"Hsst. Mac. Hurry it up."

Mac ignored his partner, who was standing near the study door, keeping an
eye out for any unexpected guests. Mac focused on the safe, slowly
turning the dial. Vic had learned the skills of a good thief quickly,
over the last three years, but when it came to speed and finesse on a
lock or safe, Mac still had him beat. If they'd had a larger window of
opportunity, though, he would have had Vic try first, for the experience,
but they didn't have the time.

On the other hand, Vic did a *much* better job than him at electronic
security systems, like the one at the DeSalvo compound.

"Relax, Vic," he said under his breath, starting to turn the dial in the
opposite direction. "We *know* we're not going to be interrupted, the
security system is disarmed, and I'll have this safe open in just...
a..." He gave the dial a last twist, and the safe door popped open. "A
jiff. Damn, I'm good." He pulled out a velvet box, and flipped it open,
smiling as he poked at the tumble of gems inside.

Vic just rolled his eyes, and handed him the bag to fill. Mac didn't
bother sorting through the rest of the contents. There would be time to
do that when they got home. He just tossed everything into the bag, then
shut the safe. He gave the dial a twirl, then carefully returned the
setting to its original place.

"All right," he said, standing up. "Now we can go."

He took a quick look around the study. It was an impressive display of
money and taste. The furniture was all antique, of excellent quality, and
Mac knew that the artwork on the walls and pedestals would sell for a
pretty penny on the black market. However, he left them where they were,
even though some of the smaller pieces would be easy to carry away. The
whole point to resetting the safe to its original setting, and re-arming
the security system as they left, was to delay the discovery of their
safe-cleaning, at least long enough to get out of the country. Senor
DeSalvo wouldn't know he'd been had until the next time he opened the
safe.

The trip out of the compound was a breeze. DeSalvo was overseeing an
operation in Madrid, so the Barcelona home's security was not as high as
it might have been. Vic rearmed the security system, again setting it
back *exactly* the way it had been before. Then they stripped off their
gloves and masks and sweaters, sticking them in the same bag as their
loot, and they slipped out towards the main streets, just two more
American tourists in Spain.

"So, Vic," Mac said, tucking an arm around his partner's waist. "We've
still got three more days in our vacation. Whatever shall we do?"

Vic grinned at him. "Oh, I'm sure you'll find *something* for us to do."

Arm in arm, they headed for the heart of the Barcelona tourist district,
and the high-end hotel they were staying in.

Life was good.

* * * * *

"What is the report on the Sherren Op?"

The Director tapped on her desktop, looking at her two chief aides.
Dobrinsky, a large, bald black man, checked his electronic datapad.

"The Ebola virus was recovered. Gregor Sherren, and two of his men, were
killed. None of our agents were injured. The rest of his people are in
our custody, currently spilling their guts about everything they know on
Sherrin's operations and plans. The virus has been returned to the Center
for Disease Control in Atlanta. They were most appreciative."

"Good." The Director pulled off the wire-rim glasses that she'd had to
wear more and more often, recently. She turned to her other aide.

"And what is the word from Asia?"

LiAnn frowned. The young Chinese woman was only in her mid-twenties, but
her eyes were much older. If an observer looked carefully, they would be
able to see the faint tracery of scars near the hairline on one side of
her face. More scars could be seen one of her hands, below the long sleeves
that she wore now. There were more on her arm and back, beneath her
clothing. Three years ago, she might have been wearing a sleeveless top,
but since the explosion that had left her scarred, and killed her two
partners, she had worn only long-sleeved shirts. The Director had tried
to convince her that the scars were barely noticeable, unless you know
where to look, but LiAnn refused to be convinced.

"Director Chiu's death is still keeping things confused. The
investigation is ongoing, but it doesn't look like they are going to
solve it. It's been nearly a week, without a single valid lead to follow
up on."

Director Chiu, head of the Agency's China and area operations, had been
found dead in his own study. The study was at the center of his compound,
with only one way in or out. The door was locked, and a guard was
standing outside all night. When Chiu didn't emerge, the next morning,
the guard had gone in to find the man. His body was slumped over his
desk, a dagger in his back. The dagger was a generic make, available
world-wide, and it had been scrubbed clean. No inappropriate, or even
unexpected, fingerprints had been found in the room, and the security
cameras confirmed that no one had gone into the room. Unfortunately,
there were no security cameras in Chiu's office, any more than there were
in the Director's own.

"Has there been any response to our offer to send someone to help the
investigation?"

LiAnn snorted. "They said that they were quite capable of running their
own investigation, and that we should keep our over-sized, western noses
out of their business. The language used was bordering on insulting,
without *quite* crossing over the line."

The Director sighed. She had hoped that the Asian office might accept,
but hadn't really expected them to. They didn't quite understand that an
alternative point of view could be a very good thing. But she couldn't
force them to accept. All she could do was watch and wait.

"Now, what about that circus that we think is smuggling stolen plutonium?"

* * * * *

Victor was checking their security system, while Mac threw his bags in
the corner of the entryway, and headed for the kitchen. Victor shook his
head at the mess, but ignored it.

The system said that there had been no intrusions, so Victor grabbed the
discarded bags, and carried them into the main room. Mac was opening up
the icebox, pulling out frozen meals.

With their travel schedule, it just didn't make sense to keep a lot of
fresh food in the fridge. Instead, Victor would periodically spend a
couple of days making a variety of meals, then freeze them in one-meal
sizes. Mac's cooking skills had improved, but Victor still did the
majority of their cooking.

"What do you want?" Mac called through the door.

"Any of the chicken chili left?"

"Yep, but I haven't a clue *why* you'd want to eat that."

Victor smiled. He had learned to make a variety of authentic Chinese-
style dishes to Mac's standards, but he also made the dishes *he* liked.
After all, no one said that Mac had to eat them. That was the reason he
did the cooking. While he was willing to cook Mac's favorite dishes
(though he drew the line at squid), Mac didn't cook anything that *he*
didn't like.

Mac emerged, carrying a wine bottle and a couple of glasses. Victor
could hear the whir of the microwave heating their meals. Thank god for
microwaves. He took the glass that Mac held out to him, and waited for
his lover to finish opening the bottle and pour him a glass. One of the
benefits of living in the Bordeaux valley - French wine country - was a
plentiful supply of excellent wines. Now if only beer were as easy to
obtain...

"Well, let's see what we've got," Mac said, plopping down on the floor
next to Victor's chair. Victor pulled over the knapsack with the contents
of DeSalvo's safe.

"Well," he said, pulling it open. "We have this." He pulled out the gem
case and opened it up. The majority of the gems were the standard
diamonds, no doubt intended to be used as untraceable currency in the
European underground. Mixed in among the diamonds were a variety of high-
quality sapphires and emeralds.

Mac pulled out a jeweler's loop to give the gems a closer inspection.
After the first couple, he gave a whistle. "Veeerrrry nice stones," he
said putting the little eye-piece down. "Those will fetch a pretty price."

After all, if they were good enough for DeSalvo to use as currency, they
were certainly good enough for two high-class thieves, Victor thought to
himself.

The next thing checked were the ledger books, and they were a revelation.
"Marseilles. A bordello, with client information, an illegal gambling
casino, complete with details on which tables are fixed on a given night.
And payments to an assassin for services rendered," he read off. His
foreign language skills, especially reading, had improved a lot over the
last few years. He put the book aside. The other ledgers would, no doubt,
include equally damning information about DeSalvo's crime syndicate.
Victor shook his head. How could the man be so smart, running one of the
top families in Europe, yet still be stupid enough to have the evidence
in writing? And he was willing to bet that it was DeSalvo's own
handwriting, too.

"We'll send these off to Interpol, next time we get the chance," he said,
satisfied. Over the years, they had sent similar information in,
anonymously. Mac had originally suggested the idea to keep Victor happy,
but he thought that Mac got a thrill out of it too, now. Every so often,
they would read in the papers about a high-profile arrest or conviction
and *know* that the information they had supplied was crucial in the
case. It was a good feeling.

"Oo, la, la," Mac said, opening one of the thick envelopes that made up
the balance of their 'loot'. He pulled out several photographs. Still in
the envelope was a video tape. "Get a load of these, Vic. I didn't think
someone his age could be that flexible."

Victor took a look at the picture being held out. It showed a prominent
German politician in bed with a beautiful blonde. Unfortunately, said
blonde was *not* his equally prominent society wife.

"Pack that one up, too. We'll mail it off to the man with a note
suggesting that he be a little more discreet in the future."

"Right."

Mac continued going through the envelopes. Each was marked with a name
and money amount. DeSalvo obviously wasn't above a little blackmail. Some
of the envelopes would be sent to the victims. Those were the minor
indiscretions. Others would be included in the package that was sent to
Interpol, when the indiscretions were of the illegal sort. Victor opened
one envelope that fell in the second category. The pictures inside showed
a businessman in bed, but this one was frolicking with minor boys. The
pictures looked to have been taken during a recent EEC junta to
Singapore, which the businessman had been a leader of. If the press found
out what he'd been doing while traveling on public funds...

A ping sounded from the kitchen, and Mac stood up. "Put that away for
now," he ordered. "Dinner is ready."

Dinner was the chicken chili for Victor, and a spicy oriental beef dish
for Mac. His lover even insisted on pulling out the fancy chopsticks for
it. As always, he paid extravagant compliments to Victor, suggesting that
he should open a restaurant. Victor knew he was exaggerating, but the
regular compliment did raise his spirits after those photos.

As they ate, they discussed their next job. It was difficult to make a
living as a thief without attracting the wrong sort of attention, so they
side-lined as security consultants. In fact, they had reached the point
where they could make a pretty good living *just* as consultants. As a
result, their criminal jobs were only a handful over the course of a
year, with carefully selected targets.

