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Elsa Kjarensen leaned back against the headrest in the passenger seat of the unmarked sedan, which cruised along at exactly the posted speed limit. The beginnings of a headache tapped along her temples, and the combination of too much coffee and too little food had her stomach grumbling in protest. She had tried to catch a nap, but her anxiety overcame even the dull hum of the tires on the road, so she settled for staring out the window instead.

The car turned off the highway, and below the exit ramp, Elsa could see a train making its way toward Arendelle City. For moment she imagined that it was leaving the city instead, and that she was on it, on a winding track headed high up into the mountains, where she felt most free, where she could think and breathe.

She blinked and reality returned, the one with Elsa still in a car that was leaving behind the gas-vapor lights of the highway and rolling along a two-lane road where the sedan's headlamps were the only source of light besides the moon.

She was tired, so tired already. Tired of the cloak-and-dagger pickups, tired of the odors of fried food and stale coffee that permeated the car, tired of the long drives and the unending forest along the road. But mostly she was tired of the endless questions and wondering if she had done the right thing by coming to the NPs in the first place.

"Why couldn't Inspector Bjorgman pick me up tonight?" Elsa asked. "He led me to believe this was biggest case he's working on."

National Police Agent Persie Norberg replied, "The biggest case, yes, but not the only one. He said he'll be out if he can, but it's not likely. Besides, you and I aren't exactly strangers. It will be just like the other times we came out here. We'll just talk. You can pretend I'm Kristoff if you want. Just picture me with more hair and less belly." He smiled in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring, but it just irritated her instead.

He turned the sedan onto another, narrower road, where the trees crowded closer and Elsa felt as though she was being pinched through a funnel without knowing exactly what awaited her at the end. Norberg glanced over at her, and she had the distinct feeling that she made him uneasy, though she had no idea why. Still, that hadn't stopped him from looking at her legs every time she crossed or uncrossed them.

"It's just for tonight," he went on. "From here on out, you'll be with Kristoff. "You're pretty comfortable with him, right?"

"I'm not sure 'comfortable' is a word I will ever apply to this situation," Elsa said dryly.

She folded her arms around her body and crossed her legs again. Her skirt rode up a few inches above her knees at the movement, and Norberg's eyes flicked over her thighs again. Elsa worked mightily not to roll her own eyes. Men could be so predictable.

Objectively, Elsa knew she was beautiful. Along with her intelligence and poise, she knew her looks had helped her career. Good looks always helped, no matter how much she would like to pretend otherwise, especially when dealing with men. Tall and slender, with long shapely legs that never failed to draw people's gazes, Elsa's looks got her through the doors, and into the places where she could bring her brains to bear to accomplish her goals. She had no problem with that.

And if the facts weren't enough, well, she wasn't above using her other assets. She'd gotten more than one councilor to sign onto her ideas simply by crossing her legs, or letting one high-heeled pump dangle from her foot. Elsa talked about sustainable power, clean energy and air quality, and the councilors stared her toe cleavage and bobbed their heads like drinking birds. God, testosterone made men stupid. It was every woman's secret weapon.

"I think that the word 'comfortable' should apply to this situation," Norberg was saying. "Inspector Bjorgman is one hundred percent in on this. In fact, without him pushing at headquarters, I'm not sure this case would be going anywhere. You haven't given us much." He looked at her expectantly.

Elsa refused to rise to the bait. Any exchange that happened was going to be done on her terms.

When she didn't reply, Norberg went on, "But Kristoff believes you. As long as you don't do anything that shakes his confidence in you, everything will be fine. He'll be your most powerful ally. We're going to take care of you."

"It's nice to know you all think so highly of me," Elsa murmured.

Norberg shot her a look. "You have to work with us, Elsa."

"I know," she sighed. "It's just so – I mean, you picked me up in an alley three blocks from my office. We changed cars twice before we left town. We're going to a broken-down cabin ten miles from nowhere in the middle of the night. It's all a bit much, don't you think?"

"We couldn't exactly take you into Headquarters. You're going to be the star witness in the biggest corruption investigation in years, and if it leaks, well, there could be all kinds of problems. This place out here is safe."

"It seems too far out of the way to completely safe," she said. "What if we're followed?"

"Elsa, look around. No one can follow us out here without being seen," he replied. "We know what we're doing. We had another unit as a tail until we turned off the highway. Relax."

