause in 
which Stan could hear the woman's breathing, she was agitated.  Stan felt for 
her...she was obviously intelligent.  And to ask what was being delivered?  She 
had balls, too.  "You may have already asked too many questions, miss.  Be 
careful that you don't become more trouble than you're worth."  Sounds of 
Chasser leaving the room.  He heard the woman sit down hard and compose 
herself.  Better and better...he'd definitely better nab her tonight, while she 
was scared.  The rest of the exchanges went without incident, and no one spoke
 for the rest of the day.  After Chasser left the second time, Stan slipped into 
the alley and waited among the shadows for the woman to emerge.  After a few
minutes, she did.  As she straightened up after relocking the bulkhead doors, 
Stan stepped up behind her, wrapped one arm across her chest and placed his
other hand over her mouth.  She sucked in breath and went rigid.  Stan hissed 
into her ear urgently.
	"Do not scream, you are in no danger, I will not harm you.  Understand?  I 
am here to help.  I'm going to let go of you to show you my identification, you 
must stay quiet."  The woman, still rigid, considered for a moment and then 
nodded, agreeing.  He let go and she turned apprehensively to face him, her 
face cautious.  Stan showed her his badge.  "I'm a federal agent.  Come with me 
please."  He took her elbow firmly and walked her purposefully but unhurriedly 
to his car in the abandoned warehouse kitty corner from site two.  He bundled 
her into the car and then got in himself, picking up the radio.  "Odin to Base, 
come back."
	"Oz here."
	"I've landed the target, requesting continued surveillance of site two."
	"Windsor is en route to your position now.  When she arrives return to 
base immediately."
	"10-4, over and out."
	Stan replaced the microphone and turned to face the woman.  "Ma'am, 
you're in grave danger.  You've seen Chasser face to face and you know of his 
activities recently, and he told you who he was...I don't mean to frighten you, 
but his only recourse will be to eliminate you."
	The woman nodded.  "I admit I had a feeling about that."  She was 
maintaining her composure admirably but the lines around her eyes had
deepened.  "I'm really scared, to be perfectly honest, Mr...Odin, was it?"
	"Well, that's my codename.  My name is Stan Greenberg."
	She looked at him, amazed.  "Who were those others?"
	"Oz, she's our team leader, and Windsor, who's another member of my 
team."
	"Your team?  Are you FBI or CIA or something?"
	"Neither."  Stan sighed and told her, she'd find out eventually anyway.  
"I'm one of six members of a counterintelligence team recruited from within 
the Army's Special Forces division."
	"So you're a soldier."
	"No.  All of us were once Special Forces, although only Oz came directly 
to this assignment, the rest of us all had other jobs before we got tapped for 
this one...I was FBI, Banner was CIA, Basarian was a professor, Athens 
crossed over and was a Navy SEAL for a while and Windsor worked for the 
NSA.  The team members are selected from military personnel, but once the 
teams are formed they no longer fall under military jurisdiction.  Actually, we 
don't officially exist, we appear nowhere in the bureaucracy and there are no 
official records of our actions.  In fact, in all official records we still hold the 
jobs that we did when we were selected for this work."
	"Are you telling me that I've just been kidnapped by super secret super 
spies?"
	"I guess that's one way to put it, though 'super secret super spies' is 
probably not the most official appellation you could have chosen," Stan 
answered, smiling.
	"So if something bad happens, will the Secretary disavow any knowledge 
of your actions?"
	Stan was surprised into brief laughter.  "Well...yes, I suppose so."
	The woman tried on a tentative smile and put out her hand.  "I'm Terri 
Langley, Mr. Greenberg."
	"Nice to meet you, Terri.  Please call me Stan."  He considered for a 
moment.  "You certainly seem to trust me after such a short acquaintance."
	"Do I have a choice?  You tell me that my life is in danger and that you're 
the only person who can save me.  Unlike you, suspicion is not an occupational
hazard so I'm inclined to trust you.  Besides...you just seem trustworthy."  
She smiled slightly.  ÒAnd you donÕt look like a villain.Ó
	Stan raised one eyebrow.  ÒReally?  What do I look like?Ó
	ÒYou look like Matt Frewer.  Remember Max Headroom?Ó
	He stared at her, amazed.  ÒYou know, I get that all the time, and IÕm 
never sure quite how to take it.Ó  At that moment Vicky pulled into the 
warehouse and parked beside Stan's car.  She and Stan nodded at each other 
and Stan drove off towards Base.  Terri craned her neck to look back at Vicky.
	"Was that Windsor?"
	"Yes."
	"She looks like a model.  I wouldn't have expected a spy to look that good."
	"Is there some correlation between personal beauty and agent
effectiveness of which I am unaware?" Stan inquired.  Terri laughed.
	"I'm sure she's very good at her job."
	"Yes, she is.  She has to be."
	"What do you mean?"
	"Well, more teams exist than just ours.  We are the only currently 
operational level one team...the levels go on down to seven."
	"I see.  So your team is the best."
	"Yes, I suppose so."
	"I find this all fascinating, Stan.  It's like what you read about in Robert 
Ludlum novels."
	"Don't believe everything you read.  The real life of an intelligence agent 
is quite dull most of the time.  Endless paperwork, boring stakeouts that last 
for weeks, digging through library files, that kind of thing."
	"So you don't spend all your time in car chases and firefights?" she asked 
semi-sarcastically.
	"Not by any stretch of the imagination, although Banner was involved in a 
car chase just a few weeks ago.Ó
	ÒHow exciting!Ó
	Stan sobered.  ÒMaybe on TV, but in reality thatÕs hardly the primary 
concern.   She was nearly killed in that chase, which ended up giving us nothing 
we could use.Ó
	Terri was silent for a few moments.  She seemed chastised, which had 
not been StanÕs intention.  He glanced over at her.  The sun had set and her face 
was illuminated only by the dashboard lights and by the passing streetlights, 
but he could see that she was pretty...Stan pulled back into himself for a 
He smiled slightly.  Yes, he had...and she was also intelligent and 
forthright...Stan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and hummed to 
himself, suddenly uneasy with the knowledge that he actually liked this woman.


