Robert McCall gazed at the soup with admiration. It was French onion, in a crock, the cheese thick and perfectly baked on top. It smelled wonderful. So did the slices of hot sourdough bread that accompanied it. He broke the cheese crust with his spoon and took a bite. The soup was hot and deliciously rich. "Oooooh," he said warmly.

"I told you." Control was halfway through his own soup.

Robert looked around the tiny, dark restaurant. "So you did." He took another bite of soup. "All right then. What is it you want?"

His companion looked mildly surprised. "Your bread, if you're not going to eat it."

"You know what I mean, Control. Why the meeting? What do you want from me?"

"Nothing," Control answered. "Just lunch. We haven't talked in weeks." To Robert's unconvinced scowl, he added, "If I wanted something, we'd be in a dark alley or a dusty warehouse."

McCall considered, then nodded. "I suppose we would, at that. So. How's business?"

"Booming, as always. Unfortunately. The Balkans are a mess. We may have to prop up the Soviets just to keep a lid on things."

"Surely it won't come to that," Robert scowled.

Control shrugged. "It's going to get very messy, very soon."

"Yes, well, freedom does have a way of being very untidy, doesn't it?" They ate in silence for a moment. "What I really want to know, Control, is what in blazes have you done with the woman?"

"What woman?"

"You know bloody well what woman. I know she's back in the city; she left a message on my machine while I was with a client. But now she's not returning my calls, and I think you're behind that."

Control chuckled. "In a manner of speaking, I suppose. She's overseas. Working."

"You didn't waste any time throwing her back in."

"Her choice, not mine. She got arrested in Pristina."

Robert threw his spoon down. "So there is something you want."

"No, no," Control answered quickly. "She's out already. It was just a local matter, we threw a bribe, she's on her way home. She's fine."

McCall relaxed slowly, recovered his spoon, and took another bite. "She must have been very frightened."

"Becky said she was just bored."

"You went to Becky about this?" McCall demanded. "Do you know what your superiors would say if they knew you were consulting a psychic at every turn?"

"I only consult her in emergencies," Control answered defensively.

"An emergency is now being defined as any time that woman is more than ten minutes overdue. Is that it?"

His friend opened his hands. "I just got her back, Robert, I couldn't … all right, all right. I know you're right. I'll try not to bother Becky again."

"I don't think you bother her," Robert conceded. "But the things that child must read from you, and me … "

"I know."

Robert finished his soup in silence, set to wiping up the dregs with the bread. "Jail aside," he finally asked, "how is she?"

"She's extraordinary," Control answered warmly.

McCall studied him. There was a sudden glimmer in his friend, a light that was almost always absent. "You know, Control, you have the most remarkable expression on your face. I don't know that I've ever seen it before. One might almost think that you were – dare I say it – happy."

Control grinned, which truly was an unfamiliar expression. "She's … whole, Robert. She's herself again. She came back to life, and she came back to me."

"Ahh." Robert smiled fondly. "I told you so."

"You were the one who said I should send her away in the first place."

"Well, yes, but then I changed my mind. You should have taken her back well before this. You've only wasted your time being miserable."

Control stared at him, considered whether to take up the argument. He let it go. "I gave her the emerald."

"I'm a bit surprised she accepted it."

"It took a little persuading," Control admitted. "She's different now, Robert. The whole relationship is different."

"That's to be expected, isn't it?" McCall asked gently.

"She's much more complicated than I knew."

"A simple woman would bore you to death."

Control shook his head ruefully. "I thought I knew her so well. I thought I understood her. And now … for every one thing she says, I can hear a dozen more she doesn't say. She keeps so many things hidden."

"Rather like someone else I might name."

"I suppose you're right there, old son. It's a little unnerving, though. I'm used to knowing everything about people, and yet this one, who I should know so well – her whole past is just hints and shadows."

"Like Becky," Robert mused.

"Hmm?"

"Scott once said that as far as he knew, Becky had been born sixteen years old in New York City. She never said a word about her life before that."

