DISCLAIMER: The AGENCY and all the usual suspects of it and of the King-Stetson family aren't mine; I borrowed them with love from Warner Brothers and from Shoot the Moon and thank them kindly for the years of enjoyment I've received from them. Everything else is a product of my overactive imagination; please don't use the ideas or characters without asking me first.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please pardon any scientific errors; I was a Soviet Studies and Theology major, not a science major!
Chapter 3 * Hampton, Virginia * January 22, 1989 * 9:00 a.m. EST (GMT-5)
The formula is confirmed. Whatever strange combination of factors come together in South Texas to cause such devastating environmental damage a few months ago, we managed to get the same effect replicated in the lab this week. I have never seen a test area die so quickly. The short, balding man leaned carefully over his breakfast of pancakes and sausage so his companion could hear him clearly. It can be easily created in a simple laboratory with only one non-marketed chemical. I can provide that to you. And, best of all, it is an ideal binary agent.
His companion, a well-proportioned brunette who might have hailed from anywhere east of Paris or west of the Ural Mountains, raised both eyebrows in astonishment. That, indeed, was good news. But... Have they found a way to counteract it?
he replied with a vehement shake of his head. Have you done as I asked?
She nodded with a small sigh. Everything is arranged. Once you deliver the necessary information to me, drive to the Norfolk airport and pick up the ticket that's been purchased for a flight to New York on your favorite airline. A car will meet you outside baggage claim and further instructions will be delivered at that time.
He smiled at her suggestively. The formula and the necessary component are back at my house.
Loathing the man and all her stood for in his Americanness, the woman acquiesced simply, It will be nice to say good-bye properly. I'll follow you.
When they exited the restaurant, looking for all the world like lovers enjoying breakfast the morning after a tryst, two men in a car parked near the only exit from the lot looked up. One raised a camera to his eyes as the other started the car.
After a moment, the driver pulled into traffic a few cars behind the woman's Yugo. Without looking at his partner, he queried, Did you get a good picture of him?
the man beside him answered. He's probably a nobody. You know the folks in D.C. Let one piece of the Cold War equation get slightly out of balance and anyone who drives a Yugo becomes a suspect.
Yeah, but if it were up to me, anyone who buys a Yugo would get locked up with the loons who aren't ducks. Anyway, I guess we'd better get the pictures off to HQ.
I'll let Watchdog 3 know to meet us at our destination once we get there.
Ten minutes later, the two turned surveillance over to Watchdog 3 and went back to the Agency office, located in a nondescript building near the Newport News Shipbuilding complex. Photo processing took an hour; the facsimile to D.C. went through in two minutes.
They would not know for another 90 minutes that they had started a clock ticking toward World War III.
Washington, D.C. * 10:25 a.m. EST (GMT-5)
Miss Desmond, there's a fax coming in from Newport News, the duty communications officer – an impossibly young man by Francine's standards – announced as Francine stalked past the desk at the front of the Bullpen.
Newport News? She stopped and turned to face him at the desk.
Yes, ma'am. It's in Virginia, he added helpfully. He was too young to understand the look she sent him in its entirety, but he did get the message that his hanging rope had just been shortened considerably.
Why is anybody working in Newport News on a Saturday morning?
Well, we do have an active investigation going down there, ma'am. Maybe they found something.
Or maybe they're bored. Okay, bring me the printout when it's complete. And see if you can located an SPSA agent named Joanna Marley. I think she's staying at the BOQ at Walter Reed.
He swallowed hard, knowing that she wouldn't be pleased. SPSA, ma'am?
With a broad, sarcastic grin, Francine bent over into his face. Special Protective Services Agency. They are the folks who protect the truly important people in the United States. You know, the irreplaceable kind. She stood up and looked down her nose at him. You'll never qualify. She whirled and marched away to Billy's office, pleased to have someone truly deserving of scorn in the office without Billy to dampen her rain of insults.
The same young man brought her the fax printout a minute or two later with great trepidation, and rightly so. What do you mean, you didn't make copies for the photo analysis section? Is that not S.O.P.?
Uh, y-yes, ma'am, but you said to -
Must you take everything literally?
Uh, n-n-no, ma'am. I'll go make the copies right now, ma'am.
A fleeting image of Ian Marlowe passed through her mind, and the scowl on her face softened. Oh, I'm sorry, Chuck. Please, get the copies made and bring the original right back.
