Special Forces Team 1A - Level One


Team Leader: 
	


Team Members:
	




Capitol City Charleston
by Lori Summers


	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 moment.  Had he 
actually just thought that to himself?  That she was pretty?  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.

pre>


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