Disclaimer: Scarecrow and Mrs. King is copyrighted to Warner Brothers and Shoot the Moon Production Company. The story, however, is copyrighted to the author. This story is for entertainment purposes only and cannot be redistributed without the permission of the author.
Title: Who's On First?
Author: Ann (geisterschloss )
A huge round of thanks to my large group of beta readers. I started this story over ten years ago, got stuck on it and moved on to other things. So some people beta'd it way back then, others now and I'm indebted to all of you! And thanks to Abbot and Costello for the title!
"Who's on First?"
Part One
"Still abstaining from breakfast, I see." T.P. Aquinas shook his head.
Lee watched in fascinated distaste as his friend poured a generous dollop of ketchup onto his plate, then used his fork to swirl the red substance into the scrambled eggs. "Well, if that's what you call breakfast, I'll stick to my coffee and brioche," he maintained.
"Lee, my boy, I assure you it's a gastronomic delight. Ketchup has to be the most unfairly maligned condiment in the entire culinary world."
"I'll take your word for it." Lee drained his cup of coffee just as their waitress bustled up with another full carafe.
"So, when is your lovely partner due back in town?" T.P. questioned as he speared a sausage, dipped it into the ketchup and egg mixture and took a large bite. After washing down the mouthful with a slug of orange juice, he continued, "I think I like it better when she's around to give you a little polish. Or at least to force you into a pretense of respecting your elders."
Lee glanced at his watch with a smile. "As a matter of fact, her flight's due into Dulles at noon."
"How is she doing? That was quite a close call she had in California back in February," TP said with friendly concern.
Lee's expression clouded as he thought back over those nightmarish days only a few months in the past. "Tell me about it. The Agency doctor finally gave her the green light to return to full-time active field status last week. She'd already promised Emily Farnsworth to help with the Inter-Agency Conference in London this week, but I'm sure that when she gets home there'll be no holding her back."
T.P. looked at him with a knowing gleam in his eyes. "Well, if anyone does hold her, I'm sure it will be you," he said mildly before taking another bite of breakfast.
Lee choked on his mouthful of coffee, barely managing to keep from showering the tabletop. As he wiped his chin with a napkin, he wondered just how much his friend knew about their supposedly secret marriage. It would be just like T.P. to have ferreted out every last detail, but say nothing. The sound of muted ringing coming from T.P.'s briefcase interrupted his contemplations.
"Saved by the bell, Scarecrow," T.P. chuckled as he reached for his phone. "T. Percival Aquinas," he answered with his musical inflection. "Yes, he's here; I'll put him on." He passed the handset over to Lee, saying, "The advantage of these portable phones is they put the world within your reach. Unfortunately the disadvantage is they also put you within the reach of the rest of the world."
Lee frowned as he listened to the person on the other end. "Who?" he questioned, then sighed. "Everything's always urgent with him . . . Okay, okay, you can tell him to come over here. We're at Reeve's Bakery on F Street."
As he handed the phone back to T.P. Lee explained, "Augie Swann's been trying to find me for the past hour. Apparently something's come up, that, quote, 'absolutely can't wait'. Of course with Augie, it could be anything from an imminent nuclear attack to the Russian ambassador coming down with the flu. Have your paths ever crossed?"
"I'm familiar with your Mr. Swann by reputation only. I'm afraid that DC's finer mud-wrestling bars have never been high on my list of places to frequent. And I didn't quite trust the driving record associated with his limousine service."
Lee grinned and shook his head. "Then you'll love Augie's latest business endeavour even more. When his limo company folded last year, he opened an escort service. It's a great way to pick up on the scuttlebutt going around town, but it's strictly a low budget operation. His clientele is still on the slightly seamy side."
Ten minutes later, Augie came through the door and made a beeline for Lee's table. Following close behind was a young redhead, wearing a short skirt and a tight jacket - both made of a garish material which bore a vague resemblance to leather. It was obvious, though, that no animal had ever sported hide of that particular texture, any more than her hair colour had originated anywhere but a bottle.
Augie wasted no time on pleasantries. "Lee, let me just say right off the bat that you'll be getting the family discount on this one," he said as they sat down. "Five, no, ten percent off my usual finder's fee. Mrs. King's a friend of mine too, and I'd hate to see anything happen to her."
His companion smiled brightly at the two men, then focused her attention on the plate of food in front of T.P.
"Augie, what're you talking about?" Lee exchanged glances with T.P., wondering if this was another of Augie's wild goose chases or if he should actually be concerned about his wife. "Nothing's happened to Amanda; I talked to her just last night. She's flying home right now."