Even as he said this, he glanced in the rearview mirror, and then down at the cell phone in the console between them. Elsa wondered if he was now wishing for some kind of backup, as if he were just now becoming aware of their isolation. He wiggled in his seat, turning toward her slightly. His suit jacket gaped open with the motion, giving her a glimpse of his bulletproof vest, and the gun he carried in a shoulder holster. She suddenly felt quite clammy, her palms damp and her silk blouse sticking to her as a bead of sweat ran down between her shoulder blades.

She shifted in her seat, turning to face him. She had really wanted Bjorgman here tonight, because she really needed to get her arms around everything that was happening, to regain some semblance of control over the situation. That might not be possible, given the magnitude of the events and how hard the NPs were pushing her. Maybe it was better that Norberg was here; she could poke and prod around the edges, maybe get an idea of their thinking.

"So what do I get out of all of this?" Elsa asked. "We've discussed it peripherally, but we've never come to a firm agreement. I'm taking a lot of risks."

"You came to us," Norberg reminded her, mild reproof in his voice. "No one twisted your arm."

Yes, she had come to them, and so far, none of it had gone like she planned. "You didn't answer my question."

Norberg frowned as he fiddled with the car's temperature controls. "I can't tell you."

"Can't or won't?"

He sighed. "I can't, because I don't know. Kristoff can tell you more, but you haven't really given us anything we can work with yet. I can tell you that if you lay it all out for us, everything will be okay. You give us what we need, and we roll up your boss and all of his cronies. Then if you want, you can have a new identity renting out motor scooters at some beach on the Med, or whatever floats your boat, while they become long-term residents in the basement of the Castle."

Elsa squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to imagine Agdar in a dank cell in the dungeon of Arendelle Castle. A small sound escaped her. No.

"Don't think too much about it, just get through it. We're on your side here," Norberg said. "In fact, we're the only friends you have."

Elsa's vague original notion was that she might be able to work a deal for both her and Agdar; that she and her mentor could roll over on their dirty councilors and get immunity for their part in the biggest corruption scandal in Arendelle's recent history. It looked like she was going to have to adjust her plan.

She thought she would be pitching this idea to Agent Bjorgman, but it might be better to try it out on Norberg first. She and Kristoff Bjorgman had hit it off to the extent that they were capable of – they were both reserved, observers more than talkers, and more than a bit mistrustful of people in general. But they also circled each other warily, like two dogs eyeing the same bone. Bjorgman saw things in black and white, while Elsa's world held many shades of gray.

"I want Agdar in on this," she said finally.

"What?"

"We need Agdar too. I know I can get him to come in," Elsa insisted. "If you have him, you have so much more. Together we can make your case even stronger."

Norberg stared at her like she'd sprouted a second head. "We can't make a deal with the guy who cooked up this whole thing in the first place. He broke the law."

"But if you understood why he did it, you—"

"I don't care why he did it," Norberg interrupted her. "According to you, he bribed multiple members of the Nasjonsting, along with government employees, and possibly people on the Castle staff. It's corruption, pure and simple. That's all I need to know."

"What if I say you have to take him to get me? Both of us or neither?"

"Then I say you're not as smart as you look. Don't do this to yourself, Elsa."

"I guess I'll have to talk to Inspector Bjorgman."

"Go ahead. I guarantee he'll tell you the same thing."

"Maybe. Maybe not. We'll see. I can be persuasive," Elsa said.

Norberg let out an exasperated sigh. "Look, we're not the ones making these decisions. Who gets a deal and who doesn't is up to the Prosecuting Authority, not to us. They're the lawyers, we're just the cops. Do you really think the PA is going to take down a bunch of high-ranking politicians and let the guy who set them up walk?"

"But - "

"Come on, Elsa, I thought you were smarter than that. You should understand politics. You know that if Erikksen walks while the councilors go to jail, the politicians will scream loud enough to echo off the North Mountain. Hell, with a couple of the people you've hinted at, it might, just maybe, be enough to actually get the king's office involved. No lawyer who gives a reindeer's ass about his career is going to let that happen. They'll drop the hammer on both of you first. Trust me, I've been doing this for almost twenty-five years and I've seen it happen before."

Elsa sagged back against the seat, her confidence melting away like a snowflake in July. With all the time she had spent in the halls and offices of the Nasjonsting, how could she have failed to account for the political angle? A vision of Agdar slumped in a dark dungeon cell, his proud face sallow and gaunt, crept into her mind before she could stop it.