Not trusting the mercurial woman at the desk, the young man turned and fled, leaving Francine to shake her head with a laugh. Oh, my, Francine, she said to the empty room around her. Just a single thought of a man you've only been with for 15 minutes can change you from tigress to Amanda King. She thought for a moment. Amanda Stetson. Amanda King would never have asked him to make the copies himself.
Once she had the 12 surveillance photos in front of her, Francine spent 10 minutes analyzing the pictures herself before the young man came back and knocked on the door. Miss Desmond, I have Joanna Marley on the phone for you, line 3.
Thanks, Chuck. Could you please call photo analysis and ask them to enlarge the three full face shots? Tell them I want to see if we can get a clear text read on the access badge he's wearing.
Yes, ma'am.
Francine motioned for him to close the door on his way out, then reached over and picked up the phone. JoJo, it's me, Francine. I was wondering if you and I could do lunch today.
The cheerful voice on the other end of the line answered immediately. I'd love to. Any problem to bring Marlena? This is the first day off I've had in three weeks and I'm hoping for some quality time with my daughter before the you know what hits the you know where.
Francine was about to say no, but then she remembered that Marlena was Ian's godchild. I'm going out with him tonight... I would love to meet Marlena. Bring your ID and I'll give you a tour before we go.
You're on. I'll leave now – where am I coming?
Francine gave her directions to the Georgetown portal, which wasn't the closest entrance to Walter Reed but would make it much easier to get to the Bullpen inside the complex. And besides, Mrs. Marsten – who was at work today only because the usual weekend gatekeeper's wife had just had a baby – was a sucker for kids. Disconnected from JoJo, she then called Mrs. Marsten to let her know about her visitors.
By then, the enlarged photos were ready, but try as she might, Francine could make neither head nor tail of the obviously coded access badge. She ambled out to one of the computer terminals, called up a cryptography program, entered the six or seven variations she could make out of the fuzzy image. Nothing came up – she didn't really expect anything too, of course, but she had hoped.
An update came in from the CIA, saying that they knew nothing more than they had three hours ago. How can it be an update, then? she wondered, causing laughter among the staff. Nearly mid-way through the 12-hour weekend day shift, everyone was beginning to get cabin fever, so JoJo's arrival with Marlena made a good diversion. The toddler was immediately swept up into a melee of men and women showering her with attention, and it was obvious that she was a child who adored being adored.
Rather like someone else I know, Francine commented dryly to JoJo as Marlena hopped from lap to lap around the Bullpen.
If you've got it, flaunt it, JoJo replied with a smile.
Leaving Marlena in good company with the assurance of one of the female agents to page if anything happened, Francine led JoJo through the Agency complex, the two catching up on life since training. Before they returned to the Bullpen, Francine put a hand on the other woman's arm and stopped their progress.
Thank you for the cards over the years, she said sincerely, smiling into the green eyes that she had hated so much early on.
You're welcome. I figured as long as you knew somebody believed in you, you'd be okay.
You have no idea. Sometimes your words have been all that have kept me from burning out in this field. Francine was amazed at herself that she could get the words out so easily; usually this kind of stuff brought her up incoherent.
JoJo reached out to embrace her. You're a good person, Francine. I've always wanted you to have a chance at true happiness.
Eyes twinkling as she stepped out of the brief but heartfelt hug, Francine grinned mischievously at her friend. Was Ian a set-up?
So help me, I didn't know he would be at the briefing and I could never have predicted the mutual attraction. But I'm glad for it.
So am I, Francine replied, opening the door to the Bullpen. She followed her guest through to the group gathered around the younger visitor, then absent-mindedly reached over to pick up the surveillance photos from a nearby countertop.
JoJo got a glimpse of the top sheet. Francine, I know I'm technically not cleared for this, but can I see that? I think I know that man.
Without a word, Francine handed her the sheaf. She watched the younger woman carefully as she went through the pictures methodically. You do know him.
JoJo met Francine's eyes, a sick grimace on her face. He's the number 5 man at EDIN, Frank Palmer. What is he doing in one of your surveillance photos without courtesy notification to us?
Francine paled and took JoJo by the arm, pulling her into Billy's office and closing the door. JoJo, you've got a potential leak here – this man was seen having breakfast this morning with a suspected information broker whom we believe is currently working for an Islamic terrorist group.
Joanna sagged into the couch behind her, her face clouded in thought for five brief seconds that stretched interminably. When she looked back at Francine, it was with steel in her eyes. We're going to treat this like it is a leak – a major one. Get your people on him and get him here. Now.
