Runk, you are in over your head. What the hell are you doing? You just killed some woman you never met. Weird though. I thought it would be harder. Probably would have been a little different if I looked her in the face first. I wonder what Mr. Raymond meant by multitasking. More killing, probably. Wonder what that'll be like.

Wayne Runkle's mind was racing. Despite training as a Ranger in his younger years, he'd washed out before finishing and had never seen combat, as a Ranger or otherwise. He'd certainly never killed anyone, and since becoming the type of lawyer he was, he'd always managed to keep the violent elements of his clients' enterprises far away from himself and his practice. He was curious how he would react to the demands of this new partnership.

The one thing that bothered him though, was that he'd always managed to come out on top when making deals but it appeared this time he was the one with all his cards showing and Mr. Raymond was the one who was holding out.

Shouldn't have agreed to anything without seeing the details. What kind of lawyer am I? But what if he's telling the truth? What if I can be at the table when the big decisions are made? If I'm smart I can keep from getting cut out. And I am smart. I've made it this far, haven't I?

Running through all of his successes, in court and out, Wayne puffed up his confidence until his doubts were forgotten. He scanned the park, reveling in the looks of shock and fear still hanging on the faces he saw. He felt powerful, being the only one left in the park who knew it was him that had caused the explosion. He wondered if it would feel the same, when the time came, being one of the few who knew what was behind the sudden changes in political and economic power across the globe. He filled his lungs with air that had a tinge of oily smoke and felt himself to be invincible.

His trepidation forgotten, he turned on the dwindling pillar of smoke and headed back towards the parking lot, hearing sirens approach. His unease returned swiftly when he noticed a pair of strangers following him as he neared his deep blue C63 AMG. He turned on his heel, straightening to his full height, depending on his imposing physical frame as he had so many times before.

"May I help you?"

There were two of them, a lithe brunette beauty, purple shirt and tight black pants, and a lanky, scruffy, bleached-blonde punk in jeans and a T-shirt. The punk spoke first.

"Hello Mr. Runkle. I'm Jeremy. This is Nick. Bishop sent us to help with the groceries."

"Wow. I didn't expect you to contact me so quickly."

"Mr. Raymond rarely shows up to a meeting alone. Our shop is a collaborative one, as you will see."

"I'm assuming Nick is short for Nichole … Nicolette?"

He received only a look of steel through what appeared to be cheap sunglasses.

"Sorry, none of my business."

"It's just Nick. Her father wanted a boy."

"Ah … yes. Sorry. So, do I give you the information you need here or …"

"Mr. Raymond thought it prudent to give the FBI something to chew on with the little "accident" in the lake. He had us leave our car, complete with bomb residue in the trunk, here in the parking lot for them to find later. It's free of prints, DNA evidence, or registration to anyone involved so it'll be another puzzle piece that won't fit anywhere. That does, however, require we find another ride to the bank. We planned on catching the bus but it would be so much easier …"

"Of course, of course. No problem. Happy to help."

"Excellent. Well, no time to waste."

As he pulled out onto Northlake, Wayne began to consider whether he was truly happy to help. He was a partner now after all, not an underling. Was playing chauffer to two who seemed to be junior in status, something a full partner would do?

But Nick had taken the front seat, and her initial steely stare had been replaced by one of open appraisal. She seemed to have a knowledge of, even a weakness for cars, and he could swear she purred while she compared the performance of his AMG's V8 with her favorite, the 911 GT3. He openly flirted with her and she pointed out the lack of a ring on the ring finger of his left hand. Several times she put her hand on his forearm, then his bicep, and he imagined other places were he'd like that hand to go.

The drive was over too quickly and he nearly drove past the bank in a daze, wondering what the policy was on fraternizing within the organization. As Nick slid out of the seat and stood up Wayne couldn't help devouring with his eyes what was right in front of him. He called her name and she poked her head back in giving him a view down the V of her shirt.

"Now don't forget. Only talk to Don, since he's the only one that deals with the … special accounts. And do not mention any names, especially mine. Don doesn't need to know them and they won't get you any more access than what the numbers and the security information will get you."

"Will do. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Wayne Runkle. I hope we get the chance to … work … together soon."

She was gone with a wink and a suggestive look.

"Yes. Sooner than later, sweetheart … sooner than later"

He watched her walk away with her partner and decided he didn't care what the policy on fraternization was. This was a woman who needed the complete Wayne Runkle treatment. He started the car, ready to pull away when he realized he'd forgotten to ask how he was supposed to take his cut from this payment. The two agents had already entered the bank and he didn't want to be caught on security camera talking to them. Then he remembered that his previous Ring contact had given him a number to call if he had any logistical problems with the money. Wayne pulled his phone from his jacket pocket.

Chuck was waiting for Sarah across the street from the bank, letting her do her thing while he used the Intersect as lookout. He was feeling the hubris that only one can when a plan has worked out exactly as expected. Plus, the new change of clothes helped. He wondered at how many hills and valleys his mood had passed through in a single day, almost a microcosm of his life the last three years. But now, knowing that the girl he loved for so long, loved him back and was across the street finishing a $10K, spur of the moment plan that he himself had devised, his optimism knew no bounds. It wasn't surprising, then, that it took him nearly a full three minutes to notice the deep blue Mercedes parked across the street, a block and a half away.

