"I'll have fifty on Heart of Britain." Slamming a fifty dollar bill down on the counter, Tyrone C. Earl glanced over at the row of greyhounds, lined up ready for the off. At the corner of the room he caught sight of Brooke McKenzie, who cast him a disapproving look. Fun though she could so often be, there were times when the attractive young woman was a police officer to the core.

"Fifty on Heart of Britain it is." The cashier smiled as he took the money. "That's odds of twenty to one. You'd do better to ride your money on Casablanca, the one in the red coat."

"Thanks, but I'll stick." Tyrone turned away, holding his ticket in his hand, and wandered over to the fence. He had a good view of the starting line, and watched the row of dogs carefully. One of them seemed to be watching him, and he flashed it a grin.

"I've got fifty dollars riding on you, pal. Make it good," he told the dog. Several other gamblers eyed him as though he were crazy, and he grinned back at them. Let them laugh. Pretty soon he was going to be laughing at them.

"Off!" Raising a flag high in the air, the official at the starting line pulled the lever and the starting gate went up. Immediately the six greyhounds ran, tearing down the track as though their lives depended on it. At the first corner, Heart of Britain was in the lead, but as the pack reached the second corner, he began to drop behind. Soon he was trailing a long way back.

"Hey! Hey come on! I've seen you run faster than that for a Frisbee on the beach!" Tyrone, his betting slip held in numb fingers, slowly let out a sigh as the dog slowed to a halt. It stared back at him, as though insulted, then lay down in the middle of the track. The other dogs raced ahead to the finish line, with the second rated Emerald Isle taking first place.

"Darn it." Strolling out into the middle of the track, Tyrone scooped the dog up in his strong arms and carried it to the converted stable which doubled as a vet's surgery. There was no one inside, and he laid the dog down on a conveniently placed gurney. "What the hell where you playing at, Jonathon?" There was no answer from the dog, which drooped its head and closed its eyes. Tyrone glanced up as someone entered the room behind him.

"What's up, Ty?" Brooke asked him. He shrugged.

"I don't know. I think something's wrong with Jonathon." Even as he spoke, the dog growled softly, and its shape began to change. In a matter of moments the canine creature was gone, and in its place was a young, blond man, his eyes glazed and his body slumped on the trolley.

"Jonathon?" Concerned, Brooke hurried forward. He raised his head, focussing uncertainly on her face, and managed a grin.

"Hi. Sorry Ty. I didn't mean to lose you your money. That vet..."

"Phillips?" Brooke asked. He nodded.

"Yeah, Phillips. He jabbed me with something, earlier on. Some kind of drug. I tried to change back before the race so I could warn you, but I couldn't get it together."

"Don't worry about it." Brooke sat down. "Five months somebody's been drugging the dogs at this track, and we couldn't find out who it was. Then you turn up, and in two days we've got a name." She grinned. "Even if you can't be a witness in court."

"I'd rather not be." He made a unsuccessful attempt to restrain a yawn. "Now that I've done my bit, does anybody mind if I get some sleep? I don't know what that drug was, but I don't think I could stand up right now."

"Don't worry about it, buddy. We'll get a doctor to check you out later." Tyrone grinned. "Or a vet if you'd prefer. Go ahead and get some sleep."

"Thanks." Jonathon yawned again, and lay back down on the gurney. In seconds he was fast asleep.

**********

"How you feeling?" Wandering into the large living room of the house that he shared with Jonathon, Tyrone sat down on the nearest convenient chair and beamed cheerfully at his closest friend. Jonathon smiled back, trying his hardest to look as though he were still suffering from the effects of the drug.

"Oh, you know how it goes. I'll live." He smirked, unable to resist teasing his friend. "About that fifty dollars..."

"Don't remind me." Tyrone leaned back in his chair. "It would have been so good, John. Twenty to one..." He shook his head. "Still, at least we got the guy that's been drugging the animals."

"Yeah. Some vet." Standing up to reveal that the effects of the drug had left him completely, Jonathon headed towards the kitchen to turn the kettle on. "Tea?"

"Huh?" There was a pause. "How long have you been living in the States for, buddy?"

"Pass." Jonathon grinned as he fetched a couple of mugs from a cupboard. "I'll make that coffee then, shall I?"

"Please." Wandering to the window, Tyrone looked down at the street outside. "Brooke's just arrived."

"Really?" Trying to sound as though his interest was merely casual, Jonathon appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Does she look like it's business?"

"She looks like Brooke. I don't know, how am I supposed to tell what she's thinking?" Tyrone frowned. "Wait up. There's a guy with her."

"A guy?" Jonathon took a step forward, then stopped, as if determined not to let his curiosity show. "What guy?"

"A male guy." Tyrone grinned, realising that this new development had put his friend on edge. "Tall, looks like he works out. Looks real smooth. Good looking."

"How can you tell that from this distance?" Striding forward, Jonathon stared out at the street. It was possible to tell Brooke from her car, but facial features did not really show up at such a distance. Tyrone giggled to himself.

"Relax, Jonathon. It's probably just a cop. Maybe we've got a new case."

"Or a new police liaison." His mind filling with possibilities of Brooke being transferred to another precinct, Jonathon sighed, wandering back to the settee to sit down. Tyrone smirked, going to open the door. He timed the manoeuvre to the second, so that he opened the door just as Brooke raised her hand to knock.

"Hi." She stepped into the room, apparently alone, and nodded a greeting to Jonathon. "How are you feeling?"

"I'll live." He stood, deeply ingrained courtesy preventing him from remaining seated. "What happened about that vet?"

"He cracked in interrogation. He's given us the names of all the people involved in the betting scam that paid him to do the drugging." She grinned. "All thanks to my favourite greyhound. And his trainer of course."

"Why thankyou." Tyrone bowed low. "Say, where's your friend?"

"My-?" She smiled. "Is there anything that you don't see?"

"Not a lot. So who is he?" Folding his arms and making a face like an excited schoolboy, Tyrone bounced up and down on his toes. "C'mon..."

Brooke laughed. "He's a surprise," she said. "Or at least he was supposed to be. An old friend of Jonathon's who turned up at the precinct today. Seems he saw you at the track."

"An old friend of mine?" Intrigued, Jonathon stepped forward, reaching the door just as a man strolled in through it. He was about the same age as Chase, Tyrone saw; white, with sandy hair and shadowy grey eyes. He wore a casual white suit that looked tailored and a pastel pink shirt. Evidently he was well informed of the latest fashions, but the effect in itself was a little too studied; as though he were trying too hard to be fashionable and well presented.

"Hi Jonathon." Striding up to the Englishman, the new arrival shook his hand and looked about the room. "Nice place you've got here. I couldn't believe it when I saw you at the track. Were you betting or running?"

"I was there as a favour to a friend." Chase's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here, Steve?"

"Dropping in on an old friend." The man grinned at him. "We are old friends, right Johnny? You and me, Oxford University, laugh a minute with the old crowd..." He shrugged. "We had a lot of fun, right pal?"

"Right up until I told you to go away and not come back." Jonathon folded his arms. "And I meant it, Steve. Whatever it is you're here for, I don't want to know about it."

"Hey, come on, man. It wasn't easy to persuade this lady to bring me here." Steve stepped towards Jonathon, who pointedly stepped away. "At least hear me out."

"I don't think so." Jonathon turned away, striding back to his favourite place at the window. "I'm sorry if you've wasted your time coming here, Steve; but you'd better go now."

"Fine." Steve hesitated for a second, his eyes speaking volumes; then he turned and marched out, brushing past Tyrone on the way out. There was no apology on his face as he pushed past the tall man.

"Er..." Trying to break the sudden uneasy silence, Brooke closed the door, exchanging a quick glance with Tyrone. "Did I do wrong to bring him here? He said he was a friend of yours from university; that you lived together for a while."

"You'd didn't know." Jonathon lapsed into a moody silence, then glanced up. "His name is Steve Sampson. We were in the same college at Oxford. We were friends for a while."

"What happened?" Striding over to stand beside Chase, Tyrone looked down into the street below. He could just make out the figure of Sampson as he stormed away down the road.

"Lots of things." Jonathon sighed. "He was the only American in the college; a really popular guy. We had a lot of fun, just like he said, and we spent a lot of time together after we graduated. He was in Vietnam for a while, close to where I was working. One night, just after I managed that first transfiguration, I was practicing at the hotel - too much wine earlier I suppose. Steve was there, and I didn't see him, but of course he saw the whole thing. After that he changed. It seems that he had one or two financial difficulties, and he saw me as a way of making money; lots of it. I wasn't about to be used as a circus freak, or a magic show, but he wouldn't take no for an answer. Things got pretty bad between us, and several people got hurt before he gave up. The last time I saw him was a few weeks before I decided to move out here to New York." He shrugged. "I'd like to think that he's changed, but to be honest, I don't feel much like finding out." He stared out of the window, looking thoughtful. "Maybe I should go after him. Give him the benefit of the doubt."

"What do your instincts say?" Tyrone asked. Jonathon sighed.