	Terri was seated on a couch at Base next to Stan.  In front of her were 
two people, a woman Stan had called Juss who was sitting backwards on a 
wooden chair, and standing next to her another man who hadn't yet spoken a 
word.  The woman was striking, making Terri, whoÕd always considered
herself attractive, feel like an old shoe.  She had long thick red hair and a 
gorgeous complexion...but there was something disquieting about her.  Maybe it 
was the way sheÕd walked around the room, striding purposefully even when 
she had nowhere to go, or the way her eyes flicked from here to there, 
missing nothing...or when they stared at you, their brilliant green irises boring 
straight through you and you could feel their attention like a tickling sensation 
on the inside of your skull.  She was sitting still but she seemed to be always in 
motion...as if she were jumping around inside her skin where you couldnÕt quite
 see it.  She made Terri nervous...as if sheÕd like nothing better than to just go 
out on the street and start spraying bullets around with the mean-looking
Beretta automatic strapped to her hip.  On the other hand, Terri got no such 
distressing vibes from the man, who stood placidly next to the woman, his 
arms folded, his face thoughtful.  He was about five foot eleven with sandy 
hair of the type that was always flying away.  His features were pleasant and 
honest-looking, with bright, intelligent eyes under sleepy eyelids and a half-
smile always lurking around the corners of his mouth.  He looked like nothing 
more than a grad student TA, the kind everyone wished they had, and he 
seemed to exude calmness and stability...Terri found herself addressing her 
remarks to him.  Seated at a table a few feet away were two as-of-yet 
unidentified people, one a tall muscular man with a neatly trimmed beard and 
mustache and an older woman with curly black hair shot through with gray.
	"Okay, Terri," Juss began.  "I know this is all a little disconcerting but 
we're the good guys, to coin a phrase, and we can protect you from Chasser."
	Terri shivered inwardly.  "Somehow I don't think any protection would be 
adequate if he really wanted to get to me."
	Juss nodded, conceding the point.  "Under normal circumstances that 
would be true.  We've known many adversaries in both our individual and team 
endeavors, but this one a long time have we watched.  We know him, better 
than anyone.  When it comes to Chasser everybody's dancing madly on the head 
of a pin anyway, but the six of us are, shall I say, the least clueless.  When 
we're on our guard, he's not going to get past us.  But all this depends on you 
telling us what you know.  How did you get involved in all this?"
	Terri glanced from Juss to Stan, then cleared her throat and spoke.  
"Well, I'm a receptionist.  One day my boss came to me and told me that he had 
a special job for me.  Every third day I was to go to..."
	"Just a second," the man interrupted.  "Your boss told you?  Where do 
you work?"
	"Um...I work on Embassy Row for the ambassador..."
	Juss cut her off, her eyes narrowed.  "Let me guess.  Israel."
	Terri nodded, surprised.  "That's right.  How do you know that?"  She 
looked up at them, concerned.  The man was pinching the bridge of his nose as 
if he had the beginnings of a headache and Juss looked positively infuriated.  
She stood and began pacing again, swearing.  The gray-haired woman and the 
bearded man came over to see what was up.  The woman spoke.
	"Something to report, Paul?"  Paul looked at her and gave a pained smile.
	"We just learned that this whole scam was engineered by the Israeli 
ambassador."
	Her expression seemed frozen in place.  "How interesting," she said 
through clenched teeth.  The tall man was just nodding, his lips pursed in a 
chagrined expression.
	"Will someone please explain this to me?  I always hate being the last to 
know, don't you?" Terri interjected.  Stan glanced around at the others, who 
appeared to still be processing.
	"This new information throws an entirely new spin on our situation, 
Terri.  We originally suspected that the information you've been facilitating is 
going from the State Department's Israeli Affairs Division to Koenig to Chasser 
to any one of a number of Middle Eastern terrorist groups with which he is 
associated.  In the past few weeks we've traced the information to a relatively 
young group of radical PLO upstarts...the lunatic fringe, you might say.  If your
 ambassador is passing information about his own country to the PLO, that 
makes this a little more complicated."
	Terri shook her head.  "That makes no sense.  The ambassador would 
never betray his country in that way, he's very loyal."
	"Maybe he's just a real good actor," William offered sardonically.  "Not 
everyone is what they seem."
	Juss bit her lip thoughtfully.  "I think we're making this harder than it 
actually is.  Consider:  The ambassador of Israel wants to betray his own 
country by aiding the PLO.  Fine.  So he bribes some glorified Xerox jockey to 
lift obscure documents and also hires a very expensive international assassin 
that the PLO trusts in order to make sure that these same obscure documents 
reach their destination safely?  I can't think of a more unnecessarily 
complicated and pointless exercise in futility...and it would hardly be the most 
efficient way to subvert the actions of one's own government."
	Paul had flopped into a chair and was leaning forward, his chin in his hand. 
 "You're forgetting one element of this whole scenario that I think we may have
 grievously underestimated the importance of...the documents Koenig hid in 
that underground safe."
	"What safe?"  Terri asked.
	"Oh, there's a safe hidden under the floor right beneath the filing cabinet 
in your little espionage Tardis."
	"I've never seen that."
	"Of course not," said Ruth.  "Koenig sneaks back there in the dead of night 
to hide documents there.  We've seen him."
	"Which is precisely my point," Paul continued.  "Why would he need to 
hide copies of his documents there?"
	"Haven't we been over this ground before?"
	"Yes, but we didn't make the connection."  Paul had gotten up and was 
getting excited.  "He would only need to hide his copies if he didn't want 
Chasser to see them.  But why should he not want Chasser to see them?  After 
all, he sees them when the information is transferred via Terri!  Chasser 
would probably admire his foresightedness in keeping backups.  It could only be 
because what he's hiding is NOT the same as what he's passing Chasser."
	"If it's not the same then what is it?  All the documents he lifted are 
there, none are unaccounted for...they match up with the number of transfers."
