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Part 4

by

Margaret Sinclair and Trish Boulding

Part 5

Chapter 28: "...Heartaches By The Score"

The sound of a key turning in the lock of his front door had Starsky up from where he'd been sprawled on his couch and across the room to where his holster hung behind the door like a bolt of lightning. He wasn't involved with anyone closely enough at the moment to have given them a key to his place and the only other people besides himself who should rightfully have one were: a) Hutch, who was still in the hospital, b) Dobey, who would never use his key without knocking if he thought Starsky might be there, and c) his elderly landlady, who always knocked first and would never come by at this time of the night. So that left someone who wasn't entitled coming in his door and, to Starsky that could only mean trouble. Maybe it was some flunky of the Sultan's who'd missed the plane. Or maybe even the Sultan himself! As Hutch had pointed out, no body fitting his description had been recovered from the crash site.

So, Starsky huddled in the corner behind the door, holding his breath, listening to the blood pounding in his ears as the doorknob turned silently and the door was slowly pushed open. He cocked the hammer of his gun and waited for his moment.

Hutch, turning from trying to catch one last glimpse of Paula as she drove away, took one look at the bowl of popcorn spilled on the floor of Starsky's living room and knew in a flash what was about to happen. "Don't do it, Starsk!" he cried, raising his hands. "It's me!"

Starsky's surprised stare quickly transformed itself into an angry scowl. "Good God, Hutch!" he managed in a voice that quavered a little. "I hope like Hell this isn't another one of your sick jokes, 'cause I'm not in the mood!" he shouted, uncocking his gun before slowly sliding down the wall to the floor, his knees having suddenly gone rubbery in delayed reaction to what he'd almost done. He looked down at the loaded gun in his hand, and, if possible went a shade paler.

"Dammit!" he went on in a softer tone. "Why'd ya' sneak in here like that? What's wrong with you, huh? Do ya' like getting shot?" His voice was definitely shaky now and Hutch couldn't help but notice the way his partner's hand trembled as he got back to his feet and, with exaggerated care, replaced his gun in it's holster before slamming the still open door and returning to collapse once more in the spot he'd recently occupied on the couch. "I coulda blown your head off!" he said then, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hutch was having his own delayed reaction. "I-I..." He stammered, then swallowed hard and tried again. "I wasn't thinking, Starsk! Honest! I didn't do it on purpose!" Starsky at least was looking at him now, so he went on. "The doctor released me several hours ago. Then Paula and I went out to dinner, to say goodbye, ya' know?' Hutch babbled. "Anyway, it was her idea to drop me off here on the way to the airport. I really am sorry, Starsky! I didn't even think about callin' to let you know I was out and coming over! I...I had no idea you'd react like you did!" he finished contritely.

Starsky didn't say anything right away, but Hutch could tell that all of the tension had gone out of his friend's body. And he'd stopped glaring at him, too. Taking this as a good sign, Hutch slowly crossed the room to sit down beside his friend on the couch, careful not to touch him. Not yet.

"Don't ever do that again!" Starsky finally said without meeting Hutch's eyes.

"I wasn't plannin' on it becoming a habit!" Hutch grumbled, sure now that he'd been forgiven. Starsky stared at his bare feet a moment longer, then, suddenly, looked up with this funny little smile on his face.

"Ya' shoulda seen your face!" he declared softly, having gone from abject fear, to anger, and now to humor within the space of a few minutes. It almost made Hutch dizzy at times, trying to keep up with his friend's mercurial mood swings. But he managed somehow to snort in response, despite the fact that his heart rate had still not returned to normal.

"Oh yeah? You should have seen yours!" The last of the tension between them was dissolved by their shared laughter.

Hutch's smile quickly changed into a smirk of disgust a moment later when Starsky, who'd been down on his floor picking up the spilled popcorn, plopped back down on the couch and resumed eating it as if nothing had happened.

"Uh...Starsk? That's been on the floor, you know!" he informed his partner carefully.

Starsky looked over at him with an innocent expression. "I know. So?"

"And you're still going to eat it?" Hutch asked, his nose wrinkled in distaste and his eyes wide in disbelief.

"Sure! Hey, what's wrong with it? Haven't you ever heard of the 'ten second rule'? 'Sides, my floor's clean! Now if it had been on, say, your floor...well, that mighta been a different matter!" Starsky grinned. Hutch only shook his head as he turned to see what movie Starsky had been watching before he got there. As he might have guessed, it was an old black and white B sci-fi film.

As if able to read Hutch's thoughts, Starsky gestured towards the screen. "'Plan 9 From Outer Space'," he commented around a mouthful of popcorn. "It's the last film Bela Lugosi ever made. He died less than halfway through the shooting, and they ended up getting the producer's wife's chiropractor to play his role so that they could finish the film. Problem was, besides him not bein' an actor, the guy was much taller than poor Bela and didn't look a thing like him! That's one reason he has so few lines and why most of the scenes with his character in 'em are shot from a distance! And it also explains why he keeps puttin' his cape in front of his face so much!"

Hutch only nodded at this. What else could he say? Old sci-fi and monster movies were his partner's area of expertise, not his. For all he knew, Starsky could be making the whole thing up.