"That I should probably hope that I never see him again, but--"

"Then follow your instincts. They're usually right." The taller man grinned. "Didn't somebody say something about a coffee?"

"It was going to be tea, actually." Jonathon smiled, grateful for his friend's ability to lighten a heavy moment. "Okay. I'll go and boil the kettle."

"I'd better be going. I only dropped in here to give Sampson a lift. I'm on my way to speak to an informant." Brooke waggled her fingers in farewell. "See you boys later."

"Sure." Tyrone walked her to the door and watched as she left the building, then he turned back to Jonathon who was busy making the coffee. "You want to talk about this, buddy?"

"There's not much to say." Hesitating, Jonathon glanced back at his friend. "I don't think he's dangerous, but all the same I'm going to keep an eye out for him. I'd rather be safe than sorry."

"That serious, huh?" Tyrone joined Chase in the kitchen, and picked up his mug of coffee. "Life is never too dull with you, is it."

"It tries not to be." They smiled at each other and wandered back to the sitting room, where a chess set was arranged on the coffee table. "Whose move was it?"

"Yours. I just put you in check." Tyrone sat down behind the white pieces, grinning at Jonathon with a hustler's look on his face. "We should have put some money on this."

"I'm not beaten yet." Thoughtfully the professor scanned his pieces, a slight frown crinkling his forehead. Despite the look of concentration, there was a faraway gleam in his eyes, suggesting that his mind was elsewhere.

**********

Brooke climbed into her car, settling herself into the seat with a contented sigh. It was a new car, and one that she was extremely happy with. She had bought it only a week previously, and was still trying to get Jonathon to share her enthusiasm in it. He had no great love of cars, which was understandable, she supposed, for a man who had no real need to drive much. He could usually get where he wanted much faster by transforming into some animal, and taking a short cut. She had raced him once; her car against him on foot; and he had not only beaten her to the restaurant, but had managed to have a drink and order a meal for them both before she arrived. She smiled at the memory.

"Don't make any sudden movements." The voice was low, and it came from the back seat. She glanced in the rear view mirror, and saw Steve Sampson crouched behind her, a gun in his hand. He slid forwards slightly, taking her weapon, then relaxed a little. "Okay. Drive where I tell you, and you won't get hurt."

"What do you want?" Starting up the engine, Brooke kept one eye on Sampson as she slid out into the traffic. He grinned.

"I want my buddy to help me out with a little plan I've come up with. You're going to help me to convince him."

"You don't know Jonathon very well."

"Oh I know him alright. Better than you do, maybe." He grinned at her, and she saw the look in his eyes. For some reason it scared her. "Now you keep driving, and go where I tell you. Watch your speed. If everything goes according to plan, you'll be back home in no time."

"And if it doesn't go according to plan?"

He hesitated for a second, staring at her in the mirror.

"Then it'll be Jonathon's fault, won't it. You can take it up with him." He smiled. "That's if freaks like him go to the same place as normal folk." He edged closer towards her, smiling all the time. "Now just keep on driving, detective, and everything will be fine."

**********

"There's a letter here for you." Picking up the mail, Tyrone held out an envelope to his friend, who glanced at it in passing. He shrugged, and made no attempt to take the letter.

"What's the other stuff?"

"The usual. I'd say..." Scanning the collection of envelopes with an oddly professional eye, Tyrone held them up one at a time. "Something from the University, something from that museum in Britain you're always on about... two bills and a circular. And this." He held up the first letter again. "Local postmark, hand-written address. You got a secret girlfriend, buddy?"

"No." Jonathon could not prevent a small smile from crossing his face. "The handwriting is Steve's. If you want to know what's in it you can open it yourself."

"You really had some falling out, didn't you." Tyrone flipped open the envelope, reading through the letter. His expression changed as he read the words, and he looked up at his partner, sudden concern showing in his eyes.

"You'd better read this, man."

"Why?" Surprised, Jonathon took the single sheet of paper and glanced over it, reading aloud. Jonathon. I have your policewoman friend. She's very pretty, isn't she - at the moment anyway. It's up to you whether or not that changes. Come alone, tonight, to the bar on twenty-four and seventh. Ten o'clock. If I see anybody else, she's dead. The letter was signed, somewhat mockingly, Love Steve. Slowly Chase tightened his fist, and the paper scrumpled into a small ball in his white-knuckled hand.

"Damn."

"What do we do?" Clearly worried, Tyrone glanced over at the telephone. "Do you want me to call Lieutenant Rivera?"

"No." Jonathon turned away, silence consuming him for several moments. "No, we can't take that risk. Steve doesn't make threats lightly. He means what he says."

"But you can't go in there alone. There's no telling what he's up to." Tyrone strode towards his friend, catching him by the arm. "Jonathon, the guy has Brooke. He's threatened to kill her. What's to stop him from killing both of you?"

"Money." For a second Jonathon stood very still, gazing at the floor; then he looked up, and his penetrating eyes burned deep into Tyrone's. "He wants me to do something for him. It's what he's always wanted, and he thinks he's found a way now. He won't kill Brooke until he's got whatever it is he's after."

"And then what? What happens when he doesn't need either of you anymore?" Tyrone shook his head. "I'm sorry, buddy. I'm not about to let you take that kind of risk; either with your own life or with Brooke's. We've gotta tell Rivera."

"No." Jonathon shook his head emphatically. "We can't do that, Ty. Look, I'll take a transmitter with me. One of those ones that Brooke got for me to wear when I was a greyhound at the track. That way you'll know where I am, and you can keep your distance; make sure that you don't tip Steve off. We have to find out what he's after, at least."

"Okay." Tyrone nodded slowly, wandering over to the cupboard where the tiny transmission devices were stored. He pulled one from its box and held it up. It was about an inch square; black and dotted randomly with silver. "Where are you gonna wear it?"

"It'll be okay in my pocket." Jonathon slipped it into the pocket of his jeans and then went to the door, pulling on a jacket as he went. "I'm going out so we can test this thing. See what kind of range it has. Meet you in an hour at the bar and we'll check over the territory."

"You got it, partner." Tyrone turned on the receiving unit and sat down in an arm chair, reading the tiny display screen. "Picking you up loud and clear so far."

"Well that's a good start." Jonathon opened the door and flashed his friend a parting grin. "Try not to short-circuit it. We only have the one."

"Very funny." Tyrone watched as Jonathon departed, then settled himself down in his chair to watch his comrade's progress. He had no idea what sort of range the little transmitter had, but it had to be better than letting Jonathon go into this on his own. He only hoped that when Chase met with Steve Sampson that night, his old college friend did not search him too thoroughly. If he did, Brooke McKenzie was as good as dead.

**********

"What can I get you?" The bartender at the Silver Bar was annoyingly cheerful, and Jonathon Chase gave him a strained smile.

"Orange juice," he said, trying to keep his voice even. The barman gave a short laugh.

"Son, whatever it is that's bothering you, it'll look a whole lot better if you change your order for something a little stronger."

Jonathon smiled. "Orange juice," he repeated, a little more forcefully. "And there's nothing bothering me."

"Sure there is." Sliding into the seat beside Chase, Steve threw a bill at the bartender and ordered a whisky. "There's always something bothering you, Johnny. Usually somebody else's conscience." He picked up his drink and raised it into the air. "Here's to old times. You and me on the boating lake at Oxford, with a couple of post-grad girls and a bottle of champagne." He grinned at the bartender, enjoying putting Chase on edge. "We used to tow it behind the boat, to keep it cool."

"Nice move." The bartender obviously approved. He took their empty glasses. "You boys want a refill?"

"No. Thanks, but we've got places to go. People to see, right Johnny?"

"Don't call me that." Jonathon stood up, striding towards the door. "Let's get this over and done with, shall we?"

"Sure, if you're really that anxious to sell me your soul." Sampson laughed, taking the professor by the arm. "We'll go out by the back way, though, if it's alright with you. That's where my friends are waiting."

"Friends? What happened to coming alone?"

"That was your deal, Johnny." Sampson grinned. "Sorry. Jonathon. I wasn't about to try handling you without a little help. What's to stop you turning into something nasty?"

"Watch it, Steve. We're in a public place." Nervous in case someone should hear, Jonathon pulled free and marched ahead to the back door. As soon as he had stepped through it, he felt his arms being grabbed from behind. He struggled, but it proved to be useless. The door swung open again behind him and Steve Sampson strolled out, looking casual and happy.

"Just keep quiet, Johnny." Nodding at the two men holding the prisoner, Sampson walked to a large black car waiting in the shadows. He opened the door and reached inside, picking something up from the back seat. Chase could see that it was a hypodermic needle, and he flinched away, renewing his struggles. Steve laughed.

"Don't fight it, Johnny. I'll only have to tell my men to get a little more physical." Wandering up to Chase with a casual spring in his stride, Sampson tore part of Jonathon's shirt sleeve away from his shoulder, revealing the skin beneath. Held firmly, Jonathon could do nothing to prevent the needle from puncturing his skin. He watched with a curious sense of detachment as the colourless liquid in the syringe vanished through the needle, feeling the familiar sensation of injected liquid entering his body. Gradually he felt his senses fading away, until he was aware of nothing at all. The world went completely black.