	"Exactly.  If the documents Koenig is delivering are not the same as the 
ones he's hiding and the one's he's hiding are the exact ones that he is lifting 
from the State Department, then the ones he's delivering are coming from 
nowhere.  Ergo, they are false."  He paused for a moment to let that sink in.  "I 
think our ambassador is trying to be not a traitor but a patriot.  He's paying 
Koenig to fabricate false information to be leaked to the PLO in order to 
undercut their progress."
	Juss shook her head.  "I think you just contradicted your own theory, 
Paul.  Why steal those hidden documents in the first place?  It makes very 
little sense to lift real files when you're being paid to invent them!"
	Paul seemed stumped for a moment.  Suddenly William began to chuckle.  
 The others looked up at him curiously.  "You've got it all wrong, Paul.  Our 
biggest underestimation wasn't of the importance of the underground safe, it 
was of Koenig, the little bastard."  He sat down.  "Okay.  You're a grossly 
underpaid little minion of the US State Department.  You're approached by an 
ambassador who wants you to fabricate phony secrets which are worth a lot of 
money to certain terrorists.  So what's the first thing that goes through your 
mind?"
	Paul was nodding.  "You think, 'Gee, I bet they'd pay a lot more for the 
real secrets.'"
	"Right.  And here you have the setup already in place."
	Ruth looked puzzled.  "So how is he accomplishing this, precisely?"
	"I think I know," Paul said.  "When we pulled Koenig's household records I 
noticed that he has a FAX line and heavy Internet usage, which I thought nothing 
of at the time...surfing the internet is hardly suspect these days...but now I 
wonder why he would need it.  He'd have plenty of access to both at work.  I
also noticed that he's insured for a pretty hefty hardware package.  In 
hindsight, which is 20/20 of course, the whole setup up screams 'hacker.'  
Any hacker worth half his salt would have no problem getting into Chasser's 
system, which he probably thinks is very sophisticated but is fairly accessible 
to the creative mind..."
	"Like yours?" Juss put in, grinning
	"From time to time.  Anyway, he'd have no problem tracing Chasser's 
electronic contacts, which is how he must be passing secrets since he hasn't 
left the country nor made any contacts save Koenig, and contacting them 
himself."
	"Wouldn't they be slightly, ahem, outraged to discover the deception?" 
Terri asked.
	"Probably not.  It's a dog-eat-dog world, you know.  They'd just be 
interested in getting the real information.  If he told them that he'd send them 
the real files, for a price of course, then they could just disregard Chasser's 
information."
	"Why would they be willing to pay twice for information that they 
couldn't even be sure was real?"
	"Koenig could easily prove the falseness of Chasser's stuff, after all, he 
wrote it.  All they'd have to do would be to field-test Koenig's to prove its 
validity.  They'd be willing to pay twice to protect their source, which is 
infinitely more valuable than the information itself.  Koenig's continued 
existence would depend on Chasser's ignorance...Chasser's not known for his 
self-restraint and he wouldn't take kindly to being circumvented nor to having 
a job and hence a paycheck cut off.  If the PLO told Chasser that they knew his 
information was phony it would expose Koenig."
	Juss rose.  "I don't understand Chasser's role in all of this.  Does he know 
the files are fabricated?"
	"Well, it's almost certain that he was hired by the ambassador when you 
consider that he's the one who engineered all this.  After all, he couldn't 
contact the PLO himself since it's damned unlikely they'd trust the Israeli
ambassador, therefore he'd need a go-between they WOULD trust.  I'd say 
Chasser knows the files are phony.  I doubt he cares, as long as he gets paid.  
Regardless, if the PLO reveals that they're onto him, the game is up...probably 
for him as well as Koenig."
	Stan nodded approvingly.  "A very sound piece of logic, Paul.  I commend 
you."
	"Thank you, Omniscient One.  But there's one more question.  What do we 
do about it?"
	Juss frowned.  "Paul, you've already told us what to do about it."
	"I have?"
	"Yes, haven't you been listening?  I believe your exact words were 
'Koenig's continued existence depends on Chasser's ignorance.'  Correct?  Our 
objective on this mission was to trace the State Department leak and then plug 
it up...and of course our perpetual objective is to bag Chasser with an 
actionable case against him.  This could accomplish both.  All we have to do is 
end Chasser's ignorance.  As soon as he finds out about this neat little double-
cross I believe he'll plug the leak for us, then we grab him."
	"That means sacrificing Koenig."
	"I admire your concern for your fellow man, Paul, but altruism is hardly 
in our job description.  There's also a lesser of two evils here...which is more 
important, saving Koenig's life or finally nabbing Chasser on a charge we can 
prove?  He's killed hundreds and will go on doing so unless we stop him.  I say 
the choice is clear."
	Paul considered for a moment.  "All right, I can accept that.  So how do 
we do it?  We sure as hell can't tell him ourselves."  A few beats of silence
passed before Terri realized that all the eyes in the room were had come to 
rest on her.
	She gulped softly.


	The next day Juss was wandering semi-aimlessly through Base.  She 
poked her head into the garage where Athens was still tinkering with her 
motorcycle, paused a second and then turned to go.
	"He's in his office, Juss," William called to her from behind the cycle.
	Juss stopped short, feeling a momentary flash of hand-in-the-cookie-jar 
embarrassment, then turned back.  "What's that?" she said nonchalantly.
	William popped up from behind the Yamaha, a wrench in one hand, a smear 
of grease across one cheek.  "Are you, perchance, looking for someone?"
	"I'm not looking for anyone, I'm just..."
	"Of course.  The person you're not looking for is in his office fiddling with 
audio equipment."
	Juss stood hipshot in the doorway, tapping one foot idly.  Finally she blew 
air through her teeth and flopped into an old orange vinyl chair in the corner.  
William stood looking at her expectantly, one eyebrow cocked.  "Can I help you 
with something, Juss?"
	She stared down at her hands.  "I wonder what it is that everyone wants 
of me all of a sudden," she said softly.