"But we found out why, with her."

"It wouldn't surprise me," McCall ventured carefully, "to find out that Lily had some similar experience in her background. Some kind of abuse or betrayal, or both."

Control lowered his spoon slowly. "Where do you get that?"

"She's a tremendously strong woman, Control. Women her age – and men – don't have that strength, unless they're forged in some kind of fire."

"Nicaragua …"

"She had it before then. Haven't you ever wondered about it?"

"I never considered it in that light. I'm starting to wonder if I ever thought about the girl at all before now."

"You didn't," Robert assured him helpfully.

Control glared at him narrowly. "I know she's an orphan. She grew up in a group home in the South."

"Perhaps the loss of her parents, then."

"Perhaps. I have the impression they weren't close."

Looking at his old friend, Robert could hear the wheels of his curiosity beginning to turn. "Control, let it be. Whatever's in her past, it's her past. Let her tell you about it when she's ready."

Control bristled; he didn't like being read so well. But then he nodded in concession. "And how are things on the outside?"

"Oh, the usual," McCall answered, relieved to change the subject. "A few clients, a great number of fools." He sighed. "Scott's moving in with Becky."

"That was inevitable."

"It's not how we did things in our day," Robert observed. "Still, I suppose it's better than rushing into a marriage neither of them is ready for."

"What's Kay think about it?"

"Haven't heard," Robert answered, smiling at the waitress as she replaced his soup bowl with a plate of grilled chicken. "I don't think Scott's told her."

"I'd love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation," Control commented. As the waitress moved away, he added, "Sometimes I wish I still had her house bugged."

"You mean you don't?"

He shook his head. "How are things with Cecelia?"

"Over," McCall answered definitely. "She was much too needy."

"Ahhh."

"She wanted me to call her every night," he continued. "She wanted to talk about her day, every day, in excruciating detail. I was too distant for her. I didn't communicate my feelings well." He rolled his eyes. "I think I shall end my days as a bachelor and be glad of it."

Control paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. "Careful, old son. I believed that once myself, and look what happened."

"Yes, well, I shall have to be more cautious than you were." With a wry smile, Robert fell to his meal.

Romanov had telexed her field report from West Berlin, but she made her way from the airport to the office with only one brief stop. Her beloved Nikes were starting to itch her ankles.

She went in through the alley door and headed directly down the dingy stairs to the storage room. She had her own cage, a four foot square space, enclosed by steel fencing and allegedly secured with a combination lock, in a room full of identical cages. They were used by agents and couriers for storing travel gear, off-season clothes, and anything else they didn't care very much about. Many, many things disappeared from the cages.

A folded sheet of paper was taped to the front of her cage. Lily took Gustav's magazine and a bakery bag out of her big pack, then stashed it in her cage and locked it up before she took down the paper. It was a computer print-out. The header read 'Elapsed Time' and it had neat columns: agent's name, city and country, arrival date and time, arrest date and time, elapsed time. Her name and recent arrest, newly added, were highlighted. She was twenty-third on the list.

Lily growled at the paper, then scanned up to the top. The first name on the list did a great deal to assuage her aggravation. She would have to ask about that, some time.

She phoned upstairs to let them know she was in, and then went to the mailroom. The mail clerk was sitting behind his half-door, reading the paper, listening to NPR on the radio. "Hiya, sweetheart."

"Hey, Munchie," she returned, handing him the bakery bag.

"Ah, Lily, you didn't have to do this." He peered into the bag. Donuts, one glazed, one jelly filled, his favorites. Hundreds of people in this building, and she was the only one who ever thought to bring him anything, one of only a few who knew his name.

She shrugged. "Gave me an excuse to stop. What's new?"

"We're all talking about you, of course." Munchie knew tidbits of everything that went on in the building – people talked in front of the mail clerk, not thinking much about it. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. No big deal. Who won the pool?"

"Hmmm? Oh, Vince Norris again."

"Oh, that hurts. Wait'll I catch up with him."