"Load him up." Sampson opened the car boot, and watched dispassionately as his men dumped the unconscious professor inside it. He slammed the lid shut and locked it, then climbed into the back of the car. The two men got into the front, and the engine started up. Slowly the car moved away down the dark alley, leaving no sign of its passing; and several blocks away Tyrone Earl saw a light flashing on the display screen of his receiver unit. Somewhere, Jonathon Chase was on the move. He started up the engine of his car and pulled out into the stream of traffic. He had work to do.

**********

Jonathon woke slowly, raising a heavy head in order to look around. He was in a room, large and bare, with stone walls and a stone floor. It looked like a basement. He stood up, only to discover that he was surrounded on all sides by glass. It was above him and all around; thick sheets of transparency which locked him inside. He slammed his fists on the nearest wall, but they bounced harmlessly off.

"Jonathon! You're awake." Striding into the basement from a door set high up in one wall, Steve Sampson led a small party down the stairs. There were two men behind him, holding Brooke tightly between them. She seemed to be unharmed, although her hands were tied behind her back. Jonathon tried to calm himself, to present a cool façade to his old enemy, but Sampson seemed to see straight through it. He laughed.

"I hope you don't mind the living quarters too much, old buddy. But I couldn't have you turning into a mouse and crawling away through a crack in the wall, could I. As I recall, keeping you locked up is like trying to catch water in a sieve." He smiled. "It's comfortable in there, I trust?"

"Why don't you come in here and try it?" Jonathon spoke evenly, and Sampson gave a short laugh, enjoying the false courtesy of their conversation. He gestured to his men and they opened the door of the glass box, pushing Brooke inside. She stumbled, and Chase caught her to prevent her from falling.

"Let her go, Steve. You promised."

"No I didn't." Steve smirked at him. "I told you that I wouldn't kill her. I didn't say that I would let her go. She can still be very useful to me."

"How?" Advancing on the three men, Jonathon tried to stop his fists from clenching. Ordinarily he found it easy to control his emotions, and rarely displayed any great amount of anger; but there was something about Steve Sampson that stirred up the worst inside of him.

There was a silence. Steve seemed to be thinking hard, then he shrugged.

"Can't hurt to tell you I suppose. You see, there's a rather pleasant museum near here. It deals in all manner of antiquities, from sculptures to items of jewellery, and I have a taste for expensive things. You might remember that."

"You're planning to rob the museum?" Jonathon sounded incredulous. "You must be mad. The security system there is second to none."

"Precisely. A man would have no chance getting through all that lot." Sampson smiled at him. "But animals... that's a different question. Of course, nobody could train a snake to glide under the laser beams, or a mouse to crawl through the cracks in the walls. But I don't need to train my menagerie, do I? It comes fully prepared."

"You're crazy. I'm not going to help you to rob the museum." Jonathon took another step forward, but found the glass door of the box slammed shut in his face. He could see the gleaming metal of the locking mechanism as it clicked into place, inside its see-through housing.

"Oh yes you are, Johnny. Because if you don't, I'm going to take the good detective here apart, piece by beautiful piece." Sampson turned away. "Think about it." He glanced back over his shoulder. "I'm sorry if the air gets a little thin in there, but if I'd let the keyhole go all the way through to your side, you might have found a way to escape through it. I'll be back in an hour or two, so you shouldn't suffocate."

"You're all heart, Steve." Jonathon turned away, ignoring the three men as they walked back up the stairs and left the pair alone. He untied Brooke's hands. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She smiled at him, then turned away and began a professional examination of their prison. "This place seems pretty secure."

"Steve never does anything by halves." He sat down on the floor. "It rather looks as though I'm going to have to rob that museum."

"Not necessarily. We've still got Ty as an ace up our sleeves. Right?"

"I suppose so." Chase sighed. "I don't know though. He's only one man, and there's no telling how many people Sampson has working for him."

"Ty will think of something." Brooke smiled at him, sitting down beside him. "Try and relax for a while. You're not a jewel thief yet."

**********

Tyrone Earl slipped cautiously down the flight of stairs leading from the road to the old building the transmitter had directed him to. The place looked deserted, as though it hadn't been lived in for years, which increased his suspicions. This had to be the place. He checked the perimeter, seeing no one, and then tried a window which was open a crack. It slid up relatively easily, catching only once or twice where the frame was rusted. He climbed in, soundless and professional in his manner. House-breaking had never exactly been a hobby, but it was a skill which had come in handy more than once in recent years. Softly he moved across the room, glancing from time to time at the receiver unit, which he still held in one hand. According to the screen he was almost on top of Jonathon.

"Do you think he'll agree?" The voice startled Tyrone and he jumped, almost dropping the receiver. Quickly he ducked behind the door, blinking as the lights were turned on. He saw Sampson enter the room, followed almost immediately by two other men. They looked like more than simple hired help; as though they were professional criminals.

"Of course he will." Wandering over to a cupboard, Sampson took out a bottle of whisky and poured himself a glass. "He's got no choice."

"Maybe. I won't take it for granted until I've got my share in my hands." The second man, taking the bottle from Sampson's hands, poured a second glass. "You better make good on your promises."

"Have I ever let you down?" Steve walked over to a chair and sat down, relaxing back into its moth-eaten depths. "It'll be nice to see the back of this place, that's for sure. Anyway, you don't know Jonathon like I do. He's done this sort of thing before. I got a ticket out of the military thanks to him sneaking into the medical examiner's room to change the results of my physical. All I had to do then was threaten to tell the military police one or two things about a Vietnamese girl we knew. With that policewoman's life on the line, he'll be sure to help." He smiled, closing his eyes. "That stuff is as good as ours. By the end of the week we'll be sunning ourselves on some tropical beach, with more money than you've ever seen in your life. Question is, do we kill them, or do we keep them along for another job some other time?"

"We kill them. I don't take passengers along for the ride." The third man took the whisky, drinking out of the bottle. "I'll deal with it myself." He grinned. "Unless you two want to help with the girl."

"Jerks." Tyrone spoke the word in his head, his teeth clenched. He felt badly exposed in his current hiding place, knowing that he was sure to be spotted if any of the men were to turn around. Cautiously he edged around the door, heading out into the corridor beyond. Silence followed him, and he took it for granted that he had made good his escape; until he felt the unmistakable touch of a gun barrel in his ribs.

"And who are you?" The voice was strangely polite, and he turned towards it, finding himself face to face with a man that he so far not seen. The man smiled at him. "Back in there." He gestured with his gun towards the room from which Tyrone had just come, and with a sigh the ex-soldier complied. Three faces gazed at him as he entered, and he grinned.

"Hi."

"You." Sampson strode up to him, rage showing in his eyes. "You're Jonathon's friend."

"Guilty," Tyrone admitted with a smile. "Er... I've got to be going now, so, er..."

"Don't move." The gun was jammed into his back again, and he felt a hand pull the receiver unit from his pocket. Sampson took the unit, his eyes widening.

"Clever. Very clever. I should have suspected something like this." He gestured to the man holding the gun. "We'll take him down to the others. Watch him though. If he's a friend of Jonathon's he's likely to be the slippery kind."

"You overestimate me." Angry at the ease with which he had been captured, Tyrone did not resist as he was led to a door in the hallway. Sampson opened it, pointing to the stairs which led down into darkness beneath. Tyrone allowed himself to be manhandled down the flight, pausing momentarily at the bottom for the light to be switched on. He saw Jonathon and Brooke in the glass box, and flashed them a rueful grin.

"Hi guys."

"Hi." Jonathon stood up, standing away from the door as his companion was pushed inside. Sampson gestured for him to step out of the box, and he did so slowly.

"Give me the transmitter, Jonathon." Steve held out an expectant hand and Chase smiled, handing over the small device. Immediately a heavy hand slammed into his chest, knocking him back into the box. The door slammed shut, and the lock clicked into place.

"Sorry." Tyrone helped his friend back to his feet. "They grabbed me upstairs. Still, look on the bright side, hey. At least we're all together."

"Yes..." Unable to prevent a smile from taking over his face, Jonathon clapped his friend on the back. "Ah well. Welcome to the Hilton."

"It's very nice." Tyrone glanced about. "Can't say much for the views, but at least we get all round visibility." He shrugged at both of his fellow prisoners. "So does anybody have any suggestions?"

"Yes." Jonathon stepped away from them both, gazing out of the door. "I don't know about you two, but I'm going to break into a museum."

**********

It was cold and dark, and the wind blew softly around the shoulders of the men huddled about the big black car. Jonathon glanced over the map one more time and nodded, indicating that he was sure of his route. Sampson nodded in cheerful satisfaction and folded the paper up, slipping it into the breast pocket of his unwilling associate's shirt.

"Just like old times, hey Jonathon."

"Leave it, Steve." Jonathon turned away, but felt a heavy hand on his elbow, jerking him back.

"Remember; if you don't come through for us, your friends die. Slowly."

