A/N: As always, thank you for reading. Thank you for your reviews, tweets, PMs, favorites, and follows. I appreciate them all. And I want to give a hearty "Welcome!" to the new readers who have recently stumbled across this (and the previous) story. It's great to have you coming along for the ride.

AgentInWaiting, as always, did a remarkable job betaing this chapter. In a lot of ways, this was a challenging chapter for me, and I thank him for his patience and support. I also must thank Frea for the therapy session.

Finally, please note: this AU version of Goya, having not known the love of a good woman, tilts towards the dangerous side. He is the Goya who would, in cold blood, execute Casey and the Goya who secretly obtained a nuclear arsenal.

Chapter 21 – Someone Saved My Life Tonight, Sugar Bear

The wig Casey was wearing felt like a badger with dandruff had latched onto his scalp and died. All he wanted to do was rip off the horrible thing, throw it to the floor and put a couple of rounds into it. That way it would never be able to torment another human being. Then it hit him that perhaps he should keep it and use it as a method of torture the next time he needed to get someone to talk. Forget waterboarding. "Wigs by Ilsa" would strike fear into the hearts of men and make them jabber like a thirteen-year-old girl with a new cell phone.

Aside from the wig from hell, thus far the mission had been unremarkable. He and Ilsa were working behind the bar, mixing drinks for diplomats from the various embassies and consulates, their aides-de-camp and other assorted party-goers. Casey's French and Spanish were serviceable and for the most part, he didn't have too much trouble understanding what drinks people were asking for. In addition, they had worked out a system where Ilsa would smoothly step in and take over the drink order if he couldn't decipher what was being requested. Fortunately, that had only happened a couple of times.

For belonging to a small island nation, the embassy of Costa Gravas was impressive both inside and out. The front had a massive wrought iron gate with the Costa Gravan coat-of-arms attached to an arch over it. After stepping through an imposing set of double doors and into the foyer guests were met by two security guards—dressed in their formal uniforms—standing on either side of the entrance to the grand reception room and checking each guest's invitation as they arrived.

Once through security, the guests were ushered down a hallway to the Grand Reception Hall where the party was being held. It was an especially large and stunning room. White marble floors were covered with thick oriental rugs. A green, red and yellow Costa Gravan flag covered the wall at one end of the room. An enormous marble statue of the premier swathed in Roman robes, his head encircled by a wreath of laurels, dominated the other. As Casey poured a glass of wine for one of the guests, he stifled a snort at the sheer audacity of the guy. He was obviously trying to liken himself to Julius Caesar, which wasn't even original. Napoleon Bonaparte had done the same thing nearly two hundred years before this joker had.

Casey's eyes swept the room, awaiting the grand entrance of the Generalissimo. The intel they had received indicated the buy would take place after Goya had received his guests. He hadn't appeared at the party yet, so they were stuck tending bar.

The piece the string chamber orchestra was playing caught his attention. It reminded him of a ketchup commercial. "Hey, Bar—um, Chuck," Casey said quietly into his comm as he turned away from the bar and grabbed an empty glass to pour a drink. "Can you hear the music in the background?"

There was a pause and then, "Yeah," Chuck replied slowly from his position in the van, obviously not understanding where the question was going.

"Your noggin is full of all kinds of useless trivia and crap. What's the song the musicians are playing?"

"You mean the one from the ketchup commercial?" Chuck inquired.

Sarah spoke up through the comm. "What's this about a song, Casey? I thought we're all supposed to 'keep our head in the game' and not get distracted."

"Well, there's a difference between not being distracted and dying of boredom," he muttered softly as the ice he dropped into the glass clinked against the side. "I wish the Generalissimo would get the ball rolling. Where is he anyway? He must be here in the embassy somewhere."

"Oh, he's in the embassy," Sarah replied. "We've been following his movements on the different video cameras we hacked into. He's um… occupied at the moment."

Chuck's snort came through loud and clear, triggering a scowl from the major. He unscrewed the cap from the vodka bottle but didn't pour. "Is it the weapons buy? Are they starting early? Do we need to move on him now? Why didn't you say something?"

After another short pause, Chuck said carefully, "You know that scene at the beginning of The Godfather where Sonny Corleone and one of his sister's bridesmaids have a… ah… encounter… against a door?"