She closed her eyes. No, she could not allow that to happen. She had to make Bjorgman and Norberg and all the lawyers see that she was right, that Agdar had to be given immunity too. He had to be protected.

"Why do you want to bring him in, Elsa? What do you owe him?"

My mentor, my friend, the closest thing I've had to a father for years, the one person in my life who's always believed in me? Who else but Agdar would have taken a chance on someone like her then, a naïve, socially awkward nineteen-year-old? Even with her graduate degrees, there had been plenty of better bets out there.

But Agdar had seen something in her. He had taken her under his wing, introduced her around, and taught her about the inner workings of Arendelle's parliament, the Nasjonsting. He nurtured her confidence. He refused to let her squirrel herself away in a cubicle. Under his patient guidance, she had gone from a girl who could barely make eye contact with a barista to a woman who found herself in the offices of the powerful, making the case for legislation and funding to protect and nurture Arendelle.

Agdar had given her the tools and the confidence to do all that. To stand on her own two feet. What did she owe him? What could she say besides 'everything?'

So she said nothing.

But her relationship with Agdar had slowly changed. He had started to withdraw from her, becoming reclusive and talking to her less. He traveled without her, to places he refused to tell her about. More and more, she had no idea what he was working on. He locked himself away, pushing his even his most favored clients off on her. He lost his temper over trivial matters.

Then he did something he had never done before: he lied to her. It had been over such an insignificant thing that Elsa didn't even remember what it was about, but it devastated her. When she confronted him, he lied about lying to her.

Finally came the most shattering blow: he suggested that it might be best if she left his firm. Left him. She couldn't have been more shocked if he'd slapped her.

You'll be fine, Elsa, he'd said.

Then it had dawned on her that maybe someone was onto Agdar and his scheme, and terrified by that thought, she asked him straight out about it. He denied it straight out, and refused to meet her tearful eyes as he insisted that she leave.

Like she was a disappointing child being told to get out of her father's house.

After hours of debating with herself, several crying jags, and one night spent with a bottle of Brennevin sinking into a morass of drunken self-pity, she had decided to go to the National Police. She wasn't sure if they were onto him or not, but thought it might be easier if they cooperated. They could both get immunity in exchange for what they knew.

But now doubts closed in on her from every direction. How could she have been so stupid? They wanted Agdar to go to prison.

"I need to use the bathroom," Elsa told Norberg.

"We'll be there in twenty minutes," he protested.

"I can't wait that long," she replied. "Take the next right, and there's a tavern about a quarter-mile down."

"How do you know?"

"The wonders of Google."

He looked at her suspiciously, but made the turn and pulled into the parking lot of the small tavern. Elsa guessed it catered to whatever locals lived in this isolated area; there were only a couple of vehicles in the lot. She got out and made her way inside.

The few patrons in the darkened interior paid her little attention, but the bartender looked her over appreciatively. She ignored him as she crossed to the women's bathroom, where she locked the door carefully behind her before going to the toilet and throwing up what little she'd eaten that day.

Agdar Erikksen slumped over his desk in his darkened office and pressed his thumb and forefinger against his eyes. His eyeballs felt dry and gritty under the lids. It had been another long day for him, bouncing between meetings with councilors about his pet issues and fielding phone calls from clients who were becoming irate over his lack of time for them. Now his long day had stretched into another long night, the latest in a series of long nights that were starting to take a toll on him.

He ran his fingers through his hair, still thick and strawberry blond, but with gray making rapid inroads around his temples. Sighing, he reached for his travel mug, which had become his most constant companion in the last several months. Black coffee was rapidly becoming the only remedy for his exhaustion, and he found that he needed it in ever-increasing amounts. He took a sip and grimaced. The stuff was strong enough to stand a spoon up in it. His gut protested as soon as the hot liquid slid past his throat.

Agdar glanced at his watch. He could finish up here in the next half-hour, and maybe, just maybe, catch three or four hours of sleep before he started over again. He bent over the small notebook, scribbling his thoughts, making connections, noting what he needed to flesh out or follow up on.

An outside observer would have found the scene puzzling. Agdar's office was equipped with all the technology one might expect in a modern workplace, yet Agdar hunched over the desk, his nose almost touching the surface, pressing pen to paper. His computer monitors were the only equipment in use, and then only to provide light for him to write by.