"I know." Pulling free, the professor strolled up the steps leading to the front door of the museum. He was a regular visitor to the big building, and saw no reason why he should start taking the back route in now. Steve followed him, and as they reached the door, he folded his arms expectantly. Jonathon tensed his muscles, feeling the transformation beginning within him. Moments later, Sampson bent to pick up the white mouse which waited on the steps.

"Good luck, Johnny." Steve posted the small creature through the letterbox, watching as it fell the short distance to the ground. It was a long drop for such a small creature, but he knew that there was no danger. A mouse could fall much further than that without difficulty. The small white shape vanished into the distance, gone beyond the small patch of light cast by the street lamps.

Inside the museum, Jonathon moved quickly, bypassing the criss-crossing laser beams which represented the museum's first line of defence. Once past them he reverted to his human form, before assuming that of a snake. It was easy, then, to glide across the heat detectors in the floor, and to avoid triggering the motion sensors, set at the knee-height of an average man. He reached the display case where his quarry lay, and gazed up at it for several moments, thinking. He had to change back into a man before he could think about turning into another animal; and at this stage setting off the alarms would be unavoidable, were he to try standing in this room as a human being. Deciding that he would have to remain in his present form, he slid up the side of the nearest display case, and used the long muscular strength of his body to force the lid off. Immediately the alarms went off, making his skin tingle. As a snake, he had no real ears, but he felt the volume of the noise all over his body. Anger flooded through him. Sampson had promised that there were no individual alarms on the cases themselves. He had insisted that the museum felt such precautions to be unnecessary. Abandoning stealth, he turned back into his human form and grabbed the jewels in the case, seizing the contents of several other cases as quickly as he could. He pulled off his shirt and wrapped the jewels up in it, tying it around his neck even as he heard the footsteps of the approaching guards. Desperate in his desire to succeed in time, he transformed; and as the guards ran into the room, they failed to see the small monkey which swung up into the dark recesses of the ceiling above them.

It was a long trip to find a window that was open wide enough to get the jewels through, but Jonathon found one at last, and made short work of the climb down a drainpipe into the street. He hurried around to the front of the building, where police cars were already arriving, and soon found Sampson's black car, parked unobtrusively around a corner. He reverted back to his human form as he ran towards it, and dumped the jewels through the open window. Steve's face appeared, grinning at him, watching in delighted amusement as his old friend pulled his shirt back on again. He opened the car door, and one of his associates climbed out to make room for the professor on the back seat, smirking all the while.

"You made it then?" Steve inquired innocently. Jonathon glared at him.

"You lied," he snarled, reaching out and grabbing Sampson by the shirt front. "You told me that there were no alarms on the jewel cases."

"Just a little surprise, to keep you on your toes." Sampson tried to pull free, but found it impossible to break the other man's grip. "What does it matter?"

"It matters because if I'd been caught, thanks to your 'little surprise', you'd have killed my friends." Jonathon's knuckles were almost white with strain. Sampson managed a shaky laugh.

"You're treading on dangerous ground, Johnny," he warned, but Chase ignored him, tightening his grip on his enemy's shirt. The mere fact that he was so angry was annoying him, and therefore was making him all the more enraged. He hated to lose his temper to such an extent.

"Garrison..." His voice strained, Sampson struggled against the professor's unbreakable grip, and Jonathon heard a sound behind him. Too late, he remembered the man who had climbed out of the car, and who had been standing behind him all this time, enjoying the spectacle. He started to turn, but was not nearly quick enough. Something heavy and hard slammed down on the back of his head, and he lost consciousness.

**********

"You okay, buddy?" Tyrone's voice faded into the edges of Jonathon's perception, triggering memories, and making him struggle the rest of the way back to wakefulness. He raised his head, unsurprised to see that he was back in the glass box.

"I'm fine." He focussed his eyes slowly, allowing himself time to adjust to the brightness, and frowned. That was odd. Why were the lights on? They had been left in the dark before.

"Good. Then maybe you can explain why your friend just let us go." Brooke gestured at the open door of the box. "I don't trust him."

"Neither do I." Slowly Jonathon sat up, rubbing his head. He leaned on Tyrone for support as he stood. "Maybe he had a change of heart."

"You really believe that?" Tyrone guided him out through the door and paused at the steps which led out of the basement. "You sure you're okay?"

"I don't believe it, no. And yes, I'm fine." Pulling away, Jonathon climbed the stairs, feeling shaky but definitely alive. "You said you heard them planning to kill us once the job was done. Right?"

"Right. They must have come up with a different plan." Tyrone shrugged. "I agree with Brooke, though. We can't trust him."

"Absolutely not." Leading the way out of the house, Jonathon approached Tyrone's car, which was still parked just down the road. "He'll be back."

"Oh good. I can't wait." Brooke shook her head, exasperated. "I can't believe how easily he caught me. If only I'd been a little more alert, none of this would have--"

"Forget it. He'd have found a way." Jonathon leaned on the car as he waited for Tyrone to unlock the doors. "When we were at college, he threatened a completely innocent girl to get me to help him with something. He would have done that again, without hesitation."

"Charming guy." Leaning over to unlock the passenger's side, Tyrone waited for the other two to climb inside, then started up the engine. "You're a lousy judge of character, buddy."

"Must be why I've stuck with you so long." Jonathon leaned back in the seat, trying to ignore the persistent thumping in his head. "Dammit this isn't right. He let us just walk out of there. No obstacles, no locked doors, no traps. Nothing. We're supposed to be dead."

"Don't knock it, professor." Tyrone pulled the car out into the road. "We'll go back home so you can get some rest, and Brooke can call Nick Rivera. He'll tell us what to do."

"Yeah, I guess so." Jonathon sighed, closing his eyes. He could do with a rest, and in all honesty he would be more than glad to get the police on board, to help him to deal with this.

**********

"What is going on here?" Speaking quietly so as not to wake Jonathon, Brooke leaned over into the front of the car, to peer through the windscreen. The road outside the house was filled with police cars, and uniformed officers were entering and leaving through the main doors at a steady rate.

"Search me. Something must have happened." Tyrone pulled the car to a halt, and shook his partner awake. "Rise and shine, buddy. Come and see what all the excitement is about."

They found no one prepared to talk to them outside the building, and went quickly inside, collecting odd looks all the way. Brooke took the lead as they went through the hallway, and her eyes narrowed. The living room door stood wide open, and two uniformed men guarded it, their arms folded in determined immovability.

"What's going on here?" she asked, only to receive stony silence as a reply. Pushing past the two men, she looked about, finding the room beyond in shreds. The chairs and sofas had been knocked over, and the stuffing had been torn from the cushions. Books lay all over every available surface, and the chess set had been knocked from its table, scattering the pieces in all directions, and destroying the half-finished game forever. She saw Nick Rivera standing by the window and hurried over to him, just as Jonathon and Tyrone entered.

"What the-?" Stopping still in shock, Jonathon glanced about at the mess. Almost immediately the two men by the door grabbed his arms, dragging him towards Lieutenant Rivera. "Lieutenant--"

"Save it for your lawyer, Chase." A plain-clothed officer whom Jonathon half-recognised glared at the professor. "You are Professor Jonathon Chase?"

"You know I am." Jonathon tried to pull free from the two men holding his arms, but instead felt his wrists pulled behind his back. Cuffs clicked into place. "Hey!"

"I'm sorry, Jonathon." Rivera held up a small object, unmistakably gold. "We were told that we could find this here."

"What is it?" Brooke took the object. "Where did it come from?"

"It's part of a display stolen from the museum last night." Rivera closed his eyes briefly, obviously greatly affected by what he was saying. "Look, we're acting on a tip-off, and so far everything is falling into place."

"The museum?" A horrible realisation was dawning on Jonathon, and he shook his head. "No, listen lieutenant, we--"

"What's this?" The second plain-clothed man stepped forward, twitching a piece of paper from the breast pocket of Jonathon's shirt. He unfolded it, grinning in delight. "Look at this lieutenant. It's a map of the museum. Somebody's done their homework. Just about every security system in the place is marked on here."

"We found your prints all over the display cases." Rivera took the map and glanced over it. "This is looking bad, Jonathon. If you have anything to say, you'd better say it."

"He was forced to do it, lieutenant. By a man named Steve Sampson. He said he'd kill me if--"

"Leave it, detective." The second plain-clothes man was smiling in evident relish. "Our informant has provided us with enough evidence to put all three of you away, so you can forget the 'explanations'." He nodded at one of the uniformed officers, who handcuffed Tyrone before he could protest. Brooke held out her own wrists, seeing no point in objecting, but she stared at Nick Rivera as the cuffs clicked closed.

"Lieutenant..." she began. He nodded at her.

"I know. This is crazy, all of it. Too neat. Too tidy. But all the same, I have to look into it."

"We can't prove we're innocent while we're inside. You know that." Tyrone took a step forward, but found his way blocked by a burly uniform with an unpleasant expression on his face. Rivera shrugged.

"I'm sorry Ty, but I really can't see any alternative right now. I'll think of something, I promise."

