Chapter 5

In Which Questions Are Answered.  Some of Them Anyway.

It wasn't Helga.

As a matter of fact, it wasn't anyone Gerald remembered ever meeting before.  His captor was a very tall, very skinny brunette with a rather pinched looking nose.  She was looking down it at him in a way that made Gerald want to sink into the ground as quickly as possible.  Her hair was pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and she was dressed in sensible slacks and a brown blouse.  Despite the fact that this made her look like a librarian, she appeared to be very comfortable with the gun she was pointing at Gerald.  As he wrestled with this apparent contradiction in his mind, the woman relaxed slightly and the barrel of the gun tilted just a bit more towards the ground.

That was enough for Gerald.  With a quick upwards kick, the woman's weapon went flying through the air, and as she instinctively dived after it, Gerald ran.

There aren't a lot of places to hide in a parking lot, so he swerved quickly back towards the bushes, trying to make his way in a zig-zag pattern towards the front of the store.  A warning shot rang out over his head, and he could hear shouting behind him though he couldn't quite make out what she was saying.  He was certain he didn't want to stick around and find out however, so he put on an extra burst of speed just as he got to the corner of the building…

Wham!!

…which, as he probably should have figured out by now, is never a good idea.  Suddenly Gerald found himself on his back, staring at the night sky and in considerable pain.  He had a gut feeling that he knew what had happened before he even sat up to see…

"Helga."

"Gerald??"  She was quite a bit more surprised to see him than he was her, and he saw with some satisfaction that she looked like she was in pain also.  Resignedly, he watched as her eyes traveled over his shoulder and became very, very wide.  The click of a gun being cocked behind him was almost expected.  Wonder what my tombstone will say?  "Gunned down for being an idiot and forgetting basic training", if the Agency has anything to do with it.  I can't believe I just stood up like that.  This whole thing must have been an ambush, and I'm just the moron to fall for it.  Maybe now Simon will take my suspicions about Helga seriously.  Not that it will do me much good at this point.

The woman, now slightly out of breath, spoke a bit more forcefully than before.  "Get up, Johansson.  Hands in the air, and don't even think about trying any other cute tricks."

Gerald found that he could move, albeit painfully, and began getting up slowly.  He didn't want to look at Helga, didn't want her gloating face to be the last thing he ever saw.  Instead he made himself look behind her into the empty front lot.  He could feel a knot of fear curling in his stomach.  I'm going to die.  Just a few minutes and…don't think about it Gerald, just don't think.  There's got to be a way out of this, there has to be.  Maybe I can use Helga as a hostage.  Naw, library-lady would blow me away before I could turn her around.  Maybe…oh come on Gerald, you've got nothing.  Maybe your guardian angel will choose this moment to show up, for crying out loud.

What was odd about this thought was that as soon as he finished it, Gerald saw, or imagined he saw, a sliver of a shadow in the darkness in front of him.  He kept staring at it.  Even if it wasn't an angel it was at least something to look at rather than Helga, something to keep his mind off the gun at his back…now the shadow seemed a bit more solid.  What if someone's really there?  His next thought was to distract his captor so that she wouldn't notice…well, whatever there was to notice, if anything.  As he tried to think of a way to do this without getting shot, a human form began to materialize out of the shadow.  A human form moving quickly towards them.  Say something Gerald!  "Um, hey listen…" he started.  Then he got a better look at the person hurrying towards them and his words caught in his throat. 

"Moria!" called the person.

Funny, I never imagined my guardian angel with an eye twitch.

Simon finished running up to them and, panting slightly, pulled out a gun from beneath his jacket.  "Moria, if you intend to shoot one of my agents then I must insist on an eye for an eye."  And he pointed it at a rather startled Helga.

There was a very tense moment.  Helga didn't seem to be breathing.  Gerald was involuntarily staring at her, trying to will his eyes to move.  The woman he supposed was Moria kept her gun pressed firmly at the nape of his neck.  Simon's eye twitched rapidly, but his gun didn't shake a bit.