How much does he know?
Let's assume he knows everything, Francine. Or at least as much as Andy does, which is just a little less about the Environmental Defense Initiative than I do.
The blonde looked at the cinnamon-haired woman strangely. If he's the director, how do you know more?
I'm the executive program manager, remember? I have to know the details Andy just can't be bothered with. Give me twenty minutes and I can tell you every employee, their age, social security number, parents' names, spouse, children, religion, degree, and previous employment history.
So tell me about this guy.
Get your people on him first, JoJo countered. And call Billy.
Francine didn't question, simply did as requested – well, technically, ordered. Billy arrived in 10 minutes, at which point JoJo gave them a verbal dossier on the man in question.
Dr. Charles Frank Palmer, Jr.; age 36; 999-01-3579; parents Charles Frank, Sr., and Jennifer Rose, nee Gordon; divorced from Kimberly, nee Alistair, married 1980, divorced in 1986; one child, a daughter named Christa, born 1982; unchurched since high school but brought up Roman Catholic; Ph.D. in molecular biology from Harvard in 1984 after undergraduate work at Cornell and an incomplete master's at Stanford; previously employed as a biology teacher in the San Francisco Public Schools and as a post-doctorate pathology fellow at the Harvard School of Medicine before his acceptance onto the staff of the Environmental Defense Initiative as Fellow of Laboratory Research in 1986; promoted in 1988 to Associate Director. She laid her head against the back of the couch, closing her eyes to the horrific implications of recent developments.
Billy nodded thoughtfully. I guess we'll never know how some people can do that, he said in reference to the woman's recitation. JoJo, what about his security checks? Anything unusual or questionable?
She shook her head, listening briefly for Marlena's voice out in the bullpen before she replied. No. The Defense Investigative Service looked especially carefully at his bank records with the divorce, and our own update showed nothing out of the ordinary just a few months ago when he was promoted. He's a quiet, introspective man who gets flustered every time I walk into a room.
Like that's unusual, Francine commented under her breath, but not softly enough to go unnoticed.
JoJo nodded, but not usually in a lab situation. Most of the times the guys are so wrapped up in their experiments that I can come and go as I please without a fuss. Never with Frank, though.
Guilty conscience? Billy wondered aloud. Or just an over active imagination?
I figured it for the latter, but I could have been wrong – very seriously wrong.
That's a first.
warned Billy almost before she had finished the sentence. Okay. Where's Dr. Forest, Joanna?
He's at Walter Reed working on the booster for the nerve agent neutralizer. Ian's babysitting him.
Do you want him to know about this?
The cinnamon hair swung rhythmically as she shook her head. I'll tell him later in person. For now, he needs to be focused on the task at hand.
You know him best. Francine, send two senior non-watch command agents down to Virginia and let's start pulling this man's life apart. Do we know where he is now?
Watchdog 3 followed the woman, not him, when they left the apartment. He could be anywhere. Francine sat down beside JoJo on the sofa.
Billy looked back at Joanna. Anything big happen recently?
She furrowed her brow in thought, then her eyes flashed wide and her mouth flapped a couple of times before her voice came out with an impatient squeal. The accident in San Patricio County, Texas, in October. My gosh, the guys just replicated the combination of chemicals that caused the topsoil to die and contaminated the ground down to bedrock after the refinery spill. We don't have a remedy yet.
Not understanding, Francine shrugged.
JoJo reached out and grabbed her by her shoulders, shook her a little bit. Oh, Francine, don't you get it? If Dr. Palmer has the formula and a sample of the catalyst, any number of terrorist groups and maybe even a few less-than-friendly governments will want what he has. He could start a bidding war that... oh, my gosh... Seeing her friend's eyes still glazed in confusion, she elaborated. It only takes an ounce of this compound to sterilize the topsoil in an area the size of the District of Columbia. That means a half-gallon could wreak serious havoc on a small country – it would in the space of hours become completely dependent on other countries for all food supplies and within a week be unable to sustain most animal life naturally.
The utter enormity of the possible harm brought Francine up speechless, unable to form a coherent sentence. Billy, too, was shocked – and then he made a connection no one really wanted to make. If this woman Dr. Palmer was with this morning really is an information broker, then who knows who might might be bargaining for that formula now – or have it already?