"It won't do you any good." The other plain-clothed man grinned at the three prisoners. "You're all under arrest. Consider your rights read. Now move." He pointed towards the door with his .45, and the three turned to obey the unspoken order. Brooke felt the despair spreading up within her, but there was nothing that she could do. One by one they filed out into the corridor, and she closed her eyes momentarily, trying to think of something that might help them. There seemed to be nothing at all.

**********

"> "I should have guessed." Morose, Jonathon slumped against the bars of his cell, staring at Tyrone who was locked in next door. "When those alarms went off..."

"What do you mean?" Brooke asked. He shrugged.

"I was planning to steal the jewels while I was still a snake. It would have take a long time, but it wouldn't have mattered. The display cases weren't supposed to be wired to the central alarm system, you see. When the alarms went off, I had to be quick, and I had no choice but to change back into a man. That meant certain finger prints. Steve planned this."

"He really doesn't like you, does he." Tyrone sighed. "Okay, so what now?"

"We have to do something fast." Jonathon folded his arms, trying to control his natural restlessness. "If Lieutenant Rivera finds enough evidence to convince himself that we're guilty, he's going to have to say something to somebody, about what I am. They won't keep me in a cell with bars then."

"Good point." Tyrone sat down on his bunk, kicking at the floor. "Okay, so what's stopping us now? You can get out and fetch the keys, right? Maybe cause a panic scaring the cops on guard? Then we can slip out and meet you in the street, and we can go and find your buddy Sampson. Easy."

"Very." Jonathon flashed him a wry smile. "Where does that leave us, though? With every policeman in town after us, and our pictures on the television news? We wouldn't get very far."

"It's got to be better than getting used to this set-up for the next twenty-five years. Or having Rivera blow the lid on who you are. You think you'd get a minute's peace after that? Every scientist in the world would be trying to get blood and tissue samples, and--"

"I know." Jonathon's voice was quiet. He had lived for most of his life with the awareness of what might happen if somebody were to find out about the abilities of certain members of his family. "I just think I should go alone, that's all. So far they don't have anything on you two that will stand up in court; just some tip-off. It's my fingerprints that they've got. I think you should stay here. Another few hours and they're bound to let you go."

"Not necessarily." Brooke sounded despondent. "That creep who arrested us was Sergeant MacLean. The boys upstairs call him the Avenging Angel. Once he gets hold of something, he doesn't let go. He thinks we're guilty, and he's going to prove it."

"Oh great." Tyrone leaned back, trying to get comfortable on the narrow bunk. "Look, professor. I don't think I can face twenty-five years sleeping on a bed like this one. I'm a feather pillow kind of guy, you know? Either we do this ourselves, or we trust it to the boys in blue. What do you say?"

"I guess you're right." Jonathon glanced about, checking that there was nobody within sight. The jail cells were almost deserted at the early hour, and those few people who were present were not interested in anything that he was doing. He tensed his body, and felt the change begin. Scales emerged from out of his skin, and his ears slid inside his head. Soon he was a long, brightly coloured snake, and he slid easily between the bars.

It was a short trip down the corridor, through another barred wall, and into the guards' room. Two uniformed men sat at a desk, drinking coffee and arguing over the crossword. Jonathon slid underneath the chair of one of the guards, easing up the short wooden leg. He spied a bunch of keys dangling from the man's waist and glided towards it, slipping his head through the metal ring. The bunch fell to the floor with a clatter, and the guard clapped his hand to his side, making contact with cool, dry skin that moved beneath his fingers.

"What the hell...?" Leaping to his feet, the guard saw the long snake as it fell to the ground, sliding speedily beneath the desk. "Tom!"

"What?" The second guard stood up as well, catching a glimpse of the reptile. He drew his gun. "Where did that come from?"

"I don't know. Is it poisonous?" The first guard also drew his gun, forgetting about the fallen keys in his sudden urgency. "Where is it?"

"I can't see it." The second guard, Tom, kicked the desk aside, his eyes wide with fear. Snakes had always terrified him, for as long as he could remember. "Why don't you crawl under the desk and take a look?"

"Huh? You crawl under the desk." The first man backed away until he reached the wall. "Do you think it's gone?"

"What are you two up to?" The voice came from behind them, and both men jumped so violently that they almost dropped their weapons. They spun around, finding a tall, blond man standing by the door. He looked familiar, but neither officer could remember where they had seen him before. "My name is Samuel Phelps, and I'm here to see Tyrone Earl. I'm his lawyer."

"Oh, right." Regaining his composure, the second guard bent to pick up the keys that he had dropped on the floor. They had gone, and he frowned, looking about for them in rising desperation. He had no intention of letting some smartly dressed young lawyer see that he had lost the one piece of his equipment that he was never supposed to let out of his sight. Tom moved over to help him, and they both took their eyes off Phelps for a brief, defining moment. Almost immediately they heard a low growl. Tom turned, and saw a fully grown mountain lion standing behind him. Its mouth was open, and he caught a glimpse of a row of plentiful teeth.

"Er..." Stepping back, he tugged at his partner's sleeve. "Don't move, Lou, just listen. When I say run, get out of the door, quick."

"Huh?" Lou started to turn, but Tom tugged at his sleeve, pulling hard.

"Run!"

"But--" Silenced by the powerful grip on his arm, Lou followed Tom out of the room. Behind them the mountain lion shouted a farewell snarl, then changed back into Jonathon Chase. He grinned and locked the door behind them, hurrying back to his friends in the cells. He freed them and led them back to the guards' office, where already there was a hammering on the door.

"This way." Grabbing the keys from Jonathon, Brooke unlocked another door, which proved to lead to the car park. They hurried out, locking the door behind them, and in a parting gesture, Jonathon posted the keys back through the letterbox. It only seemed fair, after all. Brooke led the way across the car park, throwing open the doors of the nearest squad car, and hot-wiring the engine. Tyrone raised his eyebrows in admiration, and she grinned.

"I actually learnt that at the Police Academy." She slid behind the wheel and turned the car around, heading towards the exit. A lone policeman on guard waved to her as she drove past, and she waved back; then they were out into the traffic, heading towards the edges of town.

"Where to?" asked Brooke, glancing over her shoulder at the two men in the back seat. They picked themselves off the floor, where they had hidden in order to be sure that the car park guard would not see them, and exchanged a thoughtful look.

"How about the place where they were holding us? Or that bar where they arranged the meet?" Tyrone dusted somebody's old cigarette ash from his shirt sleeves, and settled himself down on the seat. "There has to be a reason why they chose that particular bar, right?"

"Not necessarily." Jonathon leaned back, folding his arms and closing his eyes. "If I was Steve right now, I'd want to get as far away from here as possible. He was hoping to get us convicted, but he couldn't be sure that we wouldn't have some way to prove that the robbery was his idea. He wouldn't be prepared to take that risk."

"Right!" Tyrone nodded vigorously, risking serious damage to his neck. "I heard him and the others saying that they were going to be on a sunny beach by the end of the week."

"That narrows it down some." Brooke eyed them both in the rear view mirror, a wry grin on her face. "It rules out Britain, Canada and Northern Europe."

"Very funny." Tyrone glanced over at Jonathon. "C'mon pal, he's your best buddy. Where do you think he'd go?"

"Florida." Jonathon spoke the single word with certainty, as though remembering something. "He has to get rid of the jewels, and there's a collector there... Dashel. He's always after items from that period."

Tyrone frowned, staring at his friend. "Jonathon, where do you get all this stuff from?" he asked eventually. "Is there any bizarre piece of information that isn't stored away somewhere in your brain?"

"Probably not." Chase smiled. "It was in the paper the other day, that some collector based in Miami was trying to buy the museum's ancient jewellery. I'll bet that Steve saw the same article. He never was one to miss up a good opportunity."

"Okay, Miami it is." Brooke glanced at the dashboard. "Think we'll make it on one tank?"

"That's the point. We never got our stuff back from the cops." Tyrone shook his head. "Am I glad I wasn't wearing lace up shoes today, or I'd be finding it pretty tough to walk by now."

"Just as well you don't need a belt for those trousers too," Jonathon told him. "Or you'd really be looking funny."

"Real sharp, professor." Tyrone closed his eyes. "Okay, chauffeur. Wake me when we hit those sun-drenched shores."

"Sure boss." Brooke fished around under the dash and came up with a pair of sunglasses, which she slipped on. "Just so long as nobody notices that we're three wanted jewel thieves riding in a stolen police car, we ought to make it to Florida by this time tomorrow."

"Provided we can steal enough gas to keep us going," Tyrone put in.

Jonathon smiled. "You make it sound so easy." He turned his head to gaze out of the window, watching the traffic slipping by all around them. So many cars, filled with so many ordinary people, none of them troubled by problems like his; and all of them by now knowing his face, and the faces of his friends, and suspecting them of being potentially dangerous criminals. He stared out at them all, and wondered how long it would be before he could walk amongst them once again.

**********

"Lieutenant?" Sergeant MacLean, his enthusiasm for his current investigation proving to be less than infectious, stood at the doorway to Nick Rivera's office. "Do you have a moment sir?"

"Yes, of course." Wishing that he could tell the other detective to go away and stop bothering him, Rivera gestured to a chair. "Sit down."