Then, without warning, Moria laughed.  Hard.  She's cracking up, Gerald thought, and from the look on Helga's face she was thinking the same thing.  But before either of them could figure out what was happening, Simon started laughing as well.  In a matter of seconds, both Simon and Moria had put away their weapons and were close to hysterical, holding onto each other for support.  Gerald rubbed the back of his neck and frowned at them.  What's this about?  Why are they acting like old friends all the sudden?

"Care to tell us why you two are acting like old friends all the sudden?" asked Helga grumpily as she struggled to get up.  Gerald blinked at her.

Moria stopped laughing long enough to wipe a few tears from her eyes.  "Well I don't know about old, Ms. Pataki, but Simon and I are—"

"Acquaintances," Simon put in quickly.  "Business associates, really."  He glanced at Moria and she let go of him abruptly.

"Yes, well.  We do run into each other from time to time in the workplace, yes." she responded, and became once again severely business-like.  Simon was frowning at Gerald, and to look at Moria and him, one never would have guessed that they even were capable of laughter, much less hysterical with it.  Gerald chose not to deal with Simon's frown right now, turning instead to Moria.

"Who," he asked with feeling, "are you?"

She looked surprised that he didn't know.  "Moria Bellings, head field director of anti-terrorism."

Gerald shook his head stubbornly.  "No, you're not."

"I beg your pardon?"

He pointed at Simon.  "He is the head field director of anti-terrorism."

Moria didn't seem to see the problem.  "Yes of course he is," she said.

This, somehow, didn't help Gerald.

Simon made a disgruntled noise.  "Johansson, what part of joint-effort don't you understand?  Anti-terrorism isn't just FBI, you know."

Something in Gerald's brain finally clicked.  "You mean she," he gestured towards Moria, "is with the CIA?"  Simon and Moria both nodded.

"So that means…"  Gerald looked at Helga.  "You're a CIA agent?"

Helga had a trademark smirk on her face.  "Right in one, bucko."

Gerald attempted to process this information while Moria talked.  "Ms. Pataki has been scoping out Ical Corporation for the past six months as part of a gathering of information in similar companies around the area.  We had heard some tall tales about biological weapons being smuggled, and after 9-11 there's no such thing as too careful.  But when several reliable sources confirmed that there was some kind of smuggling activity going on -- in at least one of three companies including Ical -- suddenly the tales suffered quite a growth reduction.  We felt she needed backup."

"That's where you came in."  Simon informed Gerald.  "I thought a fresh face, someone who hadn't been there and had a new perspective on things might be helpful.  You might catch something she wouldn't normally notice, and you could hear what lower employees talked about that they might never say to a boss.  We also didn't want to chance alerting anyone to our presence, so the idea was to not even tell the two of you your real identities.  If one of you was discovered, you could never tell anyone that the other was there."

"One from FBI, one from CIA, newer people to the force who wouldn't recognize each other."  Moria continued, "However, someone," Simon and her both looked accusingly at each other, "didn't do their homework and compare the files thoroughly enough.  We knew Ms. Pataki was from Virginia and Mr. Johansson from DC…we had no idea you grew up together in…where was it?"

"Hillside.  You wouldn't have heard of it." put in Helga.  "So what you're saying is that since of course we were suspicious of each other, you decided it would be better if we knew the whole story?"

"Well yes, basically.  You needed to focus your energy elsewhere, and we were getting tired of covering for you."

"Criminal checks," grumbled Simon.

"Panicked 3am phone calls, honestly!" Moria shook at finger at Helga then turned on Gerald.  "And I was running out of plausible excuses for your behavior, young man!"

"Moria, allow me the responsibility of chastising my own employees, please."  Simon cocked an eyebrow at her.  "By the way, why were you threatening Johansson?  You had his picture, surely you identified him."

"Of course I did.  I was only doing what you should have done."

"Are you implying I should make a habit of shooting my agents?"

"Really, Simon.  I meant that obviously he had no grasp of simple surveillance procedure.  I was standing right behind him and he never even noticed until I pressed a gun in his back.  I thought he was a drug dealer or something, hiding in the bushes so obviously like that."

Simon bristled.  "All FBI agents are firmly grounded in the techniques necessary to check out an area before attending a scheduled meeting.  Why Johansson failed to do this," he said glaring in Gerald's direction, "is another question entirely."

