My Soul To Take

by Mary

A case with a very personal twist forces Scarecrow and Mrs. King back into the field. Will danger reunite them or drive them apart forever? Set in March, 2000. **COMPLETE**

4. PART FOUR

PART FOUR

"I pray the Lord my soul to take."

~ XXVI ~

Amanda swept the stick across the dusty ground, ruthlessly felling the small house of twigs she'd been idly building. Off Lee's benignly tolerant look, she sent him a silent apology. "I guess this waiting is driving me a little crazy."

Lee inclined his head toward the small band of soldiers gathered at the other side of the camp. "You're not the only one. One wrong word and that group over there will be at each other's throats."

Looking up, she followed his gaze. Lee was right; the Freedom Fighters and the Triads were definitely at odds this morning. Her eyes narrowed as she turned back to her partner. "What do you suppose their problem is?"

Lee shrugged. "Beats me. They only seem to agree on one thing. We're 'persona non grata' to both sides."

"Maybe they're arguing over who's really in charge of this fly-by-night operation," Amanda postulated as heated Spanish words erupted from El Legarto's tent. Shaking her head, she wished again that she'd paid closer attention to those Agency language tapes.

"They're none too happy about something, that's for sure," Lee informed her, squatting down beside her with a grimace. "That *could* explain why we're still cooling our heels."

Lee's voice rang with the same frustration she was experiencing. El Legarto had ordered the attack for just past dawn; it was almost noon, and, here they were, still waiting impotently in camp.

She stole a glance at Lee. Though she knew he was eager for the operation to get underway, he gave no outward sign. Just the opposite -- his demeanor appeared collected and calm, almost icily so. Was it only yesterday she'd been wishing for the return of that iron control of his? The old Scarecrow *did* appear to be back with a vengeance, but in the bright light of this new day, something about his deliberate professionalism nagged at her. There was an odd sort of disconnection to his lack of emotion . . . almost as if the operation was over and done with, its outcome already decided.

Seizing one of the discarded twigs, Amanda absently drew a series of interlocking circles in the dust. She must be imagining things. Lee's manner had been anything but detached last night. She'd been fully cognizant of the effect she was having on him as they lay together in that darkened tent. He could deny it all he wanted this morning, but his body couldn't lie. He'd felt something; she was certain of it.

Letting out a pent up breath, she tossed the stick aside. She couldn't afford to think about that now. Maybe when all this was finally over and Jamie was safe . . .

"Something's about to break."

At Lee's muttered warning, she quickly looked up. Scar-face and El Legarto emerged from the tent at last, the former sporting a grimly victorious smile. Catching the eye of one of his Triad cohorts, Amanda saw him give the man tiny nod. She looked to Lee to see if he'd noticed, but he appeared to be studying El Legarto instead. Amanda shivered. There was just something about that scar-faced man that set her nerves on edge. Given her choice, she almost preferred the fanatical San Cardenzian; at least it wasn't hard to figure out what motivated him. The man wore his revenge like a finely tailored suit.

With a jerky wave, the old soldier motioned for them to join the group gathered around a small table. Scrambling up from the ground, Amanda brushed the dirt from the olive-green fatigues they'd been issued that morning. El Legarto's man, Ramon, had materialized at first light with the supplies, as well as some food and fresh water. Releasing their bonds at last, he indicated gruffly that they should change clothes. At first, Amanda thought he intended to stand watch as they undressed, but after he and Lee exchanged a few heated words in Spanish, he reluctantly left them alone. Eyes filled with grudging respect, Ramon took up his post just outside the door of the tent, allowing them some private time to clean up and swallow a few bites of the meager breakfast fare. When she questioned Lee about the man's sudden change of heart, her partner gave her an enigmatic smile, saying only that he'd gently reminded Ramon that El Legarto himself had welcomed them to their ranks.

Despite their leader's endorsement, it was obvious to Amanda that the San Cardenzian contingent didn't fully trust them. One soldier after another had tracked their movements around the camp all morning, a weapon casually trained on them at all times. She wasn't quite sure what they expected, but evidently the small band of Freedom Fighters felt no move was too bold for two such infamous American spies.

Rapping smartly on the small table, El Legarto called the group to attention. "Su atención, hombres," he stated in a loud voice, then with a calculated glance in their direction, he addressed his next remarks in English.

"We have just received word from our 'agente' at the Topping estate. We have been supplied with the final piece of information, and the operation will now proceed as planned."

A few muttered shouts from the San Cardenzian contingent greeted his words. Leaning over the desk, El Legarto pointed to a worn set of blueprints. "Thanks to the efforts of Alejandro and Tomasso, we know their defenses are, for the most part, easily penetrated. They have only a few men outside their defensive perimeter . . . here, here and . . . here." With the end of his crop, he indicated the appropriate places on the dirty map. "All of them members of Los Lobos. Inside, their forces are pathetic . . . the weakling Topping boy and his girlfriend, a few servants. They should provide little or no resistance. Then, of course, there is 'El Lobo' himself. Roberto Salzedo . . ." He snorted derisively under his breath as he spat out the words, "Eso mata puerco."

Amanda glanced hesitantly at Lee. "'Butcher pig,'" he whispered, curling his lip. "Pretty apt description."

Silencing them with a look, El Legarto continued. "El Capitán, as we discussed in the tent, the perimeter guards -- the members of Los Lobos -- will be your responsibility. They must be taken out quickly and silently, before the alarm can be set off. They are highly armed, highly trained and highly . . . dangerous. Choose your men carefully."

Scar-face gave a short nod to the three Triad members directly to his right. They acknowledged him with a brief salute, the third man's wide grin showing his obvious pleasure at the assignment. It suddenly struck Amanda that the Triad leader always went out of his way not to call any of his men by name.

El Legarto responded with a brusque, "Bueno." Then, eyeing Scar-face with a slight smile, he instructed pointedly, "You and your other man will take care of young Topping and the woman -- and leave Salzedo to us."

The Triad leader frowned. "We never agreed to . . ."

El Legarto cut him off with a sharp wave of his riding crop. "No me contradiga," he barked, his lip snarling up in a sneer. "It is decided."

The Captain's eyes flashed ominously, but he held his tongue. Evidently he had no intention of taking on the San Cardenzian leader. At least, not at the moment.

Beside her, Lee shifted his feet. "El Legarto," he spoke up suddenly. "Just exactly where do we fit into your plans?"

The old soldier shrugged. "As I told you yesterday, Scarecrow, once inside, you and Mrs. King are free to see to your son. I have left specific orders that he is not to be harmed."

Amanda saw Lee frown as he considered the man's words. "According to your description, the Topping estate is pretty weakly fortified. You're certain your intel is accurate?"

El Legarto's face clouded over. "Two of my men gave their lives for that 'intel,' as you call it."