	William smiled and sat back down in front of the cycle.  "We're just 
waiting for you to come to your senses, dear."
	Juss' head shook slowly, puzzled.  "When did I become the designated 
scapegoat around here?  Since when is this all my fault?"
	"I didn't say it was," William said softly, grunting as he tightened 
something.  "But we both know that he'll do as much or as little as you want
him to."  She looked a little incredulous at this idea.  William looked over at 
her.  "Do you hear what I'm telling you?  Your happiness is more important to 
him than his own.  He'll always go along with however you want to proceed.  If 
it makes you happy to avoid him like the plague, he'll hate every minute of it 
but he'll play along." He dropped the wrench and wiped his hands on a rag.
	Juss nodded.  "But the burden of a relationship shouldn't be all on my 
shoulders, Will."
	"Of course not.  He just wants you to be in the relationship because you 
want to be, not because he badgered you into it."  William paused a second, 
considering.  "He loves you, but he won't try to persuade you to come back to 
him.  You've got to want to.  I believe Sting wrote approximately two dozen 
songs on that subject."  He reached a hand inside the cycleÕs motor and began 
feeling around.  ÒAlso, thereÕs an insecurity issue at work here.  He 
sometimes has a hard time believing that a woman like you could ever love a 
goofy guy like him.Ó
	Juss looked patently miserable as she examined the floor intensely.  
Finally she spoke, almost too softly for him to hear.  "I can't.  I want to but I 
can't."
	"Why?"
	She looked up at him, her face asking him to please understand.  "I said it 
was over, I said I'd had enough...I can't go back now.  I need to move past this, 
to move past him."
	William shook his head in frustration.  "Why?  Why is this a lost cause?  
You guys had some problems a long time ago, but you've both matured a great 
deal since then!  If I'm not mistaken, most of the difficulties you've had in the 
last five years were just aftereffects of things that happened long ago,
because neither of you were willing to let them go.  It's those first years you 
need to move past, Juss!  God, you academic types, you think too much.  You 
analyze everything, everything's got to be soooo complicated.  Sometimes you 
just have to DO something!  I watch the two of you rattle around this place, 
trying to act as if everything's just hunky-dory, stealing glances when you 
think no one's looking...Christ, it's like something out of a trashy romance 
novel.  Happy endings can work too, you know...not everything has to be about 
angst."
	Juss looked at him incredulously...it was the first time she'd heard 
William come even remotely close to losing his temper.  He sighed and collected 
 himself.  He came and hunkered down before her on the floor and looked up at 
her.  "I didn't mean to shout at you, Juss, but I can't tell you how frustrating 
it's been...and not just for me, either.  It's hard to stand idly by when people
you care about are unhappy all the time."  He paused, seeming to phrase his 
statement carefully.  "I don't know if this'll make any sense, Juss, but you 
guys were my heroes.  Yeah, that's right.  I've never met two people who 
were more right for each other and had as much good sense and comfiness as 
you had.  You knew how to deal with each other, you knew each other so well 
that dishonesty was impossible, and you had a genuine partnership...a 
relationship that met itself on equal footing.  That doesn't happen that often, 
Juss...it's precious.  It's not my place to say it, but I think it's worth 
preserving, and I think it's worth the effort...don't you?"
	Juss still looked as if she believed deep down inside that this must be a 
dream, had to be.  Slowly she nodded.  "Yes, I think so, too."  She stood
contemplatively.  "I've got to go now, William.  See you later."  She drifted out 
leaving William to stand with his monkey wrench forgotten in one hand, 
wondering if he'd made things better or worse.


	She walked down the hallways towards Paul's office.  I don't have to 
come out and say I want to get back together, she thought.  I'll just talk to him 
for a little while so he at least knows I don't hate him.  She came to the door 
and cautiously peeked around the doorframe.  Paul's office was dominated by 
one wall completely covered with a large custom-built shelving system upon 
which rested computer equipment of every variety and a large worktable in 
the middle of the room illuminated by three round fluorescent lights where Paul 
now sat, holding something small up to his eyes.  She stepped all the way into 
the doorway and leaned on the jamb.  He didn't look up.
	"Hey, you," she ventured.
	"Hey, Juss," he said without looking up.  "C'mon in."  She walked in and 
sat down in the chair opposite him.  She waited in silence until he had finished 
whatever delicate operation he was in the middle of, knowing he'd be 
uncommunicative until he was done.  After a few minutes she saw his body 
relax and his hand lowered the tool he'd been using.  He finally looked up at her. 
 "How's tricks?"  This was Paul-ese for what's happening or how are you.
	"Okay," she answered.  "What are you doing?"
	He smiled and held up the extremely tiny piece of metal he'd been working 
on.  "The latest installment of my little one-upmanship game with Chasser."
	"One-upmanship?"
	"Sure.  He's no slouch in the electronics department, you know.  We talk 
about how we've gotten to know him...well, he's gotten to know us, too.  I can't 
use anything out of my standard little bag of tricks for wiretaps or 
surveillance, he knows my habits too well.  He's forced me, over the years, to 
come up with creative ways to fool him, while at the same time he tries to 
come up with new ways to fool me.  At every encounter we have, both of us 
usually have something new to test the other with.  This," he said, displaying 
the object, "is a new challenge for him.  It's a walkie-talkie."  
	Juss' eyes bulged.  "That is a walkie-talkie?" she asked incredulously.  
The object was no bigger than a pencil eraser.
	"Yep.  Voice-activated.  It can be placed anywhere on the body, on the 
clothes, in the ear, anywhere at all, and it'll still pick up sound and transmit it. 
 Better yet, it's virtually indestructible...the components are titanium.  So if 
he discovers it and tries to smash it, it might look like it's smashed but it'll 
still work because the active components are completely protected."
	Juss grinned and shook her head.  "You never cease to amaze me, Paul," 
she said.  He grinned back, pleased at her praise.  She suddenly sobered.  
"That's for Terri, isn't it?"
	Paul looked back at her levelly.  "Yes, it is."