Augie shook his head. "I don't think so. Angel, tell them what you heard."
They looked over at his companion, who was furtively helping herself to home fries from T.P.'s plate. She glanced up guiltily, licked her fingers and said, "Last night the guy I was with dragged me to some stupid party a bunch of Russians were having. Did you know they actually eat fish eggs! Ewww . . . can you think of anything more disgusting?"
"What happened at the party?" Lee asked, wondering how on earth Augie managed to find so many dim-witted women to work for him.
"Okay, well, the party was being given by some Russian ex . . . ex . . . ex-parrots," she finished in a rush.
"Parrots?" Lee asked incredulously.
T.P. placed a restraining hand on his friend's arm. "I'm not sure I follow you," he said to the young woman. "What do you mean 'ex-parrots'?"
"You know," she said with a touch of impatience, "guys who used to be in tight with the big shots at the embassy, but now they're on the outs."
Ex-patriots. Lee turned a snort of surprise into a cough, somehow managing not to make a caustic remark. Maybe, just maybe, if he let her babble on, she'd finally get to the point.
Seeing the look on Lee's face, Augie was quick to prompt her, "Get to the part about the phone calls."
"Oh, right," Angel continued blithely. "Well, the party went on and on, and around three a.m. the guy I'm with gets this phone call. He had one of those new phones - you know, the ones that fit in a briefcase." She looked down at her nails, frowning as she saw a dull patch. She quickly blew on them, then buffed her fingers against her jacket. "Wouldn't you love one of those? I mean you could call people from anywhere."
"Could you just get to the point?" Lee tried desperately to hold on to his last shreds of patience.
"Look, it would be a lot easier if you'd stop interrupting me," she shot back defensively. "Do you want to hear what happened, or not?"
"Of course we do," T.P. coaxed her patiently. "What was the phone call about?" Angel smiled gratefully at him and turned her back to Lee.
"Well, the first call was really short. Basically the guy says, 'Good work,' and hangs up. Then right away he phones this other guy and says something about how they managed to grab the package on the way to the airport. And how with Scarecrow's partner under lock and key, the rest of the job should be easy."
Lee paled. It was possible, of course; Amanda could have been snatched on the way to the airport.
Augie interrupted his musings. "When Angel checked in with me this morning, I knew you'd want to know about this ASAP. I made a few phone calls too – the rumour around town is that someone is planning to put you and your partner up on the auction block as a matched set. Wow, can you imagine the commission on that deal . . ." His voice trailed off as he envisioned the riches such a transaction would entail. When Lee glared at him, he hastily added, "Not that I would help sell the two of you, of course. And I'll do whatever I can to help you get Mrs. King back."
Lee stood up abruptly, accidently knocking over his empty coffee mug. "Just let me know if you hear anything else through the grapevine. I'm heading back to the office."
"I'll go with you." T.P. hastily got to his feet and followed him. Augie tried to go after them, but was quickly intercepted by the waitress. She calmly handed him the bill and waited. As Augie frantically dug through his wallet for some money, Lee and T.P. headed out the door.
T.P. struggled to keep up with Lee, who was purposefully striding down the sidewalk toward his car. "Lee, slow down. You don't even know if she's really been kidnapped."
Lee paused just long enough to let his friend catch up. "That's why I want to get back to the Agency. At the very least, the airline can tell us if she made her flight or not."
"I'll head over to my office and do some digging around, myself," T.P. offered. "See if these rumours have any substance to them. You saw that girl; she's hardly what I'd call a reliable source."
The minute he was in his Corvette, Lee called Billy on the car phone and brought him up to date. As a result, there was a small file of information waiting for him on his arrival at the Agency.
"What have we got so far?" he asked brusquely as he entered Billy's office. The best way to keep his mind from conjuring up all sort of horrible possibilities was to pretend this was just any other case. Stick to the facts, Stetson, and stop thinking about what-ifs, he mentally lectured himself.
"Not a lot. The airline confirmed that someone used Amanda's ticket and passport to board the flight at 7:45 a.m., GMT. So if someone did kidnap her, they've taken precautions to get as much lead time as possible before we'd find out."
"What about airport security in Heathrow?" Lee asked.
"They faxed us over a still from their security cameras. Not the best calibre, I'm afraid – the quality of some of these new facsimile machines leaves a lot to be desired." He handed Lee a grainy picture showing a dark haired woman walking along a hallway in a crowd of people. Lee frowned and peered at it more closely. She was about the right height, but from this angle it was impossible to tell for sure one way or the other.