"Then . . ."

El Legarto raised his hand. "¿Quién sabe? Perhaps they feel they do not need a large contingent of men. Perhaps they are needed for something elsewhere." He locked eyes with the Triad captain, his thin lips parting in a grim smile. "Or perhaps they feel their security system is more than adequate to defend them."

Amanda felt a growing unease in the pit of her stomach. Beside her, she saw Lee's scowl deepen as that same small kernel of premonition began to take root in him, too. "Their security system?" he demanded harshly.

"They have a Seaforth 2580 model -- or so our 'intel' informs us." Chuckling softly, he added, "Deactivating it will be the responsibility of our two newest recruits -- Scarecrow and Mrs. King."

Amanda saw Lee's eyes narrow dangerously. "So if we're blown to bits defusing their damned alarm system, *you* still have a full complement of men."

El Legarto raised an eyebrow. "That is one way to look at things, I suppose. But, my friends, I would not send you in with . . . empty hands. Our contact supplied us with the code for the alarm just a few minutes ago. It is what we have been waiting for."

Without warning, Scarecrow made a sudden lunge for El Legarto's throat. Though he was quick, the San Cardenzian soldiers were quicker. In the space of a few seconds, two Freedom Fighters held him fast by both arms, a third delivering a wicked blow to his midsection.

"Lee," she cried, immediately springing to his aid as he doubled over. Scar-face swiftly intercepted her, his hollow laugh echoing close beside her ear.

"Enough," El Legarto snapped harshly.

Lee glared at the man with hatred in his eye. "Tu bastardo," he spat venomously in Spanish so the man could not possibly mistake him. "You're sending us on a suicide mission. The alarm code in that system automatically resets itself every hour. If we're even a fraction of a second late . . ."

"Yes," El Legarto agreed, obviously amused. "The system will defuse either way . . . whether from the code or your life's blood is immaterial to us. However," he added grimly as he caught Amanda's eye, "since perhaps it will be of some small interest to your son, I would suggest we waste no further time with this useless bickering. Vayamos, hombres," he ordered with a short wave of his stick. "Get moving."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Crouching, Amanda followed Lee up the small hill. "How much time?"

Lee checked his watch with a frown. "Not nearly enough. Looks like our escorts have decided to play it safe," he added with a contemptuous glance over his shoulder.

Amanda nodded grimly. Though Scar-face and his partner had been close on their heels during the march to the estate, they had now allowed a healthy buffer to grow between them, taking up their new position safely out of blast range. If the alarm system blew, they evidently had no intentions of going with it.

Despite their wary distance, Amanda could still feel the soldiers' eyes boring holes into her back. She was reminded of a pair of vultures waiting to feast on the remains of some unfortunate prey. She had no doubt that the cold-blooded Triads would be relieved to have Scarecrow and Mrs. King disposed of so neatly. That they might have actually orchestrated this scenario had crossed her mind more than once.

The same thought must have occurred to Lee. She could see him mentally calculating the failsafe distance between their current position and the security access panel. Turning to her, he sucked in a short breath.

"No."

"Amanda, I want you out of the line of fire."

Setting her jaw, she shook her head. "I'm fully aware of the risks, Lee. Frankly, I'd rather take my chances being blown to bits with you than stay at a safe distance with the two of them. Besides," she added as Lee glanced circumspectly at the pair, "what makes you think I'd be any safer back there? If this is a set up, no doubt they're fully prepared to take me out themselves." A quick shudder passed through her. "Scar-face looks as if he might actually enjoy it."

As Lee silently acceded to her point, she knew her assessment had been right on the mark. His suggestion that she 'wait in the car' had been more habit than conviction anyway. It was obvious Lee had known the minute they'd been issued this assignment that El Legarto had maneuvered them neatly between a rock and a hard place. Whether they died by bomb or bullet mattered little; their one chance lay in staying together and safely deactivating the alarm.

She saw him check his watch once more. "How much time?"

"Five minutes, more or less. Let's just hope it's not less," he added with a mirthless laugh. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved the paper with the alarm code, handing it to her with obvious reluctance. "This has to be done just right. When I give you the signal, feed me the numbers in their specified groups, with five second intervals in between." Consulting his watch one final time, he reached for her hand. "Okay, partner, let's do this."

Amanda moistened her lips, saying with a slightly forced smile, "Piece of cake."

Lee winked. "You bet it is."

Keeping a tight hold of her hand, he led the way down the hill, crouching low again as they neared the fence. Though no sentries were in sight, Amanda knew the system called for hidden surveillance cameras. She could only pray that they weren't even now starring on someone's video screen.

Stopping by the access panel, Lee immediately started to work at removing the metal cover. Small beads of perspiration were already forming on his brow. Even that first move was tricky; the screws needed to be removed in exactly the right sequence to avoid accidentally triggering the alarm. As Lee concentrated on his task, Amanda's practiced eyes swept the area. Nothing was stirring. The other Triads must have successfully neutralized the perimeter guards.

"Almost there."

At Lee's curt words, she looked over his shoulder. The panel cover was free at last, revealing beneath it a small keypad surrounded by a myriad of wires. Blue, red, green, yellow and black -- twisted together, one wire was almost indistinguishable from the next. It would be literally impossible to isolate and cut the single wire that would harmlessly deactivate the device. She suddenly found herself smiling. The designers of the 2500 series must have subscribed to the blue wire theory, too. They'd certainly gone out of their way to render it moot.

Lee let out a deep breath. "Okay, Amanda. Feed me the numbers."

Her mouth suddenly dry, she nodded. Praying her voice wouldn't fail her, she began to read slowly. "3 - 52 - 37 - 16." As Lee successfully entered the numbers, she continued, more strongly this time. "62 - 78 - 2 - 97." Counting out the remaining five second interval in her head, she finished, "45 - 12 - 52 - 7."

As he punched in the final number, Lee abruptly pushed her to the ground, shielding her body protectively with his. She could feel his heart thumping strongly above her . . . or maybe it was her own, she could no longer tell. Closing her eyes, she held her breath and waited.

Nothing.

Hearing Lee let out a deep sigh of relief, she wiggled lightly beneath him. "Lee . . ."

Pulling himself up on his elbows, he grinned down at her. "Looks like El Legarto's intel is more up to date than he is. We're clear."

"Are you sure?"  She felt strangely out of breath, as if the wind had been knocked out of her chest.

"Yeah," he assured her with an even wider smile. "At most, there's a five second delay on the trigger. Amanda," he asked suddenly as she continued to struggle for air. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she replied, suddenly averting her eyes. "I guess I'm just not used to all this . . . excitement . . . anymore."

"Yeah," she heard him echo softly, "I know what you mean." Scrambling to his feet, he extended his hand. "Come on. We need to find Jamie."