"Be kind," Munchie advised. "He's got a brand new froglet today."

"Looker?"

"Of course. But Kermit green."

"Aren't they all?"

"Here, I got something for you." Munchie set down the bakery bag and wheeled over to the worktable. He had been a field agent once, briefly, a long time ago. He'd made a rookie mistake, paid for it with both legs and three fingers. He considered himself lucky. He rummaged about a bit and returned to the door with a new ID badge for her. "You need to initial here," he said, pointing to the sign-out sheet.

Lily signed and took the badge. "What's this for?"

"New department configuration."

"Didn't we just reconfigure departments last year?"

"That was last year."

"This has Jason's fingerprints all over it, doesn't it?" The clerk smirked and nodded. "My department's been Masured again. Do I get a raise with this?"

Munchie snorted. "Honey, you don't even get fries with that."

"So who do I work for now?"

He shrugged. "You probably got a memo. The whole division's under Simms."

"Skinny guy, the one with the brain."

"That's the one. The heir-apparent."

"Simms is the heir? I thought it was Walker." Lily asked in surprise.

"Walker's just a kiss-up. The Old Man can't stand him." Munchie wheeled back to the big rack to get her mail. "Of course, Control will die in that office before he leaves it, so the heir could change again."

"I thought dying was the only way to get out of that office."

Munchie shrugged. "Dyson got out, didn't he?" He pulled her mail down. "Uh-oh. Speak of the devil."

Romanov saw it too – on the top of the stack, the dreaded red sheet. Just an ordinary sheet of colored printer paper, bright red, folded in half and stapled. Nothing ever went on red paper unless it was dead urgent. Her name was hand-written on the outside, in Control's familiar, precise print.

"Well," she said philosophically, "either I'm fired or they want their five grand back." She took the whole stack. "Thanks, Munchie."

"Sure thing, doll. You be careful out there."

"Always am."

She walked down the hall to the lab, pulling the sheet open as she went. The contents weren't typed, either. Re: Field report Pristina – request supplemental report all contact w/Gustav Freda verbatim ASAP my attention - C Lily cocked her head. She hadn't actually expected him to say 'please', but at least he could have used some punctuation.

So, she thought, the librarian was known to the community. Known and of interest. Well, good. That should make the five grand a little easier to forgive.

Lily dropped off her shoes and the magazine at the lab, then wandered in her socks down to the bull pen and started on her report. Verbatim, hah – he thought she was freaking Archie Goodwin? She'd always known she'd regret turning him on to the Rex Stout books. Once she'd started typing, though, she found she could remember nearly every word Gustav had said.

She got the report done and printed, corrected and reprinted, then turned to the rest of her mail. Nothing very exciting – a pay stub for her direct deposit salary; a copy of her reassignment papers, officially transferring her back from the DC office; a memo about the new department configuration; four different medical bills, stating that her coverage had been denied again; a notice from the housing office that they were unable to locate her an apartment in New York City; another memo stating that, as she was now permanently reassigned, she needed to vacate the transitory housing apartment. And three separate copies of the 'Elapsed Time' print-out. In short, Lily thought, shoveling the whole pile into a house mail envelope, the usual crap. She kicked her feet up on desk, wriggling her stockinged toes absently, and went over the report once more.

"Hey, Twenty-Three!"

Lily glowered up at Vince Norris. "Vince, you are a miserable bastard. I can't believe you bet against me. Where's my cut?"

The mocha-skinned man dug inhis pocket and came out with a roll of bills, which he handed over. He turned and gestured to the young woman who stood behind him. "Nancy, come on in here. Nancy Campbell, Lily Romanov."

Lily smiled. Vince's new trainee was very new: she was wearing a smartly tailored blue suit and sensible shoes. By day two he'd have her in jeans like the rest of the runners. Munchie was right, too – she was a stone looker. "Hi. Welcome aboard."