"So, did you get that friend for your rock?" Hutch asked a bit later, reaching over without thinking for a handful of the popcorn. It wasn't until he'd already eaten some of it that he realized what he'd done. He forced himself to swallow what was already in his mouth, then, as discreetly as he could, put what was left in his hand back into the bowl. Starsky had seen the whole thing, of course, but knew better than to comment.

"Sure did! Want to see her? She's a beauty!" Starsky grinned.

"I'll take your word for it, Starsk!" Hutch smiled. "When it comes to rocks, I'm afraid I'm no judge!"

"Hey! Bogey thought so, too! You shoulda seen the way he looked at her when I took her out of her box! And I think she liked what she saw, too! What can I say? The kid's inherited my charm and my looks! I think he and Laurie are going to be very happy together!" Starsky said with a satisfied nod.

"Laurie?" Hutch asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Short for 'Lauren'," Starsky grinned.

Hutch shook his head. "I had to ask!" he groaned.

It was Starsky who broke the companionable silence next. "You want a beer, Hutch?" he asked, already en route to the kitchen to get one for himself.

"Sure! Why not? It's not like either of us has to get up in the morning!" Hutch answered wryly.

Starsky handed him one can as he returned, then opened the other and took a long swallow, followed by a soft belch and a sigh of pure contentment as he leaned back again with half-closed eyes into the couch cushions.

"You're getting pretty good at that!" Hutch declared, having watched in amazement as his friend had easily performed all these tasks single-handedly, so to speak, since his right arm was still bound in a sling.

"Ya' think so?" Starsky asked. "Well ya' ain't heard nothin' yet! What do you think of this one?" With a wicked grin, Starsky tilted his can back for another big gulp of beer before letting forth with a burp that literally shook the glass in the windows behind them.

Hutch could only stare at him. "That was gross, even for you, Starsk!" he choked, though, secretly, it was all he could do to keep from laughing again. He'd learned the hard way not to give his overgrown adolescent partner even the faintest hint of encouragement when he did things like that.

"You want another?" Starsky asked a little while later, getting up for yet another beer for himself. They'd already gone through one six pack and were working on a second.

"Maybe just one more!" Hutch replied, "I don't want to get so sloshed that I can't drive home!"

"You won't be able to do that anyway, buddy!" Starsky called from the kitchen. "Paula dropped you off, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah." How could he have forgotten that? It usually took more than three beers to muddle his thinking that much! Or was it four? He seemed to have lost count. "How many have you had, Starsk?" he asked as Starsky returned with the cold cans and resumed his place beside his friend, stretching out to rest his bare feet on Hutch's nearest leg. Hutch's stocking feet were propped comfortably up on Starsky's coffee table.

"Don't know," Starsky smiled, feelin' pleasantly mellow as he popped the top on his latest Bud and took a sip. "Same as you...enough to figure that I ain't gonna be drivin' anymore tonight! So I guess that means you're gonna hafta stay over...unless ya' were plannin' on callin' a cab or somethin'?"

"Stayin' over sounds good," Hutch nodded. "That is unless you'd rather I...?"

"You're always welcome, Hutch," Starsky said, his tone taking on that gravely serious note it sometimes did when he was drunk...or, at least on his way to being drunk. "You know that!"

Hutch nodded and the companionable silence descended once more.

"Hey, Hutch?" Starsky asked after he'd downed about half his can. "Can I ask you somethin'?"

"Sure, Starsk! Anything, you know that!" Hutch answered expansively, smiling as he intentionally echoed his friend's words of a few minutes before.

"Well..." Starsky began, his eyes on the t.v. screen, though he no longer really cared about the movie. "While the Sultan had me, he had his goons bring me out to talk to him once. It musta been the second or third day I was there...I'm not sure 'cause I didn't have any way to keep track of the time."

Hutch frowned. "Why is this the first time I'm hearin' about this?" he asked, his tone more curious than miffed.

"I just couldn't seem to bring myself to talk about it. Least ways, not 'til now," Starsky told him.

Hutch reached out to squeeze Starsky's nearest shoulder, his good left one, making him turn and look at him. "Was it bad?" he asked gently.

Starsky nodded. "Yeah, it was! But not in the way you're thinkin'! The guy was just finishin' dinner or something and he was acting all gracious-like—even offered me some dessert!"

"What did he want?" Hutch asked when Starsky did not continue right away.

"To offer me job, believe it or not!"

Hutch snorted. "I can imagine what you said to that!"

Starsky let out a little snort of his own. "Anyways, that's what he said! I really think...no, I'm sure that what he really wanted was to mess with my head!"

"How so? Other than the job offer, that is."

"Well, while he had me there, he showed me all these pictures....pictures of you, Hutch. And Paula. Together."

Hutch stared at his friend a moment blankly before he suddenly realized what his partner was saying. Starsky was talking more rapidly now, as if he wanted to get it all out before he lost his nerve again.

"He...he kept goin' on and on about how you didn't look too broken up about my disappearin' on ya' and how you had other things on your mind, that kind of stuff."

Hutch felt the floor open up beneath him. "God, Starsk!" he managed to breathe. Of all the ways the Sultan could have chosen to torture Starsky, he'd somehow hit on what would cause him the most pain.

"I didn't want to believe it, Hutch! I knew you'd never...! But I was so tired! And I was hurtin' pretty bad, too! And....and you were smiling in so many of those damned pictures!" Starsky dropped his feet to the floor and sat up, his hand going up to scrub irritably at his eyes, embarrassed by his feelings.