This time, they were one of several sets of security specialists
providing services at a conference in Amsterdam. The subject of the
conference was oil, and there had been bomb threats already. They were to
arrange the security for a couple of the formal receptions. All of the
preliminaries had been arranged before they had gone to Spain. They
wouldn't have bothered with the Spanish job, but a chance to clean out
the safe of someone like DeSalvo did not come along very often. So, in
two days they would be off to Amsterdam to make final arrangements on the
security job. The packages would be mailed from Paris, on their way north.

But, until then...

Victor smiled at Mac across the dinner table. His own meal was gone, and
Mac was just finishing. With a full stomach, he was starting to feel very
relaxed.

After dinner, by an unspoken but mutual agreement, they did not go back
to sorting through DeSalvo's safe contents. Instead, the files were
locked in their own safe (which was a lot better concealed. None of this
safe-behind-the-painting cliche for *them*.).

Once they were done, they climbed into bed. As Victor stretched out, full
length on top of his lover, he breathed a small prayer in thanks. They
had plenty of money, a beautiful home, and work that they both *chose*
and enjoyed. Life was good.

He pressed Mac down, into the mattress, and teased the other man's mouth
with his tongue. After nearly four years as lovers, each time they made
love was still as exciting as the first. Or at least the first time that
they had both been in full possession of their senses. Victor still
smiled at the thought that all of this happiness had come about because
he had gotten drunk, after being dumped by LiAnn, and dragged his other
partner into bed. It had taken time, once he had realized that he was in
love with Mac, to convince the other man that he was sincere, but it had
been worth the time and effort.

A thrust upwards from Mac brought him back to the present. Neither one
of them had the energy for anything too complicated, so they settled for
a slow rubbing, and exchanging of kisses. The rest would wait until they
woke, refreshed, in the morning.

By this point, each of them knew the other's body and reactions as well
as they knew their own. Sensitive areas were sought out and manipulated.
Much spit was swapped (no matter how unromantic that might sound). Coming
was a sweet delight.

Victor rolled to the side, and reached for the damp cloth that they had
left on the bedside table. The worse of the stickiness was cleaned up,
then he tossed the cloth into a corner of the room, and wrapped himself
around his lover. Mac was already mostly asleep, and rubbed his cheek
against Victor's chest, murmuring barely decipherable endearments. Victor
rubbed his face against the dark hair, and followed his lover into
slumber.

Life was uncomplicated.

Life was good.

That was about to change.
 

----------------------------------------
Hints of Trouble
by Lianne Burwell
July 1998
----------------------------------------

LiAnn wandered along the park path, following the Director's lead.
Normally, a walk in the park with the older woman would be a pleasant
interlude in two hectic lives, but today was different. The first death
had changed everything.

Two more weeks had gone by, and there had been no more movement in the
investigation into Chiu's death. In fact, two more directors had been
killed, the directors of the South African and South-Western States/
Mexico operations. Security and paranoia inside the Agency had reached an
all-time high, and for the Agency, that was pretty damned paranoid.

In both cases, the same MO was used. Both directors were killed in their
own homes, inside apparently locked rooms, using untraceable weapons. One
was killed with a Beretta gun, left behind. The second was poisoned.
There were hopes that the method the poison was delivered might provide
some clues, but LiAnn wasn't holding her breath.

That was why they were in the park to talk. Each new death reinforced the
feeling that the killings were an inside job. Someone who knew all the
details of the directors' habits, homes and security.

They had been discussing options for a while before LiAnn finally asked
the one question that had been nagging her for a while. "Di... Just how
many directors are there?"

LiAnn waited while her companion considered whether or not to answer.
Over the years, she'd fallen into the habit of calling the woman Di,
short for Director. She still didn't know the woman's real name. Back
when she had first started working for the Agency, she and the boys had
been ordered to work with a teenaged delinquent whose mother had been a
friend of the Director's. She had called the woman "Aunt Di", and the
name had stuck in LiAnn's mind.

"Thirteen," the Director finally said. "Two each in Asia, South America,
Europe and Africa. One each in Australia and Antarctica. Three in North
America."

Antarctica? LiAnn wondered what there was in Antarctica that the Agency
could possibly be interested in, other than a few science stations.

Unless... The Agency had funded Dr. Fry's research. He had been hired to
develop a drug that would create the perfect agent - at least in the
Agency's mind. Absolutely no conscience, willing to kill at an order. Di
had objected, and fed information to a woman who kept a conspiracy web-
page. Because of that, LiAnn and her former partners had ended up
shutting Fry down, and destroying his flawed drug. The Director had set
Fry to developing an antidote, both for his three human guinea pigs who'd
ended up going on a mindless crime spree, and for himself. The 'drogues',
as they'd been called, had addicted him to his own drug in order to force
him to make more of the drug for them. Maybe the Agency were doing
research at the bottom of the world, where there were fewer prying eyes,
fewer chances of failures getting loose. LiAnn shivered, slightly. She
didn't like that idea.

"An appropriate number," she said with a wry smile, though.

The Director grinned at her. "A baker's dozen? Just the right number for
a coven? It's been commented on before. But the Head remains above that."

LiAnn frowned for a moment. "The Head. Where did he come from?"

"No one is quite sure. We don't even know if it's the same person who
founded the Agency, originally. He always wears hooded robes, and uses a
voice distorter, so I can't even be sure of the gender. Hell, I can't
even be sure that I'm seeing the same person from visit to visit. It
might be a group of people. Or a series of people."

LiAnn was even more disturbed by *that*. They worked for a person or
persons unknown? With an agenda they knew nothing about? And the
directors *accepted* it? Considering what a paranoid lot they were, that
didn't seem likely.

"Does the Head have anything to say about the deaths?"

The Director stopped dead in her tracks, with a worried look on her face.
"No one has been able to contact the Head for a while. The last confirmed
contact was just before Chiu's death. Since then... nothing."

LiAnn was starting to get *very* worried about this. Either the person
behind the deaths had managed to take the Head out, either killing or
kidnapping the person or persons, or else...

Or else the Head was the one behind this. But why?

She told her companion her suspicions, and found the woman unsurprised.

"You're not the first person to suggest the possibility, but there's not
much we can do, at the moment. All we can do is try to track down the
person or persons who *committed* the murders, and hope that leads us to
whoever is behind the killings. And step up security even higher,
although that doesn't seem to be doing much good." LiAnn nodded.

They had reached the center of the park. Families wandered around,
enjoying the sunny afternoon. Children were sailing their toy sailboats
in the fountain. The picnic tables were all occupied. It was all so
normal.

But that can change quickly.

Shots rang out. A man standing near the two women went down, blood
flowing from the hole in his chest. LiAnn grabbed the Director, and
pulled her to the ground, covering her. Frantically, she tried to figure
out where the shots were coming from. People were running in panic. LiAnn
heard two more shots, and a woman went down. LiAnn noted, in the back of
her mind, that the woman was dressed in a style similar to what the
Director was wearing.

The second shot let her find the shooter. He was running. LiAnn got up
and took off after him, gun drawn. As she reached the parking lot, she saw
a car pulling out onto the street at high speed. It was too far away to
read the license plate. In the distance, she heard the screech of tires,
as the shooter narrowly avoided an accident. She was a little confused,
though. If this was related to the murders, then whoever had arranged this
had decided to change his or her pattern. This attempt did *not* match the
MO of the other killings.

"This is not good," panted the Director as she caught up with LiAnn,
seeming to echo her thoughts. High-heels were not a good idea when running.
"Not good at all. We need more help. Outside help."

LiAnn turned at the strange tone in the other woman's voice.

"We need Mac and Victor."

* * * * *

Mac stood at the edge of the ballroom, in a position where he would have
a perfect view of every entrance. The guards that he and Vic had hired
for this were all in their proper positions and alert. These were people
that they had met in their early days in Europe, when they worked as
bodyguards, and every one of them was someone that the two of them
trusted.

Mac adjusted his tuxedo jacket, and set out to make another circuit. The
scanners were working properly, scanning for weapons made of either metal
or carbon-fiber. Carbon-fiber guns and knives had been popular with
terrorists for a while, but the technicians had finally found a way to
scan for them, and their was use declining. Things were stable, now. At
least until the *next* new weapon was developed.

"Anything, Jacques?" he murmured in an ear.

"Non, Matt. Other than the environmentalist with a balloon filled with
oil that she wanted to throw at the Exxon president, it's been quiet."

"Good." He continued on his circuit. Exxon was getting a lot of flack in
the world press, lately. Yet another one of their oil tankers had run
aground, spilling tons of oil into the ocean eco-system. They were
blaming the captain, and trying to get out of doing more than the
sketchiest of cleanups. Just one more reasons why this conference had so
much security.

He checked with the rest of the guards stationed at the room's entrances,
and checked to make sure that all the doors to the building, other that
the main door, were closed, locked and the security systems armed.

When he and Vic had arrived in Europe, and had gone into the security
business, they had decided that they couldn't exactly use their real
names. Instead, they had built identities under new name, making sure
that if they slipped and used their real names, no one would notice. So
Mac had become Matthew Blake, Matt for short, and Vic had become Richard
Thornton, Dick for short. Mac and Vic. Matt and Dick. It had worked, so
far.

Mac had just finished his rounds when Vic arrived. His partner had been
out to check one of their mail drops. Mac stopped for a moment to admire
the way that the older man filled out his tux. Vic didn't go in for the
dressy clothing the way Mac did, but he looked *damn* good. They met near
the buffet table.

"Nothing much. A letter from Alice, though," Vic said, not waiting for
Mac to ask the obvious question.

