JAIL BAIT ( a couple years after The Last Supper)

Napoleon Solo had come out of curiosity, as much as concern. He half-expected to find her shivering on a hard bench, arms tightened around herself protectively, head bowed in penitent contemplation. But when the deputy led Solo to her cell, the energetic sister had already separated the altos from the sopranos, and was directing her criminal choir in the second verse of "Blowin' in the Wind."

"Mercy—" he hailed to get her attention. He succeeded in getting the attention of the entire ladies' block. It was inevitable. He was Napoleon Solo.

"Napoleon!" She was genuinely surprised to see him, and rushed to the bars. "Napoleon? But how did you—why are you-?"

"I'm just the answer to a maiden's prayers-." he answered smoothly. Solo looked her over: scuffed, disheveled, veil askew and shook his head disapprovingly. He had not seen the petite nun since their original encounter several years ago. They had dated awhile, and even toyed with the idea of becoming "serious." But they each recognized they had higher commitments to follow.

"Well, surely this is divine providence," Mercy said confidently.

Solo hated to burst her bubble of faith, but- "Actually, one of the deputies phoned."

"I didn't give them any information, Napoleon, honest, not a syllable! I'm a political prisoner and I'm claiming my vow of silence."

"You mean, your right to remain silent? Your right against self-incrimination?"

"Yeah, that stuff. Those—tax-paid goons must've found your number in the little reticule I carry for ID and hankies." She shuddered dramatically. "I feel so violated."

"Mercy, I'm afraid it's a federal law that's been violated; and you did the violating"

She turned her face from Solo and looked dramatically heavenward. "I am compelled to follow a higher law."

Napoleon began to read from a copy of her arrest warrant. "Trespassing—you sneaked onto a high security aeronautic installation. Vandalism -You painted crosses onto a government rocket—in your own blood."

She shrugged. "I was inspired."

And Solo was exasperated. He continued. "Resisting arrest-You simply can't continue to –" he got trapped by her sweet stubborn eyes. She had always appeared more like an elf than an angel to him. "Will your community be sending a representative for you, bail you out on faith?"

She shook her head. "I don't want them involved. Besides," she added quietly, almost to herself, "they might not come this time."

"THIS time?" Solo repeated, wondering how many other escapades there had been. "Mercy, you simply cannot make a habit of—sorry. " He tried a new angle. "Just out of professional curiosity, exactly how did you break into Mt. Restivo?"

She smiled disarmingly. "Why, Mr. Solo, no one suspects a nun. Nice boys, I just gave them a blessing and they let me stroll on in."

"And you don't feel the least bit guilty for cloaking your criminal intentions under your habit?" he scolded.

Mercy sighed softly. "You know, Napoleon, we used to be on the same side."

"Same side, different tactics."

"I'm prepared to go to Confession. Are you?" she challenged.

"Sister Smart Aleck," he muttered. "I should just leave you here, teach you a lesson about –"

She rounded him, this short little fluttering sparrow of a woman. "You teach me, Napoleon? About…oh, I don't know…Responsibility? Sacrifice? Loyalty?" Then she stopped dead in his face.

He felt outnumbered. "Fine."

"Fine", you concede my point? Or "fine", as in 'how much this time?' Y'know, you might consider this a charitable donation. It could be deductible on your income tax…" she suggested.

Solo shook his head. "That's all I need—the IRS involved. Mercedes Chappelle, you are a complicated woman. And this is a federal charge." He tried to glare at her seriously but it was no use. "I'll call a guy in Legal who owes me." With that he turned away and walked up the steps to the sergeant's desk.

"See you in Church-" Sister Mercy called after him. It was a vague hope, but a constant one. And though Solo would probably not admit it, sometimes it was comforting to remember that he was always in someone's prayers.

finis