Hutch moved his hand from Starsky's shoulder to the back of his neck and bent his partner's head toward him until their foreheads were almost touching. "You listen to me, Starsky! I swear to you, I never once forgot about you, you go that? Not once, the whole time you were missing!"

Starsky had his eyes squeezed shut tightly, a faint glitter of moisture on his dark eyelashes. He thought he'd gotten this all worked out on his own and was surprised to find that he still wanted...no, needed to tell Hutch about how he'd felt and hear his partner's explanation of those painful photos. "I know that, Hutch!" he whispered, reaching around with his good arm to mirror Hutch's hold on the back of his neck. "Yet, for a moment...just a little while, maybe...he almost made me believe it! And it hurt, Hutch! Worse than any of the times I got shot. Worse even than when that creep with the sewer breath twisted my arm back out of it socket!"

"Oh, damn! I'm sorry, Starsky! I'm so sorry!" Hutch could hardly speak around the lump in his throat. He attempted to swallow it back. "Those pictures you mentioned," he went on then, "Are you sure it was even me in them? You were in pretty bad shape at the time—you said so yourself! Maybe it was just some guy who kinda looked like me!"

"It was you, Hutch! They didn't do anything to my eyes! And I've looked across my desk at that ugly mug of yours for enough years to know what ya' look like, pal! It was you!" Starsky took a deep breath, taken off guard by the sudden surge of irrational anger he was feeling. "One of 'em...the last one he showed me, the one I kept seeing later, when they dumped me back in the basement and left me there...it showed the two of you at your place. You were standing in front of that window in your living room that looks out over your balcony and Paula was wearin' this flimsy little nightgown and you were kissing her! You sure didn't look like you were thinkin' of me then!! Was that a fake, partner? Or did that really happen?"

Starsky's eyes searched his friend's and found his answer. He pulled out of Hutch's grip and moved a little away from him. In reality, less than a foot separated them, and yet it might as well have been the Grand Canyon.

"They had me in this stinking little hole in the ground with no food and no water and not even a bucket to pee in, Hutch!" he said, his voice barely above a whisper, each word cutting through his friend like a knife as he painted a vivid picture of what he'd experienced, not sparing him anything. "At one point, I thought they'd gone off and left me...that I'd die down there and no one might ever find me! But then I'd think, 'It's going to be okay! Hutch is out there lookin' for me and he's gonna come and find me, just like he always does, and everything will be all right!'"

"And I did find you, Starsky!" Hutch whispered back, stricken by the naked pain in his friend's voice.

"Yeah, you did. I know that and I told you thank you! But...Aw, Hell! I'm just tryin' to tell ya'...well, it still hurt, Hutch! It still does!"

"Oh, babe." Hutch's voice had taken on a slight quaver. He blinked rapidly a couple of times, trying to stop the tears he felt gathering. "I wish I could lie to you, partner, and tell you that every single moment that you were missing was a living Hell for me! But that one night, and a few other moments Paula and I spent together that week...they weren't. I'm not trying to make excuses, Starsky. But I feel it's only fair to tell you...what you're talking about happened on the same day Carla was killed, the same day the Sultan played his little head game on me with that damned envelope of your hair! I didn't want to even think it! But for a little while there, I...I thought you were dead, Starsk. And I was half out of my mind because I knew it was my fault if you were! That I'd been too slow finding you! And that I never should have left you alone in the ER to get kidnapped in the first place!" Hutch's voice broke and he had to pause a moment before he could go on.

"Hutch..." Starsky tried to put in quietly, but stopped when Hutch shook his index finger in his face.

"Paula was staying with me, in my apartment...I admit that! But as a friend! Up until that night, I'd been sleeping on the couch." Hutch's voice grew softer again.

"Somehow, that night, she could sense how I was feeling...how desperate I was and how hopeless it all seemed. She came to me, Starsk! To comfort me. It was the only time anything happened between us the whole time you were gone! The next day, I got shot at the warehouse and that night we both went with Becker to get you. You've been with me almost every minute since, pal. Until tonight, and God knows, as much as I would have liked to, I wasn't up to it this evening!"

It was Starsky's turn to reach out and Hutch's to pull away. "I have no idea who took those pictures, Starsky—though it wouldn't surprise me if this was more of Marshall's work! But what they showed you was given to you totally out of context! So maybe I did smile a couple of times while you missing. Excuse the Hell out of me! I'm only human—as I seem to recall you telling me not so long ago!

"And as for what Paula and I may have shared..." Hutch jumped up from the couch, suddenly furious. "Who the Hell are you to judge me, Starsky? To decide how I should handle my feelings? I've done some stupid things over the years and I realize that there have been times when I may have gone too far and hurt you! But I would never have thought that you'd for one minute believe...Thanks a lot, Starsk! It's good to know what you really think of me!"

"I'm not judgin' you, Hutch! I...aw, damn it! I don't even know why I brought this up! Believe it or not, I think I started out wantin' to apologize for ever having doubted you. I'm sorry I went and loused that up. I guess I shoulda just left well enough alone!"

Hutch took in a deep breath and came back to sit down beside his partner again on the couch. "It's been a rough week all around, Starsky. Let's just chalk it all up to that and forget about it, okay?"