Gerald's brain had finally caught up to the conversation.  "Whoa, whoa, wait a minute here.  What do you mean, 'scheduled meeting'?"

Helga gave him a strange look.  "If you didn't know about the meeting, why are you here?"

"Of course he knew about the meeting."

"No, I didn't.  Well at least I didn't know I was part of it."

"What?"  Simon looked confused.  "But I gave my secretary express instructions to tell you to come!"

Moria snorted.  "Say no more Gerald dear, I completely understand.  Simon's secretary doesn't have two brain cells to rub together."

"Veronica is perfectly capable—"

"Oh please.  You must admit she's a few fries short of a Happy Meal."

"She is not—"

"Elevator doesn't quite reach the top floor?"

"Moria—"

"Lights are on, but nobody's home."

"One of these—"

"The wheel's spinning, but the hamster's dead," Moria recited happily, suddenly quite relaxed.  "I've got more if that doesn't get the point across."  Simon glowered at her, but quit arguing.

"Perhaps," he said, scowling, "I'll have a word with her in the morning."  Fortunately he missed Moria winking at Gerald.  "However, fascinating as this all is, I for one am going to bed.  You two," he pointed at Gerald and Helga, "need to meet up tomorrow and compare notes.  Now that you know you're both working on the same team, you might as well help each other out.  Now, if you'll excuse me."  He nodded at them and left, and within a few minutes the rest of them had departed also, leaving an empty parking lot overlooked by an increasingly lighter sky.

***********

Early the next morning, Helga was in her apartment, absently stirring her tea and staring out the window at the sunrise.

She never drank coffee, but when she was younger and had stayed over at Phoebe's, often tea was the only thing to drink at dinner.  Helga had found she could stomach it as long as she drowned it in cream and sugar.  However, before long she was hooked.  Now she could hardly get through a morning without a nice, steaming mug of Earl Gray.  That and the sunrise would have made her feel quite poetic if she didn't have other things on her mind.

She was ready for work, though she didn't need to leave for another 45 minutes.  Usually she was scrambling to get to work on time – Helga was never considered a morning person.  Today though, she just couldn't sleep.  Better to get up than to toss and turn in bed for another hour.  She took a sip of tea and closed her eyes while she thought.

So, Gerald was with the FBI.  That certainly explained a lot.  Why her office had been searched.  Why he was sneaking around Ical in the middle of the night.  No wonder Moria had laughed at her slightly-hysterical phone call that night.  Typical, Helga.  And you thought you'd grow out of your over-reacting stage.

She opened her eyes at a sound from the kitchen.  She glanced in that direction but it was just the settling of a cabinet.  I really should get a cat or something alive in here.  Then again, she had never been much of an animal person.  Well a plant, at least. 

Her apartment was pretty bare.  Of course, she'd only been living there for six months, but most girls would have at least made an attempt at decoration by now.  Helga sat back in the lone chair at the plain round table and rubbed her temples.  Her tea was getting cold.  She took another sip and wondered if she should bother buying another chair.

It wasn't that she didn't have the money.  Both of her current jobs paid fairly decently, and if she got in a jam she could usually find a way to wrangle a loan out of Big Bob.  Then again that was the last thing she wanted to do.  One of the main attractions of the CIA was the opportunity to leave Hillside for good, and get far away from her family.  She had been plotting someway to get out for as long as she could remember, but she remembered her last day in the Pataki house very clearly.  For some reason, she had cried.  None of the scenes she had played out in her mind had actually happened.  She hadn't stormed out declaring she never wanted to see them again.  She hadn't slipped out the door without anyone noticing.  She had hugged her mom goodbye, and mumbled something about visiting soon.  Bob had actually gotten her name right.  And for some inexplicable reason she had given Olga her cell phone number.

But other than those more-frequent-than-she-might-have-liked phone conversations, Helga didn't see much of the old gang.  She was busy at work, especially now, and it was always awkward to not be able to tell people how her job was going.  She hadn't told anyone that she even worked for the CIA, much less the anti-terrorism division.  Gerald was the first to find out…her family didn't know, Phoebe didn't, Rhonda didn't—

Phoebe?  Helga lifted her head and her brow furrowed.  When was the last time I talked to Phoebe?  She remembered an email from her a while ago…had she responded?  No, she decided, because my landlady was giving me trouble about getting the sink fixed and I was trying to get that taken care of so I put it off…  But that had been in her old apartment, in Virginia.  Which meant—

"Criminy!"  Helga practically ran to her computer.  She doesn't even know I've moved!  She set to work composing her much-overdue email, and made sure she included her cell phone number.  She can call me, we'll have a nice long conversation and that will make up for it.