Alice was Vic's little sister, one of the few people they'd kept in touch
with since leaving the Agency. About a year after their "deaths", they'd
contacted her through the aid group she was working with in Indonesia.
Despite her frequent moves, and their secrecy, Vic had managed to keep in
touch with his sister through the occasional letter.

"What's she up to now?" Mac asked, with a smile. "Building bridges in
Bangkok? Disarming landmines in Croatia?"

Vic frowned. "Don't even joke about it. Actually, she's back in Canada,
going to University."

"Really?" Mac was surprised. Alice, or Allegra as she preferred to be
called, had been avoiding school as much as possible in the time since
he'd met her. She said that the school system was designed to churn out
happy little consumers, and she wanted nothing to do with it. "What is
she studying?"

"Political Sciences."

Mac could feel his jaw drop in amazement, and Vic's grin said that he
looked as shocked as he felt. Mac knew few people who were more anti-
establishment than his sister-in-law, as he liked to refer to her as.

"My reaction too. She says she wants to 'know her enemy'."

Mac grinned in relief. "Now *that* sounds like her."

As they made a pass through the room, Mac noticed something that
disturbed him. One of the photographers that had been allowed into the
reception, was sweating. Now, it *was* warm in the room, but this guy was
almost dripping. And he was fidgeting more than would be normally
expected.

"Vic," he whispered in his partner's ear. "See the guy over there in the
brown suit and orange tie?" He paused to shudder at the image the man
made. He had always loved fine clothes, and the man's fashion sense
offended him, highly. Vic took a brief look, careful not to be obvious
about it. He was a lot better at that than he used to be, too.

"I see him. He's a little *too* nervous, isn't he?"

"Definitely." Mac split off, with a nod, and went to talk to one of the
roving guards. When he went back to Vic's side, the guard started to ease
his way towards the reporters' section.

Unfortunately, the man was *so* nervous, that he noticed, and assumed the
worse. Of course, he *was* right about that.

"Hold it!" the man screeched, twisting the lens off of his camera. As
silence fell across the room, he gave the sections of the lens a twist,
and Mac could faintly hear the ticking of a timer. 'Not a bomb!' he
groaned to himself. 'How the hell did he get *that* past the scanners?'

At that moment, the guard coming up on the nutcases *other* side tackled
the man, and he lost his grip on the lens... bomb... whatever. Screams
could be heard as it rolled across the floor. While Vic tackled the
downed man, Mac grabbed the lens/bomb and ran for the balcony doors. As
he remembered, there was a pool right below the balcony, and there was no
one in or around it. He tossed the bomb, then hit the ground, covering
his head. A moment later, he was soaked by the water thrown up by the
explosion.

When he lifted his head and looked around, he found that no one had been
hurt. The nutcase was already being carted away by the constabulary.
Checking over the edge of the balcony, he winced at the sight of the
damage to the pool. The host was *not* going to like *that*, and the
insurance company was probably going to make *them* pay for it. Oh well,
he sighed to himself. At least they had the money for it.

"Matt! Are you okay?" Vic called, heading for him, managing to remember
to use the right name.

Mac gave a wry nod. "I'm fine. You?"

Vic snarled. "I'm pissed off. We're going to have to figure out just
*how* he got that thing past us. This does not look good."

Mac sighed, then looked over to where the would-be bomber had been
standing. He was greeted by a storm of flashes from the photographers
standing there.

"Shit."

"No kidding," Vic said. Three years of avoiding publicity, keeping their
faces out of the papers and news. But now... now they weren't going to be
able to avoid it. All they could do was pray that the wrong people didn't
see it.

* * * * *

LiAnn was staring out the window when the pilot announced that they were
about to land in Paris. Despite the long flight from Toronto, she was
still wide awake. Her mind was turning over too quickly to let her sleep.
What the hell was she doing in Europe?

Looking for two dead men, it seemed.
 

----------------------------------------
Lost and Found
by Lianne Burwell
July 1998
----------------------------------------

"This is your suite, Mademoiselle Tsei. Enjoy your stay." The young man
set down her bags and waited, with an expectant look on his face.

LiAnn gave the bellhop a generous tip, then turned around to face the
room. It was lush and expensive, as befitted the five-star hotel that the
Director had checked her into in Paris, but she didn't really see the
room, or the view from the window.

Instead, she was back in the park, the day before.

* * * * *

"What do you mean, we need Mac and Victor? In case your memory is playing
tricks on you, they're *dead*." LiAnn flinched at her own words, and
without noticing it, she reached with her hand to caress one of the scars
on her other arm. In her mind, she could still hear Victor yelling for
them to run, followed by the roar of the explosion. This was followed by
pain, and unclear images until she woke in the hospital, more than a day
later.

The Director looked uneasy. For once, she seemed to be having trouble
meeting LiAnn's eyes.

"Maybe not. There were things I didn't tell you. We... never found their
bodies. Now, the fire was extremely hot, and they might have been so
thoroughly cremated that there *were* no remains to find, but..."

"But what?" LiAnn demanded in a tight voice. She was having trouble
believing that she was hearing this.

"Both the boys had caches. Money, fake ids, clothing, in case they ever
decided to leave. They probably thought we didn't know about them, but I
knew exactly where they were. A day after the explosion, Dobrinsky
decided to check them. They had been cleaned out."

LiAnn was beginning to wish she was sitting down, but the Director
continued. "We still didn't have any proof of *who* cleaned out their
getaway funds, but I *wanted* to believe it was them."

The Director sighed, then started heading for her car. "The boys never
made any attempt to hide the fact that they didn't want to work for the
Agency. Hell, I blackmailed them into it. Subtle, and not-so-subtle
threats, promises. And you were all at that warehouse because of me. I
should have gone along with the three of you, with the idea of setting a
trap for Pouchie. If they were dead, it was my fault. So... If they were
alive, and leaving, I decided to give them that chance. I had Dobrinsky
erase all traces of them from the Agency's files. I couldn't completely
protect them, but I could do whatever was possible."

LiAnn was shocked, partly by the revelation and partly by the open sorrow
of her companion's face. The Director had a reputation for being cold and
manipulative, and while she knew that wasn't completely true, Di was a
master in managing people, and her own emotions.

"Is there any evidence that they *are* alive?" she asked

"A couple of agents have said they saw two men who *looked* like Mac and
Victor, when they were on assignment in Europe. And there have been
pictures of dignitaries where the bodyguards in the background *might*
have been them. But no, there's not *definite* proof."

"But why didn't you *tell* me?" LiAnn demanded, pulling up short as they
got near the Director's limo. "Didn't I have the right to know?"

The Director looked up into her face, and LiAnn wondered what was showing
there. Di took her arm and steered her towards a nearby bench.

"There were a lot of reasons not to, and I still don't know if they were
right. You were badly injured, and looking at months of rehabilitation,
and you didn't need any more shocks. There was no *proof* that they were
alive, and I didn't want to raise your hopes. And... if they *were*
alive, they had chosen to leave. Leave the Agency, and leave *you*. You
were depressed enough, and I didn't know how you would react."

Di sat down next to her and started stroking the back of her hand, where
it lay on her thigh. It was soothing, and she found herself grateful for
the contact. While she was angry that she had been left grieving for
three years, without cause, she could understand the reasoning. Hell, she
might have done the same thing in Di's place.

"Maybe I should have told you later, but you had... adjusted, and I
wasn't sure how you would react." Then she stood, and headed for the car.
"But this situation isn't good. We're all in danger. The *Agency* is in
danger, and no matter what you might think of its methods, it does good.
We need help, and two men that are believed dead are *exactly* what we
need."

She turned back to face LiAnn. "We believe that three years ago, Mac and
Victor headed for Paris first. I want you to go there, and track them
down. Tell them that I am *asking* for their help. And if they say no..."

She turned to open the limo door.

"If they say no, come home. We'll figure *something* out."

* * * * *

LiAnn pulled a change of clothing from her suitcase, and went to shower.
She stood under the warm spray and wondered what she would say to Mac and
Victor, assuming she found them. The Director was right about one thing.
She did feel abandoned by the fact that they had never bothered to
contact her. Three years, without a word. She would have thought that they
were closer than that.

Still feeling jetlagged, but far more relaxed, LiAnn headed back to the
sitting room to plan her next move. All she had were rumors of
sightings. It was going to take a minor miracle to find two men in
Europe. Especially two men who didn't *want* to be found.

She ordered room-service, and picked up one of the Paris newspapers, left
by the hotel for their guests, to read while she waited. The picture on
the first page nearly made her choke.

Mac. Sopping wet. Wearing a tuxedo. And Victor in the background.

She scanned through the article, translating from the French easily.
There had been an attempted hostage-taking at a meeting of oil companies
and producers in Amsterdam the night before. A radical environmentalist
had managed to sneak a new type of grenade in, disguised as a camera
lens, using legitimate press credentials. He had been thwarted by the
quick thinking and reflexes of Matthew Blake, a security consultant.
Blake and his partner, Richard Thornton, were in charge of the security
at the reception where the incident occurred.

Matthew and Richard. Matt and Dick. Mac and Vic. How appropriate.

Well, she'd been thinking that it would take a miracle, and here it was.
She had her starting point.

There was a knock at her door. Breakfast had arrived. She signed the slip
for it, and sat down to start eating. She didn't really taste the gourmet
fare, though. She was too busy making notes about her next move.

* * * * *

Mac opened the door, and Victor disarmed their security system. It had
been a long week. Talking to the Dutch police, the conference organizers.
Figuring out how the man had gotten an explosive device past all the
security scanners.

It was quite ingenious, in fact. To a scanner, the lens looked like just
that. A camera lens. But twisting one of the parts, as though focusing
the camera, was the equivalent of pulling the pin from a grenade. There
was no way that conventional scanners would have caught it.