"You're Romanov?" Nancy said, extending her hand. "You're the one who …" She stopped dead and blushed. "I'm sorry …"

"Don't worry about it." Lily shook her hand without standing up. "Whatever you've heard, it's probably true."

The woman stepped back awkwardly. "I'm sorry," she said again.

Lily shot a quick glance at the training agent, who shrugged. They could teach these kids a lot at the Farm, but they couldn't teach them tact. "You okay, Lily?"

"I'm fine, thanks."

He nodded. "Want to get a drink tonight?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Lily saw the trainee tense. She probably already knew that Vince was married. What she didn't know yet was how married he was. Vince Norris was the most devoutly married man Lily had ever met. He was assigned all the pretty young girls from the Farm because the tie boys knew he could be trusted not to hit on them. He wasn't offering to take Lily out in the hopes of taking her home. He was offering comfort, consolation, or a designated driver.

She shook her head. "Thanks, Vince, but I've got plans."

"Big date?"

"Yep. I thought I'd have myself deloused and then burn my clothes."

"Okay. But if you need me, you know where to find me, right?"

"Thanks, Vince."

He squeezed her shoulder, then moved away. "Over here," he said to Nancy, "is the lounge. I advise the you closely inspect anything that comes out of those vending machines, and be very careful where you sit."

The trainee moved after him, then looked back. "It was, uh, nice to meet you," she said uncomfortably.

"Nancy, right?" Lily kicked her feet down. "You'll be okay. Vince is the best trainer there is. Trust me, I know. He was mine. Taught me everything I know."

The rookie considered, and then almost smiled. "But … didn't you just land in jail?"

Lily sighed wryly. "Oh, you're gonna fit right in."

Nancy did smile then, and trailed after her agent.

Lily sat back, shaking her head. Was there an agent in this building who wasn't a smart ass? She caught herself scratching her head, snatched her hand away and inspected her nails. She'd been kidding with Vince, but delousing probably wasn't a bad idea. Of all the things she hoped to give Control in the near future, lice wasn't one of them.

She sighed. She still hadn't come up with a solution for her love life.

From the next room, she could hear Vince talking to his trainee. "All that training at the Farm is fine. You can learn a lot in a classroom, and a lot in demonstrations and scenarios. But there comes a time when you need to just stop talking and use what you've learned."

Lily sat straight up. Of course. The answer was so simple. Stop talking. Use what you've learned. Of course. "Bless you, Vince," she called.

He looked quizzically thought the doorway. "Uh … sure, Lil."

Grinning, Lily called back upstairs and made sure they weren't looking for her. Then she took her stuff and wandered down to the Comm office. There were eight operators there, all sitting at their computers and phone banks. The shift head, Alpern, was pacing. "Hey, Romanov. Welcome back. You come for your pager?"

"My what?"

"Your pager. Didn't you get the memo? You're supposed to sign out and pager and carry it 24/7."

Lily groaned. "Um … no?"

"Jason's orders," he smirked. He walked back to a storage cabinet and retrieved a pager from a vast rack of them. "He wants to keep everybody in touch."

"I'm starting to think he's touched," the courier answered. She accepted her pager, and its instruction book. "This sucks."

"Tell me all about it."

"Can I borrow a line?"

Alpern gestured to a small closet at the back of the room. "Help yourself."

Lily went in and shut the door. The closet wasn't much bigger than phone booth. She didn't really need a secure line, probably, and the budget jerks would beef if they found out she was using it. But Alpern didn't care, and if she got caught she'd make something up. Deftly, from memory, she dialed the number.

On the second ring, he answered. "Kostmayer."

"Romanov."

"Hey, girl, how are you? I thought I was gonna have to come get you."

"I'm sorry, hon. I try to keep him off the panic button, but you know how he gets."

There was a quiet beep on the line. "Secure line?" Mickey asked in surprise. "Where are you?"

"In the office."

"Oh," he said carefully.

"You got some free time this week? Maybe over the weekend?"

"Yeah," he answered, still guarded. "What'cha need?"

"Range time."