Casey's frown deepened. "Yeah." He poured the vodka, the ice crackling as the liquid trickled over it.

"Our favorite dictator is doing a re-enactment of that scene with a young woman from the wait staff."

That disturbing bit of information hung there for a moment before Casey replied, "Copy." He nearly swallowed the drink he had just made to keep the rising bile down.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Sarah said pointedly, "Anyway, to change the subject and answer your question from before, the music is Mozart. Eine Kleine Nachtmusik."

Casey handed the drink to a guest who thanked him and moved away. "Still makes me think of ketchup." There were no other guests awaiting drinks, so Casey snagged a towel and wiped the counter in front of him. "Now I'm hungry for a burger."

"I don't think you'll get one of those there tonight, but you have a tray incoming from the kitchen that's promising. Looks like some kind of mushroom hors d'oeurve. Maybe you can snag some of those," Chuck said.

"Roger that."

While Casey tried to figure out how to lift some food from a tray carried by a passing waiter, Ilsa busied herself by deftly slicing up a lime. The comms remained silent other than Chuck's short bursts of commentary as they watched Goya's "activities." His exclamation of, "I did not need to see that!" was quickly followed by "Wow! Look at the way she just—Ow!"

It was less than a minute later that Sarah's voice got their attention. "Okay, now that that tender moment between the Generalissimo and his 'bridesmaid' is over," she said sardonically, "I think Goya's about to join the party."

"Copy that," Casey replied quietly.

The musicians played a fanfare to get everyone's attention. At the bottom of a wide staircase, a man in navy blue livery called out in a clear voice, "Atención por favor. Generalissimo Alejandro Goya!"

The strains of the Costa Gravan national anthem began to play and Goya slowly descended the stairs, smiling and waving to his applauding guests. He wore a sharp, dark blue uniform with gold buttons, gold braided epaulets on the shoulders and a shiny blue satin sash across his chest. He stopped a few steps before he reached the bottom and beamed. When the anthem ended, he spread his arms wide, grinned and addressed the crowd in a gravelly voice, "Greetings my friends and welcome. I am honored by your presence. Please, eat, drink and enjoy my country's hospitality." There was more applause and as the music resumed, he finished descending the stairs and moved through the crowd, shaking hands and slapping backs. He left in his wake a host of smiling and enthralled people.

"The consummate politician," Casey growled in disgust. "All he needs are some babies to kiss and he'll be all set."

"No one ever said he wasn't charming and charismatic," Ilsa said. "That's what makes him so dangerous."

~ O ~

Chuck and Sarah sat next to each other in the van, their gazes flicking from one monitor to the next. Between the screens attached to the walls, the laptops and keyboards covering the small counters and the veritable armory of weapons covering every inch of previously empty space, it was close quarters. Not that they minded, of course. A spark shot through her every time they accidentally touched each other.

"We don't know what the guy the Generalissimo is meeting looks like," they heard Casey growl through their headphones, "so you two need to keep your eyes on those feeds and watch for anything hinky."

"Hinky or kinky?" Chuck asked. "'Cause I gotta tell you, I've had enough of one of those for tonight."

"Don't make me come out there and pummel you," Casey snarled.

"Hinky. Roger that," Chuck replied, grinning and winking at Sarah, his eyes shining with excitement.

He was so adorable. Sarah pressed the button that cut their audio feed to Casey and Ilsa so they could talk and not be overheard. "You look like you're enjoying your first official mission, even if it is just sitting in a van, Agent Carmichael."

"Yeah, I am," he said, almost bouncing in his chair. At the use of his newly minted alias, he flashed her a brilliant grin, causing her to melt some more. "I get that you don't want Ilsa to know we're married, but where did Carmichael come from?"

Dropping her gaze, she said sheepishly, "It was the first thing that popped into my head. It was the name of my fifth grade teacher. I had quite the crush on him."

Somehow, his smile grew wider. "Really?"

"Really." Quirking an eyebrow, she said, "No fair using that information against me." When his smile turned devious, she added, "I'm sure I can get Morgan to give up all kinds of intel on the teachers you had crushes on."