And then there were the other two receptions that they were providing
security for. They'd had to come up with a few new twists to make sure
that no more grenades-in-disguise made it in. They weren't really
surprised that everything had gone smoothly. After all, who in their
right mind would try something after a failed attempt? But paranoia had
already been raised to new heights.

Victor turned from the control panel, just as Mac dropped their laundry
bag in a corner of the hallway. It could wait. He couldn't.

"I swear," Mac was grumbling. "If I don't see a tux for three months,
it'll still be too soon."

Victor growled in agreement - although it wasn't something he heard from
his clothes-horse partner very often - and pinned the unresisting man
against a handy wall. God, but he loved the man. Mac just snorted, and
grabbed the back of Victor's head, then pulled him in and kissed him hard.

"I kinda figured you'd be horny. Danger always does that to you, and we
haven't had the time for more than a quickie since the reception. So...
Are we going to the bedroom, or do want me right here?"

"Right here, I think," he replied with a grin.

He dived in again to capture that gorgeous, grinning, seductive mouth,
and was just starting to rub against the increasingly aroused body of his
partner, pulling at his shirt buttons, when they heard a throat clear.

Both of them drawing their guns, they whirled towards the living room
door. They stood in shock at the sight. For long moments, no one made a
sound. Finally Mac spoke up, one hand coming up to pull his shirt closed.

"LiAnn?"

* * * * *

Mac tumbled into bed, feeling like he'd just gone three rounds with a
heavy-weight boxer. Physically, he was rested and strong. Mentally...

Vic joined him, crawling under the covers. Mac rolled over, into his
lover's arms. LiAnn had left for the night, gone back to her hotel. They
hadn't given her their answer yet, but Vic had already said he wanted to
go, and Mac had reluctantly agreed. Still, he was uneasy.

"Are we doing the right thing?"

"I... don't know," Vic replied. "I just know that it's what I need to do.
You don't have to come, Mac."

Mac glared at him, then gave him a gentle slap to the side of the head.
"Riiight. Like I'm going to let you go back to Canada on your own. I
don't think so. Wither thou goest, love, and all that bullshit."

Mac smiled at Vic, but the smile faded. Coming home to find LiAnn waiting
for them had completely disrupted the new life they had built together.
Hearing that the Director had known they were alive, and had covered up
for them had been surprising, but not completely so. And... gratifying,
knowing that she cared so much. But it was still scary, just how easily
they had been found.

Hearing about the problems *within* the Agency... Directors killed.
*Their* director the target of a near assassination...

Mac sighed. Vic was right. They *needed* to do this. Sure, they hadn't
wanted to work for the Agency. They'd taken the first chance they got to
get away. After all, the Director had threatened to have the prison
release Mac onto the streets of Hong Kong, where his life expectancy
would have been measured in minutes. And Vic... well, the life of a cop
in prison was about the same, which is why he'd been in solitary when
she'd seen him.

But it had given them a second chance. An opportunity to do good, even
though it often seemed more like almost an accidental by-product of what
the Agency did. And... it had brought them together. If it hadn't been for
the Agency, they probably would have never even met, and Mac shuddered at
the thought.

But still, that was a part of their lives that they thought that they'd
put behind them permanently, and he was still resenting the intrusion.

"You know," he told Vic, rolling on top of the older man. "You have this
depressing habit of being right. We do owe her, and while I don't give a
shit about what happens to the Agency, I do care about what happens to
the people. The Director, LiAnn, Nathan, Murphy and Camier, Jackie. Hell,
I even care about what happens to *Dobrinsky*!" Vic snorted at the fake
tone of amazement that Mac was using.

"So we both go?" Vic asked.

"We both go," Mac confirmed, then dipped his head for a lingering kiss.

"Now... where were we?"

Mac looked at the wall, above the headboard of their deliberately over-
sized bed. He cocked his head to the side. "About to take a nap?"

Victor snickered.

"Doing the two weeks worth of laundry?"

Vic rolled them over, and started nibbling at the sensitive skin beneath
his left ear. "Try again, gorgeous."

"I know!" Mac said brightly. "About to have some nuclear-meltdown sex?"

"Bingo," Vic growled, before kissing him senseless.

Mac stretched and purred, as Vic slowly rubbed his body all over his
partner's. Sometimes Mac wondered why he was never bothered at being held
down by Vic. You would think that it would give him panic attacks,
considering the ways that his foster-brother Michael had restrained him,
back when they were teens. In fact, with his bad experiences, it was a
wonder that he was able to even think of having sex with another man at
all.

But it wasn't *just* another man. It was Vic. Vic, who had saved his life
countless times. Vic, who was endlessly patient with him while he *was*
still getting over the memories. Vic, who loved him in ways he didn't
know were possible.

Vic, who *he* loved in ways he didn't even know he was capable of. Mac
had been in love with LiAnn, back before they left the Tang Family, but
what he had felt for her paled in comparison to what he felt for Vic.

Mac smiled. "Have I told you lately just how much I love you?"

"Hmmm. Yes, but I can never hear it often enough," Vic replied. Then he
was slithering down Mac's body, going for maximum contact all the way,
until he reached the erection that was arching up over Mac's belly. "Of
course, this fellow tells me every day," he added.

Mac gasped as Vic's breath caressed his cock. Warm air was followed by a
warmer tongue, which bathed every square millimeter of flesh. After more
than three years of learning his reactions, Vic was far too good at this.
He knew just what touches and caresses would reduce Mac to quivering
jelly, something he did on a regular basis.

"Vic..." he breathed, then yelped as his partner's mouth descended to
swallow him whole. "Oh god, Vic. Please."

His partner raised his head, a wicked grin on his face. "Please what,
Mac?" he asked, tracing lazy pattern's on Mac's balls with a fingertip.

Mac didn't have the breath to answer, so he simply spread his legs, in an
open invitation that he knew Vic would never turn down.

And he didn't. Lube was retrieved from the bedside table, and Vic
prepared them both, ever so carefully. Then he was pressing in, filling
the space that always felt empty when they were apart. Mac had trouble
remembering that there had ever been a time when this had scared the hell
out of him.

But now... Now the only thing better than having Vic inside him this way
was being inside Vic. It was perfect. It was right. It was everything he
wanted. And he was scared that he might lose it.

* * * * *

Mac lay in bed, curled up against Vic, looking out into the darkness. He
should sleep. In the morning they would be packing for the trip to
Canada. But sleep wouldn't come.

In a way, making love tonight had been like saying goodbye to their home.
They'd gotten away from the Agency once. Who knew if they would again. And
even if they did return to Europe, it probably wouldn't be safe to come
back to this house. They'd been found here once, after all.

They'd been so happy here, and Mac worried that they wouldn't have
another chance like this again.

He spooned up around Vic, waiting for the dawn to come and worrying.
Nothing would ever be the same.
 

----------------------------------------
Questions and Answers
by Lianne Burwell
July 1998
----------------------------------------

The Director shuffled the papers in front of her. She hated keeping
information on paper, but it was safer than electronics now.

"Any trace on the hacker who nearly got in?" She asked the blonde sitting
in front of her. Jackie Janczyk shook her head.

"Nothing. Nathan is still working on it. All he can tell us at this point
is that the person was trying to get into the personnel files. He's also
working at beefing up our firewall, whatever that is."

The Director gave a small smile. Jackie still stuck to her old image of
the teenaged valley girl mob queen, but in the three and a half years
since the Agency had brought her in, after bringing her down. But despite
the act, the girl was brilliant. She soaked up knowledge, the way a
sponge soaked up water. If she ever started picking up decent people-
skills, she would be a force to be reckoned with. But after her attempt
to take over the Janczyk Family had ended with her in jail, and the
family dissolved, she avoided leadership roles at all costs.

"If he finds out *anything*, I want to know," the Director said, tapping
one fingernail on the desktop. She was starting to feel very
uncomfortable. In the week since the attempt on her life, she had kept to
the headquarters, rarely leaving except to go home and sleep. Between
Jackie and Dobrinsky, she was almost never left alone. She was beginning
to feel like a rat in a maze, and she did *not* like the feeling.

And the fact that personnel files were targeted might indicate that
someone out there knew just what she was doing. Who she was calling on for
help.

Jackie nodded. "Any word yet from LiAnn?" she asked, careful not to say
anything about where LiAnn was, or why she had gone.

"She'll be back tomorrow evening," the Director respond, a faint tone of
satisfaction creeping into her voice. Jackie grinned back at her.

It wasn't just that LiAnn was the one person able to rein in the Director
when she was off and running, according to Jackie and Dobrinsky. The fact
that she was coming back after only a week said that she had found Mac
and Victor. And the tone in her voice when she had called had told the
Director that she was successful in convincing them to come back with her.

The Director was looking forward to seeing both men again. It wasn't just
that she needed their help. It wasn't even the fact that she was
attracted to both men. She smiled briefly at the memory of how much fun
it had been to tease Mac, even though he was obviously uncomfortable and
embarrassed by the attention. And it wasn't even the need to apologize
for the last time they had been together, when she had almost gotten them
killed because her own pride wouldn't let her take on Pouchie in a more
sensible way.

No. She wanted to see what sort of men they had become on their own. What
were they doing. Were they still happy together. If she didn't know
better, she'd think that she was taking an almost *maternal* interest in
their lives, and maternal was the last word *anyone* would ever use to
describe her.

Maybe, when all this was over, they wouldn't cut themselves off quite so
thoroughly again. Somehow she doubted she'd be able convince them to come
back to work for the Agency, though.

Then she grinned to herself. She was going to have to find something...
special to wear to their reunion. Something *very* special.