	Juss got up.  "I don't feel good about this, Paul...sending her right into the 
lion's cage."
	"None of us feel good about it," he replied softly.
	"I mean with us it's different.  This is our job, we chose this line of work 
and the risks that go along with it.  Do we really need to send untrained
civilians to do our dirty work for us?"
	"You're our strategist, you know there's no other viable solution."
	"Well, there ought to be!" she burst out.  "I hate this."  Paul smiled a 
little.
	"You know, there was a time when you wouldn't have given a rat's ass 
for the welfare of someone like Terri."  She looked at him warily, wondering
what he was getting at.
	"Yeah?"
	"Sure, don't you agree?  When I first met you you were so hardboiled 
from your years at the CIA that I thought you'd never unthaw."  Juss sat back 
down, not to be diverted.
	"Paul, you've been in this business longer than I have.  Is this really the 
only choice?"
	He sighed.  "Juss, I've only been in Special Forces longer than 
you...you've been in espionage since you were 23.  You know damn well this is 
the only choice, you just want me to validate your judgment call.  You don't 
need that from me.  When it comes to strategy on this team, there's you and 
then there's God, get what I'm saying?"  He was fiddling with the transmitter 
again.
	Juss looked back at him, absurdly feeling a lump rise in her throat.  How 
nice it was to have someone in your life who just understood you without 
having to be told.
	She mentally refocused herself on work.  "So will my end of the walkie-
talkie be this small or will it be normal sized?"  
	Paul glanced up at her.  "Actually, it'll be Stan on the other end."
	"Stan?  That's hardly standard procedure."
	"I want him involved in this."
	"Paul, he's a physical analyst, this is hardly his area of expertise, it's 
mine.  I should be the one out there."
	"I know that.  I want him to go with her.  It's as much for him as it is for 
her.  He's qualified, we all are.  Haven't you noticed that he's gotten a bit 
attached to her?"
	"What am I, blind?  Of course I've noticed, but that's no basis for a 
rational decision like this."
	"Then I'll be irrational."
	"What happened to there's me and then there's God?"
	"When it comes to strategy.  This is deployment, which clearly comes 
under the control of the mission coordinator, who is currently yours truly."
	"That doesn't mean you can take liberties with the safety of a civilian so 
your buddy doesn't have to be separated from his new girlfriend!" Juss 
exclaimed.  Paul looked up at her witheringly.
	"Juss, what do you take me for?  You really think I'd make this kind of 
decision on such shaky tactical grounds as that?"
	"No," she admitted grudgingly.
	"I hope not.  Stan and I have discussed this.  He's perfectly capable of 
carrying out this task which anyone with our level of training could do in his 
sleep, okay?  Besides, it's not like it'll be him, her and Chasser on a desert 
island.  We'll be close by.  Happy?"
	"No, but I'll go along with it.  I just hope you know what you're doing."
	"Trust me."
	Juss sniffed brief laughter.  "After all these years I ought to."  They 
smiled at each other and everything was all right again...at least for now.


	"Now, Paul's briefed you on this device he's concocted?"
	"Yes, Juss."
	"Good.  Now, when you're down there with him, act natural.  Really.  You 
might not need to call his attention to the safe, William's fixed it so that it's 
more visible.  That's risky, but if he didn't Chasser would wonder how you 
discovered it.  If he doesn't see it the first time he's there, then call his 
attention to it the second time.  I don't think you'll be in any danger.  Chasser's 
a very dangerous man, but he's by no means psychotic.  He's not likely to harm 
the bearer of bad tidings.  He'll probably want to keep you there until Koenig 
shows up.  I don't know what he'll do then.  Whatever he wants, just play along. 
 Know that we can hear everything that goes on.  At some point we will take 
Chasser into custody and then that'll be it, okay?"
	She nodded, fixing Paul's walkie-talkie to the back of her lapel.  "Good.  
I'll be glad when this is all over."  She got into Stan's car and they drove away.
	Juss looked after them, nodding approvingly.  "That is one gutsy woman," 
she remarked.  
	Paul cleared his throat.  "I guess it takes one to know one, huh?"
	She smiled at him as he turned to the others.  "Okay, guys, let's get this 
crap loaded and get on our way."
	

	Stan broke the silence first.  "Are you nervous?"
	"A little.  At least I won't be totally alone down there."
	"Absolutely not, I'll be watching the entire time."
	"Good."  She looked at her folded hands.  "You don't usually do this sort of 
thing, do you?"
	Stan hesitated.  "No, not usually."
	"Why now?"
	He glanced at her.  "I don't know...I guess I'd just hate to see anything 
happen to you."  She smiled as they pulled up to the building.  "Okay.  Do what 
you usually do.  I'll be right behind you."  She nodded.  Taking a deep breath, 
she squeezed his hand briefly before opening the car door and crossing the 
intersection to the building.
	Stan waited a decorous interval then proceeded through the building to the 
trapdoor leading to the basement chamber, which was set into the floor of a 
hallway.  Next to it was an ancient closet which would serve as Stan's hiding 
place.  A peephole had been cut into the floor of the closet, virtually invisible 
from the room below but giving a fairly good view of the room.  Stan eased 
down onto the floor, shut the door behind him and settled into his position with 
one eye to the hole.  He spoke softly into his end of the walkie-talkie.  "I'm in 
place, Terri."  She looked up at the ceiling, smiled and gave him the thumbs up.
	They waited what felt like an eternity.  Finally Chasser's footsteps 
sounded on the floor.  Stan held his breath as the assassin passed within a foot 
of him to descend the ladder into the basement chamber.  He watched as 
Chasser laid two envelopes on the table.  He was about to leave when Terri
spoke.
	"Excuse me, Chasser." Stan smiled at how composed she sounded.
	Chasser turned, surprised.  "What is it, Ms. Langley?"
	"I've found something..I don't know what it means, but I think you ought to 
see for  yourself."