The sly look disappeared and was immediately replaced by panic. Shaking his head violently, he sat up straighter in his chair and babbled, "No! Nononono! You really don't want to do that."

She chucked him under the chin with the tip of her index finger. "I really do, but you've been so patient and understanding when it comes to my past, I want to return the favor." Her eyes flashed with amusement. "Anyway, I'm sure I'll find out one way or another someday."

He heaved a faux aggrieved sigh. "Having all my secrets exposed. The one downside to being married to a spy."

"Speaking of downsides. I'm sorry sitting in this van isn't exactly glamorous."

"This might seem like drudgery to you, but to me, this is all really cool."

"I have to admit, it's nice having you here."

"And we're finally alone," he replied, lifting her hand and pressing his lips to the back of it. As he did so, he gave her a smoldering stare.

She narrowed her eyes. "Chuck, we're on a mission. And Casey would kill us if he found out—"

His smolder gave way to an amused grin. He took her hand away from his lips, but still held it. "I know. I'm teasing. I get how important this mission is and wouldn't do anything to mess it up." Shrugging a shoulder, he said, "I just wanted you to know that I noticed."

"Oh, trust me," she sighed. "I noticed, too."

After sharing knowing smiles and a sweet kiss that went on much longer than they realized, Sarah opened their comms and returned their attention to the bank of screens in front of them.

~ O ~

Goya worked his way across the room and approached the bar. His eyes locked on Ilsa as he swaggered toward her. "I am so happy to know I have the most beautiful bartender in the world gracing us with her presence at my little party," he said once he came to stand in front of her.

Turning his head slightly to address Casey, but never taking his eyes from Ilsa, he continued, "Rum and Coke." When Casey moved away to make the drink, Goya rested on his elbows on the bar and leaned closer to her. "Perhaps a little later we can enjoy a private party of our own? Yes?" he murmured smoothly.

Even as Casey wanted to grab the smug bastard by the throat and literally rip it from his body, Ilsa gave the Generalissimo a coy glance and cooed, "I would love nothing more than to spend some time alone with you, Premier Goya."

A self-satisfied smile grew on Goya's face as he continued to stare into Ilsa's. Then his eyes clouded. "Have we met before? Have you ever been to my country?"

Casey's heart rate shot up. He made a conscious effort to keep his actions controlled as he made the drink. He knew Ilsa could handle the situation, but it still didn't keep him from quickly coming up with three different ways for them to immediately escape if needed.

"I'm sorry to say I have not visited your country," she pouted, sticking out her lip. Casey peeked over at them in time to see the Generalissimo's gaze drop to Ilsa's pouty frown. She leaned her elbows on the bar and moved her face to within inches of his. "I'm also sure I've never met the Generalissimo." She dropped her gaze to Goya's mouth and slowly ran her tongue over her lips. "I'm sure I would never forget meeting a man like you."

Goya swallowed hard, his eyes riveted to Ilsa's slightly parted and inviting mouth. "I have an important meeting in a little while. After that, I will send an assistant to you. He will bring you to me."

"I look forward to it," she replied in a deep, throaty voice.

Goya seemed both mesmerized and paralyzed by Ilsa. It was only when Casey loudly cleared his throat and set the drink on the bar near the other man that he snapped out of his reverie.

"Thank you, bartender," he said, addressing the air more than Casey since his eyes were still glued to Ilsa. "I will see you later, my dear."

Ilsa gave him one last seductive smile. "You can count on it."

~ O ~

Chuck leaned back in his chair and dragged his hands across his face while Sarah blew out a breath in relief. They had watched and heard the entire exchange between Ilsa and Goya, both clutching the other's hand the entire time. Like Casey, Sarah had been analyzing the different options available to her should she need to rescue Casey and Ilsa had Goya recognized her as Victor Lazaro's wife. She was hugely relieved when Goya—clearly pleased at his prowess—moved away from the bar and mingled amongst his guests.

"Well done, Ilsa," Sarah said into her headset mic.

"Thank you," she replied. "It was mostly just getting his mind on something other than where he'd seen my face before."

"So you met the Generalissimo before?" Chuck asked.

