You Take the High Road
Set between Season 3 and Season 4 (following my other stories –Highland Fling, the Whole Enchilada and Diving for Pearls and Moonshine)
Rating: T
Synopsis: Lee and Amanda have quarreled (see Moonshine). The relationship is on rocky ground – but as Lee has pointed out 'this is no business for a pessimist'.
Disclaimers and Caveats: Scarecrow and Mrs. King was created by Brad Buckner and Eugenie Ross-Leming, and is a production of Shoot The Moon Enterprises, in conjunction with Warner Bros. Studios. Shoot The Moon Enterprises, Ltd. is owned by Kate Jackson. Scarecrow and Mrs. King was filmed at the Burbank Studios and surrounding areas in Burbank, California. Stock footage filmed in Washington, D.C. during the first season.
Regrettably, I do not own the characters, but I did take them out for another spin. Lee was not amused at my jeopardizing Amanda and pulled out his service revolver before coolly informing me I needed to return them to Warner Bros/Shoot the Moon immediately -- or I wouldn't like the consequences. I decided not to mess with him. Also very regrettably, I will not receive any remuneration – Amanda heard this and shook her head empathetically. She understands the predicament of a working mom.
Apologies – very long delay in writing this (life, work, illness, kids, etc. conspire to keep me away from the keyboard). Even so, it is still in process – I'll be adding chapters soon.
You Take the High Road
"I am not being stubborn!" Amanda's voice rose in indignation, holding the receiver away from her ear as she spouted into the speaker. "The boys are not going on that trip, and that is the end of it." Her lips tightened imperceptibly and she drummed her fingers lightly on her desk as she listened impatiently to the other end. "Well, they are just going to have to learn that money does not grow on trees and this will be one of those character building experiences all kids go through….Mother, I'm at work – we can discuss this when I get home." Her head bent as her forehead came to rest in her palm. "I love you, too, Mother." She sighed before returning the phone to the cradle.
Tension ran high in the Q Bureau in the last few weeks since Lee and Amanda had their falling out. Lee tilted his chair to face her and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Amanda…," he began carefully. All of their exchanges were careful now.
"Yes?" Amanda straightened to look at her partner coolly. Her eyes were as dark as obsidian and just as sharp and cold. Her stiff posture didn't invite conversation.
He gave a slight shake of his head, breaking eye contact. "Never mind." Lee shrugged on his suit jacket and swept the clippings and notes on his desk back into the manila file. Gripping the file tightly, he spoke over his shoulder, "I'm just going to run this by Billy." He strode across the room and paused by the open door, "If I get any calls…"
"I'll take a message." She responded flatly without looking up from the typed page she had returned to reading.
Lee bit back a parting shot and only opted to close the door firmly behind him. He felt the tension sharp between his shoulder blades as he rapidly descended the stairs, nodding to Mrs. Marston at the front desk of IFF. The tension didn't fade as he navigated from the hidden elevator to the bullpen and rapped on Billy Melrose's door.
"Come in!" His boss and mentor commanded rather than invited. His leather chair was swiveled away from the door , his right hand tightly gripping the phone to his ear. His other hand afl flipped open the box of antacids that was on the desk. Not a good sign, Lee thought.
"Yes, Dr. Smyth, it is a priority…but we are short-staffed with field agents…No, I am not making excuses…I am certainly aware that it is my ultimate responsibility…" Lee counted as Billy shook out one, two, three…no, four antacids. This was the reason he never aspired to an administration role. He listened as Billy finished placating his own superior while rhythmically squeezing the arm of his chair ever more tightly. The receiver went down, not with a slam, but a very firm click.
Billy took a very slow breath, and then another before looking up at Lee. "What can I do for you, Scarecrow?"
Lee lowered himself into the chair facing Billy's desk, leaning forward to push the manila file folder across to Billy. "I think I should probably be asking 'What can I do for you, Billy?'" Lee tilted his head meaningfully at the phone on the corner of the desk.
Billy sighed expressively. "Not your problem, Lee…but thanks for asking." He flipped open the folder to scan its contents. "So what do we have here?" He changed the subject.
"A whole lot of nothing." Lee snorted with exasperation. "It was a wild goose chase. We can share it with local authorities, but it doesn't concern us." So much of the work of the Q Bureau was like that and it made Lee restless. Dead end research wasn't his forte.