* * * * *

LiAnn wandered through the house that the two men shared, wondering at
how much a *home* it seemed. Back when they were in the Agency, the boys
had both lived in apartments assigned to them, just like she did. Those
apartments had never felt like more than a temporary resting place. This
house was home.

But this place... To those accustomed to modern hotels and condominiums,
it would probably look shabby, but LiAnn found herself envious. It was a
small stone cottage that they had updated to modern times. The plumbing,
electrical and security systems were all top of the line. But the floors
were stone, covered in worn rugs that looked like they'd been found a
flea markets. The walls were whitewashed plaster, cracked in spots. The
fireplace obviously got used a lot, as did the modern kitchen. Victor was
out back, making sure that the generator was fueled, and ready to pick up
in case of a power outage while they were gone.

LiAnn wandered into the one bedroom, where Mac was packing their bags for
the trip. She could see the signs of domesticity there, especially. The
armoire was open, and there didn't seem to be any separation between
Mac's clothes and Victor's. On a table, up against the wall, were pictures
of the two of them together, all over Europe. Mixed in were pictures of
Victor's little sister. LiAnn started feeling a little upset again, when
she realized that some of those pictures had to have been taken since
they had left the Agency. Why had they kept in contact with Alice, but
never let *her* know that they were even alive?

"Hey, LiAnn. We'll be ready in a couple minutes," Mac called from the
bathroom that was obviously an add-on to the bedroom. He came out and
dropped two shaving kits, and other toiletries on the bed. LiAnn found
herself blushing when she recognized a tube of lubricant and condoms in
the jumble. She picked up the tube, then looked at Mac.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" she asked. "Why did I have to find out
from *Jackie* that you two were... together?"

Mac blinked at her in surprise. "Jackie? How the hell did she know?"

"The business with the Rivers. Did you think we showed up in time to save
you by accident? The Director was suspicious, so she assigned Jackie to
monitor you. Did you know the apartments were bugged? Anyway, she got
more of an earful than she expected. Later on, she got me to listen in. I
think she just wanted to upset me."

Mac frowned at the suitcase lying open on the bed. "Damn. We swept for
bugs and cameras on a regular basis. I guess we missed one."

"But why didn't you *tell* me? I thought we were friends, at least. Did
you think I'd be upset?"

Mac sat down on the bed, and patted the spot beside him. LiAnn sat down
next to him. "It's a little hard to explain."

LiAnn waited patiently while Mac collected his thoughts.

"The first time we ended up in bed together was the night you... dumped
Vic. He got drunk, and I took him home. The next thing I knew, he was
dragging me into bed. He didn't remember anything the next morning, so I
thought that was it.

"But he figured it out, and decided he wanted a relationship. Basically,
he seduced me. Pursued me until I gave in. But for the longest time, I
told myself it was just sex. A fuck-buddy sort of relationship. It took a
while for him to convince me that he really *was* in love with me. I
finally figured out that I was in love with *him* when I was stuck in the
coffin, listening to the gunfire, wondering if I was going to be shipped
to Hong Kong.

"We were going to tell you, after that. We had both decided we were in it
for the long haul. But before we could, Michael turned up, and everything
went crazy. Then we had the chance to go, and we took it.

"The only person we got in contact with was Vic's sister, cause we knew
she wouldn't tell anyone." Mac smiled. "She's got this major distrust for
*anything* organized. Especially secret government agencies. But
contacting you would have been too dangerous. Besides... we weren't sure
that you'd *want* to hear from us."

"Of course I did! I spent three years grieving!!" At least Mac had the
decency to look ashamed at that. Then he continued.

"And along with everything else, at the end, there was Michael. You were
so ready to trust him. Anything I said, you chalked up to me being
hostile towards him, but I couldn't tell you why. You wouldn't have
believed me."

"Believe what?" LiAnn asked, feeling cold at the slightly pained look on
her former brother/lover/partner's face.

"Back when we were teenagers, before you and I happened, Michael and I
were... well, I lovers is *not* the right term for it. What he did to me
had *nothing* to do with love. It was pain and domination and a lot of
other things, but it was *not* love."

LiAnn blanched. She could *not* be hearing this. Mac stood up and started
packing the last of his and Victor's bags.

"It ended about the time I convinced Father to let me have my own
place. I said 'no' a couple of times, and Michael lost interest. You and
I became lovers." He looked up at her. "That was why I worked so hard to
convince you to leave with me. I *knew* what sort of a person Michael was.
I didn't want to go through the same sort of thing that I did.

"So there I was. Ready to tell you about me and Vic. But Michael turns
up, and you were so ready to believe he was telling the truth, that he
had reformed, and I couldn't trust him. But if I told you, I was sure
you'd say I was lying. Either that or try to convince me that he had
changed that part of his personality too. Hell, he even had *Vic* fooled
briefly, and Vic *knew* about what he'd done to me. But I couldn't believe
that he'd really changed.

"You know," he said, zipping the carry-on bags and closing the suitcase.
"Vic and I figure that he was the one behind Chang getting out of jail
and into Canada. After all, the Tangs have the power to arrange that sort
of thing, and Michael knew better than anyone else how to find me."

"I... never thought of that," LiAnn said, head reeling. She didn't want
to believe this, but it made too much sense. He was right about Michael
having the power and knowledge to set Chang after Mac, and when she
thought about it, she could remember strange moods, sudden temper flares
and all the signs of stress in Mac, back when they were still teens being
trained as thieves. How could she have not known? How could she have been
so blind? She went to Mac, and wrapped her arms around him. She couldn't
think of anything to say. After a moment, Mac returned the hug.

There was a cough from the door, and they turned to see Victor. LiAnn was
worried, for a moment, that he might be upset to see his lover with his
arms around their mutual ex-lover, but he was smiling. "Ready to go,
folks?" he said, heading to pick up the suitcase from the bed. He stopped
briefly to give LiAnn a hug, and Mac a kiss. It wasn't an 'I want to fuck
you' kiss. It was just an 'I love you' little kiss, the sort you see
married couples exchanging. LiAnn felt a brief surge of jealousy, again.

"Yep," Mac said, picking up the carry-on bags. "Let's go."

They stopped at the door, while Victor armed the security system, then
they climbed in the car for the drive to Paris and the international
airport there.

* * * * *

LiAnn accepted a drink from the flight attendant with a smile, then sank
back into her seat. The plane was mid-way over the Atlantic, headed for
Toronto. Mac and Victor were also en-route, but taking a different route,
in case she was being watched.

She was still amazed that she had actually found them. If it hadn't been
for that one news article, she might not have. She was also surprised
that they had actually agreed to come back to North America.

They were so obviously happy together, here. They'd made a home, and a
life. She gave a small smile, thinking about that life. Security
consultants, she could understand. Finding out that they also worked at
thieves had left her with an undignified case of the giggles. She hadn't
giggled like that since she was a child, and that was a very long time
ago.

And the Robin Hood part of it... Targeting criminals and sending evidence
to Interpol. That was so much like both of them. Victor would do because
he had been a cop. Mac would do it for the sheer flamboyance of it. It
was just so appropriate for the both of them.

She was glad that they'd kept up their skills, though. What was waiting
for them, back in Canada, was going to be a test of everything they knew,
everything they were.

She just prayed that they were *all* up to it.
 

----------------------------------------
Travel Plans
by Lianne Burwell
July 1998
----------------------------------------

Mac tried to relax into his plane seat, but coach was not exactly a place
for being comfortable. Not that it seemed to be bothering Vic. His
partner could sleep anywhere. He looked adorable when he was asleep, too.
His hair all spiky, and his mouth just slightly agape, soft snoring
noises coming from it.

LiAnn was probably already in Toronto, flying direct and first class. But
they had all worried that they might be watched, so Mac and Vic were
taking a more circuitous route. They had driven to Berlin, and flown on a

commuter flight to London. From there is was a cross-Atlantic flight to
Dallas. Now they were flying coach from Dallas to Montreal, where they
would rent a car for the drive to Toronto. Mac was hoping that Vic would
agree to stopping for the night in the hotel at Mirabel Airport, because
by the time they landed, he was going to be wiped. Vic, though, was
probably going to be completely rested.

"Mac, relax."

Mac jumped in his seat as the hand came to rest on his. He had thought
that Vic was completely asleep.

"Sorry. You know I hate to fly."

Vic gave a little laugh. "Liar. You're worrying. You do it all the time,
until when we're on the job. You were a born worrier. It's going to be
all right."

"How can you say that?" Mac said, twisting in his seat to look at his
partner. "It took a miracle to get away from the Agency before, but now
we're walking right back into the lion's den. They won't let us get away
twice."

"You don't know that. The Director let us go once. Now she wants our
help. I think she'll let us go a second time."

Mac slumped back. "If she has any say in the matter. I'm not going to go
back to working for them again, Vic. I won't."

The hand holding his tightened, and Vic reached over with his other hand
to turn Mac's face towards him. "I know. I feel the same way. But
whatever happens, we do it together, right? You and me."

Mac found a faint smile inside of himself. "You and me," he replied, then
leaned over to kiss Vic.

It was a long, leisurely kiss. Reassurance, love, passion and friendship,
all mixed together with a healthy dose of tongue. Mac could hear the jerk
in the seat across the aisle making gagging noises, but he didn't give a
shit.

Finally, they broke apart and just looked at each other for a long moment.
Then they were interrupted.

"Would you like something to drink before we serve dinner?"

Mac turned to the stewardess to order. He needed a stiff one. It was
going to be a *long* flight.

* * * * *

LiAnn dropped her suitcase in a corner, then threw herself into an
armchair. She was exhausted. Long flights always tired her out. Not to
mention the fact that she hadn't been able to sleep at all. She'd been
playing the conversation with Mac in her mind, over and over again.