As he pulled her up from the ground, she shot a reflexive glance back up the hill. "I don't see our friends."

"They took off toward the west as soon as we started to disarm the alarm," Lee informed her as he pulled a pair of wire clippers from his pocket. "I saw them leave out of the corner of my eye. Either they were damn certain our code sequence was correct, or they're reckless as hell. Hard to tell with that bunch."

"They've been right so far. Maybe we can trust the rest of their information. Do we look in the east wing then?"

Lee's scowl deepened as he finished clipping a neat hole in the fence. "You tell me. Did Topping give you any details about this place?"

"Not much," she said, forcing herself to remember. In light of everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, her dinner with Bryce Topping seemed years ago. "Just a lot of babble about his grandfather -- something about the rest of the family considering it the height of folly that he'd modeled the place after . . . Lee!" She clutched convulsively at his fatigues.

"What?" he demanded, his eyes darting apprehensively around the fenced perimeter.

"Bryce told me that his grandfather built this place to resemble a medieval castle," she eagerly replied. "Complete with what he referred to as an authentic dungeon. He used to play in it when he was a boy. Do you think . . ."

"It does seem like a logical place to hold a prisoner. Tailor-made for their purposes, I'd say."

Amanda frowned. "But El Legarto told us Jamie is being held in a turret room in the east wing. He seemed so certain."

"Yes, he did." Lee's face darkened as his eyes swept over the area once again. "There's no sign of Scar-face or his cohort. Strange, isn't it?"

"They've sure been sticking to us like glue. It's almost as if . . ."

"As if they know exactly where we're headed, so now there's no need to track us."

Amanda licked her lips. "What do you think we should do?"

"I suppose his intel *could* be on the up and up." Removing his cap, Lee wiped his brow, then settled the hat on his head again. "But every instinct I have tells me the east wing is a trap . . ." Shifting uncertainly from foot to foot, he muttered almost to himself, "The last time I acted on instinct . . ."

"Lee."

He refused to meet her eye, instead training his gaze on some unknown point on the distant horizon. Amanda could hear the faint cry of a sea bird; she hadn't realized they were so close to the ocean again. The old trail must have wound around through the center of the island to bring them back to the shore. She could almost smell the salt in the air. She suddenly remembered that trip to the seashore with Joe when the boys were small. How Phillip had loved the water, shouting happily as it lapped at his toes.

Reaching out, she laid a soft hand on Lee's arm. "What happened in that warehouse hasn't got anything to do with what's going on now."

She saw him smile faintly. "Amanda, I know what you're trying to do."

She sighed. "I'm not trying to do anything but set the record straight. I know this isn't the time or place to do it, but I've said a lot of things since Phillip . . . well, things I should . . . never . . ." Breathing deeply, she drew a line in the dirt with her toe. "I was half out of my mind with grief and guilt and . . . anger . . . I guess. At the whole world, but most especially at this crazy business. I just couldn't accept that it was an accident, and . . . well, I'm sorry."

"Amanda."

Her name sounded like a whisper carried softly on the wind, and she tightened her grip on his arm as she went on. "It's too late to change what happened to Phillip. What's done is done, and we have to move on. So I don't give a damn whether or not you trust your instincts, Scarecrow," she stated, her voice growing louder with each shaky breath. "*I* trust your instincts. Now, what's it going to be -- the east wing or the dungeon?"

He slowly turned to face her. "The dungeon," he told her, his gravelly voice thick with an emotion she couldn't quite define. It didn't matter. As she looked up into those deep gray-green eyes, she knew every word she'd just uttered had been the absolute truth. She trusted her husband implicitly -- the same way he'd always trusted her.

Releasing her death-grip on his arm, Amanda calmly nodded. "Let's go find our son."

~ XXVII ~

As Lee cracked open the door to the kitchen, he turned to Amanda with a puzzled frown. "Looks like this room's clear, too. What hell is going on here?"

"Maybe El Legarto's men have already rounded up the servants. It's more than likely they got here before us."

With a derisive snort, he caught his partner's eye. "Do you really believe that?"

She let out a sigh. "No. It's just more comforting than my other theories."

"Yeah," Lee agreed as he pushed through the swinging door into the deserted kitchen. Since infiltrating Topping's seaside retreat through an open window, they had yet to encounter a single living soul. It was all a little too convenient for his taste.

"Oh, my gosh!"

"What?" Lee demanded, whirling at the sound of her exclamation.

"Will you take a look at this kitchen," Amanda gasped, her eyes rounding in awe as she took in the details of the well-apportioned room. The kitchen sported state of the art appliances, including a combination cook-top grill and oven that would move a professional chef to tears.

Lee let out a small laugh. "Somehow I don't think they had it quite *this* good back in the Middle Ages."

"You can say that again." Amanda ran her hand respectfully along the edge of the dark granite countertop, her face breaking into a grin. "Mother would love this place."

"Well, this place gives *me* the creeps." Modern conveniences aside, the room still managed to convey a darkly medieval flavor. In fact, it was downright sinister.

Amanda apparently didn't feel it. "This is really amazing," he heard her remark again in obvious admiration. "Look at how the combination of tile and brick blends the modern with the old . . ."

Lee shot her a look.

"Sorry," she said with a slightly embarrassed laugh. "My first assignment for Chicago Magazine was an article on innovative architecture of the twenty-first century."

"I'll be sure to read it if we ever get out of here," he stated in a voice heavy with sarcasm. "But in the meantime, do you think we could find the door to that dungeon of yours? *If* it exists."

"It exists. That framed sketch we found in the study was a working blueprint. I learned how to read them . . ."

"I know, I know," he groaned. "That article again, right?"

"You got it."

Lee rolled his eyes at her smug smile, directing his attention back to the task at hand. Amanda always *did* have a special knack for applying life experiences to her work. That particular talent had made her a valuable asset, first as a civilian and later as an agent. Even if it tended to drive him a little crazy at times.

"Lee, what do you make of this?"

At her urgent tone, he quickly looked up, following her gaze to the small alcove by the large bay window. Cold cuts, bread and other remnants of an abandoned meal lay strewn about the large oak table, chairs hastily pushed out.

"Looks like someone left in a hurry," he answered with a small frown. His apprehension heightening, he told her gruffly, "Come on, let's find that entrance and get the hell out of here."

Her brow furrowed deeply as she surveyed the kitchen once again. "Okay, let's take this logically. Builders usually put the basement access somewhere off the kitchen, right?"

Lee shrugged as he ran his hands along the surface of the far wall, tilting the large pictures as he checked behind them. "Beats me. Maybe you should ask those architect pals of yours. Or, better yet, maybe we should just go with El Legarto's tip about the east wing after all. I'm starting to think this is a wild goose chase."