"No, although I'm sure my picture is in my dossier. It's probably quite old. I've spent very little time in Costa Gravas for them to get a current photo of me. My husband is well known, but I have remained in the background here in France. I'm sure the wig helped as well."

"At least we know the buy will happen soon, so everyone stay alert," Casey ordered.

At that moment, Sarah's phone buzzed. After glancing at the screen, she switched off the audio again and said, "It's a reply from Barstow. I texted him a little while ago, asking how the kids were doing."

"What's Scott have to say?"

"I'm not sure he likes it when you call him that."

"Calling him by his last name seems so impersonal."

She gave him a dubious look, but otherwise didn't respond. Reading the text, she said, "He says after a spirited game of Hide and Seek, Megan and Martie are now asleep in our bed, Morgan and the boys are in their room and he's sitting on a chair in the hallway keeping watch outside the girl's room. Vegas will relieve him soon."

"Good man. No hint of impropriety with him," Chuck said with approval. "He's a real straight shooter."

Sarah frowned. "How can you play Hide and Seek in a hotel room?"

Chuck rested a hand on her thigh and squeezed it. "At this point, it doesn't matter," he said. "It sounds like everything is under control, so there's no need to worry. Okay?"

She nodded and huffed a breath. As she pressed the button opening their comms again, she chastised herself for being paranoid and overprotective. Of course Chuck was right. The kids were fine. She shook off the feeling and glanced up at the screen in front of her. Goya stood with a group of admirers, chatting and laughing. "Whenever you're ready, El Jefe," she said to the image. "Whenever you're ready."

~ O ~

Sarah tensed when she saw Goya make eye contact with someone across the room and then nearly imperceptibly tilt his head, as if bidding the other person to follow.

"Casey, Ilsa," Sarah said, "Goya just made contact. He and two of his bodyguards are headed for the kitchen."

"Copy," Casey said. "Why the kitchen?"

Chuck typed furiously at the keyboard in front of him and zoomed in on the kitchen on the schematic of the embassy. Sarah spun around in her chair when he tapped on her shoulder. Peering at the screen, she said, "He might be going to get some canapés, but I doubt it. There's a set of stairs right off the kitchen." Chuck typed some more and reoriented the schematic. "The next floor has both his office and a library. The buy might happen in one of those two rooms."

"Roger that," Casey replied. "What about his contact?"

"Chuck, keep an eye on Goya for a minute," Sarah said, pointing at a screen. She scanned the monitors, looking for anyone or anything slightly off. "There!" she said, pointing at the screen showing a man with a briefcase. "Casey, little guy with a briefcase at your ten o'clock. He's headed toward the main staircase."

"Got him," Casey said. "You two watch the guy with the briefcase. We'll go up the kitchen staircase. No one will even notice us if we go through there."

"That's perfect," Sarah responded, examining the schematic again. "The security room is just down the hall from that staircase. After you take out the guards there, you can go straight up to the second floor."

Chuck slid his chair in front of another keyboard, his fingers flying over it. One of the screens flickered blank for a split second and then came back on with the feed from Goya's office. It was empty. He did the same thing to the screen to the right of the first and pulled up the library. That room, too, was currently empty.

"Chuck, you make sure you get the feeds for those two rooms up," Casey said.

"He's way ahead of you," Sarah replied, nearly bursting with pride. His instinct and intuition was impressive. She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. In response, he waggled his eyebrows while putting a new feed on a third monitor, this one showing the hallway between the library and office. "So sexy," she whispered, causing her husband to snicker and shake his head.

~ O ~

"Okay, Ilsa," Casey said. "Let's get to work."

"Grab some empty bottles and follow me," Ilsa instructed. Casey did as he was told and loaded up his arms. He followed her as she stepped out from bar and approached one of the servers carrying a large, nearly empty silver tray. Only two flutes of champagne remained. Even as the two spoke in rapid French, Casey knew Ilsa was asking the server to cover for them while she and Casey went to the kitchen to get some more bottles to restock the bar. The man frowned and asked a question. Ilsa took on a sudden demure and embarrassed posture, blushed slightly, glanced at Casey and then answered in a low tone. A knowing smirk grew on the server's face as he shot an approving look Casey's way. He handed his tray to Ilsa and walked behind the bar.