Starsky nodded and returned his attention to the television. Or at least pretended to. There was still one other thing on his mind, but now he was afraid to ask about it. Hutch must have sensed Starsky's mood as, a few minutes later, he turned his focus from the t.v. to his friend again with an exaggerated sigh.

"Are you just going to keep glancing at me when you think I'm not looking all night?" he asked. "Or are you planning on letting the other shoe drop?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Starsky protested, pretending to be thoroughly engrossed in the commercial that was on.

"Come off it, Starsk! We both know something's still bugging you. So, out with it! Come on, we might as well completely clear the air here!"

Starsky reluctantly turned to face him again. "Okay...but you may not like it."

"We've already covered that. Spill it, Starsky."

The darker man sighed. "The pictures were only half of it, Hutch. The Sultan also implied...well, he almost as good as said...!" Starsky lifted pain-filled eyes to meet his friend's. "Hutch...you'd tell me if you were plannin' on leavin' the force for some reason, wouldn't ya'? I mean, you wouldn't keep something like that back, to spare my feelin's or whatever just because I was hurt or something?"

Hutch's brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Leaving the force? Where in blazes did you get that idea? And where do you think I'd go?"

"I don't know...to Washington, maybe. Or that place in Virginia Paula's flying to tonight, the one with the Indian name."

"Why on earth would I be going to Quantico, Starsk?" Hutch asked, more puzzled than ever. The beer was definitely slowing up his thinking processes by now.

"Isn't that where all the new agents go to be trained, Hutch? And if you were going to be Paula's new partner, you'd have to be trained, wouldn't ya'?" Starsky persisted gently.

"Paula's part... You're not making any sense, Starsky! Who said I was going to be Paula's new partner? She didn't say something like that, did she? Because she sure as Hell didn't mention it to me!"

"No, Hutch," Starsky said quietly, sorrier than ever that he'd brought this subject up. "Paula didn't say anything about it! I just thought, since you two were getting so close and all, that maybe..." Of course, it had only been another of the Sultan's lies! But now that he'd mentioned it, what if Hutch were to actually start to consider it?

Hutch only stared at Starsky thoughtfully for a long moment, trying to decide how to react to this. At last, he reached out and gently placed his hand on Starsky's nearest knee. "I don't know where my relationship with Paula is headed," he told his friend honestly. "Who knows what either of us might want to do down the road? But I can tell you this, Starsky! I'd never make plans to break up our partnership without telling you about it, and I'd never stop being your best friend, even if I did someday decide to leave the force! But that day's not today, pal! Leastways, I wasn't planning on it being! The Commissioner, however, might have other ideas on the matter!"

The hard knot Starsky had not even realized had been in his chest all this time suddenly loosened, leaving him almost giddy in relief. "Maybe we better go ahead and pack, in case we have to make that quick trip to Bolivia after all!" he quipped, flashing Hutch the full wattage of one of his patented grins.

Hutch laughed, whacking Starsky on the leg before intentionally reaching across him to help himself to another handful of Starsky's popcorn—his grandfather had always said that you had to eat a pound of dirt before you die, so, what the Hell? After what they'd both survived this week, a few germs weren't likely to cause him that much harm. And whatever still lay ahead of them, he now knew they'd survive that, too. Just like they always did. Together.

Chapter 29: "Let the Sun Shine!"

Brian Becker tilted his dark sunglasses up to rub at his tired eyes before glancing again at his wristwatch as he waited for the light to turn green. He saw, to his relief, that he still had plenty of time to make it to his destination, despite the heavy traffic that was the norm for D.C. this time of the day. He felt himself relax as the long light finally changed and allowed him to proceed on his way. Today, of all days, it wouldn't do for him to be late!

He'd made this same drive so many times over the past couple of weeks that he now felt that he could do it in his sleep—might have a few times! But his heart was a little lighter as he made this trip today because today was the last time he would ever have to drive this route. Today, for better or worse, was the last day of the hearings, the day when his friend, Alan's, fate would finally be decided. And, no matter how things turned out, he knew that just having this over with and behind him would be a great relief for his friend. The unexpected phone call he had received from a trusted source just prior to leaving his hotel this morning wasn't hurting his mood either. For the first time in a long time, Brian Becker was feeling a bit of hope again.

Snow had fallen the night before, coating the city in a fresh blanket of white and the day was still new enough that the traffic had yet to turn it all into the gray slush it would become before evening. The heavy clouds that had shrouded the city earlier in the week had all blown off and sunshine sparkled in rainbow hues on the millions of tiny icicles that adorned the cherry trees along the roadside, turning them into natural crystal ornaments to rival any of the man-made Christmas decorations that had been put up. Becker drove slowly and carefully, enjoying the scenery while still remaining mindful of the traffic, his own weariness, and the slipperiness of the pavement.

His own part in the hearings had ended days ago. The committee had voiced its opinion of his role in the events culminating in the attempted assassination plot in no uncertain terms, but then had let him go with little more than a reprimand. He still had his own boss to deal with, but felt fairly certain, due to his superior's chagrin at his mistaken assumptions about the depth of Becker's involvement with the Sultan, that his boss would not make life too difficult for him. At least, not for very long! The discovery of duplicity by not just one, but two of the best and most trusted agents under his command had left the man understandably rattled. Becker knew he would be needed to help out with the reorganizing and clean up investigations all of this was bound to leave in its wake.