"But the blueprints showed . . ."

"Who knows what work they did since those were drawn? Maybe there was an entrance once, but it was bricked up years ago . . ."

"Lee!" he heard her cry in a burst of excitement. "That's it!"

"What's it?" he asked, turning. "Amanda?"

She didn't respond. Hands on her hips, his partner was standing thoughtfully in front of the large floor-to-ceiling hearth that dominated the far wall. She tilted her head to the right, then the left, her lips forming a rounded 'O' as she considered the massive structure from every angle.

Lee moved quickly to her side. "You take the right, I'll take the left," he ordered as he began to systematically pat down the wall. "I'll wager there's a hidden lever somewhere."

"Lee." Struggling to keep her voice even, Amanda said, "I think I've got a loose brick here."

He watched as she traced the edges of the large, buff-colored brick with her finger. The lower right hand corner had a definite wobble. "See if you can find something to pry it loose," he told her as he began to worry the edge.

She handed him a small pocket knife. "Try this. I found it in the top drawer over there, and I thought it might . . .  well, come in handy," she explained with a light shrug.

Shaking his head in wonder, Lee freed the thin blade, sliding it easily beneath the loosened mortar. With almost no effort at all, the brick worked free. "There's a button here," he said as he ran his finger over the rough cavity. "But it won't seem to . . ." Letting the knife fall, he applied steady pressure with both hands. A cleverly hidden door began to move, opening inward to reveal a long staircase that led to some sort of cellar.

"Good work, Amanda," Lee said with obvious admiration.

Her voice rose in surprise. "It was all luck, trust me."

Lee smiled faintly. "Well, whatever it was, I'm glad it's on *our* side."

Her grin of appreciation faded as she moved closer to the door. "Do you think . . ."

"There's *something* down there, that's for sure. Something they've gone to a lot of trouble to hide." He inclined his head toward the opening. "Shall we?"

Off her sharp nod, he stooped to retrieve the discarded knife, slipping it neatly into the top of his boot. "It might come in handy," he explained, echoing her words with a wry smile. "Come on."

Clutching her hand, he crossed the door's dark threshold. The stairs led downward in a steep spiral, and a blast of moist, dank air hit them full in the face as they reached the bottom step. Lee took a slow step forward, then abruptly paused, his partner's loud "Oomph," ringing in his ear as she smacked into his back.

"A*man*da," he muttered through clenched teeth.

"Sorry, I can't see a thing."

"I know," he responded with a long-suffering sigh. "That's why I stopped. Our vision should adjust in a minute." The area ahead was already becoming clearer, light and shadow slowly taking form before his eyes.

"What is this place?" Amanda whispered in awed tones.

"I don't know." The dampness was bone-chilling, and he hated to think of Jamie imprisoned down here for long weeks at a time. "There's a light up ahead," he said, pushing his worry to the back of his mind. "Let's move."

At Amanda's nod, Lee cautiously picked his way down the narrow corridor. He could feel the light pressure of her hand where it rested on his shoulder, her body so close her breath grazed his back. It was oddly reassuring somehow.

They hadn't gone far when the narrow corridor suddenly widened into a small, rectangular chamber. Overhead, one bare bulb burned in the ceiling -- the light that had signaled their way. To his right and left stood two heavy steel-plated doors, small covered openings cut into each. While one door was open a crack, the other was bolted shut and secured with a large padlock.

"Bryce said the dungeon was authentic," Amanda sighed from somewhere behind him. "I guess he wasn't exaggerating."

Stepping toward the locked cell, Lee reached for the peephole. It opened with a shrill, creaking noise, vaguely reminiscent of nails on a blackboard. "Authentic as hell," he muttered, peering into the small cell.

"Go away," someone warned gruffly. "I told you, Angie, I'm not hungry."

"Jamie!" Amanda pushed Lee aside to gaze intently though the small window, her knuckles whitening as they gripped the bars. "Jamie, Sweetheart, it's Mom. Are you okay?"

"Mom?" The voice coming from beneath the threadbare blanket sounded unsure. Pushing himself up from the cot with an effort, Jamie blinked a few times as he stared blankly in the direction of her voice.

"Lee!" Amanda gasped as her hand clamped down on his arm. "He can't see!"

Jamie carefully made his way to the door. "I'm okay, Mom," he reassured her, reaching through the bars to clasp his mother's hand. "I just lost my contacts, that's all. Lee?" he stated incredulously as he blinked again to clear his blurry eyes. "You're here, too?"

"Hey, Sport," he returned, clearing his throat slightly as he grabbed the young man's other hand. "Good to see you."

Jamie's bearded face broke into an astonished smile. "I can't believe this," he cried in a voice filled with emotion. "I'd just about given up on anyone finding me. I sure hope you brought the Marines with you!"

Lee saw Amanda glance hesitantly in his direction. "Um . . . well, not exactly."

Jamie squinted his eyes. "You two are it?" he asked, a note of fear in his voice. "What about the Agency . . ."

Lee cut him off. "There'll be time for explanations later. Right now, we've got to get you out of here." Squatting down, he eyed the heavy padlock, running his thumb carefully across the bottom. "I don't suppose your hosts were kind enough to leave the key lying around here somewhere."

"No. Ben has it. Or maybe his girlfriend -- Angie's the one who's been bringing my food for the past day or so. She always does when she's around."

Lee felt Amanda's hand gently squeeze his shoulder. "What do you think?"

"Worth a shot, I guess." Reaching into his boot, he retrieved the small knife, smiling dryly at Amanda as he went to work on the stiff lock. Just as he feared, the mechanism was old and, despite his practiced touch, the gates stubbornly refused to line up properly.

As Lee let out a frustrated growl, he heard Jamie suddenly ask, "What day is it?"

Amanda sucked in a breath. "It's Friday, March thirty-first."

"The end of March? I've been gone over a month?"

"Yes, Sweetheart."

"Lisa must be out of her mind." Jamie's voice took on a new urgency as he demanded almost harshly, "How is she? And Joey?"

"They're both just fine," Amanda assured him. "Or at least, they will be, as soon as we deliver you back to them safe and sound. It's you I'm worried about . . ."

"I'm fine, Mom."

"Are you sure?" she pressed, unable to mask her concern.

"Yes," Jamie replied, his curt answer clearly dismissive. "I'm a doctor, remember?"

"Of course you are," Lee interposed, defusing the growing tension with a quick laugh. "But you can't fault a mother for not wanting to admit that she has a son old enough to have finished med school."

Jamie remained silent and, glancing up, Lee caught Amanda's eye. He'd heard that slight edge in their son's voice, too. Considering the stark conditions, Lee could only imagine what he'd been through, but right now they needed him to hold it together. As Amanda blew out a quick, short breath, he knew she understood that, too.

