4247 Maplewood Drive

Monday, February 27

"Amanda? Amanda?" Dotty's shrill voice pierced the silence and Amanda sighed and closed her eyes. She loved her mother and her sons, but she rarely had time alone and had looked forward to another hour of solitude.

"Up here, mother," she shouted back. She finished stowing socks and underwear and closed the dresser drawers. "Did you notice that Jamie had torn his jeans yesterday? Looks like he snagged the pocket on a fence. That was his last decent pair. And Phillip's jeans are three inches too short already. I'll have to postpone the painting again and buy jeans instead."

"Well, in that case, my good news is even better now," Dotty's eyes sparkled with excitement.

"Let me guess – Publisher's Clearing House selected your name as their winner," Amanda teased as she straightened Jamie's bedspread.

"No, but that would be nice. My news isn't quite that good. Margarite, the nail technician at Emilio's, broke her leg and right then I saw an opportunity for you."

"Mother, that's terrible! A broken leg is never good news."

"Of course not, but that's not the good part. She can still work, but she can't walk her dogs. She's absolutely devoted to her pets, and when I suggested that she hire a professional dog walker, she was eager to get your contact information. She'll be hiring you for at least 6 weeks, and that should buy a few pairs of jeans, don't you think?"

Amanda started sorting shoes in the bottom of the closet to hide her chagrin. The cover story about providing plant and animal services was wearing thin. She had hoped to phase it out quietly when she could figure out another cover story, but she couldn't come up with another idea to explain her erratic income (and even more erratic hours) with the Agency. On the other hand, a little extra cash would certainly come in handy and how hard could it be to walk a couple of dogs? Baseball cleats, rain boots, dress shoes and winter boots now stood in two neat lines (divided by size). She sighed as she noticed that both boys needed new cleats, too. Amanda emerged from the closet. "That is good news, mother. Thank you for suggesting it."

Dotty beamed with satisfaction and gently patted her newly coiffed hair. "That's what mothers do, dear. Always promoting your best interests."

The Agency

"Scarecrow. My office. Now!" Billy's bellow caused heads to snap up, and everyone not named "Scarecrow" breathed a small sigh of relief.

The summoned agent casually adjusted his tie and sauntered into his boss' office. "What's up?" He leaned against the bookshelf and regarded his boss with growing concern. "It's not LaRue from Audits carping about our expense reports again, is it?"

"No, it's worse! Much worse, Scarecrow. Carmichael Chemical had another security failure over the weekend. I thought you performed a security check on their entire operation after we recovered the canisters of nerve gas from Polo de Gregorio's plane." Billy was agitated enough that his mustache quivered in indignation.

"You're right, Billy, I did. Davy Benson signed off on the security review last year, and it looks like he didn't even visit their laboratory. He had lunch with Carmichael's head of security and just rubber stamped the paperwork." Any reference to Davy Benson was guaranteed to infuriate Lee. Davy's shoddy work had been bad enough, but recently he had been uncovered as a mole inside the Agency, and that made Lee's blood boil. He took a deep breath and exhaled forcefully. As a relaxation technique, it wasn't very effective.

He forced himself back to the current crisis. "The San Cardenza rebels took advantage of several security gaps when they stole the two canisters of nerve gas. My security review was thorough and I double-checked all of the required improvements. Carmichael replaced two broken cameras and repaired some motion sensors. Their guards were thoroughly screened and a new access card reader was installed. How did the new security system get breached?"

"That's the first thing you need to find out. The so-called 'good news' is that they are only missing one tank of the nerve gas this time, not two." Billy and Lee shared a matching glare of disbelief.

"Billy, two of those canisters held enough nerve gas to kill the entire population of Arlington, VA and surrounding areas! One canister on the loose can still kill a lot of people – an entire mall, or football stadium, or concert hall. We have to find out who took it and get it back!" The agent shoved a hand through his hair and gritted his teeth to bite back his anger.