"Billy, are you really that short of field agents?" Lee asked almost too casually, picking invisible lint from his trouser leg.
Billy let out an explosive breath. "You have no idea! When it rains, it pours…and when it pours, there's no one available. We have too many agents in deep cover and we can't afford to pull them out now. Smyth doesn't realize how sensitive some of these operations are! We could lose years of work just infiltrating these organizations." He shook his head in frustration. "We've lost a lot of good people and it's just not in the budget to replace them either."
Lee nodded in commiseration. Budgets were tight and ever more they had to do more with fewer people. Those who couldn't hack it had up and left for greener pastures. He could hardly blame them.
"Use me." Lee stated flatly.
"Lee, I know you weren't wild about the Q Bureau assignment, but I need thorough people I can trust up there…and you asked for less travel…" Billy reminded him.
Lee met his eyes. "Use me, Billy. Please." There was candid entreaty in his hazel eyes.
Billy's brown eyes narrowed in response. "They all have travel – and they are solo gigs, Scarecrow. Fishing expeditions, really. None are big enough to warrant sending two people."
Lee nodded sharply. Frankly, it sounded ideal. He had never needed to get away as much as he did right now. "Where to?"
Billy laughed ironically, pulling open the file drawer of his desk and pulling out a stack of folders. "Well, now, we have a wonderful choice of travel destinations." He began thumbing through the stack of folders. "Madrid, Copenhagen, Belfast, Toronto, Mexico City, Morocco…"
"Morocco." Lee interrupted him, holding out his hand for the folder. Not just anywhere but here, but anywhere far away from here, he thought. "What do I need to know?"
Billy leaned back in his chair and appraised his senior agent. "What do I need to know, Scarecrow? That's what I'm wondering. Just what is going on?" He quizzed Lee.
"Nothing." Lee kept his face averted from his far too perceptive boss. "Just trying to help out." He flipped through the contents of the folder. "Cyclone is missing?!" He looked up at Billy raising his eyebrows. "Wouldn't that be MI-5's responsibility?" His mouth tightened in concern for his friend and rival.
Billy leaned forward resting his arms on his desk, his forehead creased in worry. "It would…and it is…, but more to the point, Lee, Ian Fraser went missing just after resigning from MI-5. There's an unsubstantiated report he was headed for either Casablanca or Fez. You know, he had enough clearance to have access to a great deal of American security interests. We need to know why he resigned and if…"
"If?" Lee hazarded.
"If he can still be trusted." Billy's face was somber and the mantle of responsibility had never seemed heavier around his shoulders.
* * * *
Scarecrow tipped the driver an extra five dirnan with muttered thanks as he exited the car by the ancient Blue Gate leading to the Old Medina of Fez. He stretched after the three-hour ride. Casablanca had been a dead end. If Ian had been there, his sources would have known it. An almost seven-foot Scotsman cut a memorable figure in most people's minds.
There was no point renting a car here, he thought, as he squinted in the harsh midday light at the medieval walled city. From what he remembered of his last trip to Fez, the streets were hardly more than two shoulder widths apart. He tilted his head up to view the towers of the minarets and the endless sea of sandy and white walled buildings that comprised the oldest city of Morocco. Passing through the gate, he slipped into the shadows of the narrow streets of the old Medina.
Fez was always an assault on the senses – the press of people, the chatter around him, and the colorful goods spilling from the stalls along the way. The air was redolent with layers of scents – especially as he passed the spice market with its large pyramids of ground turmeric, cumin, and who only knew what else. Lee silently thanked his Maker that he would be staying upwind of the old tannery in order to meet his contact in Fez. He recalled from his last trip that the stench there was unbearable.
He had to curb his long easy stride in the narrow crush of people. "Smehlee-" he apologized bumping into the man in front of him.
"Makaynch muchkil," the white clad man wearing a traditional red fez replied. They both eased up against a wall to let a passing driver guide his weary, long-suffering donkey bear a high-stacked load of tanned hides up the street.
Lee smiled and nodded at the man's forbearance, before diving back into the throngs moving up the street. He was almost at the Babouche Souk – he could only hope Mamoon was still there. As he arrived into the Souk, he scanned the crowded stalls filled with elaborately embroidered slippers in jewel tones. Amanda would love these, he thought, as merchants exhorted him to examine the finery in their stalls. His mouth tightened. He couldn't afford to think of her now.