Despite the distraction, or maybe because of it, Lee felt the tumblers and gates suddenly fall into place. "Got it," he exclaimed with thinly disguised relief. Rising, he swiftly removed the padlock and threw open the door.

Amanda took a tentative step forward. "I promise not to nag you anymore if you let me act like your mother for just one minute," she whispered thickly as she embraced her son. "I've been so worried."

"I love you, too, Mom," Jamie told her, his tone softening as he hugged her back.

Lee put his arm around Jamie, clasping him with gentle roughness. "Come on," he urged, grateful for the control he heard in the boy's voice again. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Over Jamie's head, Lee saw the alarm register in Amanda's eyes. "I'll go first," he declared, acknowledging her apprehension with a silent shrug. Their luck had been damn good so far; perhaps it would hold just a little longer. "You two follow, and stay as close to the wall as you can."

At Amanda's nod, he began to retrace their steps down the short corridor to the stairway. "Put your hand on my shoulder," he heard her tell Jamie crisply, all business again. "I'll guide you." 

Frowning, Lee started his stealthy ascent. Jamie's temporary vision problem would slow their progress considerably. Still . . . things could have been much worse, he reminded himself sharply. Despite his month-long ordeal, Jamie appeared to be in remarkably good physical shape. There were bound to be some psychological repercussions, but Lee had a hunch his son would be able to bounce back in that respect as well. Experience had taught him the telltale signs of emotional damage, and he'd noted with relief that Jamie's eyes showed no trace of that bleak, wintry expression all the burn-outs wore. It was a look Lee was intimately acquainted with; after all, it stared mockingly back at him every morning from the other side of his bathroom mirror.

Pausing as he reached the top of the stairs, he quickly forced the doubts from his mind. He couldn't afford to go there; Amanda and Jamie were depending on him. "Sounds clear," he told them tersely, his ears straining for any noise coming from the other side of the door. "But . . ."

"We'll stay behind you."

Lee gave Amanda a silent nod. Pushing open the door, he stepped into the kitchen, the other two close behind.

A sardonic laugh greeted him. "Well, welcome to the party, Scarecrow."

The words struck him with the force of a blow. The Triad leader was smoking a fat cigar as he waited for them, his vigorous puffing pulling the thin scar on his cheek into an even sharper slash.

Amanda's short gasp echoing in his ears, Lee confronted the man with a satirical smile of his own. "Thanks. Hope we didn't keep you waiting."

"Well, we *did* expect you in the east wing earlier, didn't we boys?" the soldier replied with a shrugging glance at his men. "We must have gotten our signals crossed."

Lee chuckled softly as Amanda tightened her hold on his sleeve. "Well, you know, we thought we'd take a little tour of this place first. Amazing what we found."

The man took another long drag from his cigar. "Isn't it, though?"

As Amanda increased her pressure, Lee turned slightly. Her questioning eyes swept over the room, and he nodded his understanding. There seemed to have been a subtle switch in the chain of command. While three surly Triad soldiers flanked their leader, the San Cardenzian Freedom Fighters were nowhere to be seen.

"So," Lee inquired with forced casualness. "What happened to your good friend El Legarto?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about him. He and his men are . . . occupied . . . elsewhere."

Lee raised an eyebrow. "What's the matter, he didn't invite you to his little party with Salzedo?"

Grinning, the Triad leader glanced at his buddies, some unspoken communication passing between them. "In a manner of speaking. But, don't worry, *that* will all be taken care of shortly."

The bright sunshine flowing in through the bay window bathed the soldier's face in an odd glow. Amanda had been right about him, Lee thought with a shiver. This guy was definitely playing with half a deck. "Well," he began with as much bravado as he could muster, "as much as we'd like to stick around and help you guys sort out your difficulties, I'm afraid we'll have to be on our way."

Scar-face's laughter died on his lips. "So soon, Scarecrow? Why, I wouldn't hear of it! And," he added with a thin smile as the soldiers quickly drew their weapons, "Neither would they."

Amanda took a small step forward. "Look," she stated tersely. "We have what we came for, and we couldn't care less about what's going on here. So I think . . ."

As Scar-face took a menacing step toward her, her words fell off. Lee stiffened, angling his body protectively in front of Amanda's.

"Ah, Mrs. King," the soldier crooned. "Would you like to know what *I* think?" 

"What?" she replied in a slightly breathy rasp.

"I think the first thing you and your pal Scarecrow here would do once you left us would be to make a call to some of your friends at the Agency. And I'm afraid this little shindig simply can't accommodate any more Feds -- even ones as charming as you." Reaching out, he caressed her cheek in a long, sensuous stroke.

Lee lunged forward. "Get your filthy paws off her, you bastard!" he cried as his hands found the soldier's throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jamie step in front of his mother as one of the Triad's trained his gun on her. The others immediately sprang to their leader's aid, trying unsuccessfully to pry his hands from Scar-face's throat amid shouted obscenities and pummeling fists.

"Lee," he heard Amanda scream from somewhere behind him. "Don't!"

It didn't matter. Rage bubbled up from somewhere deep inside him, not only against the venal scar-faced soldier, but all the others like him . . . all the faceless men he couldn't touch . . . men who had caused untold pain to so many over the years . . . men who were responsible for the death of his son.

A sharp knee in the groin finally broke his hold. Black dots danced in front of his eyes as he doubled over and fell to the floor. Lingering on the edge of consciousness, a sea of angry voices hung in the air above him. He struggled to make sense of them . . . and of the soft, disjointed words that floated somewhere close to his ear.

"Lee, Sweetheart . . .  are . . . you . . . all right?"

In a moment of fear, she must have slipped back into their cover. He tried to assure her he was fine, but his mouth couldn't form words yet. Somewhere in the background, Scar-face was making low, choking sounds. "Damn you, Scarecrow," he managed to grind out at last. "You'll pay for that." More angry words, then, "Get them back to the cells."

From where he lay on the cool tile floor, Lee suddenly had a sense of more people in the room. "Only one of the cells is in working condition, Mr. Scurto," the unknown voice carped in a high-pitched whine. "The other door doesn't lock and . . ."

Lee heard a loud 'oof,' then silence. "How many times have I told you, no names?" Scar-face spat out again. "Angie, if you can't keep this boyfriend of yours quiet, find him a muzzle."

"You didn't have to hit him."

The new voice sounded deferential, almost timid . . . and vaguely familiar in an aggravating sort of way. It was the same prickly annoyance he felt on Monday mornings when he was late for roll call and his damned assistant . . .

He heard Amanda's strangled gasp beside him and, driven by a new sense of urgency, Lee struggled to rise. One of the soldiers lashed out, the butt end of his gun viciously slamming him back to the ground.