"Did you find them?"

She turned her head to look at the Director, who was standing at the
bedroom door.

"Yes. They'll be here in a few days. They decided to take a different
route, just in case. Any news here?"

"There's been another attempt. This one unsuccessful. The director for
Western Europe was nearly killed in her study. That attempt matches the
MO of the killings. Her department works from an underground complex
beneath an office building in downtown London. Only one entrance,
guarded. She went into her office, through the only door, and sat down.
Then she was attacked from behind.

"Unlike the others, she was able to fight her attacker off long enough to
scream for help. When her guards came through the door, the attacker let
go of her and rushed them. He got past, into the hallway, then
disappeared. They're still not sure how he got out."

"He? They're sure it was a man?"

"As sure as they can be. He was built like a man, but that could be a
disguise. He was dressed in black, with a ski mask, so the only
description they had was that he was about 5'11". Other than that, still
no clues."

LiAnn sighed. She had been hoping that *something* would have been
discovered while she was away. The guys were going to be walking into a
minefield without even a metal detector, at this rate.

"So, how are the boys?"

The Director's voice was a study in non-chalance, but LiAnn wasn't fooled.

"Happy. Together. Not happy about coming back, but they feel that they
owe it to you."

"I'm glad. That they're happy, that is. What about you?"

LiAnn closed her eyes. "Conflicted. Glad that they're alive. Angry that
they never told me. Glad that they're happy. Jealous at how happy they
are. Upset at myself for being blind. Did you know about what happened
between Mac and Michael?"

The Director sighed. "I had my suspicions. It didn't stop me from being
fooled by Michael, though. You can't blame yourself for not knowing.
Michael was a master of deception, and Mac... well, Mac was very good at
hiding his emotions."

"Not any more. The Mac I saw this week was very open. Confident, where he
used to be brash. Showing his emotions, where he used to hide behind
walls so well constructed that you didn't even realize that that was what
you were really seeing. He's changed a lot, and for the better."

LiAnn felt a hand reach to cup her cheek. "Can you work with them? If you
can't, say so, and I'll let Jackie be their contact."

She leaned into the hand, eyes still closed. "That... might be a good
idea. I hope there won't be a problem, but I don't know. I don't think
I'd be working at full efficiency around them."

"Fine. Of course, admitting that is the first step to dealing with it."

LiAnn opened her eyes to look at the woman crouched in front of her. "How
did you get so wise?" she asked, only slightly sarcastic. The Director
smiled at her.

"Experience. Lots and lots of experience." She leaned forward and brushed
her lips against LiAnn's.

LiAnn didn't respond for a moment, then melted into the offered embrace.
This wasn't what she had expected in life. It wasn't even what she had
expected, before that nightmarish stay in the hospital, when she had felt
like she was carved from ice. After her release, she hadn't been able to
take care of herself yet. Instead of insisting that she move in with
Jackie, again, Di had brought her home. For the next few months, she had
personally made sure that LiAnn ate, did her exercises, went to her
therapy sessions, both physical and mental. And when LiAnn woke in the
middle of the night, screaming from the nightmares, the Director was
there to hold her, comfort her. That was when she'd gradually moved to
calling the woman Di.

Maybe she should have seen it coming. In retrospect, Di had obviously
made no attempts to hide her interest in LiAnn. But LiAnn had only seen a
motherly/bossly interest in making her the best agent she could be. Then
one night, after a particularly bad nightmare, Di had held her, stroked
her, murmured reassurances, and finally kissed her.

Maybe, under other circumstances, she would have refused. But the
nightmare was too fresh, and the comfort was too welcome. They had slept
together before, but that night was the first time that they had *slept*
together.

Momentarily lost in her memories, she almost didn't notice as her lover
pulled her to her feet, and led her to the bedroom. Slowly, she was
undressed, then pressed back into the bed. Soon she was joined by an
equally naked body. Sometimes she wondered what the Director's motivation
was for this, but usually she didn't care. When she needed her, Di was
there.

She was being kissed again. A gentle control, unlike a man's kiss. The
flesh that pressed against her was firm, but rounder, softer. The lips
moved down her neck, carefully tracing the path of her scars. She hated
them, but Di made them feel beautiful, a proper part of her, if only for
a while.

The lips continued on to suckle at her breasts, coaxing her nipples to
full hardness. She twisted on the sheets, gasping. She could already feel
the pressure building, as finger reached for her clit. The small nub was
stroked and rolled between fingers, before a mouth descended, and a
tongue began its magic.

She could feel her orgasm building. Her toes curled, and her muscles
tightened. Then she cried out as everything seemed to pulse.

She lay gasping, as Di moved up to kiss her. She could taste herself
there. And after a moment's rest, she was ready to return the favor.

* * * * *

Klaus von dem Eberbach of Interpol sat at his desk, smoking a cigarette
while he read the report sitting in front of him. Word had just come in
that two surveillance targets had left Europe for North America.
Normally, he wouldn't care. After all, the Americas were outside his
jurisdiction. But these two...

Matthew Blake and Richard Thornton were definitely an unusual case. They
were thieves, but their targets came exclusively from the criminal
classes. They had been tentatively linked to break-ins at the homes of
the heads of several of Europe's most powerful crime families.
Interestingly enough, within a month or two of those break-ins,
information on those syndicates' operations arrived at Interpol
headquarters in anonymous packages, complete with proof. No two packages
were mailed from the same city, but the connection was obvious to those
who were looking.

Interpol was looking, and after the third package, they made the
connection. At that point, Eberbach was assigned the case file.

Eberbach grimaced at the file. He thought that he'd gotten away from this
sort of thing when he'd transferred to Interpol from the Intelligence
branch of NATO. In Interpol, he could concentrate on putting thieves
behind bars, he'd thought, not working *with* them.

But here he was again. Told not to interfere with *two* thieves, this
time. They were too useful to put behind bars, he was told. And they were
gay, too. At least they seemed focused on each other. The last thing he
needed was another...

Never mind that. He preferred not to think about *that* little problem.

But now Blake and Thornton had left the continent, changing their names
along the way. Mac Ramsey and Victor Mansfield had landed in Montreal,
Canada, and rented a car. It looked like their final destination was
Toronto.

Toronto. Their files suggested that Toronto was where they had come to
Europe from. But for the last three years, the furthest they had gone was
the middle east. So why were they heading back to Canada? Why now?

It was a mystery, and Eberbach *hated* mysteries. He stubbed out his
cigarette, then picked up the phone and told the travel department to
book him on a flight to Toronto.

Whatever those two were up to, he was going to find out.
 

----------------------------------------
Reunions
by Lianne Burwell
July 1998
----------------------------------------

It was a dark and stormy night.

Well, actually it wasn't. It was night, yes. And it was cloudy. But there
hadn't been any rain for a week, and none was predicted for at least
another two days. Still, the anticipation in the air was like the
atmosphere right before a thunderstorm.

The Director waited outside the burnt-out remains of the Viceroy Soy
Mill. Nothing had been done to either fix or tear down the blackened
shell of a building since the explosion that had destroyed it, and nearly
killed her three favorite agents three years ago. On the other hand, the
building had been derelict for years before that, so the owners obviously
didn't care.

In a way, this was the perfect place for this meeting. Not because it was
difficult to spy on people here. Not because it was away from the Agency.
No. Because it was all too appropriate for her first sight of her two
former agents to be in the same place that she *last* saw them. The place ]
where she had nearly gotten them killed.

The Director found herself pacing as she waited. Part of her was certain
that they weren't going to show. Part of her was worried that they would.
She was nervous, and she *hated* being nervous.

Out in the shadows, Jackie and Dobrinsky were prowling, making sure that
there was no one in the area that shouldn't be there. She gave a brief
smile. *None* of them were supposed to be there. After all, the site had
been condemned as unsafe.

LiAnn was leaning against the car, a picture of calm. Only someone who
knew her well would see the coiled tension. The Director felt a flash of
tenderness. In many ways, LiAnn was a much stronger person than she had
been three years ago, and that was a *very* strong person. But in other
ways, mainly emotionally, she was far more fragile. Perhaps she'd been
wrong to hide Vic and Mac's survival from the young woman, but that was
water under the bridge. It was too easy to look back and say 'I should
have', when the time for decisions was past. Given the chance to do it
all over again, she would probably make the same decisions.

A car growled in the distance, and LiAnn came to her feet. They both
looked towards the parking lot entrance and saw the car pull in. When the
two male figures got out, everything blurred for a moment, as though seen
through a pool of water. She shook it off, then gave a small smile.

"Hello, boys."

* * * * *

Mac had a bad case of the jitters. Victor could tell. He had finally
relaxed enough to sleep on the plane, but when they got to bed, at the
hotel after landing, he hadn't slept at all, as far as Victor could tell.
Instead, he had tossed and turned, until Victor had wrapped himself
around Mac, holding him down. Pure self-defense. He couldn't sleep next
to all that movement.

Okay, who was he kidding? He needed the contact just as much as Mac.

So here they were. Back at the scene of the crime. In his mind's eye, he
could still see the flames, hear the explosion, feel the force that had
knocked them off their feet. It was a miracle that they had survived at
all. Over to the side was the spot where Michael's car had exploded into
flames, killing the man. He wished that he had been the one to kill the
sonofabitch, but rescuing Mac had been far more important. At least they
knew for sure, this time, that the man was dead. From Europe, they had
checked to make sure that a body *had* been recovered, and positively
identified. The bastard was *not* coming back from the (apparent) dead a
second time.

And just a short distance away was the alley where they had sat,
discussing the future, deciding to make a run for it. It had probably
been the scariest decision of his life. Scarier that leaving home, or
fighting the corrupt cops who ended up framing him and put him in jail.
No, that had been the scariest decision of his life and definitely the
best choice he had ever made.