"Thankyou sir." MacLean sat. "I've just got a call from the lab, lieutenant. They've developed the film from the museum's security cameras. It seems there's a clear shot of Chase, standing in a corridor." He frowned. "It's pretty weird though, sir. Seems the cameras are timed to take pictures every ten seconds, but there's this shot of Chase, and then nothing before or afterwards. The boys at the lab are blowing one picture up; they reckon there's a snake there." He shook his head. "Training a snake to help commit a robbery. You always think you've seen it all, and then something like this comes along, hey lieutenant."

Rivera sighed. It was hard to except such evidence as this; but he was beginning to come to the conclusion that MacLean's suspicions had been right. Jonathon Chase had to have committed that robbery. He still wanted to cling to the thought that Earl and McKenzie might not be involved; even though it was hard to imagine Chase to be wrapped up in anything that didn't also involve Tyrone C. Earl.

"It looks certain then," he said sadly, hating MacLean for his look of smug satisfaction. "Look, MacLean, there's something you ought to know, under the circumstances."

"What?"

"Well..." Rivera hesitated. Somehow it seemed wrong to give away Chase's secret, even given what he now knew about the strange young professor. "Chase. He's... Well let's just say it isn't easy to keep him under lock and key. He ought to be moved somewhere more secure until we can get him in front of a judge."

"Escape artist, huh?" MacLean raised his eyebrows. "Interesting."

"Very. He can get out of anywhere, almost literally." Rivera slumped back into his chair. He had been prepared to trust Jonathon enough to allow him to stay with his friends up until now, but in the face of this latest evidence he no longer saw how he could let him stay in the police cells. He pondered over where exactly he could keep Jonathon Chase, but short of sealing him in an airtight container, there didn't seem to be anywhere. The telephone on his desk rang and he ignored it, thinking back over his association with the professor. They had been through so many cases together. He was vaguely aware of MacLean answering the 'phone, then speaking briefly into the receiver. Moments later he hung up, frowning at Nick with a troubled expression on his face.

"That was downstairs," he said finally. "Your friends just broke out. They stole a police car and got away."

"They did what?!" Rivera sat bolt upright. "Dammit!"

"Nobody can tell how they did it, but the two guards swear blind they saw a snake, and then got attacked by a mountain lion. I guess Chase must have bribed them."

"Not necessarily." Rivera sighed, shaking his head. "Damn."

"Lieutenant... You knew Chase was an escape artist. You didn't say anything." MacLean was evidently coming to a conclusion that he rather liked. "Everybody knows that Brooke McKenzie is a protégé of yours."

"Forget it, Sam." Rivera stood up, coming to a sudden decision. "Keep your investigations going."

"But where are you going?"

"Out of here. I think I'm more likely to find Chase if I'm out there than if I'm in here. Right?" Throwing open the door, Rivera grabbed a coat and left. MacLean stayed behind, glancing about at the lieutenant's office. He rather liked it. In fact, given time, he could become very comfortable there. He smiled at the thought, and wandered back to his desk.

**********

The hours passed by in an endless succession of long grey roads and stretching lines of white paint. The threesome took it turns to drive, sleeping by rota. Stealing the petrol that they needed so badly proved to be an art that was easily mastered, and by the time they arrived in Miami, after twenty-four hours almost non-stop driving, they all felt as though they had more than graduated from the beginners' league. Tyrone slowed the car to a halt outside the most expensive looking hotel that he could find, and switched off the engine.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you may now disembark." He glanced across at Jonathon, who was sitting next to him. "Do you think anybody will notice that this is a New York cop car?"

"Undoubtedly." Jonathon leaned over into the back to shake Brooke awake, and then climbed out of the car. Already it was attracting looks from the passers-by. "Why are we here?"

"I figured it's where your pal would be likely to stay." Tyrone glanced up at the impressive building. "Would I love to drive up to the front door, and see the look on the parking valet's face when he lays his eyes on this baby." He slapped the car affectionately on the roof.

"They'd probably call the cops before you get out of the car." Brooke glanced at herself in the wing mirror, trying to tidy herself up a little after her rough sleep. "I'd better go and ask at the desk, see if anybody has seen anything of dear Steven." She frowned at her companions. "Try and look a little less like escaped criminals, could you? You both look like you've just broken out of Sing-Sing."

"Thanks." Tyrone grinned at Jonathon. "Hey, she's right buddy. You need a shave."

"I've been more hairy than this recently." Jonathon grinned back, rubbing at his chin. After spending a full twenty-four hours as a guest of Steve Sampson and friends, to say nothing of several hours as a guest of the New York Police Department, he felt in need of more than just a shave. "Come on, Ty. We'd better find somewhere where we can tidy up."

"Right behind you, professor." They walked off together, heading for the selection of shops and cafés which lined the streets. Fifteen minutes in the restroom of a convenient fast food store left them feeling a little better, and as Jonathon rinsed his penknife under the tap, he grinned at Tyrone in the mirror.

"You're looking almost human again."

"This from a guy who can't stay human for more than five minutes." Tyrone glanced at his reflection. "Not perfect, but pretty damn close, wouldn't you say?"

"Naturally." They strolled out of the restroom together, trying not to react too noticeably as a squad car cruised past them. They had gone no more than a few yards down the street before Tyrone nudged his companion's arm.

"Over there. Look!" Jonathon glanced up, and saw a familiar faced man walking towards them.

"That's one of the men with Steve!" Whirling around, the pair gazed into a shop window, desperate that the man should not see them. He walked closer, apparently interested in the same display which had so suddenly grabbed their attention.

"Garrison. That's his name. He's the one who got the drop on me at the house." Tyrone tried not to look, but found it hard to quell his desire to turn around and find out what the man was doing. For a brief second he glanced up, and found that Garrison was standing right beside him. For the briefest of moments he continued staring at the display, then some sixth sense alerted him, and he looked around. His eyes locked with Tyrone's, then travelled over to Jonathon.

"Damn!" Spinning on his heel, Garrison took off down the street, and Tyrone and Jonathon followed, hurtling after him at a breakneck speed. The shops flashed past them, and they dodged and leaped around the shoppers who seemed determined to get in the way as much as possible. Garrison evidently knew the terrain better than they did, for he soon pulled ahead, and vanished down a side alley. The pair dashed into it in hot pursuit, only to find that he had disappeared.

"Dammit!" Slamming his fist into his hand, Tyrone kicked at the wall in disgust. "Now they know we're here."

"They'd have found out soon enough anyway." Jonathon turned around, heading back to the crowded street in order to begin the walk back to the hotel. Brooke should have finished asking questions by now, and might have some news for them. Heading off together, their minds once more on matters close at hand, the pair did not notice Garrison emerging from an alleyway behind them. He stared after them, and then headed for the nearest telephone box, a determined expression on his face.

**********

Nick Rivera nodded a greeting to the uniformed policeman who was waiting for him. The flight to Florida had been short and comfortable, but he had hardly noticed the attractive air stewardess who had served him coffee. He had left it to get cold, thinking hard all the while. MacLean might be a talented police officer, but he read the wrong newspaper. No doubt his sources and investigations would eventually turn up the name of Roger Dashel, but in the mean time, Nick felt sure that he had a day or two to try to find Jonathon Chase on his own. He had to be the one that brought the professor in. They had been friends, and that still meant something to the police lieutenant.

"Morning lieutenant." The policeman gestured towards a police car parked nearby. "We're prepared to give you full co-operation sir. My orders are to help you with whatever you need." He opened the passenger door for the detective. "We found the police car that they stole. It was parked outside the Miami Hilton. A woman answering Brooke McKenzie's description was seen inside the hotel, asking questions about some man."

"Roger Dashel," Rivera guessed, his heart sinking further. It looked as though Brooke was fully involved after all. He wondered what could have happened.

"No sir. Somebody called Steven Sampson. There was nobody by that name in the hotel, and she left. Nobody has reported seeing the two men yet, but it's only a matter of time. We've circulated their descriptions to every policeman and volunteer organisation in the city. If you've got some pictures of them, I can get them on the next news bulletin."

"Good." Settling himself in the car seat, Rivera opened his briefcase and pulled out three photographs. They were all ones from his files, since it still hurt him to see the pictures taken by the police photographer when the threesome had been taken into custody. It all seemed so wrong. "Here."

"Fine." The policeman put them on the back seat and started the engine up. "Where to, lieutenant?"

"The Miami Hilton." Nick put on a pair of sunglasses, cursing the Florida Sun. The humidity was well above what he was used to as well, and he already felt drained. "I want to take a look round there myself."

"Fine. I'll drop you off and then get these pictures to the TV studio." His chauffeur pulled the car out into the traffic and put on his own sunglasses. "We'll have them in police custody by the end of the day, sir."

"I hope so." Rivera turned his head to look away, not wanting his look of dejection to become too noticeable to the young officer. It was hard, setting out to arrest a close friend; and he could only hope that they would not try to resist arrest. Somehow he did not think that he could ever steel himself to identify Brooke McKenzie's body, once the local sharpshooters had finished with it.