Lee let out a muffled groan. He was dimly aware of the controlled chaos around him -- Amanda calling his name, Jamie kneeling to take his pulse. But the only thing that registered as Lee finally lost consciousness was the look of startled dismay in the eyes of his young assistant, Angela Carter.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sounds floated over him as if from a great distance, a familiar 'hum' that somehow soothed him. Lying very still, he listened, waiting for the words to take shape and form in his mind.

"So that's about the long and the short of it. The conference I was supposed to attend was just a pretext. Their real agenda was to find out what I knew about 'Project X.'"

"And you had no idea at all that North Shore Labs was doing illegal research?" Amanda asked.

"No, Mom," Jamie answered, a hard edge to his voice. "If I had, I would have confided my doubts to you and Lee, no matter *what* was going on between . . ."

"I know, Sweetheart," came the slightly breathy response.

Letting out a large sigh, Jamie continued. "Of course, looking back, that was the beauty of their set-up. We all worked on separate pieces of the project, which taken on their own were totally innocuous. But when you put them together . . . well, it wasn't until Tim and I began to compare notes one night over a beer that 'Project X' took on a more sinister hue." He heard a note of sadness creep into Jamie's voice. "Poor Tim. He was a great guy."

"Yeah," Amanda echoed softly, "he was."

The voices fell silent. Lee could feel a warm presence beside him on the cot and, every so often, the stroke of a gentle hand across his forehead. Part of him wanted to stay here forever, cosseted by such loving concern, but the other part of him knew he had to move. Lives depended on it.

He groaned softly.

"I think he's finally coming around," Amanda said excitedly. He felt a hand cup his cheek, patting softly. "Lee . . . can you hear me, Sweetheart?"

There was that name again. He must still be groggier than he thought.

"Give him a minute," Jamie told her, confirming his self-diagnosis. He felt capable fingers lightly press his wrist. "His pulse is strong, and he's responding to stimuli now. He should be conscious soon."

"He is conscious," he heard himself grumble in a voice that sounded infinitely tired. "He just wishes he wasn't."

"Lee . . ."

"I'm okay, Amanda," he mumbled as he struggled to achieve a sitting position. "But I have one hell of a headache."

"I'm not surprised," Jamie told him with a small laugh. "That was quite a whack you took."

"'Whack?' Is that what they're teaching in medical school these days?" Lee teased as he leaned back against the cell's brick wall, gingerly patting his head. "I hate to argue with a doctor, but 'whack' doesn't begin to cover it. I hope you got the number of that semi."

"You should be grateful it was only a small pick-up," Jamie laughed. "Otherwise you might not be around to talk about it."

Amanda turned frosty eyes on them. "I'm glad you two find this so amusing."

"Trust me, I'm *not* laughing," Lee said, forcing himself to rise. Gingerly testing his legs, he took a few tentative steps forward.

Evidently Amanda had no intention of letting him off that easily. "Those men could have killed you," she said, tenaciously dogging his movements as he began to navigate the small room. "They had guns, in case you failed to notice."

Lee rolled his eyes, grimacing at the sharp flash of pain. Scar-face and his pals must have really done a number on him. "I noticed," he muttered lightly. "I also noticed that the safeties on those guns were still engaged, so I took a calculated risk." Turning, he caught her eye. "I haven't *totally* lost it, Amanda."

"I never . . ."

"Now, since I was forced to take an unscheduled nap, what have *you* done about getting us out of here?" he said, not allowing her to finish.

He heard her sudden sharp intake of breath. Too late, he realized he should have kept his mouth shut and accepted her conciliatory gesture.

"Let's see," she sniped back. "I tried to conjure up a key out of thin air, but the incantation spell doesn't seem to be working."

"Oh, Amanda . . ."

"Well, I figured that must be your modus operandi these days," she snapped, her hands perched solidly on her hips. "Since you seem to think you have more lives than a cat."

"I do not . . ."

Jamie's long laugh intruded on their argument, bringing them up short. "It's nice to see things have gotten back to normal," he told them, looking pointedly from one parent to the other. "Kind of like old times, huh?"

Lee saw Amanda's cheeks redden. "I, uh, don't know what you're, uh, talking about," she sputtered as he ran a hand self-consciously through his hair. Skillfully changing the subject, his soon-to-be ex-wife added in a rush, "Why don't you fill in some of the blanks for Lee? I'm sure he has a million questions."

"Uh, yeah," he put in quickly. "And you can start with Angela Carter. How the hell did she end up in the middle of all this?"

Jamie shrugged. "She's Ben Topping's girlfriend, that's about all I know. She's been with him from the start, although she's not here all the time. I think she commutes to some job."

Lee snorted. "You could say that."

"She's Lee's assistant," he heard Amanda tell him with a short sigh.

Jamie looked at him in disbelief. "Your assistant? You mean all this has been going on right under your nose?"

Unable to meet the boy's unspoken accusation, Lee looked away. It was no less than he'd been feeling ever since he'd seen Carter's face. A dirty agent, operating right under his nose . . . that never would have happened with Billy Melrose in charge of Field Section.

Amanda suddenly spoke up. "If Agent Carter turned, neither Lee nor the Agency had anything to do with it. Things happen sometimes, Jamie," she stated, her voice calm and even. "No matter how many background checks you run, or precautions you take or how much training you receive, in the end, it all comes down to people. Some are good, some are bad . . . and some make mistakes."

There was a strange note of sadness about her, and Lee swallowed hard as she continued. "Sometimes their mistakes even change your life, but that's just . . . the way things are. All we can do is learn to . . . to accept it, I suppose. And change the outcome when we can . . . because in the end, we're just people, too . . . and prone to the same kind of mistakes as everyone else."

As a sharp, creaking sound split the silence, a low voice could be heard from the open doorway.

"I couldn't agree more."

~ XXVIII ~

Amanda's eyes widened as Angela Carter walked boldly into the cell. Dressed in a pair of simple khaki shorts and matching shirt, the girl gave off the same aura of fresh-faced innocence Amanda had sensed at their first meeting. Yet now there was something in the young woman's eyes . . . a 'world-weary' look, for lack of a better term. This was not the timid, inexperienced rookie she had encountered only a few days ago in the Agency bullpen.

Closing the cell door firmly behind her, Carter took a tentative step forward. "I haven't got much time."

Her tone was different, too, Amanda noted with clinical precision. With her quiet, controlled voice, she seemed every inch the cool professional . . . if you didn't count the white-knuckled grip on her standard-issue service revolver. Despite the girl's best efforts, Amanda could detect a slight tremor in her gun hand.

Angela Carter was nervous.

Lee saw it, too. "Don't worry," he told her with a scornful laugh, "It shouldn't take you too long to twist the knife a little deeper."

Carter shifted her weight slightly from her right foot to her left. "I'm here to explain what's really going on."