After what seemed like only a few minutes of frantic typing, Helga glanced at the clock.  Cripes!  I'm gonna be late for work!  She sent the email, grabbed her things and dashed out to her car.

*************

Gerald had figured that he and Helga's meeting that evening would be awkward.  After all, they hadn't seen each other in however many years, then they met and each thought the other was up to something…and now they're supposed to work together?  How exactly were they going to manage that?

Fortunately they didn't really see each other during the day.  At work they usually moved in different circles anyway, so it was an easy matter to act like nothing had happened.  Indeed, when Gerald saw her briefly in the hallway he had trouble remembering that something had happened, as her scowl at him was exactly the same as it had always been.  He had thought vaguely that maybe he should pinch himself or something.

However, when he showed up behind the abandoned merry-go-round near the park, there she was, waiting for him.  And, oddly enough, the first thing she did was smile.

Of course, she was smiling because she was about to make fun of his "I-work-for-Ical-and-didn't-grow-up-with-Helga-G.-Pataki" outfit, (more argyle) but still it was a start.  She had established bluntly the fact that even though he worked for the FBI, she felt no need to be nice to him.  He had responded in kind, and they had got to work.

Actually, it wasn't awkward at all.  Once they got past the idea that they were being forced to work together, both of them had gone into "plotting mode".  It had always happened that way growing up – no matter how much they had tortured each other that day, they could always put their differences aside to work on a plan, be it baseball strategies, new teacher pranks, or driving the occasional runaway bus.  Gerald half-smiled at that thought.  The things we did…man, pulling Helga out of that wrecked bus – I wasn't sure I was alive, much less her…

"Earth to Geraldo."  Helga waved her hand in front of his face.

Gerald shook his head.  "What was that?"

"We were trying to make sure all the suspicious things we've seen over the past few weeks were just…Gerald!" she said abruptly, "Pay attention!"

"I'm here.  I was just thinking about the time we drove that city bus in fourth grade.  I couldn't reach the pedals, remember?"

"I remember crashing.  I closed my eyes and thought I was going to die.  Next thing I know, I open my eyes and Arnold's helping me out of the bus window."

"Actually, that was me."

"Was it?"  Helga frowned.

"Sure.  Remember?  You asked me if we were alive, and I said—"

"You said you weren't sure yet.  That's right.  Arnold was too busy trying to save the neighborhood to think about…anything else."  Helga went back to flipping through her notes, head down.

"You know, you never told me why you were—"

"Listen, Tall Hair Boy.  Great as all this reminiscing is, don't we have a job to do?"

Gerald blinked, then switched gears.  "Who's PB?"

Helga looked confused.  "Who?"

"PB.  You emailed them about a 'venture'?"

"It was you who went through my office then." she said with an annoyed tone.

"You went in my cubicle."

"I'm your boss.  I can go in your cubicle any time I want to."

"You're avoiding the question."

Helga rolled her eyes.  "You mean you didn't guess?"

Helga, thought Gerald, has a way of making you feel stupid just because you can't read her mind.  He shook his head no.

"It's Harold.  I was using his business email address, and his boss has an annoying tendency to read incoming emails.  He's been trying to get up the nerve to propose to Rhonda for months, I was trying to help him out.  As a matter of fact," she checked her watch, "He's probably asking her right now."

"How does that fit with PB?"

"You know.  Short for Pink Boy."

"Oh."  Now I really do feel stupid.

"My turn to ask something.  Does the FBI really train you that badly, or is it just your own special touch?"

Gerald narrowed his eyes at her.  "Helga, I thought we agreed to be civil."

"Oh come on, Geraldo.  When I came up the hall and saw you hiding under your desk…?  If I hadn't purposefully overturned that trashcan the guard would have caught you for sure.  Then that would have spooked you and I might never have figured out what you were up to.  At least that was my thought at the time."