	"Is that so?" Chasser said, sounding somewhat interested.  Terri pointed 
to the floor underneath the filing cabinet.  Chasser went over to it, bent over, 
then with a grunt moved the filing cabinet out of the way.  He knelt and 
examined the safe.  Stan held his breath, waiting for the explosion.  "Huh.  
Very interesting."  Chasser stood up, calmly lit a cigarette and regarded Terri 
through narrowed eyes.  Stan's heart rate jacked up a few notches...this was 
not what they'd been expecting.  "I see you've been conspiring with my old 
nemeses in Special Forces.  I thought that was Juss on the motorcycle...wasn't 
sure until now."  Stan's blood turned to icewater.  Bastard, bastard,
bastard...always he manages to defeat us.
	Terri managed to look suitably perplexed even though all the blood had 
drained from her face.  "Excuse me?"
	"Excuse you.  Ruth must really think I'm stupid...did she honestly think I 
hadn't checked up on Koenig?  That I hadn't examined this room?  When I found 
that safe, I thought, 'Gee, what a good place to hide stuff.'  And sure enough,
when I checked again, he was hiding stuff there!  Just like a little squirrel!"  
Chasser giggled maniacally at his own wit.  Stan shivered, his mind racing...so 
much for the best laid plans of mice and men.  How to get Terri out, how to get 
her out...Chasser continued.  "Koenig's got quite a little racket going, doesn't 
he?  Double crosses, triple crosses...I'll admit even I'm a little confused."
	"How long have you know?" asked Terri.  Good, Stan thought, don't hold 
out too long, he'll just get mad.
	"I've known all along, you silly thing.  Though I'll admit I wasn't aware 
that your spy buddies were onto this little symbiosis until you showed me that 
safe.  I have to say they're getting a little too clever for my personal comfort."
	"What...how did you..."
	"Come now, Miss Langley, it's obvious.  The camouflage on that safe has 
been damaged so it's easily visible.  Someone clearly hoped to tip me off to 
Koenig's indiscretions so I'd get mad and take care of him myself.  Who else but 
my dogged pursuers, who seem to have shanghaied you into their latest 
exploit."
	Terri stared at him.  "Why didn't you stop Koenig?"  Stan listened, having 
been wondering that himself.
	"Why should I?  Just because I'm getting paid to swindle terrorists 
doesn't mean I consider them enemies.  This way everyone's happy...Koenig 
makes money, I make money, they get the information they're paying for.  
Quite convenient.  Of course they don't know that I know about Koenig...if they 
did they might be a little perturbed that I let them go on paying twice for 
information they'd be getting anyway, but that's neither here or there."  He 
eyed her.  "Of course now it's all ruined.  I can't go on with this little 
arrangement when your little friends are on to it, besides, they'd never let it 
continue.  As Juss probably guessed, part of my job was to eliminate Koenig 
when the transactions were complete...I'll just have to move up my schedule a 
little bit and do it now, even though there are a few more transactions to 
make.  It's a tough old world, isn't it?"  Stan almost slapped his forehead.  To 
his knowledge, Juss had never guessed anything of the kind.
	As Chasser settled into the chair, his gun in one hand lying deceptively 
relaxed over his knee, Stan eased his radio out of his pocket.  Not wanting to 
chance being overheard by Chasser, he tapped on the receiver with one 
fingernail a few key words that would tell the others to send help ASAP.  As he 
finished transmitting, he heard footsteps on the floor.  In the chamber below 
Chasser ducked into the corner as Koenig descended the ladder.  He had no 
sooner set foot on the concrete floor than Chasser stepped forward and quite 
literally blew his head off.  Terri made a low moaning sound and started 
forward reflexively as the body thumped unceremoniously to the floor.  
Chasser whirled and hit her backhanded across the face.  She staggered 
backward and hit the wall and then was pinned against it by Chasser's hand
over her throat.  Her hands clawed at his arm but his grip was like an iron 
manacle.  Terri felt her consciousness slipping, he'd cut off the circulation to 
her head.  Black flowers bloomed in her vision and the world was going gray 
when suddenly his grip eased up and her vision cleared enough to see Chasser 
looking over his shoulder at Stan, who had just leapt down the ladder.
	Chasser made a low whistling sound.  "Jesus, Greenberg, where'd you 
come from?"  Stan met his gaze boldly.  'You guys are getting pretty good at 
this...I didn't suspect you'd have someone on site."  They stared at each other, 
motionless, both waiting for the other to make the first move.  Stan glanced at 
Terri.  She shook her head imperceptibly.  Clenching his teeth, Stan snapped his 
gun upward to point it at Chasser.  At the same moment, Chasser yanked Terri 
in front of himself and cocked his gun at her temple.  Stan kicked himself 
inwardly.  If that wasn't the oldest trick in the book he didn't know what was.  
They stood there in tableau for a  moment.
	"What are you gonna do now, Chasser?" Stan hissed.  "The others will be 
here any second."
	"Uh-huh.  And they'll be just as helpless as you are unless they decide 
that this one's worth sacrificing just to get me."
	"No one's going to be sacrificed here today, Chasser."
	"What, you think you can shoot me before I shoot her?  I dare you to try 
it."  Stan felt his resolve failing.  He wasn't as fast as Chasser and they both 
knew it.  "I don't think so, Stan.  I could shoot both her AND you in the time it'd 
take you to pull the trigger."  He chuckled low in his throat.  "So the question 
then becomes, what are YOU gonna do now?"  Stan's jaw worked but he didn't 
lower his gun.  "What are you doing here, Stan?  This isn't your area, you're a 
goddam chemist."  Stan looked at Terri.  There was some kind of signal in her 
eyes that he didn't quite understand.  "No, I think I'll just be leaving now before 
your friends arrive.  Give my regards to..." and that was as far as he got 
before Terri slammed her elbow backwards into his stomach.  His breath 
woofed out of his chest and he doubled over, at the same time reflexively
raising his gun and firing.  The bullet struck Stan high in the shoulder, pulling 
his firing arm backwards as he pulled the trigger; the shot went wild as Stan 
fell to the floor.  Terri rushed over to him, momentarily forgetting Chasser,
who was regaining his composure.  He raised his gun and aimed it at the back of 
Terri's head.  Stan seeing his intentions, tried to move Terri out of the way 
but knew in the back of his mind that it was hopeless.  He was trying to
transfer his gun to his good hand when the trapdoor slammed open and Stan 
almost heard a flourish of trumpets in his mind as William slid down the ladder. 