"He doesn't think we're going into the kitchen to get bottles to restock the bar, does he?" Casey asked.

"Oh, yes, he does. It's just that I told him that we wouldn't be back for twenty or thirty minutes since we had something else that needed to be attended to."

It was a good thing he had a firm grip on the bottles because his hands suddenly got sweaty.

No one paid any attention to them as they crossed the room and entered the kitchen, where they were similarly ignored. Heads down, chefs prepared the food while the wait staff loaded up trays to take around to hungry party-goers. Ilsa set the tray down near the bottles of champagne. Then she put an assortment of hors d'oeurves on the tray next to the two flutes of champagne. When one of the young men looked up from his work and gave her a quizzical look, she said in French, "For the men down the hall."

The man nodded and then glanced at Casey. "He's helping me," Ilsa answered his unspoken question with a roguish smile. Casey tried to give the man the same kind of dopey smile Bartowski seemed to have whenever he was around Walker. He must have succeeded since the only response from the man was a wolfish grin and a wink of approval.

Casey set the empty bottles in the trashcan and followed Ilsa as she carried the tray out of the kitchen and down the hall. "The security room is the third door on the right," Sarah murmured.

"Copy," Casey replied quietly.

They reached the unmarked door. Ilsa knocked and waited. "We brought some food and drinks for you," she called out. After a few seconds, there was a loud click as the deadbolt was unlocked and the door swung open, revealing a guard with a pleased smile on his face as he took in Ilsa and the treats. The delight turned quickly to surprise as Casey's balled fist rammed into his face with a sickening crunch. The man stumbled back and fell to the floor. Before the guard sitting at the panel of screens could turn around, Ilsa dumped the contents of the tray on the floor, reared back and smashed the heavy tray on the back of his head. He lurched forward, then tipped sideways off his chair and crumpled to the ground.

"Nice backhand," Casey said, eyeing the serving implement that now sported a serious dent.

She gave him a small smile and set it on the desk. They removed the guards' pistols and handcuffs from their belts. Rolling each unconscious guard onto their fronts, they cuffed their hands behind their backs. Casey opened a storage cabinet set in the corner of the room, looking for a place to stash the weapons and eyed a roll of gray duct tape. After setting the two pistols at the very back of the top shelf of the cabinet, he grabbed the tape. He tore off a strip and handed it to Ilsa, who placed it over the mouth of the guard she'd taken out. Casey ripped another strip off and did the same to the other guard.

Straightening her vest, Ilsa asked, "Are we clear to go upstairs?"

"Yes and no," Sarah replied.

Casey growled his annoyance with that answer. "What the hell, Walker?"

"Yes, you are clear to go to the staircase. And no, you can't go all the way up yet. Goya's contact is in the library and he's in his office."

He scowled. "We can't wait here and we don't want to be seen hanging around the hallway, what do you suggest we do?"

Before Sarah could answer, Ilsa replied, "I think we should hide in the stairway. Hopefully it will only be a minute or two."

"I agree," Sarah said. "That way you'll be ready when it's time to move."

"Roger," Casey said. "Let's go."

He made one final sweep of the room before he followed Ilsa out the door, closing it quietly behind him. They calmly walked down the hall and turned at the entrance of the staircase. They nearly missed it since it was only the size of a wide doorway. Because it was surrounded by walls, they only had to go up a few steps before they were hidden from below.

Standing on the step just below Ilsa, Casey asked, "Walker, are we clear?"

"Negative," came her response.

He cursed quietly under his breath. "Let's hope they pick one room or the other soon."

The air in the staircase was warm and stagnant. It only seemed to grow warmer as they stood silently and waited. Trickles of perspiration slid down his temples as his whole head sweated and itched under the foul, torturous wig. Casey was about to ask Sarah again if they were clear when a voice from below shouted up at them, "Hey! What are you two doing there?"

Before he knew what hit him, Ilsa's lips were on his. She'd thrown an arm around his neck and was kissing him. Dumbfounded, he didn't immediately react and his arms remained limp at his sides. A hissed "We need to sell this!" finally prompted him to put his hands on her hips and start kissing her back. It was at the same time familiar and forbidden, heated and restrained, as if they both could have lost themselves, but knew they couldn't. It was a kiss between long lost lovers.