They were waiting. He could see LiAnn and the Director, standing next to
a non-descript car that must be LiAnn's. The Director, he remembered, had
a preference for chauffeur-driven limousines. They were waiting, but he
didn't care. He turned and pulled Mac in for a hard, thorough kiss.

"I love you, Mac. I can *never* say that often enough. Whatever happens,
remember that."

Mac smiled, and caressed his cheek. Then they got out of the car, and
headed for the waiting women. The Director stepped forward with a smile.

"Hello, boys."

* * * * *

They looked good, the Director thought. Both of them. And LiAnn was
right. Even though he was obviously nervous, Mac looked stronger, more
confident, than he had before. The wounds that had made him so fragile
when she recruited him were healed.

And Victor. He had always been confident, but uptight. A man who wasn't
sure what he *really* wanted. Now he looked relaxed and happy. Like a man
who had everything he wanted in life.

She wished she could take credit for molding them into the men they had
become, but she couldn't. All she had been able to do was set them free
to find out who they were, what they could be. She was glad that they had.

"Thank you for coming," she told them.

"We owed you," Victor said, to her surprise. She quirked an eyebrow in
question and he grinned. "If nothing else, we never would have met, if it
weren't for you. For that alone, we're in your debt."

She shook her head. Time to get down to business. "Not anymore. Right
now, *I* need *your* help. LiAnn told you the basics about what is going
on. Things are getting worse. There has been another attempt on a
director, this time in London. It failed. And since we added security to
the computer systems, someone has tried to break into the files. They
were trying to pull the Agency personnel files when they were shut out. I
think that whoever it was might have known I had called for you, but
there's no way to tell. We don't know what *sort* of personnel files they
were after."

Mac frowned. "What about the guy who tried to kill you? Any word on him?"

She shook her head. "We've been too busy, in the last week, to track him
down. The police are on it, but they *say* they haven't found anything
yet. And that attempt doesn't match *any* of the others."

"'They *say*'," Victor repeated, thoughtfully. "You don't believe them?"

The Director sighed. "Maybe I've been in this business too long. Maybe
I'm too suspicious. But no, I don't believe them. The attempt was too
clumsy and obvious for there not to have been witnesses. And it was
probably local muscle, since an import would presumable do a better job."

"All right," Victor said. "We'll start there. What is the word inside the
Agency?"

"Panic. Everyone is accusing everyone else, and the Head has disappeared."

Mac's eyes narrowed at that. "Any chance he's behind this?"

"It's one of the theories. Another is that whoever is behind it has
kidnapped the Head. Everyone is looking at the directors, wondering if
one of us is aiming to take over the his position."

"And?"

"No one has made a move yet."

"Tell me about the Head," Victor prompted, face intent.

"No one is sure who he is, or even if there's just one Head. He
approached the Government Advisory Council about setting up a policing
agency, years ago, and they agreed. I've only seen him a handful of
times, and I can't even be sure that it was always the same person."

She started pacing, watching the ground at his feet, something she did
when she was trying to remember every detail of something.

"He usually appears wearing a long hooded robe, usually orange. Like a
far east holy man." Suddenly Victor was like a statue, tense and
unmoving. "What?"

"Does he like to talk in riddles?"

The Director frowned. "Yes. Why?"

"My dreams..." Victor whispered, then suddenly the tension eased,
somewhat. "That time, more than three years ago, when we woke up in that
warehouse with no memory of how we got there. After that I had the
occasional dream about a man in orange robes, with a strange voice,
talking in riddles."

The Director frowned. "I don't remember anything, either. But Desmond was
dying, and he remembered. He said that it was better that I *not*
remember. Maybe... maybe he was trying to stage a takeover. If it *was*
the Head in your dreams..."

"If it was the Head," Victor continued for her, "and he took care of one
takeover attempt on his own, then I think he's more than capable of
taking care of himself now. That is a point more in favor of him being
behind this."

He shook his head. "Anyway, we had better work separate. Little contact.
If people are as paranoid as you say, then they are going to be watching
all of the directors. We should keep communication to a minimum. Mac and
I will operate separately."

"Agreed. Jackie will be your contact. Discuss it with her."

The blonde agent popped out of the shadows, almost as if summoned by her
name. "Like, are we almost finished here? Dobie and I have plans, you
know."

"Dobie? Dobie?!?" Mac started laughing, and all the tension seemed to
drain out of him. Dobrinsky turned up at the opposite side of the lot.

"Ace, if you *ever* call me that, I will..."

"Will what, *Dobie*?" Mac shot back, laughter gone. "We're not agents
anymore. You're not in a position to discipline me."

The Director started heading towards the car with LiAnn. The banter was
cute, and oh-so-familiar, but she didn't have the time. Victor called out
to her.

"We aren't coming back, you realize. We're paying a debt, and then we are
going back to our own lives."

She turned and gave a faint smile. "I know, Victor. I didn't expect
anything less."

* * * * *

Mac tossed his suitcase on the first bed, then tossed himself onto the
second. Though they had flown coach, they were going mid-grade for
hotels. He would have preferred five-star, but they didn't want to
attract attention. At least Vic hadn't insisted on some flea-ridden
motel. He'd been around Mac too long to be willing to do that.

"All right, first step is to find out what the police have learned about
the hit attempt on the Director. Suggestions?"

Mac propped himself up against the headboard. "Well, just asking is
probably out. If they *do* know more than they're saying, someone is
squashing the investigation, and they aren't going to want that to get
out, not with how high-profile a crime it was. Break-in?"

Vic shook his head. "At a police station? I don't think so. They're never
quiet, and the security is better. We need to get in a different way."

"Computers?"

"Computers. But neither of us know enough about computers to hack our way
in."

"What about Nathan? He seemed like he'd do anything you asked."

Vic shook his head. "But his information was paper only. I don't think he
knows enough about computers. But there was one guy I used when I was a
cop..."

"Fine. We'll go see him, first thing in the morning," Mac said, holding
out a hand. "It's late, I'm exhausted, and we've both got jet-lag."
Besides, he thought. I want a cuddle.

Vic looked like he wanted to get going, right away. But after a moment he
relaxed. "You're right. Neither of us is any shape to go running around tonight."

They undressed and climbed into one of the beds and cuddled against each
other. Now that they were actually going to be *doing* something, Mac was
feeling a lot better. Who knows, maybe he'd be able to sleep tonight.

* * * * *

"*Vic*tor *dar*ling, it's been a dog's age! And who is this *gorgeous*
young man? And is he available?"

Victor could see Mac, out of the corner of his eye, trying very hard not
to start laughing. Maybe he should have warned him about Maurie. The man
was short. Shorter than even the Director. And he had pink hair and was
wearing makeup. He was also dressed in a blue silk dressing robe, and
nothing else.

"Mac Ramsey, meet Maurice Sondberg, Maurie to his friends. And no,
Maurie, he is *not* available."

No matter how he might act, Maurie was *not* stupid. His grin got even
wider, and it seemed to say 'it's about time you settled down, you lucky
dog'.

"So, *Vic*tor. What is it you need from Maurie?"

Victor grinned. "Am I that obvious?"

The man pouted, an obviously practiced pout. "You *never* come see me
unless you need something. Just once, I wish you'd come by just to say
'hi'. In fact, it's been nearly *four* years! So, again, what is it you
need?"

"There was a shooting in the park last week. I want to get into the
police computers and find out why they aren't getting anywhere."

"Oooh. Not a *little* favor, is it? Interfering in police business can
get you in *big* trouble, Victor."

"Don't worry. I know what I'm doing. The target of the gunman was a
friend of mine, and the police haven't done anything, so she asked me to
look into it. I just want to know what the cops have learned so far."
Victor made pleading expressions. Maurie liked to play-act, and he was
usually more cooperative if you played with him.

Maurie gave a theatrical sigh. "Well, in that case..."

Victor grinned again, as they were led over to the computer room.

* * * * *

"Hel-lo. This is interesting."

Victor sat up straight in the chair he'd been dozing in while Maurie
worked his magic. "What?"

"The police have closed the file. According to this, they know who did
it, too. But there is no record of a request for a warrant, or an arrest.
They just... closed off the case."

Mac was frowning. "Takes someone with a lot of power to squash the
investigation into a public shooting, where two civilians got killed. The
public will be screaming for blood if they *don't* arrest someone."

"No kidding," Victor replied. "Maurie, is there a name or address for the
shooter?"

"Offf course, gorgeous. Printing right now."
 

He leaned over to pluck the piece of paper from the laser printer as it
emerged. He handed it to Victor with a theatrical flourish as he stood.

"Thanks, Maurie. I owe you one," Victor said, giving the man a quick kiss
on his cheek. Maurie pouted again.

"Is that the best you can do, darling?"

Suddenly Mac gave a mischievous grin. "Maybe I can do better," he said,
then swept the smaller man into a kiss. Not a standard kiss. No, the
movie romance, bending the other man backwards, full french kiss, that
went on and on and...

Finally, Victor gave a small cough, and Mac straightened up. Maurie was
flushed and bright-eyed.

"Victor," he said, breathless. "I will do you favors *anytime*. Just make
sure you bring *him* with you."

* * * * *

"Tease," Victor said with a smile as they stepped out into the sunlight.

"Never with you," Mac responded. "For you, and only you, I always follow
through. So, what do we have?"

"Sam Jacobs. And an address. I think we need to pay Mr. Jacobs a little
visit."

"Sounds like a plan to me."
 

----------------------------------------
Investigations
by Lianne Burwell
July 1998
----------------------------------------

LiAnn parked herself at the conference table with her laptop, then looked
across the table at her boss.