Agdar no longer trusted his technology. Computers could be hacked, phones tapped, offices bugged. His current project, the one that had started as a favor years ago, had slowly become a duty, then a mission, and now an obsession. And all of it – every thought, every detail – was kept in this small leather-bound journal that never, ever left his possession.

He jerked his head up at the sound of footfalls in the outer office. It was way past time for the housekeeping staff to be gone. Agdar closed the journal and crammed it into his suit pocket just as the knob on his office door rattled. His hand darted to his phone, thumb hovering over the Emergency Call button as the door swung open.

A short, skinny silhouette of a man stood framed in the doorway, large head swaying atop a scrawny neck. The man's hand reached inside and flipped the light switch. Agdar squinted against the sudden brightness, watching as Eckbert Weselton sauntered into his office, swinging an ivory-handled walking stick.

Weselton unbuttoned his suit jacket and made himself comfortable in the chair across from him. A tall red-haired man followed him in, taking up a position against the wall near the door.

"Good evening, Agdar," Weselton greeted. ""Burning the midnight oil again?"

"What do you want, Weaseltown?" Agdar asked.

"Weselton!" the little man said sharply. "It's Weselton! And considering that you essentially work for me now, I think a little respect is due!"

Very little. Aloud, "How did you get in here? This building is supposed to be secured at night."

"And it probably is, for most people," Weselton countered.

Agdar curled his hand around the arm of his chair, resisting the urge to reach across the desk and punch the smug grin right off the little troll's face. "What do you want, Weselton?" he ground out.

"Tsk, tsk, Agdar. I think our relationship is such that we can use our Christian names. I'm polite enough to use yours. Given my generosity toward you, I think you should return that courtesy."

Agdar fumed quietly. "To what do I owe the courtesy of this visit, Eckbert?" he asked, trying and mostly failing to keep the loathing out of his voice. Weselton looked offended. I'll be damned if I'm calling you Duke.

The little man sniffed. "You need to go to Sornland tomorrow and buck up Councilor Brunsvold. I hear he's been losing his faith recently, and we need to keep him in the fold, so to speak."

Agdar stared at him impassively, but his mind churned. Councilor Brunsvold had indeed been expressing doubts about the "pension program" Agdar had set up for him. Whether the councilor was having an attack of conscience or just losing his nerve, he didn't know. How Weselton knew about Brunsvold's doubts was something Agdar pushed aside for now. Weselton seemed to know everything about his 'beneficiaries.'

"Why do I need to go to Sornland?" he asked. "I can see Brunsvold when he returns to town after the recess. In fact, I was planning on it."

"You don't need to know that," Weselton snapped. "You just need to do what you're told."

"You don't own me, Weaselltown!" Agdar shot to his feet, looming over the little man, clenching his fists. His vision narrowed until it was focused only on the man's oversized nose, a target begging to be struck.

"Oh, but I'm afraid we do own you, Mr. Erikksen. And perhaps we just want to see how high you go when we say 'jump.'" The tall man detached himself from the wall and swaggered over to the desk. "One phone call to the National Police about your little pension program and you and all its beneficiaries will go to prison."

Agdar pressed his hands down hard on the surface of his desk, trying to rein in his temper. They were pushing every one of his buttons, and he didn't trust himself to stay calm. "And you are…?" he managed.

"Oh, how rude of me," Weselton said. "Agdar, meet Hans Westergard."

Westergard extended his hand. Agdar shook it, more from reflex than anything else, his mind racing.

"Hans Westergard? As in Westergard Export Brokers?"

"The same. I'm the managing agent here in Arendelle."

"Why are you with - " Agdar broke off, his thoughts flashing back to his notes, sorting information, making connections. No. No, it can't be.

"We're as concerned for Arendelle's future as you are, Mr. Erikksen," Westergard said.

I doubt that.

"And what we're working on will have a much more lasting impact than any of your eco-crazy proposals," Westergard went on. "In fact, the continued existence of Arendelle depends on us."

Agdar froze as he considered Westergard's statement. Were they trying to manipulate the succession? Had they found someone? He tried to process the implications.

Rolling his eyes to hide his concern, Agdar said to Weselton, "Do all your associates harbor such delusions of grandeur?"

Westergard stepped toward him threateningly. Agdar stood his ground, fingers curling into hard fists. Bring it, pretty boy. He suddenly itched for a fight in a way that he hadn't since he was a much younger man. Westergard's smooth, handsome face had probably never been the victim of so much as a playground spat, while Agdar's nose marked him as a veteran of several youthful tavern brawls.