The yelling at the bottom of the stairs continued. He didn't catch everything being shouted, but he realized the gist of it was, "You can't do that there" and "Get back to work."

Ilsa released him and took a step back. From the dim light coming from the bottom of the stairs, he saw her eyes fill and glint.

Turning away from his gaze, Ilsa responded to the person shouting in an apologetic tone, obviously trying to make amends for being "caught." The aggrieved party was apparently placated since he walked away and left them alone.

Casey swallowed hard and tugged at the collar of his shirt, convinced it was trying to choke him to death. It was extremely hot and he felt like he was perspiring from every pore of his body.

"Is everything okay, there, Casey?" Sarah asked through the comm. "We don't have eyes on you in the stairwell."

"Yeah," he answered curtly.

"We heard shouting and some… er… heavy breathing," Chuck added delicately.

"We were discovered and I had to improvise," Ilsa stated, running a hand over her blonde wig. "I kissed John so the person who caught us would think we were simply lovers stealing a moment."

Casey winced at the loud and sudden hacking cough blasting through his earpiece. "Can it, Carmichael. You're gonna bust my eardrum," he grumbled. His irritation with this whole mission was growing steadily by the minute.

"I'm sorry," Chuck managed as he gasped for air. "Did you say you kissed—"

Ilsa frowned and interrupted him. "I'll have you know that John Casey is a very passionate man and any woman would be—"

More coughing ensued.

"I'm sure Agent Walker would kiss John if it was—"

This outburst of coughing—which now included gasping and wheezing—ended abruptly, mid-hack. Casey's earpiece went silent. "We only did it for the success of the mission," Ilsa said, staring at him.

His whole body tensed. "Yeah. The mission." He really needed to get out of the damned stairway. "Speaking of the mission, can we move yet?"

His earpiece crackled to life. "Sorry about the coughing," Sarah said. "Something went down Chuck's pipe wrong."

"I don't want to hear anything about any of Chuck's pipes," Casey grumbled. "Just give us the damned intel."

Clearing her throat, Sarah advised him, "Goya just walked into the library. You have two guards outside the door and one in the library with Goya and the seller."

"Roger that," Casey replied.

He waited while Chuck and Sarah discussed schematics and the layout of the floor. "When you get to the top of the staircase, the library is about twenty-five feet down the hallway to the right."

"Ninety degree turn at the top of the stairs?"

"Affirmative. You're clear to move," Sarah said.

He wiped the perspiration from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, but not before a couple of beads made their way into his eyes. At the stinging and burning, he ripped off the glasses, dropped them on a step and crushed them under the heel of his shoe. That felt good. Then he balled both fists and rubbed his eyes. Finally, he bent over and slid a Glock from the holster at his ankle and cocked it. "Here we go."

"Copy," Sarah replied. "We'll have eyes on you once you're in the hallway."

Casey slowly crept up the stairs, his back pressed against one wall, with Ilsa, having retrieved her Walther P5 from her thigh holster, following.

When they reached the top of the stairs he stopped and peeked around the corner. Two guards, AK-103s held loosely in their arms, stood on either side of the door. Neither spoke as they stared blankly into space.

Casey pulled his head back and pointing the Glock toward the ceiling, took a couple of deep breaths and focused. He counted down in his head, and when he reached "one" he burst out from behind the wall and put a tranq dart into each of the guards. They collapsed and thumped to the carpeted floor in heaps.

"Casey! Hold up. Goya must have noticed the noise," Sarah warned him. "He turned toward the door."

He stepped back to his hiding place around the corner, put the tranq gun back in the holster and grabbed the Sig from his waistband at the small of his back.

"I knew I felt your Sig back there," Ilsa whispered. "The Glock?"

"Tranqs."

She smirked. "You've become quite the humanitarian."

"Yeah, you can nominate me for the Nobel Peace Prize." He worked the slide on the Sig. "Walker, we good to go?"

"Yeah. Go."

They walked quickly and quietly along the hallway, the plush carpet suppressing the sound of their footsteps. Casey picked up a rifle and removed the magazine. Ilsa did the same and handed the other magazine to him.