"At the point of a gun? Don't waste your breath." Lee fairly spat the words as he leaned ominously closer to the woman who had been his assistant. "I don't listen to traitors."

Carter bit down furiously on her lower lip. "Things aren't always as they appear, Scarecrow."

Amanda saw Lee's eyes narrow at the use of his codename. "Then you're *not* with Scar-face and his band of merry men upstairs?" he jibed. "Because it sure looks that way from where I'm standin'."

Carter's face flushed with anger. "And from where *I'm* standing, it looks as if *you* signed a few new enlistment papers of your own." Her eyes raked over their dark green fatigues as she forced out a laugh. "You and Mrs. King are certainly dressed the part."

Beside her, she felt Jamie stiffen. "My parents would *never* sell out," he shouted fiercely. "They . . ."

Putting a finger to her lips, Amanda schooled him into silence. Though looking as if he'd like to argue, Jamie complied, sitting down again on the small cot with a loud sigh. Amanda felt relief wash over her. She'd seen Scarecrow run this game more times than she could count, and she wanted her son as far from the line of fire as possible. 

Lee angled closer. "You're good, Carter, I'll grant you that. You certainly had *me* fooled."

Moistening her lips, Carter twisted the edge of her shorts between the fingers of her left hand. "I'm not a traitor any more than you are," the young woman insisted again, the slight crack to her voice betraying the depth of her agitation. Lowering her gun, she continued, "If you'll just give me a chance to . . ."

Before Carter could finish her plea, Amanda saw Lee make his move. Though the young agent's hand-to-hand skills far exceeded those of a rookie, they were no match for an agent of Scarecrow's training and experience. Carter cried out softly as he twisted her arm sharply behind her back. Giving no quarter, Lee swiftly leveraged his free arm against the woman's throat, pressing sharply. As Carter moved reflexively to break his grasp, the gun fell to the floor. Amanda swiftly snapped it up, left hand bracing her right as she trained it on the struggling agent.

Lee nodded his approval. "Get the key," he ordered, securing his hold on the young agent as Amanda searched her pockets.

"Now, I'm a generous man, Carter," Amanda heard him mutter with false cheer as she backed away, key in hand. "So I'll give you the same chance you and your buddies gave us upstairs -- about thirty seconds."

Carter worked harder to insinuate her fingers beneath Lee's arm. "Don't be a fool, Scarecrow," she managed to choke out. "You need me."

Amanda shivered at Lee's low laugh. "I think *you* need *me*," he told her, tightening his choke-hold to prove his point. "Give me one good reason not to snap your neck."

Carter sucked in a few harsh breaths. "Because . . . we're both . . . on the same . . . side.  I'm . . . undercover."

Frowning, Lee loosened his grasp slightly, but Carter's reprieve lasted only brief seconds. As she attempted to extricate herself, he tightened his man-made noose once again.

"It's true, Scarecrow," Carter gasped, letting her body go limp as her brief resistance played itself out. "All I ask is a few minutes to convince you. Why else would I have come down here?"

"I can think of a few reasons," Lee replied curtly. "And none of them for *our* benefit."

Directing a beseeching eye at Amanda, she called softly, "Mrs. King . . ."

Shaking her head, Amanda turned away, slowly moving over to her son. 

"Please," the girl pleaded one more time. "You don't know all the facts . . ."

As Carter's phrase struck a chord of memory, she wavered. 'Make your move only when you are in possession of all available facts.' She could almost hear Effram Beaman droning those words to his class of eager freshmen, the Agency training manual clutched tightly in his hand. Amanda smiled faintly; Beaman's bible had never exactly been Scarecrow's style. Still . . . information *was* an agent's lifeline. 

Over Carter's head, Amanda sought Lee's eye. "I've got the key and her gun," she told him in a level voice. "She can't go anywhere. Maybe we should at least hear what she has to say."

"Angie's always been a pretty straight shooter with me, Lee," Jamie put in tentatively.

"Listen to them," Carter entreated. "You have nothing to lose -- and everything to gain." 

Eyes still flashing ominously, Lee let out a long breath. "Okay," he agreed as he released her at last. "You've got two minutes."

Coughing lightly, Carter rubbed her bruised throat. Gazing at Lee with the same respectful admiration Amanda had witnessed that morning in the bullpen, she added deferentially, "The rumor mill was wrong about you."

Lee snorted. "That's comforting to know. But the clock is ticking."

Drawing one more deep breath, Carter plunged ahead. "I've been running a parallel investigation into Roberto Salzedo and his band of thugs -- an investigation that ultimately led me to your office. You and Desmond were right," she said, shifting uncomfortably. "Someone *was* trying to cover their tracks back in that hotel room where Franklin was killed. But it wasn't Los Lobos . . . or Salzedo, either, for that matter."

Lee's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying that Salzedo *didn't* kill Franklin?"

"No. Salzedo's responsible for Franklin's death. But there's much more going on than meets the eye."

"Damn it, Carter," Lee growled under his breath as he stepped ominously closer once again. "What the hell . . ."

"Maybe you'd better start at the beginning," Amanda quickly interposed as Lee showed unmistakable signs of tearing into the girl again. "For the benefit of those of us who came late to this little party."

One eye on Lee's tightly clenched fist, Angela Carter began to pace. "I guess the beginning would be three years ago . . . shortly after the sale of those illegal vaccines to the San Cardenzians. Roberto Salzedo brokered the deal along with Iguana Associates, but the money never found its way to Los Lobos' coffers. Where it finally *did* end up raised a very colorful red flag in a small office adjacent to Pennsylvania Avenue."

"Pennsylvania Avenue?" Amanda heard an edgy wariness in Lee's voice. "I didn't think that bureau existed anymore." The muscles on his jaw tightened, almost as if he was waiting for something.

"It exists." With a short breath, Carted recited in a low monotone, "'Power corrupts.'"

"'And absolute power corrupts *us* absolutely,'" Lee completed in kind.

Carter smiled faintly. "I see you remember the countersign."

Moving to her partner's side, Amanda tugged sharply in his sleeve. "Would you kindly explain what's going on here?"

Raising an eyebrow, Lee shot a quick glance at Carter, who nodded. Exhaling, he turned to Amanda with a slightly chagrined smile. "Years ago, when Harry V. Thornton founded the Agency, he knew that any organization operating under such a strict mantle of secrecy would necessarily need to be given a lot of leeway. Consequently, its agents *could* fall prey to certain unique . . . well, *temptations,* I guess, is as good a word as any."

Carter's low laugh concurred. "Power corrupts, you see," she explained with an ironic little smile. "So Mr. Thornton created a special bureau within the Agency -- a watchdog division, if you will."

Amanda frowned. "I've never heard of it."