**********

"You're sure it was him?" Brooke, excited, hurried along beside her two friends as they headed onwards through the Miami streets. "Really sure?"

"We're sure. The way he took off, it had to be him." Tyrone spotted the alleyway where Garrison had disappeared, and led the way into it. "I don't know where he got to. It's like he just vanished."

"Probably went up a fire escape, or over the wall." Brooke shrugged. "Still, at least we know we're in the right place now."

"And so does Steve." Jonathon tried the handle of a door set into the wall, and found it locked. "They'll be ready for us now."

"They might come after us." Tyrone sat down on an upturned orange crate. "So what do you reckon? Do we try going to the police with this?"

"They're not going to listen. What have we got?" Brooke shook her head. "I don't see what we can tell them. Sampson might have made the deal with Dashel by now, for all we know. Dashel can plead ignorance, and swear that he didn't know the goods were hot; plus he's not likely to turn Sampson in. He'll want to keep on his good side." She began to pace. "Or he might just vanish. If he can afford to buy what Sampson has, he's got to be one rich guy. He could be out of the country before the police could get a warrant."

"Good point." Jonathon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I suppose that means we have to handle this on our own." A noise at the mouth of the alley distracted him, and he glanced up. There was a squealing of brakes and the sound of a car engine cutting off. "Er, I rather think we're about to have company."

"Huh?" Tyrone turned towards the noise, and saw a police car skidding to a halt at the entrance to the alley. Two men leaped from it, guns in hand. "Oh great..."

"Freeze!" The lead officer, his hands gripping the butt of a gun that did not look like it was a police issue weapon, took several steps forward. "You're under arrest. Turn around and put your hands in the air!"

"Ideas anyone?" Jonathon glanced over at Brooke, who shrugged, smiling awkwardly.

"Fly away?" she suggested, only half joking. Jonathon rolled his eyes, turning instead to the two policemen. He took a step towards them, hands raised.

"Er, officers?"

"Don't move!" The policeman moved forwards, his gun raised threateningly.

"Whatever you say. It's just that there's a jewellery store opposite, and two men just ran out holding automatic rifles. It only seemed fair to--"

"Shut up." The policeman gestured with his gun. "Walk towards me."

"Fine, don't listen." Jonathon began to do as he was told. "It's going to look pretty silly on your report, though, that you let a pair of armed robbers get away while you were busy with us." He saw the second officer take a quick look over his shoulder, unable to resist the temptation, and he tensed his body, ready for action. "They look like they got a lot of stuff. Must be a couple of million dollars worth at least." The first officer stiffened, his body language screaming his desire to turn around and see for himself whether or not this man was telling the truth. The second officer was frowning, glancing about. He could see several people who looked as though they were acting suspiciously, and any one of them might have been a jewel thief. He glanced back at his comrade, and for a brief, fleeting second, they both turned to look away. Without hesitation, Jonathon flung himself to one side, rolling behind the pile of rubbish bins and old boxes which were piled up at the side of the alley. Immediately the two policemen turned back, blinking in astonishment at the sudden disappearance of their prisoner. One of them started forward, his unpleasant scowl fixed firmly on Brooke and Tyrone.

"Where is he?" he began, and in the same instant there was a scream from behind him. He spun around, to see a huge eagle, its wings beating the air with majestic power, rising up from behind the bins nearby. It screamed again, swooping down low over his head, and he felt the wind from its wings across his face. He stumbled back, and it made a pass at him with its claws, missing by some distance and yet still panicking him enough to make him nearly lose his gun. He tried to raise it for a clear shot at the bird, but one of its wings swept across his head, knocking him over backwards. Straight away the bird lost interest in him, heading instead for the other officer. It caught him a glancing blow across the wrist with one of its powerful wings, knocking the gun from his nerveless fingers before he could think about pointing the weapon at the bird.

"What the-?" Scrambling to his feet, the other policeman ran forward, jerking to a halt as the bird turned to face him. It hovered in the air, its beak poised to strike, and he backed away slightly. The bird followed him, shrieking all the while, and caught hold of his shirt in its talons, tearing the material. He struggled to fight against it, and felt his trousers follow his shirt into shredded oblivion.

"Shoot it!" He screamed at his partner, only to find that Brooke McKenzie had picked up one of the fallen weapons, and was using it to hold his partner at bay. His shoulders slumped. Feeling the fight go out of him, the eagle dropped back, landing on the ground and watching him through bright, beady eyes.

"That your bird?" The policeman asked. Tyrone grinned.

"Something like that." He backed away down the alley with Brooke in pursuit, and they climbed into the police car. This time the keys were in the ignition, and he started up the engine, waiting to see what Jonathon was going to do. The eagle rose up into the air, taking off in a straight line due east, and the police car began to follow it. The two policemen, left behind, exchanged embarrassed looks.

"This is gonna take some explaining." One of the officers kicked at the ground in annoyance. "And where'd that other guy go?"

"To get the eagle I guess." His partner shrugged. "Come on. We'd better find a 'phone and report in."

**********

"Sir?" A young uniformed officer, who seemed barely old enough to have graduated from high school, approached Nick Rivera with a questioning expression on his face. "Are you Lieutenant Rivera?"

"Yeah." Rivera nodded a confirmation. "What do you want?"

"I just got a call from HQ, sir. A couple of our men cornered your three in an alley, but they got away. Some big bird came out of nowhere and caused a diversion." He looked faintly embarrassed. "Sorry sir. They got away in the police car. We've got everybody out looking for it, but I think they'll probably dump it pretty soon. They were last seen heading east."

"East? What's east?" Rivera hurried over to the nearest patrol car. The young officer followed on behind.

"The Atlantic Ocean sir," he said, sounding confused. "Er... a few hotels, some office blocks and some beach apartments. Expensive real estate."

"You know a man named Roger Dashel?" Climbing behind the wheel of the police car, Rivera started up the engine. The young officer frowned.

"No sir. But if you think he lives in that area, he'd have to be pretty rich."

"He is." Rivera spun the car in a circle, leaving the young officer standing in the road, looking more and more confused by the moment. He pondered over whether or not he should call for back up, but dismissed the idea. The more people there were, the more chance there was of taking back one of the three in a body bag; and he did not want that if it could be at all avoided. He stepped on the gas, and edged the car past the speed limit. It was only a matter of time now.

**********

"The parking valet says that Dashel's place is number 16A." Brooke scanned the line of beachside apartments, imagining the huge figures that the rent here must reach. "He said that a guy answering Garrison's description turned up here about half an hour ago. Sampson and the other two are already inside."

"Good. So now all we have to do is go in there and get them." Tyrone handed Jonathon one of the handguns they had taken from the policemen, and reached inside the squad car. There was an assault rifle under the front passenger seat, and he weighed it in his hands. "This is my kind of weapon."

"Well don't wave it about too much." Brooke led the way down the row of apartments, keeping in the shadows. She knew full well that somebody was bound to have spotted them, and had probably called the police by now. The sight of three people with guns creeping about in an exclusive area like this one would do more than just cause a few eyebrows to be raised. "16A. Bingo."

"Now what?" Tyrone glanced up at the door, set at the top of a flight of white steps. "We have to catch them by surprise."

"No problem." Jonathon stuck his gun into his belt, and slid under the building. It was raised on stilts, and although the going was cramped, there was enough room for him to move about. It also provided him with enough privacy to complete his latest change. There was nothing distinctive about the lizard which crawled up the side of the house, and Tyrone pulled Brooke back into the shadows, prepared to wait for as long as was necessary.

The lizard slipped easily in through the half open window on the ground floor, and ran across the deserted room beyond. A short corridor led to a grand drawing room, with a display of jewellery that seemed somehow familiar. Not the museum pieces, but certainly items from the same period. The creature ran past them, following the sounds of voices to a study with a large oak door. It stood open a crack, and Jonathon slipped easily inside, his long, thin body making hardly a sound. He saw Garrison and the other two - Ferris and Haynes - standing nervously in the background, all three glancing intermittently out of the windows. Clearly they were expecting company. None of them noticed the lizard as it ran past them, heading for the large desk in the centre of the room. Steve Sampson sat on one side, an array of briefcases at his feet. On the other side of the desk was an expensively dressed man who smelt of cologne, and whose huge golden cufflinks rattled when he moved. The lizard hesitated under the desk, unsure of its next move; then darted up the table leg and made a grab for the long golden necklace that Sampson was in the process of laying before Dashel.

"Hey!" Dashel leapt to his feet, trying to snatch the necklace back. The lizard was too quick, darting suddenly for the door. Sampson drew his gun, sending a shot after it, anger showing on his usually impassive face.

"Jonathon!" He chased after the lizard, catching a glimpse of it as it hurtled down the corridor, heading for the back garden. "Dammit!"

"Jonathon?" Confused, Dashel appeared behind Sampson, his own gun drawn. "What's going on?"

"Never mind, Mr Dashel." Steve hurried after the lizard, his three companions in pursuit. Dashel turned to the cupboard on the wall of the corridor, opening it to reveal an array of automatic weaponry. He pulled out a rifle, and froze as he felt the muzzle of a gun in the small of his back.