"Enough, Hans," Weselton said. "Do you have any questions about your visit with Councilor Brunsvold?"

Agdar eyed him for a long moment. "Do you lose even a wink of sleep over sacrificing Arendelle's well-being to further your own selfish interests?"

"Don't get self-righteous with me, Agdar," Weselton retorted. "You're obviously not above using illegal means to advance your own agenda. I daresay you wouldn't be facing this situation if you hadn't turned to bribery. Who are you to deny us the same privilege?"

Agdar had nothing to say. His pension scheme was an idea born of desperation, of his anger at seeing Arendelle exploited, his anguish at watching what his country had become in the hands of men like Weselton. A nation of haves and have-nots, where money bought power, and the needs of the country fell second to the needs of the few at the top. Agdar had attempted to fight fire with fire, and now he was getting burned.

He'd never felt so helpless.

"Besides," Weselton went on, "as Hans said, we're working to secure Arendelle's future. Just as you are."

Agdar coughed to cover a derisive snort. No sense in antagonizing the little troll any further.

Westergard put a briefcase on Agdar's desk. "This is fully equipped," he said. "There's a pinhole camera here," he pointed to the top corner of the briefcase, "and a mic. Just twist the handle to activate the recorder."

"Make sure he talks about everything you're doing for him after he leaves office," Weselton instructed. "The do-nothing job, the 'retirement' payments, all of it. The more details, the better."

"Right."

"Don't worry, Agdar, it's almost over. Brunsvold is the last piece we need."

"It better be. You come here again and you may not walk out under your power."

"Threats, Mr. Erikksen?" Westergard sneered. "From one lonely, corrupt consultant? Oh, right, maybe not so lonely. You do have an army of one. How is Elsa doing?"

It took all of Agdar's self-control not to launch himself across the desk. "Elsa is not part of this," he snarled. "She will never be part of this. Do I make myself clear?"

"Ah yes, the Ice Queen, Elsa Kjarensen," Westergard said, his smile predatory. "Cold but beautiful, pure, incorruptible. One flash of those thighs and she could convince the Nasjonsting to unanimously appoint her the next ruler of Arendelle."

Agdar stiffened, his fists clenching and unclenching. "Stay away from her, Westergard."

"You're hardly in a position to give me orders, Erikksen," Westergard said, examining his fingernails. "Besides, I was only commenting on her rather…obvious charms. What's that delightfully crude American expression? 'I'd hit that?' Oh, yes, I'd definitely hit that."

Now Agdar was around the desk, grabbing the loathsome man by his lapels and shaking him hard enough to rattle teeth. They scuffled for half a minute before Weselton's nasally voice cut through the room.

"That is enough!" he screeched, slamming his cane against Agdar's desk. "This is getting us nowhere!"

Agdar shoved Westergard away and retreated behind his desk, panting. Westergard smoothed his coat with a smug smile.

Weselton pointed his cane at Agdar. "Stop worrying. You are the only one in the crosshairs. At least for now. As long as you continue to cooperate." He stood up. "Go home, Agdar. You have an early train to catch. We can't have you falling asleep during your meeting with Brunsvold."

Weselton jerked his head toward the door, and he and Westergard slithered out like the snakes they were.

Agdar slumped back into his chair, shaking all over. He pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead until his trembling stopped. Ever since Weselton pranced into his life in those ridiculous high-heeled wingtips, Agdar had become little more than an errand boy. He was turning the people he had been bribing for years- with his own money – into unknowing tokens in the game Weselton was playing. But until tonight, Agdar had little idea of what that game might be.

Weselton had made a mistake in introducing Westergard. The younger man was full of himself and talked a bit too much. If Agdar was interpreting his arrogant statements correctly, they were working toward the same endgame, although with different outcomes in mind.

He dug his journal out of his pocket and opened it to a fresh page, where he scribbled 'Westergard – connection?'

Arrogant or not, Hans Westergard was a dangerous man. It had taken him only minutes to assess Agdar's weak points, and even less time to start prodding at them. Agdar could not afford to underestimate him.

More late nights, more digging, more working around Weselton's demands. Agdar had a feeling he was now in a race against both time and Weselton, with Arendelle's future as the prize for the winner.

A/N: Thanks to those of you who have left reviews, and have faved/followed this story! The action will start to pick up in the next chapter. Thanks so much for reading, and let me know what you think!