"It was strictly 'need to know,'" Lee sighed. "But you're wrong, Amanda. You *have* heard of it. Remember Blue Leader?"

"Blue Leader? But I thought . . ."

"That he was a man," Lee declared with a shrug of apology. "I know. Your security clearance wasn't high enough in those days to be told the truth."

Amanda folded her arm tightly across her chest. She thought she'd accessed all the Agency's murky little secrets, but evidently the layers went far deeper than she'd imagined. "So, if Blue Leader isn't a man, just what exactly *is* it?" she demanded.

"A euphemism for a top-secret group within the Agency, a group charged with keeping its operations within the spirit, if not the letter, of the law." Lee turned to Carter with a puzzled scowl. "It was my understanding the whole 'Blue Leader' concept had been scrapped during the summer of '85."

"For all intents and purposes, yes. Dr. Smyth, as you know, is none too fond of ultra-secret groups *he* has no control over. But when Mr. Thornton gave 'Blue Leader' its charter, he foresaw just such a contingency. The Director of Covert Operations doesn't have the power to dissolve the bureau -- only the President of the United States can do that."

"So after Smyth's botched attempt to disband the group, 'Blue Leader' went 'dark' instead. Makes a certain kind of sense, I guess." Lee snorted contemptuously as he added, "I should have suspected Dr. Smyth didn't wield *that* much clout."

"Under the new regime, 'need to know' was very strictly enforced, even for those agents who'd had direct dealings with 'Blue Leader' in the past."

"This is all very enlightening," Amanda broke in, her patience stretched to its breaking point. "But what does it have to do with our current predicament?"

"Salzedo isn't working with Los Lobos anymore," Carter informed them. "He hasn't been since before the San Cardenzian deal. Los Lobos was just a smokescreen for his true affiliation."

"Let me guess," Lee said with a significant look at Amanda. "He's acquired a set of triangular burn marks on his forearm."

"Yes," Carter confirmed. "Salzedo is a member of the Triads. That's where Blue Leader's interest lies. Since the Triads originally sprang from the Agency . . ."

"It falls to you to stop them," Amanda finished.

The young woman nodded. "After the dust settled on that first sale, 'Blue Leader' sent me undercover to investigate. My first objective was to ingratiate myself with Bennet Topping to discover exactly how deep the ties to Salzedo went."

Amanda felt Lee's eyes on her as she inquired in a soft voice, "His father?"

Carter shook her head. "No, Senator Topping's a patriot through and through. I'd wager he even dreams in red, white and blue. Besides, Ben's too much in awe of the man to risk bringing him in. He wants -- needs -- dear old dad to think of him as a big man."

"He does," Amanda said sadly, remembering how affectionately the Senator had spoken of his son. "Bryce thinks the world of him."

Lee fixed Carter in an icy stare. "How did you end up as my assistant? Obviously you're no rookie."

"I've been an agent for over ten years," she informed them with a short laugh.

"Ten years," Amanda gasped. "But you look like you're . . ."

"My youthful appearance has come in handy on more than one occasion. But you of all people should know that looks can be deceiving." Carter raised an eyebrow. "They used to underestimate you, too, didn't they, Mrs. King?"

Amanda pursed her lips. It had indeed taken years of work to prove to some of her colleagues that the 'housewife-turned-spy' had earned her position among them. Yet, despite the many hard-fought battles for acceptance and respect, it was her very uniqueness that rendered her so effective in the field. Her adversaries never seemed to think much of her abilities, either.

Beside her, Lee began to pace. "Just exactly *what* was 'Blue Leader' investigating in my section? Or should I say *whom*?" he asked, his voice little more than a loud whisper.

Amanda felt a peculiar tingling along her spine. Lee's eyes flashed furiously -- he was close to the edge.

Carter must have realized it, too; she was obviously weighing how much information to reveal. Finally, she turned to Lee with an apologetic sigh. "After what happened to rookie Agent King, there were a few . . . uncertainties . . . about your capabilities in the field, Scarecrow. Your sessions with Dr. Pfaff . . ."

"Are private," Lee rejoined, his voice ringing with anger. "And none of your damned business!"

"*Everything* is Blue Leader's business," Carter returned, unperturbed. "Especially where national security is concerned."

Lee drilled her with his gaze. "Spies for spies," he muttered, his voice thick with sarcasm. "I think I'm beginning to agree with Dr. Smyth."

Stepping between Lee and Carter, Amanda turned on the latter with a contemptuous eye. "In what way does our very personal grief compromise national security?"

Carter's tone unconsciously softened. "Your son was killed by 'friendly fire,' Mrs. King."

"Tell me something I *don't* know, Carter," Amanda spat, recoiling as the young woman placed her clumsy finger on an aching wound.

Carter sighed again. "*You* left the Agency because of it. Scarecrow, on the other hand . . . well, he stayed. We had to be . . . sure of him . . . and of his loyalties."

Amanda drew in a harsh breath. "Lee's given practically his whole life to this Agency. And now you have the nerve to stand there and tell me . . ."

"Amanda," Lee interjected, putting an arm around her shoulder. "It's okay."

Amanda turned to him heatedly. "It certainly is *not* okay! And I don't understand how you can let them insinuate . . ."

"Insinuation isn't fact." He looked down at her with a troubled frown. "At this point, what a few misguided idiots in some secret division of the Agency think doesn't make a helluva lot of difference to me."

"But I don't . . ." Her words fell off as understanding dawned. A small chill passed through her frame, and, hugging herself, she walked silently to the far end of the cell. After she'd voiced her angry accusations over and over again with such stinging venom, a few unspoken doubts on the part of some faceless bureaucrats could hardly be expected to faze him.

"You're wasting time we don't have, Carter," she heard Lee order roughly. "Get on with your story."

With a curt nod, the agent addressed her next remarks to Lee. "When you and Desmond started to investigate Salzedo six months ago, I was transferred into your office to keep an eye on things."

"Transferred in?" Lee raised a questioning eyebrow. "Just like that?"

Carter's mouth turned up in a slow smile. "You'd acquired quite a reputation for chewing up your assistants and spitting them out again."

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Lee began to pace the small cell again. "Go on."

"That's about it. We knew the Triads had a new deal in the works with Iguana Associates -- the mysterious 'Project X' North Shore Labs has been developing."

"My project?" Jamie asked, sitting up straighter on the small cot.

She nodded. "They're about to broker another deal, perhaps for another vaccine. I've tried, but I haven't been able to get any solid evidence. Whatever it is, they seem to need Dr. King." She turned to Jamie. "Can you shed any light at all on the project?"

"No. It was compartmentalized . . . the best I can do is an educated guess." Jamie rubbed his eyes lightly. "I suppose it *could* be a vaccine of some sort. It's viral based, that much I know."

Her lips tightly compressed, