"Wow."

In the wings two CIA agents watched the backstage crew scramble to set up the backdrop.

"What the hell is that? A bar?"

"Looks like it. Maybe it's another skit. Check out the percussion," he added as colorfully-dressed performers took their place behind a variety of instruments.

"Guess the whole thing about misappropriation of funds at BSIS is tru-"

He found himself pressed up against the wall before he could finish his sentence.

"Have you ever had a paperclip inserted into your urethra?" a voice whispered menacingly into his ear.

The man struggled, his eyes growing wide.

"If I ever hear you question my Director's integrity like that again I will personally demonstrate the eighteen different ways it can be done. And when I am through I will staple your family jewels to your thighs."

"That's enough!"

Lisa released her grip on the man quaking in her grasp, and he fell unceremoniously to the ground.

"Sorry Director," she said contritely - before leaning into the cowering man and wryly saying, "send me the dry cleaning bill."

The man looked at the wet spot at the front of his pants and groaned - before beating a hasty retreat.

"Director .." Amy said nervously. "I don't think this is going to work. Jalmer's got really bad stage fright."

"Where is he?"

"Here," Li said - moving aside to reveal a Pimmy Jalmer who had a definite tremble to him.

"Pimmy .."

"I can't do this Director," he mumbled. "I think I'm going to be sick."

The Director considered her options. Threats wouldn't cut it, she decided. Manipulation might.

Jalmer felt a spark of electricity sear through him as she placed a hand on his cheek and turned his face towards her. He'd never been so close to the Director before. Now she was in his personal space, and he wanted her to hug him.

"Pimmy," she said as she straightened the lapels of his red velvet jacket.

"Y-yes, Director?"

"What are you afraid of? Going out there or letting the agency down?"

"Letting you down" he admitted shakily, mesmerized by her luminous eyes.

"That won't happen."

"What if I get booed at like the FBI?"

"You won't be. Trust me on this one. Pimmy," she added – noting the flush in his cheeks when she spoke his name. Knowing she could use that to her advantage. "You don't block out fear. You use it. You're going to harness it and then go out there and make it work for you. Make it work for us."

She ran her thumbs down his lapels one last time, and then patted them.

"Would it make you feel better if I came on with you?" she asked sweetly.

Jalmer looked stunned for a moment, but her eyes were too hypnotic.

"Yes .. please?" he whimpered.

The Director smiled, and was just about to pat him again when Tibbs' voice shattered all her illusions.

"You go out there and Director won't be on your door much longer."

Everyone froze, but as she turned to say something scathing the Master of Ceremonies called out the agency name. Tibbs showed no sign of relinquishing his grasp on her, so when the girls looked to her the Director simply nodded sharply.

"Go!" she said.

Jalmer gave her one last lingering look, and stepped out into the bright lights with manly vigor when she smiled encouragingly at him.

Silence descended on the theater as the acoustics did the steady opening beat of the percussion proud.

Tibbs watched as Lisa and Amy dropped their coats. The Israeli's calypso outfit took him somewhat by surprise, and his eyes followed her as she took up residence behind the bar. But it was Amy who elicited the first reaction from the audience. The moment Jalmer opened his mouth and started to sing she stalked across the stage wearing the shortest dress he had ever seen. He wasn't sure it could even be termed a dress.

Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl.

With yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there.

She would merengue and do the cha-cha.

And while she tried to be a star, Tony always tended bar.

Even Tibbs had to admit that Jalmer's singing wasn't half bad.

"How's it going down?" the Director asked as she stretched past him and tried to sneak a peek at the audience.

"Inventive," a snarky voice said to their left. "But you do know we're going to beat you hands down, don't you?"

Director Ghepard shot the director of the CIA a look of utter disdain and didn't deign to respond. Instead she nodded at Li – who shed her coat and swaggered on to the stage to join her counterparts in a zoot suit and a panama hat.

His name was Rico, he wore a diamond.