"Get out there and see what you can find out. I'll alert the rest of the staff to pump their contacts. We've got to find that nerve gas before we have a disaster."

Carmichael Chemical

Security Office

"Keith, what happened here? Two security breaches in one year will cancel all of your Department of Defense business."

"Don't I know it! Carmichael's will be lucky to survive this disaster. And I expect my career is over, too. It won't matter that I lobbied relentlessly for security upgrades prior to the first theft. And it won't matter that I was on vacation at the time of the second theft. Security is my responsibility and no excuse can change that."

The agent shook his had in commiseration, but he couldn't deny the truth in the other man's words. "So, tell me about it." He stood by Keith's shoulder as both men watched the monitors.

Keith Parker was ex-military and still favored the buzz cut for his thick brown hair. He had softened and spread since retiring from active duty, but his posture was still rigid and his sense of responsibility still keen. "You know, Stetson, the hardest enemy to guard against is the one on your own team. Don't get me wrong, I don't think Stewie meant to sabotage his dad's business, but the kid is a personnel director's nightmare. Richard bullied him through a Business Administration college degree, and has moved him from department to department for the last two years. He's trying to find an assignment that Stewart Richard Carmichael the Third can't screw up."

"What did he have to do with this?" Lee prompted.

"With all of the upgrades, Richard thought that Stewie couldn't mess up in Security. He assumed the machines would do all of the work, and the kid could just monitor the department in my absence. I trained him for a week before I left. Beth and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary with a Caribbean cruise. I just got back in the office this morning, and before I could finish my first cup of coffee, we discovered that one of the nerve gas canisters was missing."

"That nerve gas was top secret. Wasn't it stored under extra security?"

"You know it was. But when the system was down, the extra security was easier to breach as well. It's infuriating that someone knew exactly where to find it."

"Sounds like I need to talk to Stewie. Is he here?"

"Yeah, I'll get him." Parker lifted his phone and punched a few buttons. He spoke briefly and hung up the phone. "He's on his way." He finished his coffee, tossed the cup in his trash can and rocked back in his chair. "Stetson, go easy on the kid. He meant well." The door opened and a slender, young man entered, closing the door behind him. He looked like a Billy Idol wannabe – spiky blonde hair, leather jacket, sullen expression.

His eyes darted around the room as he slouched in a chair. "I've already told you what happened. I don't know what else you want from me." He rubbed his sweaty palms on the thighs of his black jeans and looked at the floor.

"You told me, but you didn't tell the United States government why one of their contractors failed to meet basic security requirements. This is Lee Stetson, and I'll let you tell him exactly what went wrong with our security system."

"I never asked to work here. I don't know why my father won't let me live my own life!" the kid whined.

"You can keep your family issues to yourself." Lee spoke sharply. He had no respect for indulged young men. "What happened here this weekend?" He walked around the security chief's console and stood in front of the pouty young man, looming over him with his hands on his hips.

"Look, I'm an artist. I wanted to show my dad that I can make a living in business even if I don't work for his precious chemical company. My idea was to conceal the security cameras in natural features so that surveillance isn't so obvious. I know we want to deter criminals by having obvious security cameras, but having concealed cameras would be useful to catch the ones who study the system enough to slip past. I've been planning this since the break-in."

"What exactly were you planning?" Lee's frustration was evident in his louder voice. He'd been in this office for 15 minutes and still didn't know how the carefully constructed security system had failed.

"I designed and fabricated natural enclosures for the cameras before Keith left on vacation. I wanted it to be a surprise – you know, it's easier to ask forgiveness than permission. So Saturday night, I turned off the security system, dismounted two of the cameras and encased them in their new camouflage. The system was off for less than two hours. I had measured the dimensions and the re-installation was easy. You would think someone would appreciate a little innovation."

"You turned off the security system for the entire chemical plant for two hours!" The agent's voice pounded the young man's bravado and silenced him. Lee stomped towards the window and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to control his anger.

Keith cleared his throat, "To be honest, the kid's camouflage was well-done and we'll probably keep it. He aligned the cameras properly, and you can see for yourself that the video feed covers the same areas specified in your security review."

The praise wiped away half of the resentment on the young man's face leaving a hopeful, underdog expression. "Yeah, I hid one in a simulated wasp's nest under the eaves, and one in a bird house over the fence."

Turning from the window, Lee huffed a sigh. "Who else knew about this before you did it?"

"No one. I told you - it was a surprise." Stewie repeated.

"No one? You sabotaged your dad's company completely alone?"

The young man winced at the agent's harsh words. "Well, Julio helped me with the ideas and assisted with the installation, but that's all."

"Julio?" Lee said flatly.

"Uh, yeah. That would be Julio Pedroza. I rent studio space from him, and he held the ladder and stuff."

"Who else rents studio space or saw you working there? Who else did Julio tell? How many people knew about this secret, Stewie?" The questions shot out of his mouth like bullets. The agent could see the widening ripples of spreading information and the vast potential for disaster. He clamped his mouth shut, clenching his jaw painfully. The stolen nerve gas could be anywhere.

The Agency

Billy's Office

"I visited the studio. It's a large warehouse, and it's a jumble of materials and projects. The space is subdivided into ten areas for various artists, but there are no doors or locks between the stalls. Some renters have lockable cabinets which are considered their private property – requiring a separate search warrant. Anything could be hidden in there, and it would take a team of agents hours to search it. I got a list of renters and frequent visitors to the place and we've been looking for political connections. No one steals nerve gas without a plan to use it." Lee leaned against the window to the bullpen while he updated his boss.

"Right. And with a name like 'Pedroza' at the top of the list, we don't have to look too far to find political connections."

"Up until now, the son has been minimally involved in his father's schemes. If he deliberately cultivated a relationship with the son of the owner of Carmichael Chemical, then it looks like his political role is increasing. Julio wasn't at his studio or in his apartment. We're looking for him." Lee paced the length of the office as he pondered the possibilities.

"Pedroza's reputation as a king-maker is well-deserved. His influence among Washington's power brokers keeps financial aid and other resources flowing to San Cardenza. Every move he makes is calculated to serve Polo de Gregorio's ambitions. What is he up to this time?" The agents exchanged looks as they considered the question.

Francine breezed in with a computer print-out and a thin file folder. "The Pedrozas will be hosting a Republican fund raising dinner at the Hilton on Saturday, March 17. Various Latino Ambassadors and other power brokers are on the guest list. Additionally, Adele Pedroza, Roberto's niece and god-daughter, has recently arrived for an extended visit, and this will be their opportunity to introduce her in Washington society." She handed Billy a photo of the woman.

"Well, well, well, Scarecrow. You might enjoy working this relationship to gain access to the Pedroza estate. She's a looker."

The handsome agent grinned slyly as he snatched the photo from his boss's hands. He eyebrows rose in admiration. The photo was a candid shot of a woman on a balcony – hair tousled, clothing skewed and an unmistakable look of a woman recently bedded. He whistled. "Nice. An assignment I'll gladly accept! Isn't she a little old for a 'coming out' party?" He adjusted his pants to hide his interest in the woman.

"Apparently the lovely Adele is hard to please. After years of coaxing and demanding, her father has given up trying to find a match for her in San Cardenza, and Uncle Roberto has offered to seek a suitable mate for her among the Norte Americanos. She's 25, practically ancient for an unwed daughter in their society." Francine sneered at the cultural assumption that being single at 25 was a bad thing.

"Habits? Haunts? I need to figure out how to meet her naturally."

"She's a skilled rider and Pedroza boards a horse at the Potomac Horse Center. His estate backs up to the extensive trail system that links the national parks in that area. She typically arrives at the stables around 9:00." As usual, the blonde agent had done her homework and was prepared with the necessary details.

"Saddle up, Scarecrow. Looks like you have an appointment in the morning at 9:00."