 Chasser whirled, and before his mind could do more than register the presence 
of yet another of his arch-tormentors William's large fist crashed into his 
jaw, knocking him clear across the room on top of Koenig's headless body.  
William stood over him for a second.
	"Jesus," was his only comment as he eyed Koenig's body before grabbing 
Chasser by the scruff of the neck and hauling him bodily over to the trapdoor 
where three pairs of arms reached down to bear him up.  He hurried over to 
Terri, who was helping Stan stand.  "Are you all right?" he asked.
	"I'm fine, Stan's been shot," she snapped.  Stan looked up.
	"It's not bad, I'll be fine."  William examined the bullet hole in his shoulder.
	"You're right, just a flesh wound.  The bullet went straight through, it'll 
heal fine."
	He and Terri helped him up the ladder.  Paul and Ruth were standing in the 
kitchen, both talking into cellular phones.  They looked over, their faces 
questioning.  Stan gave them the thumbs up and they smiled, relieved.  Ruth 
made motions indicating she had called an ambulance.  Paul covered the 
mouthpiece for a second.  "Take him out the front door, it's been unblocked."  
The three of them went outside to the yard to await the paramedics.  William 
looked around, uneasy.  Something's not right, he thought.  Leaving Stan with 
Terri, he stepped forward and looked around.  Suddenly he realized that 
Chasser's car was gone.  Shit, he thought and ran around the side.  Nowhere in 
sight.  He was turning back when his foot struck something.  He looked down 
and felt his heart skip a few beats at the sight of Juss lying in the alley in a 
pool of spreading blood.  He fell to his knees beside her, feeling for a pulse.  
Nothing.
	"William?  Where'd you go?"  Paul called.  William raised his head.  Oh 
God...


	William paced back and forth in the hospital waiting room.  Vicky sat 
stiffly next to Ruth who was red-eyed but calm.  Stan, whose shoulder had 
been cleaned and bandaged, sat next to Terri, sunken eyed and pale.  Paul sat 
alone on the third sofa, motionless as a stone idol, the front of his sweater 
stained red with Juss' blood.  He seemed to have aged ten years in two hours, 
his skin ashen, the slight lines around his eyes deepened to crevasses.
	William went to the window and stared out at the oblivious city.  Upon 
discovering Juss' limp body, Paul had quite calmly begun CPR with Ruth's help. 
 William had been admiring his self-control until the ambulance arrived at 
which time he seemed unwilling to let them take over the resuscitation.  The 
paramedics were perplexed but William was not.  As long as Paul was 
performing the CPR himself he felt like she was going to survive...
superstitiously or not, he probably felt like if he left her, she would die.  In the
 end, William had to grab him from behind and keep him away while they 
transferred her to the stretcher and screamed away, sirens blaring.
	Now she was somewhere in the depths of this hospital under bright lights 
as surgeons worked to save her life.  William scrubbed a hand over his face and 
turned towards the others.  After a moment's consideration, he went over and 
sat next to Paul.  He laid a hand on his shoulder as Paul turned towards him.  
William felt all his words of comfort drying up in his throat as he looked at his 
friend's face.  Paul looked old, old and worn out.  One slow tear tracked down 
his face.
	"What'll I do, Will?  What'll I do if she dies?"  William opened his mouth 
but no sound came out..  He shrugged lamely.  "If she dies now, she'll never 
know."  William leaned forward, waiting.
	"Never know what, Paul?"
	Paul stared at his hands silently.  The door opened and a doctor in hospital 
greens came in.  They all stood simultaneously like some kind of church choir 
and William had to suppress a sudden insane urge to laugh.  The doctor looked at 
him.  "Mr. Gray?  You admitted Ms. O'Leary?"
	Paul stepped forward.  "How is she?"
	The doctor looked from William to Paul, understanding on his face.  "I'm 
Dr. Peterson.  She's out of surgery.  There was a lot of damage."  He looked 
around at their expectant faces.  "The surgery was successful and the next 
few days will be critical, but I am optimistic.  Ms. O'Leary is young and 
healthy and I give her good chances for a full recovery."  William sighed.  Paul 
sat down heavily...really not so much sat, it was more as if his legs suddenly 
lacked the strength to hold him.  He looked up at the doctor.
	"Can I see her?"
	"Not yet.  In a few days when she's out of intensive care."


	The next two days passed slowly.  The remaining five team members and 
Terri drifted in and out of the hospital.  Most of the time they ended up 
dragging Paul away.  The third day Dr. Peterson called them with news.
	"We've moved Ms. O'Leary off the critical list and out of intensive care, 
so you can see her now if you'd like."  The six of them followed him up to the 
ward.
	Juss lay quietly in her bed, looking very pale and small, her red hair 
standing out in bright relief from the pale neutral tones of the private hospital 
room.  The doctor stood by her head with her chart.  "She's still unconscious.  I 
won't lie to you...she's not out of the woods yet.  Her wounds seem to be 
healing, but there's no way to gauge the full effect of the gunshot on her 
internal systems.  She could wake up tomorrow, or maybe never.  Given the 
nature of this injury..."  He looked at them significantly.  "...I've made 
arrangements with the hospital to allow you to see her whenever you like,
visiting hours notwithstanding.  I'd recommend someone stay with her at all 
times."  He nodded to them and left. 
	Terri looked around.  "What was that all about?"
	Stan sighed.  "Dr. Peterson knows who shot Juss, and believe me, she's 
not the first of his victims he's treated.  A few of them were later finished off 
in their beds.  He's worried about her safety."
	Paul was pulling a chair up to her bed.  He laid a hand gently on her brow 
then picked up one of her hands.  "You guys can go, I'll stay with her."  He 
stared down at her as the others drifted out one by one.
	In the days that followed they took turns sitting with Juss, but Paul 
insisted on being there almost twenty-four hours a say.  He would only leave
her side for brief periods to eat or sleep.  He talked to her, he read to her, he 
told her what was happening in the world.  One night Ruth came in at 2 a.m. to 
find him singing "Shenandoah" to her in a clear baritone.  She smiled, then 
came around the bed and laid a hand on his shoulder.
	"That's beautiful, Paul."
	"It's her favorite song," he said, his voice choked.  "I thought it would 
cheer her up to hear it.  She used to..." he cleared his throat.  "She used to sing 
it while she brushed her hair or while she...while she..."
	"Paul, why don't you go home and get some sleep."
	"No, I'm fine, Ruth, thanks anyway."
	"You're exhausted, you need to rest."
	"I can't leave, Ruth.  I need to be here for her."
	"Paul..."
	"What if she wakes up?  What if she wakes up for one minute and I'm not 
here?"
	Ruth was silent for a moment, unable to think of a suitable reply.  "Did 
you see her folks?  They were here today."
	"Yes, I spoke to them.  They've always liked me, but her mom was a bit 
cold to me today."
	"Well, she's under a lot of stress."
	"Maybe she blames me for not protecting her daughter."
	"Paul, that's not your job, Juss can take care of herself."
	"It doesn't matter.  She couldn't possibly be any harder on me than I am 
on myself."
	Ruth felt like crying but pasted a smile on her face.  "Everything's going 
to be fine, you'll see."
	"I wish I had your confidence.  Every minute that passes that she stays 
unconscious I become more and more convinced that she's never going to wake 
up.  Then I start thinking of what my life will be like with no Juss in it.  Then I
start thinking of all the time that we could've been together but were too 
stubborn or proud to admit that we were wrong.  Then I start thinking of all the 
things I never said to her, of all the things I never did for her..."
	"Paul, stop torturing yourself.  Do you think Juss would want you to keep 
beating yourself up like this?"
	Paul hung his head.  'I'm so exhausted I can't even see," he murmured, 
"and yet I can't sleep because every moment might be her last.  If I wasn't 
there for her in life, you can be damned sure I'm not going to let her die alone."
	Ruth made a choked sound in her throat.  "I'll...I'll see you tomorrow, 
Paul," she said as she hurried from the room.  Paul was barely aware that she 
was gone.  He stared down at Juss, trying to will her eyes to open.  He 
scrubbed both hands over his face and sat there for a moment, his elbows on 
the side of the bed, his face in his hands.  In spite of himself, he was beginning 
to doze off when he felt a gentle caress on the back of his head.  Startled, he 
dropped his hands from his face to see Juss smiling at him from under half-
open eyes.  He stared, disbelieving.
	"Are you falling asleep on me?" she whispered in a hoarse rusty voice.  
Paul let out a half-sob, half-laugh.
	"Juss...you're awake," he managed lamely.
	She cleared her throat.  "Yeah, looks that way, doesn't it?"
	Paul smile and kissed her hand.  "Thank God," he murmured.
	"What happened to me?":
	"Chasser shot you," he said, his face hardening momentarily.  
	She nodded.  "How long have I been here?"
	"Two weeks."
	She looked at him worriedly.  "How long have you been here?"
	"Um...I think forever."  
	She smiled weakly and looked at the water pitcher on her bedside table.  
Paul poured her a glass and helped her drink it.  She spoke again, her voice 
stronger.
	"Thanks for staying with me.  It can't have been pleasant."
	"Oh, Juss, I couldn't leave.  I love you, I wasn't going to let you lie here 
alone.  Don't you know that?"
	Tears glimmered in her eyes.  "Yeah, I guess I do."  They regarded each 
other in a companionable silence for a few moments.  "Was that you singing 
'Shenandoah'?"
	He grinned.  'Not that great, huh?'
	She sobered and raised a hand to his face.  "It was beautiful.  My favorite 
song."
	"I know."
	She sighed.  "You know everything about me, don't you?"
	"Pretty much."  He paused, gathering his resolve.  "Juss, let's get 
married."
	She stared at him, dumbfounded.  "What was that?"
	He smiled.  "I said I want to marry you.  We've wasted enough time."
	"I can't argue with that."  She just looked at him for a moment.
	He held his breath, every nerve in his body thrumming.  "What do you 
say, huh?"
	"I say I love you."
	"Is that a yes?"
	"Um...I think so."
	"Oh good, because I already bought the ring," he said giddily.  Relief was 
making them both a little silly.  He drew the box out of his pocket and opened it.
	"It's beautiful," she breathed.
	"You'll never know how relieved I am to hear you say that," he said, 
taking the ring out of the box.  She laughed silently, wincing.  he picked up her
hand and slid the ring onto her finger.  He sat there, holding her hand and 
talking softly to her, until she fell asleep in the small pool of light surrounding 
her bed which held back the surrounding darkness.


	Chasser sat in the first class section of a TWA 747 bound for Cairo.  He 
fingered the bandage over the gash in his face where that son of a bitch Gray's 
Navy ring had sliced his cheek open.  He'd have to make point to have the scar 
removed with cosmetic surgery.  he could not afford to have any identifying 
marks on his body, certainly not on his face.
	His chagrin at being outsmarted yet again by those rummies at Special 
Forces was mitigated slightly by the knowledge that this time he hadn't gone 
down alone.  O'Leary's death would certainly disable Martin and cast a gloom 
over the rest of the team, not to mention the practical considerations of having 
to break in a new strategist.  In the meantime he'd be keeping plenty busy.  
After smoothing things over with his PLO contacts he was bound for Europe
where any one of a number of lucrative contracts awaited him.  As always, 
whatever job he took would demand only a small fraction of his attention and 
he could divert the rest to...preparations. It might be months before his next
encounter with Adamson's team, but that didn't bother him.  Patience was a 
necessary quality in his line of work.




THE END





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