Alan, however...now, that was another matter. When Becker's turn had come to testify, he'd done the best he could to make the committee aware of the extreme mental anguish that had prompted his friend's desperate actions. He knew that there was no way that that would be enough to completely exonerate him, yet he still held out some hope for leniency, especially considering that, in the end, Alan had been the one to reveal Grayson as a traitor and to save the President's life. That, and all the good years Alan had put in, in service to the government and his country, surely had to count for something!

The Capitol building loomed in the near-distance. A few minutes more, and he'd reached the government office building where the hearings had been carried out. He'd expected, at first, to have to appear on the Senate floor for these proceedings, especially with the new, open door policies this particular president had so strenuously worked to put into place during his time in office. But, in this case, it turned out that he, too, had agreed that these hearings did not need to be made public knowledge. At least, not just yet. The records would, of course, have to be released to the general public eventually, at an unspecified later date. Or so the President had ordered. Still, he given that directive knowing full well that he would only be in office another month and a half, and then would have no more say in what happened to the records one way or another. And who knew how much of what had taken place in Los Angeles would ever be revealed to the new Chief Executive, if any of it? No, Becker already had a sneaking suspicion that this was one incident that would never make it into the history books!

This building housed a fair number of government offices and a lot more business than just the hearings was being conducted here, making finding a parking space challenging, but not impossible. Becker soon found one on the next block and walked briskly, breathing in the clean, crisp air, back to the entrance. There, much to his surprise, he saw three other people he recognized just climbing the steps to the main doors ahead of him. They, like he, must have come to hear the Committee's decision on Alan—there was no other conceivable reason for these three to be here. He called out to them and waved, and they paused to wait for him to catch up.

Starsky was the first of the group to greet him. "Hey, Becker! How are you doin'?" he grinned enthusiastically, giving the older black man a hearty slap on the back before offering him his hand. Becker returned both the handshake and the smile.

"I'm doing as well as can be expected, given the last couple of weeks," Becker answered honestly. "And you? I have to say you look a Hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you! And your hair is coming along nicely. Another couple of weeks and you should be able to ditch those hats for good!"

"Yeah, it's comin' in way quicker than I thought it would!" Starsky laughed good-naturedly, running his right hand, once Becker had released it, across the half-inch or so of growth that now covered his scalp in dark, soft curls, rather like a baby's hair. "And the arm's finally out of a sling, as you can see. The doctors tell me that, with another month or so of PT, it'll be almost as good as new!" A brown Fedora was tucked casually under his other arm, a match to the chocolate brown suit he wore beneath his long tan coat. A darker brown tie with small gold stripes on it and a cream colored shirt completed his outfit, going well with his dark coloring. Becker was amused to note that, instead of dress shoes, Starsky wore a pair of blue Adidas running shoes on his feet.

"I'm glad to hear that," Becker told him, before turning to Starsky's partner, who was standing next to and a little behind his friend. Hutch was also dressed in a suit, his of midnight blue with a white shirt and a maroon tie with silver stripes beneath a charcoal gray overcoat. But unlike his more casual partner, he, of course, was wearing dress shoes, a pair of well-polished, black and white wingtips. His hair, though still a bit long, had been neatly trimmed and all but glowed in the bright sunshine and the dark circles were gone from beneath his eyes. "Hutchinson," he said, offering his hand now to the blond. "You're also looking a lot healthier these days. I trust you are also healing well?"

"I'm managing," Hutch smiled. "Like Starsky, I have a little PT ahead of me yet. But, all in all, I can't complain too much."

"That's new," Becker commented after they had finished shaking hands, pointing to the first shadow of a mustache coming in on Hutch's upper lip.

Hutch blushed slightly. "Yeah, well...after having our faces plastered all over the news these last two weeks, I thought a little change in my image might be in order. Just in case either Starsky or I are ever allowed to do undercover work again!"

"Dobey's threatened to put us both on traffic control for the next fifty years!" Starsky put in, with a mock shudder and another grin. "He's told us that before, of course, but this time I think he really means it!"

Becker had to laugh at that. He'd heard from his own sources about what had happened to the two L.A. detectives. The Commissioner, after a thorough IA investigation and careful consideration, had decided it would be better for the Department's image (read his image) to make the two of them out to be heroes rather than villains. Their parts in the "rescue" of the President had been played up to the hilt, complete with an awards ceremony, a parade, and the whole nine yards. Both men had been very embarrassed by the whole thing, and so the trip to D.C. had come as a welcome break from all the media attention.

"Enjoy your 'fifteen minutes of fame' while it lasts!" the seasoned agent advised his younger friends, chuckling. "Lord knows the thanks come few and far between in our jobs!"

"Well, I, for one, am ready for someone else to have their turn in the spotlight!" Starsky grumbled. "I just want to get my shoulder back in shape and get back to catchin' the bad guys! That's thanks enough for me! Right partner?"

"You got it, Starsk!" Hutch agreed. "Hey, I don't know about the rest of you, but it's a bit nippy out here for me! Why don't we finish the rest of this conversation inside, where it's warmer?"

The others nodded their agreement, and they all went up the steps together and on into the building. While they had been talking, the nine-to-fivers had all had a chance to reach their offices, making it easier for them to get an elevator car to themselves. They got in and Becker pushed the button for their floor before finally turning to the last member of the group.