He was escorted to his chair, he saw Lola dancin' there.

And when she finished, he called her over.

But Rico went a bit too far, Tony sailed across the bar.

Tibbs eyes widened as Lisa took a flying leap and tackled the other woman to the ground.

And then the punches flew and chairs were smashed in two.

The men in the audience went wild as the two women rolled around the floor, simulating a fight.

There was blood and a single gun shot

But just who shot who?

"Cheap theatricals," Martin Panettone hissed.

Gwen looked at him for a long moment, and when she spoke her voice made the hair on the back of Tibbs' neck.

"Watch my people bring the house down," she said in a deep and sultry tone.

The girls looked once into the wings, and then brushed up against Jalmer. Standing to one side of him they outstretched their arms and turned their backs on the audience. They swayed their upper bodies from side to side; rotating and lifting their shoulders in synchronous perfection. Looking over their shoulders as they delivered the chorus.

Copa ... Copacabana

Copa ... Copacabana

Copacabana …

Ahhhhhhhhhhh

As they sang they raised their arms over their heads and moved backwards inch by inch. Closer and closer to the edge of the stage, hips swaying provocatively.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh

Ahh ahh ahh ahh

A–a-a-a-a-a-hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Their voices rising in pitch with the music.

Copa …

Copacabana ..

Like in Havana.

Have a banana.

Music and passion.

Always the fash … shion.

As the tinny music reverberated in the theater they turned as one and unpinned their hair. Waves of darkness cascaded over their shoulders, driving the male contingent in the house to their feet. The atmosphere offstage crackled as they danced in time to the music. Rehearsed and seductive buttock-clenching movements that elicited begging. From her place in the center Amy Sutton looked once to her right and then once to her left.

Her name is Lola, she was a showgirl.

The other two shared the smile and brought their hands to the front of their costumes.

But that was 30 years ago, when they used to have a show.

In one deft rent the costumes fell apart.

And so did the audience.

As the trio continued to provide backing vocals for Jalmer, Tibbs thought his eyes might pop out of his head – along with those of every other male in the joint. The gossamer bodygloves shimmered under the bright stage lights. The star-shaped pasties they wore only served to drew attention to that particular part of them - and left very little to the imagination.

He caught sight of their stockings at the same time he caught his director's smug smile in his peripheral vision.

"Christ, Gwen," he said – his mouth running dry as something occurred to him. He gripped her by the elbow and pulled her to the side. "Tell me that's not what you're wearing under there."

For a moment he forgot all about the spectacle on stage; his mind filling instead with memories from a lifetime ago when the woman next to him had been his partner and more.

When she tried to extricate herself from his grasp he gripped her harder. She turned on him, eyes blazing.

"What Jareth?"

"You always intended to go out there with them" he spat accusingly. "You couldn't care less about the rules. That's why you wanted them to go on last."

"I wanted to be prepared" she hissed. "I was sure one of the others would pull a stunt, and I was right! I anticipated, Jareth. You taught me that. Or have you forgotten?"

Tibbs closed his eyes against the visual. The teaching method he'd used for that particular rule hadn't exactly been conventional and she'd been more than responsive to his particular brand of instruction.

"Excuse me" a distinctly British voice said.

They sprang apart as Brent Fort stepped out of the shadows. From the smirk on his face it was clear he'd heard everything, but he simply looked Gwen in the eye and walked over to his own director.

Amy squealed as she rushed backstage.

"They clapped really hard. I thought they'd never stop."

"Someone from the FBI tried to jump the stage," Li informed her boss. "McGregor stopped him."

"Do you think that we will win?" Lisa asked as she pulled her coat back on with complete calmness.

"We'll know soon enough," the Director replied.

But she was distracted by the sensation of someone watching her.

Brent Fort.

She met his gaze and felt nauseous. His smile chilled her to the bone. She couldn't tell what was on his mind – but whatever it was she was sure she needed to be on her guard.