Is that Wayne's car?

Chuck began walking in the direction of the car to see if he could recognize the driver, but before he made it more than a couple of steps, it pulled away from the curb, making a squealing u-turn mid block, heading the opposite direction.

Damn it! Why can't everything just work out for once?

He scanned both directions on 8th and saw nothing to activate the Intersect. Looking west on Olive, however, he saw a Maroon Escalade weaving through traffic and his burgeoning tactical instincts didn't like the looks of it. He checked back across the street and saw Sarah's purple shirt through the glass in the bank's foyer.

She emerged, her eyes immediately finding him, and Chuck pointed in the direction of the approaching Escalade. Sarah's body language told him she saw it and was not interested in sticking around to confirm the threat. She quickly retrieved her Beretta from under the moldy shirt she'd hid it under before going into the bank. Chuck saw she was talking to him and he flashed almost instantaneously, reading her lips.

"… to split up. Meet me at 4th Avenue and Holgate …" she mouthed this in an exaggerated way "… southeast of the stadiums. Look for Sinjin's Body Shop and ask for Blue. Now get out of here quickly before their backup get's here. I love you, Chuck. Do you understand?"

Chuck gave her a thumbs up and then mouthed 'I love you' in return, though he had no idea if she saw it. Sarah turned and began sprinting up 8th, away from Chuck and the Escalade, crossing olive and Howell at the light. Chuck turned the opposite direction, running as fast as his adrenaline would allow.

Please be okay, Sarah.

Sarah looked over her shoulder to see the Escalade stop at the corner of 8th and Olive. Three men jumped out and ran across the street in pursuit of her, accompanied by the blaring of horns from the rush hour traffic. The Escalade then turned the other direction, heading the wrong way down 8th.

Leave him alone, assholes! Come after me, damn it! Please be okay, Chuck.

The Scold was screaming in Sarah's head at full volume.

You blew it Walker. You blew it. Who'd that Escalade go after? Not you. They want Chuck. All their backup is probably going after him. They must have found out he's the Intersect. He doesn't stand a chance alone. Splitting up is the worst thing you could have done!

She knew it was true but she had to return her focus to self-preservation. Stabbing pains were running through her ankle making her realize she'd never outrun the three thugs behind her. The building on her right gave way to an open bus yard which was part of a Greyhound bus depot. Several buses were parked on the left and there was a line of cars on the right side leading to an open parking lot which took up the corner of Howell and 9th.

Lot of cover here. If I can't outrun them I can at least slow them down.

She turned the corner but not before pulling the Beretta and making sure the three down the block saw her. They slowed their pursuit, hands diving under their jackets to find the assurance of their own weapons.

Now the three of you have to wonder how much time I spent at the firing range. Might slow you down a little.

Her plan was to head down the line of cars, making a right on the other side of the building and heading back in the direction she'd come. If they advanced with tactical caution, she might be able to make it around before they caught up with her. As she reached the opposite corner she turned around and saw they hadn't yet come around the building.

Worried, boys?

She headed back towards Howell, limping down the alley next to the parking lot, looking for anything that might give her an advantage. She saw her salvation down at the end of the block, a boyish looking hipster dismounting a red Honda scooter. She took off in the girl's direction, hope overcoming the pain in her ankle.

Please let me have this.

Twenty feet from her objective she heard the sound of heavy, running footsteps rounding the back of the utility truck she was just passing. She stopped before colliding headlong into the tall menace of one of her pursuers. Their eyes locked, both equally surprised. Reflexes activated, hands on weapons, but Sarah's 9mm was already drawn and she had him targeted before he could draw his own.

"Freeze! Toss the gun"

To her surprise, he did just that.

"Down on your knees and hands on your head."

The man quickly obeyed.

Too easy. The other two must be coming up behind? Damn it, I don't have time for this.

Like a snapping bullwhip, Sarah's foot arched out and around, heel connecting with the agent's occipital bone, dropping him like he'd been unplugged. She turned to the girl with the scooter, now gaping at Sarah, and summoned the depth of her sense of authority.

"Federal agent! I need to commandeer your scooter."

Whether it was her voice, the 9mm in her hand, or the way she'd rendered a man unconscious with one kick, the woman backed away from the scooter, dropping the keys without a word. Sarah closed the distance to the bike as the woman ran, grabbed the keys and hopped on the scooter, wishing she had a helmet. Hearing the sound of more running footsteps, she started the engine and twisted the throttle, sending her over the sidewalk onto Howell. The sound of gunshots chased her as she weaved northeast between cars.

Seriously? Firing into traffic at rush hour? Idiots! They must be desperate. God, I hope they don't hit anyone.

The gunshots stopped as she pulled out of range, and she caught her breath, allowing herself a moment to regroup. Her mind switching quickly to finding and helping Chuck, she oriented herself and recalled the maps she had memorized back in Burbank.

Okay, they couldn't have gone too far before hitting the convention center. Which way would Chuck have gone?

It was only due to her concentration and her fear for Chuck that she was completely unprepared for the submachine gun that emerged from the window of a dark SUV running the light in front of her.