"I didn't have any other choice.  I was trying to find out what you had done to my cubicle."

"I hadn't even gone in your cubicle yet.  I was just in the area."

"Without a flashlight?" Gerald recalled.

"I had nightvision goggles on.  Guess the CIA hasn't been hit with as many budget cuts as the FBI lately." she added, noting his jealous look.

Gerald chose to ignore this comment.  "So was there a third burglar or not?"

"I'm not sure.  I didn't see anyone else.  It's possible that you just heard me coming off the stairs into the hall, rather than someone leaving a cubicle."

"Maybe."  Gerald suddenly thought of something else he'd been wanting to ask.  "Who are you married to, by the way?"

This took Helga by surprise.  "Married?  I'm not married."

"But they call you 'Mrs.'"

Her face cleared.  "Oh that.  Would you want to be a single gal in that office?  It holds off all but the most determined jerks."

Gerald nodded.  Of course, your personality probably helps.

"Of course, my personality probably helps."  Helga laughed ruefully. 

Gerald blinked.  Stop doing that!

A cell phone rang, which sounded strange in the deserted area of the park they were in.  Helga held up a finger and answered it.

"Hello?"  Beat.  "Pheebs, hey listen, can I call you back?  I'm sort of—"  But she was cut off by a series of squeaks that even Gerald could hear.  He couldn't make any sense out of them however, and apparently Helga was having the same problem.

"What?  Phoebe, what the--  No I don't know what you're talking about!  Calm down and…"  Helga frowned in confusion as the squeaks carried on for a while.  Finally she interrupted.  "Thanks for the update, but I fail to see what Curly or any supermodel has to do with—"  More squeaks.  "What ceremony?  I didn't marry a super—"  The squeaks actually got louder, something Gerald hadn't thought possible.  "I didn't marry anyone Pheebs!  Why would…"  Suddenly Helga looked at Gerald.  "Wait Pheebs, I think I just figured this out."  She covered the receiver with one hand.

"You wouldn't, by any chance, have told anyone I was married, now would you Geraldo?"

************

Gerald kicked off his shoes, flopped on his bed and sighed.  Well, back to square one.  Other than a suspicion that there might have been someone else in the building that one night, Helga and he had uncovered nothing unusual that couldn't be explained away.

He pulled a blanket over him without bothering to get undressed.  It wouldn't be so bad working with Helga.  They knew each other which was always an advantage in a partnership.  It would be like plotting in the old days.  And he had been missing his daily dose of sarcasm ever since he left Hillside for college.  He was a bit rusty, but soon he'd be up to handling even Helga's sharp tongue.  They had decided to keep pretending they didn't know each other well at the office, which meant he would have ample opportunity to berate her right back every time she made a snide remark in his direction.  It helped to know she couldn't really fire him.

Still, he thought as he drifted into unconsciousness, it seems like I'm missing something…something important…  He slept, and when he woke he couldn't remember what he was thinking about the night before.

A/N:  Whew, that chapter was a pain in the butt to write, I needed to explain way too many things.  Anyway, hope that wasn't too confusing, let me know if you need further explanation on anything and I will try my best to help.  Sorry this took so long to post, first I was sick and then I was on vacation, so through a combination of no fun and too much fun I didn't get around to writing.  For my penance, I shall attempt to finish the next chapter by the end of this week, possibly sooner if I can get my act together.  :)

cc17:  This chapter was all talk talk talk, not too exciting, sorry.  I promise later chapters have more action, grin

Mookie:  Congrats on the Helga/marriage/lack thereof thing!  I was wondering if anyone would question that!  So, any other brilliant deductions?  :)

Miss Matched:  Ahh…chocolate…the cure for strep throat…well in my world it would be anyway.  Thanks muchly.

brianaluvsfutballhead:  Why thank you!  Yes, Curly of course married a model, who else?  :)  I might put the story in here later, we'll see if it fits in.

DropsofJupiter:  Thank you, I do feel much better.  I made someone laugh!!!!  Yay!!!  My supreme apologies for not putting "Arnold the Arteest" in this chapter, but I'm afraid he's not going to fit in again for quite a while.  But he will be back.  I promise.