"Walker," Casey whispered. "What's behind the door to the left of the library?"

He heard a murmured conference and then Sarah answered, "A closet."

"Copy," he replied quietly. Opening the door, he saw that the closet was full of towels and linens. He took the two magazines, shoved them between two towels on the bottom shelf and closed the door.

Looking down at the unconscious guards, he decided not to take the time to secure them. He knew the whole thing would be over way before they awoke from their tranq dart induced naps.

Stepping over one of the guards to stand in front of the library door again, Casey dug into his front pocket and pulled out a small object in the shape of a dome. Under the clear covering, wires and relays ran all different directions. He ripped off the paper and exposed an adhesive that covered the flat bottom and stuck the device to the door. Then he pushed a small button on the side and a small red light flashed three times, which was then followed by a steady green one.

Casey remained silent as he waited for confirmation from the van that the device was picking up and recording the voices inside the room. He could hear keys on a keyboard clicking. "I boosted the signal strength a bit from here," Chuck said. "Now we can hear everything word they're saying."

~ O ~

Sarah intently watched black and white images of the two men as they conferred in the library while at the same time listening to the audio of their conversation through the speakers on the laptop sitting on the counter next to her. Chuck's eyes were glued to laptop screen making sure that every word spoken was being recorded. Goya and his guest stood directly across from each other, their closed briefcases lying on a square table that separated them.

Goya seemed perfectly at ease. His voice was smooth and confident while the other man was obviously jumpy and nervous. When his fingers weren't fidgeting with the handle of the briefcase, he nervously wiped his palms on the sides of his pants. His eyes bulged slightly and his anxious gaze flicked about the room.

Since Casey and Ilsa couldn't hear what was being said, Sarah provided a running commentary through their earwigs. She described the general setup of the room and the placement of each individual in it.

"Can you see the briefcase with the toxin?" Casey whispered.

"Yes. Looks like it's metal."

"Hopefully this one is bulletproof," he whispered to Ilsa. Her eyes widened and then she nodded in understanding.

"Goya just called the seller Ugarte," Sarah told them.

Chuck spun in his chair and searched the name. Ugarte's picture and information from INTERPOL flashed up on the screen. Sarah scanned it quickly. "He's a second rate thief who's worked for just about every gun runner, drug trafficker and smuggler in Europe."

"He has an interesting voice," Chuck said. "I can't quite place the accent."

"Slovakian," she answered, turning away from the screen filled with Ugarte's information and again watching the scene in the library.

"Ugarte just opened his briefcase. There's a large cylinder secured in a cutout slot in gray protective foam." She listened for a minute and then said, "The cylinder is triple-lined for protection and safe for transport. The briefcase is bulletproof."

There was a relieved grunt from Casey.

"I guess that's why he feels comfortable with not wearing a hazmat suit when he's carrying it around," Chuck said.

"Ugarte asked to see the money," she commented.

She watched as Goya made a show of flipping open the clasps on the front of his briefcase and lifting the lid. As he turned it around, she saw that it was full of neatly stacked euro notes.

"Should we move in?" Casey asked. "Do we have enough evidence?"

"Monsieur Benoit will be very pleased," Sarah heard Ugarte's voice say through the speakers.

"Ugarte works for Benoit!" Sarah exclaimed. "Hold, Casey. We need to see if he says anything about Benoit."

Goya's voice filled the van. "It is indeed most fortunate Monsieur Benoit is able to conduct business despite his current need for concealment.

"Yes, he is an impressive man," Ugarte said vaguely.

"It is too bad he will not be making any money on this deal, however." Goya snapped his fingers. The bodyguard standing behind and to the left of his boss reached a hand inside his coat and withdrew a pistol, a suppressor attached to the barrel. He leveled the gun at Ugarte's chest and it spit two bullets out in quick succession. Ugarte, his face registering absolute shock, was driven backward against a wall covered with shelves of books. Hands clutched to his chest, he slowly slid to the floor.

"Holy crap!" Sarah shouted. "They just shot Ugarte! Casey, go!"