"I'm glad to see you, too, Hamilton," he greeted her, though in a quieter tone than he had used for the two men. "I'm also a little surprised, though I guess I shouldn't be. You said you wanted to see Alan get what was coming to him!" He hadn't meant for it to come out sounding like an accusation. When her turn to testify had come, Hamilton, to his surprise, had stuck strictly to the facts concerning his and Slater's actions, never once coloring her account with her personal opinions.

"You've got it all wrong!" Starsky spoke up before Paula could answer for herself. "After sitting through your testimony, and hearin' what Slater had to say for himself, Agent Hamilton's had a little change of heart. Haven't you, Paula?"

The blond woman was standing on Hutchinson's other side from Starsky, with her right arm threaded through Hutchinson's left. She leaned forward enough to shoot Starsky a mildly exasperated look, to which she got an apologetic shrug in reply, before turning back to meet Becker's gaze once more. "Dave's right, Becker," she sighed then. "I guess, after hearing the whole story in there from you, and seeing how Slater looked when he was talking about his son, even though he was trying so hard to keep his testimony strictly impersonal and professional...well, I guess it just got harder for me to keep hating him. And the remorse he showed when they asked him about Derek...! I would have known if he was faking that, and he wasn't. I believe he feels genuine guilt, not only for Derek's death, but for Carla's and the Premier's and all those police officers' from Metro division as well. I know now that you were telling me the truth when you said there wasn't anything he did directly to cause those deaths and nothing he could have done to prevent any of them. You were right, Becker. The Sultan was the only one to blame on all of those accounts and I hope he's burning in Hell for it right now!"

"Amen to that!" Becker fervently seconded the wish. The bell dinged and the doors parted to let them out on their floor. The four exited and walked down the hallway together, each lost for a moment in their own thoughts. When they reached the door to the suite where the hearings had been held, they paused again. Today's session was not scheduled to start for another twenty minutes, and none of them were anxious to sit in that room any longer than they had to.

"So," Becker began again, to fill the awkward silence, "What are all of you doing after this? I take it you all still have some time off?"

Becker sensed their hesitation to answer that question, and could guess at its cause. According to his sources, they all three were still officially listed as being on "medical leave". Yet for how long, and what assignments they might expect to be given once they were cleared to return to duty, was anybody's guess.

It was Hutch who took on the role of spokesperson for their group this time. "Well, Starsky and I only arrived last night, so I guess we'll spend a couple of more days here sightseeing, then it's on to New York to visit with Starsky's mom. She's invited us all for Thanksgiving dinner."

Becker raised an eyebrow curiously. "All of you?" he asked. "Meaning you, too, Hamilton?"

Paula laughed. "Me, too," she confirmed. "I believe her exact words were, 'the more, the merrier'!" She looked up at Hutch and smiled. "Actually, a home-cooked meal sounds pretty good. And I gather from Ken that Mrs. Starsky is not a woman to be argued with!"

"And he ain't kiddin' either, Paula! The fact that she's been able to keep me in line all these years should tell ya' something about that!" Starsky put in, and they all laughed together.

Becker glanced at his watch, and up to the doorway. "Maybe we should see about finding some seats," he said, sobering again.

Hutch reached out to lightly touch his arm to stop him before he could go through the door. "Uh, Becker...if you don't mind, I have a few questions I'd like to ask before we go in there."

The black man sighed and turned back. "Go ahead, though I won't know if I can answer any of them until I hear what they are," he said. Hutch nodded his understanding.

"First off, what happened to Marshall? I've asked Dobey, and he said that he'd been subpoenaed to testify here and was taken into government custody. These hearings, for all intents and purposes, are over. So, what happens to him now? Will he be returned to L.A. to stand trial?"

Becker sighed again, knowing that the blond detective was not going to like the answer to that. "In exchange for his testimony, Gary Marshall was given immunity for any crimes he committed while in the Sultan's employ and also entered in the federal witness protection program. I'm sorry, Hutchinson. I know that hardly seems fair, considering what he did."

"No," Hutch admitted, "It doesn't. But life isn't fair, is it?" Hutch surprised himself that he didn't feel much more than a brief flare of anger at this. Maybe, after all they had been through, Marshall's fate just wasn't that big a deal anymore. Either that, or he was just flat too tired to manage anything more at the moment.

"All right," he went on. "What about the Sultan's girlfriend, Rogue Star? What's going to happen to her? Or was the rumor I heard that she had survived just a rumor?"

"It's not a rumor, she's alive, though barely! She's still in the hospital in critical condition. Whether or not she will ever stand trial depends. From what I hear, it may be months, if ever, before she recovers from her injuries."

Hutch nodded. At least she would no longer pose a threat to anyone! He drew a deep breath and put forth his last question. "And what about the Sultan himself? Only two bodies were reported to have been recovered from where that plane went down, neither of which fit his description. Was anyone able to confirm, for sure, that it was the Sultan's plane that crashed? And, if so, is it possible he might not have been aboard when it did, that he might still be alive somewhere?"

Becker sighed again. "It was the same plane, Hutchinson. There's no doubt about that! And as to whether or not he was onboard... We all saw him get on that plane before it took off, and I can't see where he would have had time to get off anywhere else between the time that we saw it take off and the time that those fishing boat crews say it went down. So, to make a long answer short, I think we can safely conclude that he is dead."