The three sat in silence for several minutes, listening to the voices outside the door as the many agents there played with a very happy two-year old. The volume had increased; people were responding to the all-call alert Francine placed at Billy's directive when she summoned him to the office.
So, what do we say to them? Billy finally asked with a nod toward the Bullpen.
That this could be even bigger than the scare in Israel. The toneless, raw words from a frightened, very knowledgeable woman shook Billy to the core. Dr. Palmer and the woman both must be found, what ever it takes.
Walter Reed Army Hospital * 3:25 p.m. EST (GMT-5)
Dr. Forest, I think you may have it this time, a lab tech called out to the frazzled dark haired man at the lab counter several feet away. The mice are still acting normally 20 minutes after exposure.
It's a start, but let's not pop the champagne open just yet. Colonel, hand me that set of tubes from the centrifuge rack. Joanna Marley might have been able to teach him manners for public consumption, but in the lab, Andy Forest was the unquestioned master whose bidding one did without question – even the commanding general of Walter Reed had seen that during his visit at lunch time.
Yes, sir, Ian replied, carefully setting the tray on the counter beside the intense scientist. In the lab, Forest reminded the career Marine of a professor at Texas A&M, the one who had tried to steer him into chemical engineering instead of the flash in a pan field of computer engineering. Marlowe chuckled to himself as he remembered relenting just enough to minor in Chemistry – a compromise that only mollified Dr. Johansen because the lead Marine Instructor in the Corps informed the well-intentioned chemist that Ian would have a much better career with computers. No one had been happier than Dr. Johansen when Ian presented a paper at the American Chemical Engineering Society conference last year about the use of computers in the construction of chemical analysis and research projects.
So, I take it that Jo arranged my life yet again, Andy said beside Ian, startling the military man.
Uh, how so?
Andy Forest lifted an eyebrow in Spock-like fashion over his safety glasses and smiled. I'm quite sure, given your history with her, that she knows of your background. If she couldn't be here to play mother hen, you were certainly a good second choice.
Thank you. She doesn't help in the lab, does she?
Shaking his head, Forest lined up three test tubes in a vertical rack before he answered. Not usually. I put her to work if she comes in to talk about administrative stuff, and she doesn't seem to mind. But I doubt she would actually like working in the lab full time that much.
You're probably right. Of course, there's also the fact that she is worried about your physical security.
Grimacing, the Gardener picked up a graduated flask and carefully measured out specific amounts of its contents into each of the three test tubes. If I don't need a bodyguard at home, I really don't see why I need one when I'm anywhere else in North America.
Because Joanna's husband died protecting you from a kidnapping attempt in Toronto, you idiot, and now she's protecting you the same way he did, Ian thought. He said, Better safe than sorry, I suppose. A lot happens in Washington that we never hear about, you know, and any innocuous item could be a weapon.
So far as I know, there's never been an umbrella murder.
Maybe we've never heard of it.
I'd know. I'm the one who gets all the chemically and biologically suspicious murders. Like umbrella murders from London.
Not knowing how to counter that remark, Ian stood back and watched as the other man gently carried the rack of three test tubes to the mechanical shaker. Light a bunsen burner over here, the scientist commanded a moment later, indicating with his elbow where he wanted the flame.
Heat is the catalyst? Ian asked, confused at the change in procedure over what had been done the past few times.
For this, yes. I'm hoping that this is a post-exposure remedy.
How did you make that leap of logic? He wasn't incredulous, just fascinated watching the man work.
Forest looked up, confused. I don't have the faintest idea, he admitted after a moment. I just did.
Ian laughed, surprising the scientist. Joanna says the same thing whenever she nails a psych profile.
Psych profile? Now he really was confused.
Sure. She's got a Ph.D. in psychology, remember?
Andy ransacked his memory, looking for an elusive piece of information. No, I don't think she ever told me that. Why would she be working for me if she's got doctorate in anything?
Ian shrugged, realizing that he'd stepped into a mine field. he improvised, maybe she figured that with her background, the two of you could work the system to get more funding...?
Skeptical, the government researcher scowled a little and turned back to his work. Time check! I need a time check on those mice!
Got to talk with Joanna, Ian chided himself. I might have compromised the whole set-up.
The Agency/Georgetown Portal * 4:10 p.m. EST (GMT-5)
Sorry we couldn't get here sooner, sir, Amanda apologized as she and Lee came in to the Bullpen, dressed in ski attire. We promised the boys we'd take them cross-country skiing today since their basketball team didn't make the league playoffs.