"Oh." She could almost hear him rolling his eyes. "I thought we had that fixed."

"Six months off, it went south again. In a big way."

"I bet they have firing ranges in Florida."

"Yeah, but not on the beach."

Mickey sighed. "I'll call you, we'll run out to the range."

"Uh … not the Company range. Maybe Jersey?"

"That bad, huh? Well, that explains the secure line."

"Uh-huh. I'll buy you lunch."

"Dinner."

"Okay."

There was a brief pause "Does he know?"

"Probably. But he can't say anything without admitting that he's clocking me 24/7, which he won't do. As long as I fix it."

"You mean as long as I fix it."

"Whatever. Thanks, Mickey."

She hung up the phone and popped the door open. The room outside was quieter; Alpern was looking busy, and all the operators kept sneaking glances at her. No, not at her. Lily closed the door and found Control behind it, leaning on the wall, his arms crossed, his face expressionless.

"Done chatting, Miss Romanov?"

"Just calling my handler in Moscow," she answered meekly.

Control didn't bat an eye. "Give him my regards. Where's my supplemental report?"

Lily handed him the report off her stack. "Verbatim, as per request."

He looked her up and down. "Romanov, I know we're very liberal with the dress code where field ops are concerned, but we do generally require that you wear shoes in the office."

"My shoes," she reported, wagging her toes, "are in the lab, having the microfiche removed from the cuff."

"Good. Any chance you got verification of the librarian's identity?"

"Full set of fingerprints, right hand," she reported. "Also in the lab, being processed."

"You're almost worth what it cost to get you back."

"Thanks so much."

"Conference B," he snapped, and headed for the door.

As Lily trailed him after him, Alpern held a fresh cup of coffee out to her. "You need this more than I do."

"You are a true gentleman," she said, gratefully taking the cup.

Control waited for the elevator, still apparently engrossed in the report. Lily kept a careful distance between them. "So Mr. Freda is known to us?" she inquired quietly.

"He is. How'd he break your cover?"

"I don't know that he did. I'd love to ask him."

The elevator arrived. Control held the door open, followed her in. Lily stood with her back to the wall, house mail in one hand, coffee in the other. He ignored her, still reading the report, holding it in both hands.

Every elevator in the building was monitored, of course.

"Harley Gage wants his job back. He asked me to put in a good word for him."

Control turned another page. "I'm waiting."

"Um … he still has perfect hair. And his accent isn't nearly as bad as it used to be."

"That's it?"

"It was kind of a pro forma request. I didn't expect to need specifics."

"I'll take it under advisement."

Control still wouldn't look at her, and Lily still wasn't sure what that meant. Nothing in his gruff tone gave her a clue, either. Yes, they could talk later, away from here, and yes, they had to be extremely careful in the office, where every move was recorded, but he could at least give her a hint of what he was thinking, whether he was furious or wanted to kiss her right there in the elevator. Lily sighed softly. It was payback, she knew, for making him wait for the phone to ring.

"They want me out of transitory housing," Lily said conversationally.

"I saw the memo."

"They haven't found me a new place yet."

Control turned over the next page of the report without looking up. "Trying to defend the free world here, Romanov. Don't really have time for your housing problems."

"I could probably stay with Kostmayer for a while."

That at least got him to glance up, though his voice remained flat. "Call Robert. He knows everyone in town, he may have something. Do you have his number?"

"I think I …" He already had his pen out, so she held out the house mail envelope and let him scribble on it.

"Sooner is better than later," Control told her, "but he's sometimes hard to reach until after dark." He finally looked at her, dropped his eyes to the number he'd written and back up. Barely, barely smiled.

Lily glanced at the number. It wasn't a phone number. 006-425-9968. Hotel, room number, access code. She barely, barely smiled back her understanding. Glanced at the number again. 006? In the 1980 hotel guidebook, number 6 in the listing? Everything above about 20 was a five-star hotel. A five-star? She glanced up again, with a tiny puzzled frown.

Control was back to reading the report, and wouldn't look at her again.