"That's the best news I've heard since this whole mess started!" Starsky grinned. "I have to tell you, I've had a few nightmares about the possibility that he might still be lurking out there somewhere, just waitin' for things to settle down before he showed up again to seek his revenge! Thanks for clearin' that up for us, Becker!"

"You're welcome," Becker smiled back. "It may take months, or longer, before the rest of his organization is rounded up, but, with him out of the way..."

"Once you cut off the head of a snake..." Hutchinson said softly.

Becker nodded, checking his watch again. "The body may still wiggle awhile, but it's sure to die. Now, if that's all, I think we better go in. They'll be starting here in a few minutes." The others nodded and followed the tall black agent into the hearing chamber.

The room wasn't very crowded—these hearings had been kept as quiet as possible—so it wasn't too difficult for the four of them to find seats together near the front. They had all just finished removing their coats and getting settled in when the members of the committee overseeing these proceedings began to file in to take their places on the podium at the front of the room. The panel was made up of five men and one woman. Two of the men wore military uniforms and the others were dressed in dark, conservative clothing suitable to the gravity of the occasion. The gray haired man who had acted as the head of the committee throughout the process looked about a moment to make sure his fellow committee members were in place, shuffled briefly through the pile of notes before him, and cleared his throat.

"As it seems that we are all here, then we may begin," he stated simply. He gestured to the two stout Marines stationed near a side door opposite the one used by the committee. The taller of the two guards opened the door, and a third Marine escorted Alan Slater into the room and over to a chair at the very front, facing the panel. He came in quietly, his head bowed, and took his seat, only then looking up to meet the eyes of the men and woman who would soon pronounce judgment on him.

"Agent Slater," the chairman began, "I'm sure I need not remind you of the seriousness of the charges that are pending against you." Alan shook his head. "I also would like to state once again that, while this is not a formal court of law, this committee has been empowered nonetheless to investigate these charges and to decide how best to proceed, should we conclude that these allegations are true." Slater nodded. "Very well, then I do not feel we need to delay any longer. Alan Leslie Slater, after hearing extensive testimony in this matter, it is the unanimous opinion of this committee that the charges against you are indeed well founded. It has been proven beyond a reasonable doubt that you are guilty of having stolen evidence key to a federal criminal investigation, i.e. materials to be used in the production of counterfeit U.S. currency as well as a large sum of forged bills, that you have associated outside of your official capacity with an organization that, by your own testimony, has been involved in a large number of criminal activities, and that you have used the power of your office to create false legal documents and records. You also stand accused of the even more serious charges of treason, accessory to murder, and conspiracy to commit murder: more specifically, to assassinate the President of the United States. Under normal circumstances, I would have no choice but to recommend that these charges be leveled against you formally and appropriate legal action taken!"

The chairman paused, took a sip of water from the glass in front of him, and drew a deep breath before continuing in a softer tone. "However, as it has been pointed out, these are far from 'normal' circumstances. Agent Slater, would you please stand?" Slater looked at each member of the panel a moment in confusion as he slowly got to his feet. "Let me tell you, sir, that the decision we have reached was neither an easy nor a completely unanimous one! However, in light of the mitigating circumstances surrounding this case, and taking into consideration both the exemplary record you possessed prior to this incident and the various appeals made on your behalf, not the least of which was a petition from the President himself, this committee has decided not to press charges against you at this time. However, a record of these charges will be kept and can and will be brought against you again at any time in the future unless the following conditions are met:

1. You will immediately step down from your position in the Service, turning in all keys, badges, files, credentials and sensitive materials of any sort to an agent assigned to receive them by no later than 5 o'clock this evening.

2. You will never seek to obtain employment with any other government agency or office in any capacity nor in any position where your former knowledge of Secret Service codes, procedures, and practices could be misused for criminal purposes.

3. That you will not travel abroad without submitting a written itinerary and obtaining prior approval from an appropriate body to be named later. And,

4. That you will not be allowed access in perpetuity to any secure government facility.

"In exchange for your cooperation in keeping to these conditions, you will be allowed to retain your full retirement benefits, and all records of this matter will be suppressed from the public record. Do you understand and agree to these terms as they have been presented to you?"

Slater just stood there a long moment, too stunned to speak. Then he cleared his throat noisily. "I, uh," his voice came out a mere croak and he had to clear his throat again. "Yes," he managed at last, "I understand and I will agree to those terms."

The head of the committee looked at the bewildered former agent a second longer, then nodded. "Very well! Then, as far as I can see, we're done here. Gentlemen, and lady, of the committee, let me extend my thanks to each of you again for the time you have given to this matter. This committee stands adjourned." He got up from his chair, signaling the other panel members that they, too, could rise. Chairs were scraping back throughout the room and the air was full of murmured conversation as the dozen or so people who had come to observe the outcome of the proceedings began talking it over among themselves.

Becker let out the breath he had not realized he'd been holding and looked over at Hutch, Paula and Starsky. "Ahem! Well...I think I need to go and check on my friend. He seems to be having a bit of trouble taking all of this in!" In the midst of all of the activity going on around him, Slater still stood just as he was, not having moved since the chairman had finished speaking to him, seemingly completely unaware of his surroundings. "Uh, are you all going to come and congratulate him?" he asked.