No problem, Amanda. We've pretty much been sitting waiting for information anyway. Go change, then there's someone I think you'll both want to meet before we get you updated. Billy nodded toward the knot of agents sitting on the floor in the corner.
Amanda immediately knew who he meant; she pushed Lee ahead of her toward the elevator as he mumbled,
Move it, Scarecrow. You'll find out soon enough.
Several minutes later, Lee stood over in the same corner, looking down at the daughter a good friend would never see grow up. He had known Marlena was John Randolph's daughter as soon as he heard the name – John's mother had raised him single-handedly after her husband was killed in Berlin on the same day John was born, and John had sworn that his first little girl would be named in honor of her. Even had Lee not known the name he would have known that she was John's daughter at first glance. The toddler sat happily in her mother's lap munching animal crackers and sipping apple juice while Lee studied her. She had John's intense amethyst eyes and his chiseled jaw, his narrow forehead and double-dimpled smile. Those features, Lee had heard from many a woman, were what made John a heartbreakingly handsome man. Those same features on Marlena, coupled with her wavy burnt cinnamon hair – just two shades darker than her mother's, Lee judged – made her a pixie who would, in her time, wring hearts left and right much as her mother still did; the admiring expressions of many of the male agents crowded around proved that.
Marlena looked up, directly at Lee. she squealed, squirming off her mother's lap and bulldozing her way to the shocked agent.
Marlena, not Daddy. Mr. Stetson. Joanna's voice quavered as she tried to correct her daughter.
The little girl stopped short, gazing up at Lee with those incredible eyes. Amanda put her arm around her husband from behind, instinctively knowing that he was going to need the support. She squatted when he did, going down to the child's level.
A small hand reached out, touched the smooth cheeks of the familiar face, looked at the smile. Not Daddy, she admitted softly, tears brimming from her eyes , held in check by long, thick nutmeg eyelashes. Funny Mr. Stetson.
Lee looked over to Joanna, perplexed at Marlena's behavior.
There are a few picture on my night stand - one of you and him in Vietnam, one from the last night of training, our wedding picture. Those are my favorite pictures of him. You just happen to be, well, well reviewed' in the one from training.
Amanda laughed. She knew exactly which picture Joanna meant – one day as she and Lee were packing his apartment for his long-awaited move into the house on Maplewood Drive, she had found a photo showing Lee wearing only a tight Speedo bathing suit and a hand-made sash bearing the words Mr. Scarecrow, while John, fully clothed, had him in a headlock. Lee had been thoroughly embarrassed that she found the picture, and while he had explained truthfully at the time that it was a show at the end of a training session, he had omitted the larger and more incriminating portion of the story until last night. She, on the other hand, dared him to try it again, sort of. At least the Speedo, she remembered teasing him, for me. They hadn't gotten much more packing done that day, by then intent on other activities much more enjoyable than sorting, wrapping, and stuffing boxes.
Funny Mr. Stetson, Marlena repeated, tears gone, replaced with a great big grin. She held out her arms to the stranger whose face she knew so well.
Lee pulled her into his arms, amazed at her immediate trust. Call me Uncle Lee, he whispered hoarsely, realizing that a few tears had escaped his eyes but not caring that someone other than Amanda might see him crying.
she repeated happily. You hug good. She looked over to Amanda with the same smile. Mrs. Unc'Lee? she asked intuitively.
Aunt Amanda, the woman corrected, loving her husband even more as she watched him with this enchanting child.
The purple eyes looked at her carefully, gauging what, only the child could say. After a few seconds, a nod and a confirmation. Without letting go of Lee, the child reached one hand out to touch Amanda's hair. Satisfied, she pecked Lee on the cheek and scrambled out of his embrace, then turned to her mother. Mommy! New friends!
I see that, Marlena. And these new friends and I have some work to do. Will you stay here and play with your toys while Mommy works?
She straightened, coming to a good imitation of . Yes, Mommy. Where Unc'Andy?
We've already talked about this, honey. He'll be here before dinner – with Uncle Ian, remember?
Yes, Mommy. Go work now.
JoJo stood up carefully and stretched, casually aware of the scrutiny her movements brought from the men around her. Yes, Marlena, she replied with a laugh and a quick kiss on her daughter's cheek before she stepped away to join the senior watch command staff in Billy's office.