~ O ~

"I'll take the bodyguard and Goya and you secure the toxin!" Casey said, adrenaline flooding his system. He moved directly in front of the door and smashed his foot against it. The door flew open, the jam splintering under the force and sending bits of wood flying. He barreled into the room first, pointed his Sig at the bodyguard diving behind a leather wing-backed chair and pulled the trigger. The bullet zipped past the target and embedded in the spine of a book.

Goya flipped the table on its side and hid behind it, sending both briefcases sliding to the floor. Some of the stacks of euros fell out of the briefcase, but most stayed in, although now in a jumble.

Casey took cover behind a large floor globe with an ornately carved wooden base. It wasn't ideal for protection, but it was better than nothing, which was the only other option. Ilsa had gone straight for the briefcase with the botulinum toxin. She slammed the lid closed and slid it across the floor toward the door. A bullet from the bodyguard whizzed past her.

When the bodyguard took his shot at Ilsa as she went for the metal briefcase, Casey sent back a bullet his direction. It hit the leather back of the chair. White stuffing bloomed through the hole like a rose.

"Give up, Goya," Casey called. "You're trapped."

"I'm afraid you're wrong," the Generalissimo responded with a growl from behind the table. He commando crawled across the floor to a panel of bookshelves against a wall and gave it a shove. The whole wall swung inward, revealing an opening behind it, just large enough for him to escape through.

"Ilsa, no!" Casey shouted when he saw her scuttle on all fours toward Goya. "Just shoot him!" The globe he was hiding behind exploded when the bodyguard shot at him again. He ducked his head behind an arm to protect his face from the flying bits of shattered wood. Something hit the side of his head, and he felt sudden and sharp pains in his forearm and bicep.

Ilsa ignored Casey and went after her target. She reached Goya just as his head and shoulders disappeared into the opening. With one hand, she grabbed the back of his uniform, and with the other, pressed the barrel of her Walther to the back of Goya's head. "Don't move," she ordered him.

Unfortunately, she was now completely exposed. The bodyguard rose up over the back of the chair to take a shot at her. Ignoring the pain in his arm, Casey calmly squeezed off a round, hitting the other man in the shoulder. He cried out in pain, did a quarter turn and fell to the floor behind the chair.

In three steps, Casey crossed the room and picked up the pistol the bodyguard had dropped. Putting on the safety, he shoved the piece in his waistband. He looked down at the man who clutched at the wound in his shoulder. Dark red blood oozed from between his fingers, his face twisted in pain and rage as he sucked in air between gritted teeth. In a burst of fury, the man cut loose with a string of obscenities, calling Casey every name in the book and heaping upon his head every curse imaginable.

"That's not very nice of you, wanting my family jewels to shrivel up and fall off," Casey snarked, nudging the bleeding man's shoulder with a foot, causing him to shout out in pain.

Ilsa hauled Goya by the collar of his tunic out of the opening and sat him on the floor, her Walther still trained on this head. "You cannot arrest me," Goya said, his eyes flashing with defiance. "This is Costa Gravan soil."

From his back pocket, Casey fished out a pair of plastic handcuffs and tossed them to Ilsa, who caught them out of the air with her free hand. "I didn't care then and I don't care now."

"What do you mean?" Goya asked as Ilsa secured his hands behind his back.

Casey tore off the soul patch and tugged off the wig. It felt wonderful to finally remove the dead badger from his head.

"Angel de la Muerta," Goya breathed. He paled and his bravado disappeared. Diplomatic protocol was not going to matter to John Casey.

Silently, Ilsa dipped her head, indicating that Casey should more closely examine the wig in his hand. A large splinter from the globe was stuck in it. The tight weave of the cap stopped the shard from going into Casey's scalp. "Huh. Who knew?"

Goya's boldness returned. "You will never get out of the embassy without my people stopping you."

"That won't be a problem," Casey replied calmly, looking to the opening to the secret way out. "We were going to give you some drugs that made you look like you just had a heart attack, making it necessary for us to call in 'paramedics' to get you out of here. Now that we have this little passageway, that won't be necessary. I have the feeling our friends in the black SUVs will be able to find us wherever we come out. They'll take real good care of you." Casey looked over to the bodyguard. "You're coming along, too, since you shot a man in cold blood." The major turned to look at Ugarte. To his surprise, the man he believed to be dead and both briefcases were gone.