Billy continued calmly, "They're sending us a copy of the actual surveillance tape on the next flight out, but it won't arrive until late this afternoon."
"What about the flight crew on board the plane? They could give us more information." There had to be some way they could find out about Amanda right away. It was unthinkable that he might have to wait a few hours before he knew what, if anything, had happened to her.
Billy shook his head. "The airline is refusing to contact them while en route. I can't say that I blame them. If it is an impostor and they do something to make her nervous, the situation on board could turn sour very easily. It's much better to wait until they land. The flight took off on schedule at 8:30, so they should be at Dulles at noon our time. We still have plenty of time to intercept whoever it is."
Lee took a deep breath and tried to proceed logically, placing a firm lid on his churning emotions. "Who have we got out there today?"
Billy smiled at him wryly, knowing the effort it was taking for Lee to remain calm. "Frost and Micinski are on routine patrol. I've already had them contact Customs and told them to expect you."
"I'm on my way." Lee headed for the door. At least this gave him a task on which he could focus his energy.
Billy called after him, "Lee, call the minute you know anything. And good luck."
"Thanks. Hopefully I won't need it." He turned and headed quickly through the bullpen.
*** SMK *** SMK *** SMK ***
Customs officer Stan Szynkaruk sighed as he looked at his watch. Five hours until quitting time, three days until the weekend, six weeks until his vacation, ten years until retirement. And here he sat, watching the endless parade of people go past his booth – visitors to the United States and citizens, vacationers and people travelling on business.
So far the day had been mind-numbingly dull. Well, except for the incident in the morning with the couple on the flight from Toronto. The husband had blusteringly answered all of Stan's routine inquiries. One small question directed towards the wife though, and she had immediately crumbled, tearfully confessing that the cigars her husband was bringing back were Cuban made. She had looked at Stan fearfully, as if expecting to be dragged off in chains, instead of just having the contraband items confiscated.
He watched as an influx of passengers from the newly arrived London flight entered the Customs area. There was the usual mixture of personality types – a few people rushing for the lines, desperate to be first. Others stood back and assessed which group seemed to be moving along most efficiently. Some stoically headed for the first line they saw, then stood there looking exhausted, obviously needing a vacation to recover from their vacation. Finally, there were the line-jumpers, moving from queue to queue – always certain that everyone else was moving faster. Occasionally, Stan would take a perverse pleasure in waiting until one of these got to his booth, then asking a long series of mindless questions.
He motioned for the next person in line to come forward. A brunette who appeared to be in her mid-thirties stepped up and handed him her Customs form and passport.
"Your name?" he asked brusquely.
"Amanda King."
"How long have you been out of the country?"
"Just a week," she said with a friendly expression on her face, as if smiling was something that came easily to her.
"Purpose of your trip?"
"Business."
"Anything to declare?"
"A few gifts for my family."
"What kind of gifts?" Stan watched her eyes as she easily answered his questions. Either she was telling the truth or was more adept at lying than the average person.
He was about to wave her on through, but something about her name jogged his memory. He frowned, then held up a hand to stem her chatter. "Wait one moment, please." He looked at her passport again, and compared it to a security bulletin distributed an hour earlier. "I'm sorry, it seems your passport's been red-flagged."
"Red-flagged?" she echoed, either actually confused or doing a good job of acting confused. "I don't understand. Why?"
"I'm afraid I can't tell you. You'll have to go with these gentlemen." He indicated two armed guards who were approaching the booth in response to the silent alarm he'd triggered. Other passengers watched curiously as they quickly led her down a hallway toward a private office.
*** SMK *** SMK *** SMK ***
Lee paced nervously around the small office space. Amanda's plane had landed half an hour earlier; what was keeping them? What if she hadn't been on the flight? What would his next course of action be? Who could have kidnapped her?
Instinctively, he reached under his jacket, checking for the tenth time in as many minutes that his gun was there. If it did turn out that an impostor had used Amanda's passport, she'd soon find herself in a great deal of trouble. And if she had any information about what had happened to Amanda, he'd find some way to drag it out of her.
No, he shook his head; he had to think positively. Amanda was fine. She would be the one getting off the plane.
But what if she wasn't . . .
As Lee anxiously bit his lip, he caught Micinski's eye and smiled self-consciously. At the sound of approaching footsteps outside the door, both agents drew their weapons. Lee felt his entire body tense as the door opened.
*** end of part one ***