"Shookran." Lee shook his head in polite but firm refusal. His eyes lit as he spotted Mamoon's distinctive tented canopy and slipped under its shade.
"Ach kein chi had hna?" Lee called out when he scanned the stall only to find it empty. He picked up a pair of the trademark Moroccan pointed slippers. They were a midnight blue with whorled designs accented by tiny silver beads.
"Hna!" A darkly handsome man slipped out behind a curtain. He gave Lee a broad smile, "l-Hamdullilah – old friend. It has been too long!"
Lee's face brightened with genuine pleasure as they clasped hands. Mamoon was a rascal, but one of his most trusted Barnstorm contacts. It had been too long. He realized just how much he missed field work, now that he was stuck behind a desk most of the time.
Mamoon immediately began to persuade Lee to make a purchase. Haggling over merchandise provided the cover he needed. He gestured to the babouche slippers in Lee's hands. "You know you won't find finer in all of Fez. Look at the stitching, so many glue their soles now – never will you find such a babouche in my souk!" He continued in a steady patter showing Lee the detailed construction. "And your lady, she must like more than blue! Look at the leather tooling on this red pair. The finest workmanship you will ever see…" he continued and gave a price for the fine goods he displayed.
"Hashouma," Lee replied in gentle reproof. "Shame on you, Mamoon, giving me the tourist price – especially when I have so many to order."
Mamoon's white teeth shone in an appreciative smile for a good bartering session. "Come, have some mint tea – we can take time to talk about this large order of yours," he gestured to the curtain in the back of the stall.
Lee nodded, ducking under the curtain and taking a seat by the ornately painted octagonal table in back. Business in Morocco was always a social affair. He schooled himself in patience as Mamoon fussed with pouring the fragrant mint tea in the delicate colored glasses.
"Bismillah," Mamoon intoned before lifting the glass to his lips. "Bsshha."
"Laiahtik saHa," Lee replied automatically, wishing him good health before taking a sip. "Old friend, I wish I were here just to order slippers."
"Someday, Lee, someday!" The other man replied. "But not today, I know. What has you back here?"
"He does." Lee reached into his pocket to pull out a photo of Ian Fraser. The Scottish MI-5 agent cut an unmistakable figure, rangy and rugged with a shock of black hair that swept his brow. "We have reports that he's been here recently. Have you heard anything?"
Mamoon's mobile face was uncharacteristically impassive. "A memorable man," he commented, passing the picture back to Lee. "Why is your agency looking for this man?" He answered Lee's question with one of his own.
"He's missing," Lee prevaricated. "And he's a friend," he added.
Mamoon's dark eyes searched Lee's hazel ones before responding. "Yes, he was in Fez. Five – maybe six days ago." He didn't elaborate.
"Do you know why he was here, or where he went when he left?" Lee inquired. It was not like Mamoon to be so reticent.
The slender man shook his head. "I don't know where he is now. There was a package he delivered-"
"Who did he give it to?" Lee rejoined quickly.
Mamoon's face was closed. "I don't think it wise to talk so openly now. Where are you staying? A hotel, a riad?"
"The Blue Riad, you know, I've been there before." Lee leaned forward to speak softly. "When will I hear from you?"
"This evening, if I can get there unseen." Mamoon muttered back. "And Lee, do not ask so many questions of anyone else. It would be safer that way," he warned the agent before standing.
He pulled back the curtain, shaking his head and spreading his hands theatrically. "Such a price, only for you, old friend. How will I feed my family if I take home so little?"
Lee tapped his finger to his nose, "Somehow I'm sure you'll manage! Are you sure you can handle such a large order?"
Mamoon pulled himself up pridefully. "How can you doubt it…I run the finest souk in all…"
Lee put his hands up in defeat. "…of Fez. I know, I know! Until next time, Mamoon."
"Bslama, Lee," the merchant responded. "And may God go with you."
* * * *
Moroccan Arabic - Glossary
Smehlee = Excuse me
Makaynch muchkil = No problem
Shookran = No, thank you
Ach kein chi had hna = Is anyone here?
Hna = Here
l-Hamdullilah = Thanks to God
Hashouma = Shame on you
Bismillah = In the name of God
Bsshha = Enjoy
Laiahtik saHa = May God give you health
Bslama = Goodbye