"So. Where do you want to start?"

The Director frowned, deep in thought. "The director for East Europe."

LiAnn blinked in surprise. "She was nearly killed."

"With an emphasis on *nearly*. Why did *she* survive, when others didn't?"

"You did, too," LiAnn pointed out, but she wasn't really surprised. Di
was a *very* paranoid woman, and surviving an attack was sometimes really
misdirection. She was already tapping at her keyboard.

The Director waved off the comment. "Different MO. Possibly a different
source. No. I want to know *why* she survived. It could have been
designed to throw off suspicion."

LiAnn shrugged. "All right, that's where we'll start. Better send someone
to get Nathan poking through his archives as well."

The Director smiled at that. Neither one of them was volunteering to go
down themselves. "He still thinks you're a bug creature?"

"Yep. I buzz, apparently. And you are still the queen alien with a very
good human disguise."

They both chuckled at that, then got to work.

* * * * *

Sam Jacobs was not very hard to track down. Vic checked with a few old
sources, and found out that Jacobs was a petty muscle, available for
hire. When he wasn't working - if you could call it that - he hung out at
a pool hall called the Blue Rooster. Victor hadn't a clue why it was
called that, and he didn't really *want* to know why.

So, the Blue Rooster it was. Victor and Mac dropped, by right before
'happy hour'. The place could only be described as a dive. The air was
full of cigarette smoke, half the lights were burnt out, and most of the
pool tables had stains that you probably didn't want to look at too
closely. Not to mention the stuffed and mounted rooster, behind the bar,
that had been dyed an electric shade of blue.

Vic and Mac had dressed to fit in, wearing ragged blue jeans, t-shirts
and leather jackets, but they still stood out like sore thumbs. Maybe it
was that they were too clean, or that they still had all of their teeth.

Mac leaned against a pool table, keeping one eye on the door, and the
other on the other patrons, while Vic went to talk to the bartender. At
first the man shook his head, no doubt telling Vic that he didn't know
anything about Jacobs. Vic slid a bill across the bar to the man. Mac
couldn't see it, but it must have been a pretty high denomination bill,
because the man's attitude made a sudden change. He pointed towards one
of the tables near the front windows.

The man was pretty typical for the bar. His blue jeans were almost brown,
looking like they hadn't been washed in a year. The t-shirt was stained
and torn. His hair was greasy, and he was in dire need of a haircut. Mac
did *not* want to get close enough to smell if he needed a bath as badly
as he looked.

"Sam Jacobs?" Vic asked in a polite tone. The man turned towards them.

"Who wants ta know?" he said with a sneer.

"We'd like to talk to you about the shooting in the park, last week."

"I don't know nothing about it." Jacobs turned back to his solitary game
of pool

"Oooh. A double negative," Mac pointed out. "That means he *does* know
something, Vic."

Vic waved at him to turn the sarcasm down, while the other man just
glared. "The police know you did it, Jacobs."

"So? They haven't done anything about it."

"And they aren't going to," Vic said. "But *we* aren't the police, and
you're going to tell us *everything* about the hit, and who ordered it."
The tone was still mild, but suddenly it was full of steel.

"Or else?" Jacobs was starting to sweat.

"Or else," Vic replied, not bothering to say what the 'or else' was.

Mac was impressed. He rarely ever go to see Vic do the intimidation
routine. Usually, the other man was the picture of clean-cut and polite,
but today... Well, Mac was starting to feel uncomfortable in his tight
jeans, as they got tighter. Vic being masterful never failed to get his
blood rushing to certain areas.

And it was working, too. Jacobs was sweating. Or was that grease rolling
down from his hair?

"What makes you think I'm gonna talk to you?" he said is a show of
obviously fake bravado.

"Because if you don't, your body's going to turn up in an alley tomorrow,
and no one is going to care."

For a moment, Mac's blood ran cold. Vic was on *his* side, and he wasn't
the target of the glare, but *he* was intimidated. Jacobs didn't stand a
chance.

"All right, all right," he said, nervously fiddling with his pool cue.
"Some woman hired me. Blonde, classy looking, with a limey accent. Real
hoity toity. Paid up-front. Said that the cops would never investigate.
She'd make sure of it."

"Name? Address?"

"Like she's gonna tell me her name," Jacobs said, with a snort. "She paid
half up-front. Said she'd send the rest by mail to my place. And she
found me."

"And you trusted her to send the rest."

"Hey, that half was more than I usually get."

Mac was starting to get a little impatient. "And what about now? After
all, you blew it."

The man looked stubborn. "Hey, I can still get the bitch. I just need to
try again."

Mac advanced, fist already clenching for the blow, when the front window
shattered, and he felt a bullet whiz by. Jacobs fell to the ground, a
small hole appearing, as if by magic, between his eyes. Mac and Vic hit
the ground, too, but by their own choosing, along with everyone else in
the room.

Silence. Cautiously, Vic poked his head up over the edge of the pool
table they were sheltering behind. Another bullet whizzed by. When Vic
dropped back down, there was a hole in his jacket sleeve, right near the
shoulder. Mac pulled the jacket off the shoulder to check. There was a
red streak, where the bullet had grazed Vic, but no blood. It had just
*barely* missed him. Mac breathed a sigh of relief.

"So," he said, checking his own gun. "Now what?"

"Take your pick. Stay here, try again, or make a run for the back
entrance."

Mac was considering the options when they heard a car screech as it
pulled away. They looked at each other for a long moment. Then Mac poked
his head up. No shots. He stood. Nothing.

"Looks like whoever it was is gone," he said to Vic. His partner was
going through the late Mr. Jacobs pockets.

"Damn," he muttered. "Nothing."

"Didn't sound like there was anything more he could tell us anyway."

"Right. Well, let's call Jackie. Give her what we have for the Director."

"And then?"

Suddenly, Mac found himself flat on his back on the pool table, with Vic
leaning over him kissing him breathless, ignoring their audience. Then
Vic pulled back and gave him a hungry grin. "Then we go back to the hotel
and I fuck you into next week."

"Riiiight," Mac said, pulling himself upright. "I forgot. Bullets flying
equals horny Vic. Let's go."

* * * * *

From his rental car, parked across the street, Klaus von dem Eberbach had
a perfect view of the dirty little bar, and the two men he'd been
watching.

Getting to Toronto had not been a problem, although his superiors were
going to want to know *why* he had decided to follow two men all the way
to Canada, which was out of his jurisdiction. Once there, it hadn't been
too difficult to find the men. Knowing the names that the two men were
using here, Mac Ramsey and Victor Mansfield, had allowed a search of
credit card usage. He had been a little surprised to find out that the
cards had existed for a while, but hadn't been used for more than three
years, since before Blake and Thornton had turned up in Europe. Perhaps
these were their real names? It would bear looking into.

But the credit cards had led him to a small, mid-scale hotel. He had
checked into a room on a different floor from his two subjects, and he
had followed the men. This morning they had stopped at a suburban home,
so far out from town that he had been certain that they would see him. A
tracking device might be a good idea.

And now they were at this place. What sort of name was The Blue Rooster
anyway? And why were they talking to that greasy specimen of humanity?

Suddenly, a new question presented itself, as the bullets flew. Who was
trying to kill Blake and Thornton? And more importantly, why?

* * * * *

"So, like, I told the Director what you told me, and she got *really*
interested. She says that the guy sounds like he was describing the
director over in London, the one that was nearly killed a few days ago.
So she did some checking, and this director woman was missing from her
office about the time that this Jacobs guy was hired."

Victor could feel his eyebrows go up. "Maybe it's the move that no one
has seen yet, the move to take over the Agency. I wonder, though. Jacobs
being killed, was that to cover her tracks or because he failed?"

Jackie gave a small shrug. "Who knows. So, whatcha going to do now?"

Victor looked at Mac, asking and getting a response. "I guess we head for
London for a chat with this woman," he said.

"Cool."

* * * * *

Klaus loaded his bags into the backseat of his rental car. It was a good
thing he had paid off two of the desk managers to let him know if Blake
or Thornton - no, Ramsey or Mansfield - checked out. He could see them
loading bags into *their* car, over at the other side of the parking lot.

Klaus got into the car, started it up, and lit a cigarette. As soon as
the other two men pulled away, he was right behind them.

He quickly realized that the men were heading for the airport. Were they
returning to France so soon? And he *still* didn't know why they had come
to Toronto in the first place.

But no. They put most of their luggage into an airport locker, then
immediately booked themselves onto a flight for London. Klaus waited
until they were out of sight, then bought a ticket for the same flight.

Luckily there were still seats left.

* * * * *

"I have a job for you."

Murphy and Camier waited, silent. As the Cleaners, they were the best in
their field, and their field was assassination. A lot of people wanted to
hire them, but they were on an exclusive contract with the Agency.

"There are two men coming to London. They need to die. The details are in
the envelope."

In synchronized motion, the two men nodded, then stood to leave.

Once in the hallway, they opened the envelope.

"Oh dear."

"Indeed, Mr. Murphy. I was under the impression that they were dead."

"As was I, Mr. Camier. A pity. I was quite fond of them."

"Indeed. However, we work for the Agency, and if the Agency wants them
dead..."

"But *why* does the Agency want them dead?"

Camier stopped and considered the question. "I don't know. It might be
interesting to find out. Still, we have plans to make. Shall we go,
Mr. Murphy?"

The two men left the Agency's London office. Murphy was carrying the
satchel containing the implements of their trade, and Camier carrying the
envelope.

Inside the envelope were a slip of paper with a flight number and landing
time, and two pictures. Pictures of Mac Ramsey and Victor Mansfield.
 

Go to Always a Thief Part Two