Francine gave Amanda and Lee a brief but thorough briefing on the situation, adding the latest updates for everyone. Dr. Palmer went to New York this afternoon on the noon flight out of Norfolk; we didn't find out in time to catch him when he landed at LaGuardia, but he has a return ticket for tomorrow night. It's a long shot that he'll use that one if he's involved, but we'll watch the airports anyway. Apparently, he was picked up at LaGuardia by a limo service, but we don't know which one.
JoJo interrupted to give her the name of the service the EDIN project scientists usually used in New York. I wouldn't count on them having a record of his reservation, but I'd bet that the car was either one of theirs or looked like it. Also, you might check to see if he has a reservation at the Manhattan Hotel on 32nd Street at 5th Avenue. That's where the guys usually stay.
Francine nodded as she wrote down the details. I'll send that out in a couple of minutes. Anyway, there is no record of him travelling on any other flight out of LaGuardia; we're checking Newark right now and JFK is going to take a while. Watchdogs 3 and 4 lost the woman in at the Williamsburg Visitor's Center. We've sent out an APB for her and notified the airlines; we also have agents at the Richmond, Newport News, and Norfolk Airports now and the usual teams at Washington National and Dulles.
Billy shook his head. Get someone out to the Raleigh-Durham airport, too, and make sure we've got people watching the trains. Call out the reserves if you need to – that's why we have them. Anything from NSA?
No. No unusual diplomatic traffic and no flash traffic from anyone of ours.
He sighed, not sure if that was good news or bad. Good work, Francine. I hear you have a date tonight. I expect you to keep it.
She stared at him, not quite sure whether to believe him or not. Billy, I can't leave you -
Francine, did you hear me yell at Lee and Amanda for putting the boys first today? No, of course you didn't. Therefore, it stands to reason that since you were here while they weren't, they can be here while you aren't. You are going on that date, Miss Desmond, if I have to have Colonel Marlowe hog tie you and take you out of here in a tremendously undignified manner. He gasped for air; he would never be able to ramble the way Amanda could.
Yeah, Francine, go ahead. You deserve it, Lee said, supporting the boss.
The beautiful, truly heartfelt smile Francine showed so infrequently danced across her face as she looked at her co-workers and friends. Thank you, she said humbly, overwhelmed that they would care so much as to let her leave for a date in the middle of a national security crisis.
As soon as you've updated the standing orders, go home and get ready, Billy enforced. Anything else?
She shook her head, flashed the smile again, and skipped out of the office, calling in a sing-song voice for the rest of the staff to gather for the latest round of instructions.
Thanks, Billy, Joanna said, watching her through the open blinds over the plate glass window near the door. Ian won't have a choice this way.
Matchmaking that obviously? Lee teased.
I know my Ian. He's hooked. I'm pretty sure Francine is, too. NOTHING stands in the way of love, at least not if I can help it. Grief swept across her features, briefly dulling the sparkle in her eyes.
Amanda, in her tactful way, got JoJo to fill in the long gap between her time in training with Billy, Lee, and Francine, and the inaugural ball.
We'd been married for 5 years and 13 days when John got killed. February 16, 1987. It made national headlines, since an American got shot in anti-gun Canada, but of course it was never billed as a foiled kidnapping.
Amanda and Lee exchanged painful glances, each remembering the impact of that date in their own lives. It also explained why Lee had not known about John's death; he didn't read a newspaper for over a week while Amanda's life hovered in the balance in a California hospital.
JoJo explained about her position with Project EDIN, why it was necessary for her to be undercover as his Personal Security Agent rather than openly the head of security, and the complex relationship she had with Andy Forest. I did not intend to like him, never mind fall in love with him. But I do and I have, which in some ways makes the SPSA tasks easier because it's mutual and he almost always wants me around. In other ways, it makes it very difficult. He tends to think about the project before his own safety and I get torn between wanting to protect him and wanting to let him have his way. That's why I wanted backup when I heard about the Israeli threat. Ian doesn't take no' for an answer and he knows that the objective is to keep Andy safe – end of discussion. He really would hog tie Andy, if he had to. She looked up at Billy, professional and personal feelings mixed in her expression. Dr. Palmer may even know where we are.
Relax, hon. Nothing is going to happen to Dr. Forest. And maybe this whole thing with Dr. Palmer is an innocent affair with a not-so-innocent woman. Looking at the three people around him, Billy knew that his words rang as hollowly to them as to himself, and with an angry sigh, he dropped his head into his hands. We will find them, he said to the desk top. We will find them.