Hutch glanced at the other two with him and shook his head. "I don't think, so, Becker. It looks like a mob of well-wishers is the last thing he needs just now. So, if you don't mind conveying them to him for us...?"

Becker nodded, shaking hands with them all one last time in farewell. "Of course. Thank you again for coming and...well, just thanks...from both of us."

"If you're ever out our way again...!" Starsky grinned.

"I'll be sure to look you up. You all take care and at least try to stay out of trouble!" he couldn't resist adding. The three of them exchanged a "who, us?" look, then smiled again and left.

The room was rapidly clearing out. A minute more, and he and Alan were alone. He approached his friend slowly and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. The other man drew a long breath then and his shoulders sagged as he turned to face him.

"Well," Becker smiled, trying to get some kind of response from his former partner. The blank look on his friend's face worried him. "What do you think? Come on, Al, it's over and everything's gonna be okay now!"

"Is it?" Slater asked in a tone that tore at Becker's heart. He looked up then and saw the pain that remark had caused in his friend's eyes. "Hey, I'm sorry, B.B. I'm...I guess I'm just tired." His attempt to smile was almost worse than the blank expression had been. Becker picked up both of their coats and took Slater by the elbow.

"Let's get the Hell out of here!" he declared, steering the other man towards the door. Slater let the other man lead him out into the hallway, into the elevator and out into the street. They walked together in silence to Becker's rented car, neither of them in much of a hurry.

The cold air seemed to revive Slater a little. He kept drawing in deep lungfuls of it as they walked and, by the time they reached the car, his head was up again and he seemed to be taking as least some interest in his surroundings. Becker started the car and pulled out into the much lighter traffic.

They had been driving for about ten minutes when Slater spoke up again. "You know, I forgot to ask for the name of the agent I'm supposed to turn everything over to tonight—not that I have all that much left to turn in! Do you think he'll contact me or what?"

Becker smiled slightly. "Don't sweat it, Al. I'm the agent they assigned that duty to and there's no rush, so long as I can put it all on my supervisor's desk in the morning!" 'My' supervisor, not 'our'. It felt weird! Becker shook his head and concentrated on his driving.

A few minutes more passed, and Slater suddenly looked over at him with a puzzled frown on his face. "Uh, Brian? Where are we going?" he asked.

Becker suppressed his smile. This was what he'd been waiting for all morning. "I just thought we'd take a little drive out to the airport...maybe sit and watch the planes land for a while," he said, careful to keep his tone casual.

Slater's brow furrowed. "Look, buddy, no offense, but I think I've seen enough airports to last me for a long time!" he declared, causing Becker to chuckle.

"Trust me, Alan. There's a plane coming in this morning I think you're gonna want to be there for!" he returned cryptically.

They were just turning onto the airport. Becker steered the car away from the main terminals and headed instead toward the more quiet end of the airport where the smaller planes took off and landed. He spoke quietly as he drove, watching Alan's face from the corner of his eye. "A friend of ours over at the Pentagon called me this morning, Al. Seems they haven't just been sitting on their hands all this time over there after all! Ever since the troops were officially pulled out, there's been a number of covert missions going on, looking all over 'Nam for missing soldiers...guys like Grant." He heard Slater draw in a sharp breath.

"Stop beating around the bush, Brian!" he said. "What are you trying to tell me?"

"Okay, I'll give it to you straight. The Sultan lied to you, buddy. Grant was never in Russia like he said. He's been in the same POW camp in North Vietnam all along. He and twenty other soldiers. The Pentagon's known about them almost from the start, but couldn't release the information for fear of compromising the security of the missions." They now could see that the area they were about to enter was blocked off to the public and well guarded by a dozen or so Marines in full dress uniforms. One of them approached their car but, upon recognizing the two men from the descriptions he'd been given, backed off again almost immediately with a crisp salute as he waved them on through the barricade. Becker pulled on up to where several other cars were parked and killed the engine before turning in his seat to face his best friend.

The realization of what Becker was trying to tell him was just beginning to dawn on him when a small plane taxied up and stopped. The Marines stationed here all snapped to attention as one of them stepped forward to open the hatch. Slater let out a small cry and leapt out of the car at the sight of the first person to appear in that opening—a tall young man leaning heavily on a cane who blinked at the bright sunlight with old eyes in a youthful face. The weary soldier looked up at the sound of his name, though, and smiled a smile that rivaled the winter sunshine.

Becker got out more slowly and stood leaning against the car, blinking back tears of his own as he watched his best friend run across the tarmac to embrace the son he'd given up for dead. Around him, other such quiet reunions were going on, but his eyes were only for these two. "I told you, buddy," he smiled softly to himself through his tears. "Things really are going to be all right now!"

Epilogue: "All's Well...?"

The hospital room was quiet except for the soft sounds of the machinery monitoring the patient in the bed. Long dark hair fanned out across the pillow beneath her head, making her face seem even paler by contrast. It was hard to believe now that this tiny, frail form had once been mere steps away from taking down the head of the free world!

A darker shadow separated itself from the ones that filled the corners of the dimly lit room and a tall figure bent over the prone woman to lightly stroke her cheek. Her eyes opened and she smiled up at the man bending over her. "Come, my dear!" he whispered. "It's time for us to go home!"

THE END