"Freeze." The voice was pleasant enough, and seemed to belong to a young woman. He felt the rifle being taken from his hand, and then he was spun around to face two complete strangers. One, an attractive young woman with a handgun pointed at him, gestured at the study. "In there." He complied, unprotesting even when she grabbed the curtain cord, and used it to tie his hands to the back of his chair. The other stranger, a young black man, ran out of the room after the others.

"Who are you?" Dashel asked, seeing the woman's interest in the jewels. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Inland Revenue." Checking his bindings one last time, she ran out of the room; and straight into the arms of Lieutenant Nick Rivera.

**********

"Jonathon!" Firing several shots after the fleeing lizard, Steve was momentarily thrown when it metamorphosed into a man. Jonathon Chase, pulling the gun from its place in his belt, sent a few shots back, before pulling the necklace from his mouth and stuffing it into his pocket. Sampson threw himself to the ground to avoid the bullets, then leapt back up, making a run for his old enemy. Chase fired at him one more time, then took off, leaping over the white fence at the back of the garden, and running across the sand. Sampson followed, and behind him went Haynes, his gun raised in readiness. Garrison was about to follow suit, when a chunk of fencing evaporated with a sudden, sharp crack.

"Don't move!" Both Garrison and Ferris froze, turning only slightly to see Tyrone Earl behind them, a powerul assualt rifle in his hands. He pointed it at them, grinning manically. "One move and I put a hole in you boys where you really don't want one. Now put your hands in the air and keep real still."

"You put your hands in the air, Tyrone." Tyrone froze at the sound of the voice, recognising it, but unable to quite accept that it was there.

"Lieutenant?" he asked, turning his head to see what was going on. Nick Rivera stood behind him, keeping a firm grip on Brooke McKenzie's arm. He was holding a large handgun. "You've got that gun pointed at the wrong man."

"So I've been told; which is why I'm taking all four of you into custody." Rivera glanced about. "You there Jonathon? I'm warning you; you try anything and I'll fire."

"He's on the beach, lieutenant. There are two men after him." Tyrone did not bother to hide the concern in his voice. "They'll kill him if they catch up with him."

"Really." Rivera gestured with his gun, making all four of his prisoners gather together on the steps at the back of the house. He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt, and ordered Brooke to cuff Haynes and Ferris to the railing. She complied, moving slowly, then took a second pair of cuffs, using them to fix both herself and Tyrone to the other rail.

"Right, now stay here." Checking the chamber of his gun, Rivera ran off, leaping the fence easily. Immediately Brooke reached down, pulling a small key from inside her shoe. She grinned at Tyrone's intrigued expression, and quickly undid the cuffs.

"Come on." Grabbing a fallen gun, she took off after Rivera. Tyrone followed on. It was harder to run on the sand, but they made good time. Ahead they could see Jonathon, clearly in trouble, as he tried to hold off both Garrison and Sampson. Tyrone levelled his rifle, blinking hard to clear the sweat from his eyes. At this distance, accuracy was difficult, and he had no wish to hit Jonathon by mistake; but he saw no alternative. He fired, and grinned in delight as Garrison slumped to the ground, gripping his shoulder. Rivera spun around, firing back at Tyrone, and he and Brooke dived to the ground.

"Give it up, Steve. That's a cop behind us." Spying Nick, Jonathon wished he could be sure that it was Sampson Rivera was after, and not him. "It's over."

"Not yet." Sampson raised his gun, trying to fire again, but found that his gun was empty. "Damn."

"Give up," Jonathon repeated, but Steve laughed.

"No." With a yell, he hurled himself at his old friend, and they crashed together into the surf, rolling over and over in the waves. Jonathon felt his head being forced beneath the surface, and sent a fist flying upwards at Steve. A pained grunt came in response, and Chase felt the grip on his neck relax. He pulled free, following up the first punch with a second one; only to find that Sampson had dodged. A heavy blow cracked against his ribs and he gasped, turning to face Steve in time to avoid most of the power behind a second punch.

"Both of you! Freeze!" They stopped, standing very still at the sound of approaching footsteps. Nick Rivera pointed his gun at the pair, his eyes wide. "Neither one of you move."

"Guess again, cop." Steve spun, throwing a fountain of salty spray into Rivera's face. The lieutenant stumbled back, taken by surprise, and Sampson ran, dashing away across the beach. Jonathon made a dive for his gun, fallen at the edge of the surf, only to hear a loud click.

"Don't do it, Jonathon. Raise that gun and I'll fire." Nick Rivera's voice sounded as cold as ice, and Jonathon glanced up at him.

"Lieutenant..." he began, his fingers closing around the weapon.

"Dammit Jonathon, I mean it." Nick's gun was no more than few inches away from the other man's head, and the tension in the air was electric. "Don't try it."

"Lieutenant!" Brooke's voice came from nowhere, startling Nick enough to make him swing around, pointing his gun at her. She held her hands out away from her body, showing that she was unarmed. "We're not the ones you want, Nick. Honest. That man that is getting away is Steven Sampson. He made Jonathon rob that museum. He said he'd kill me and Ty otherwise."

"You reckon the others will corroborate that?" Desperate to believe them, Nick's voice sounded strained with tension. Brooke nodded.

"Sure to, when they realise they'll take the rap alone otherwise. Give us a chance, lieutenant. Please?"

There was a silence. Rivera glanced back at Jonathon, still frozen and waiting, his hand on the fallen gun. He did not look dangerous, although that was hardly reason enough to trust him. He smiled uncertainly, his bright eyes blinking up at the detective, who still held the power of life and death over him. Gradually Rivera's shoulders relaxed.

"Okay." He nodded, and managed a smile. "I'll give you a chance. But I'll also put the lot of you under arrest. Hand me that gun, Jonathon." The professor did so, moving slowly, then glanced towards the small figure in the distance. Rivera saw where he was looking.

"Don't worry. We'll get him." He gestured with his gun towards the beach house. "Now get moving, the lot of you."

**********

"> "Well? Are we free to go yet?" Sitting in his cell with a decidedly dejected expression on his face, Tyrone looked up as Rivera opened the door. The lieutenant grinned.

"Yeah, sure. Sorry. I was on my way to tell you earlier, but there's this amazing policewoman on duty out there. A six foot blonde, with legs you wouldn't believe." He sighed. "I may decide to get a transfer."

"Not if you're planning to let MacLean take over in your place." Glad to be finally allowed out of her cell, Brooke joined Rivera and Tyrone. "Did they all confess?"

"To everything." Rivera hugged her impulsively. "I'm sorry for doubting you."

"Don't worry about it. It wasn't your fault. What's going to happen to Dashel?"

"We can't pin much on him, but we are getting him for illegal ownership of that little arsenal in his hall cupboard." Rivera shrugged. "It's better than nothing."

"And Steve?" Wandering up to the door of his cell, Jonathon gazed steadily at the lieutenant through the bars. Rivera shook his head.

"Sorry. Nobody has seen him. We will get him though."

"I doubt it. He'll be long gone by now." He smiled grimly at Tyrone. "But he'll be back."

"We'll be ready for him, though, right pal?" Tyrone looked expectantly at Rivera, waiting for him to release Jonathon. The lieutenant was smiling.

"About my cells," he said, glaring at the prisoner through the bars. "I wasn't impressed at what you did, you know. Ridiculing security, breaking two felons out of prison, stealing a police car. I've half a mind to leave you in there."

"Oh come on, lieutenant." Filled with mock indignation, Jonathon put on his best innocent expression. "I don't know what--"

"Save it." Rivera turned away and walked off down the corridor. Brooke and Tyrone, laughing, joined him, and Jonathon scowled after them all.

"See if I care," he shouted after them, as they vanished from sight. Moments later, as they left the cells, they were joined by a small black monkey. It swung up onto Brooke's shoulder and nestled there contentedly, and as they left the police station she smiled across at it.

"Jonathon," she told it, with mock severity. "You damn well better get down before you change back, or I'm not going to be amused." The monkey chattered to her in its own, merry language, and Tyrone caught it up, dropping it onto the back seat of the car that Nick Rivera was climbing into.

"Come on, buddy," he told it with a grin. "We have to get home."

The monkey seemed to agree, and as the car started up, it dropped something in Tyrone's lap. He looked down at it, seeing that it was a gold necklace. As he stared at it in amazement, the monkey chuckled at him, and was still laughing as it reverted to human form.

"Happy Birthday," Jonathon said with a grin. Tyrone laughed.

"You really do belong in that jail cell." They both grinned, sharing the joke, and enjoying the confusion of the two on the front seats. Eventually the pair settled down, enjoying the view out of the window as they headed back towards New York. It was a relief to be going home, and to know that it was all over, for a while at least. It was good to be on the right side of the law again. Palm trees rolled past the windows and white sand flashed by in the distance. But then again, thought Tyrone, as he relaxed back to watch a parade of scantily clad young women headed for the beach, there were clear perks to be had from being a wanted man. He grinned, and winked at one of the women. She smiled back, and he sighed in contentment. It was definitely a beautiful day.

THE END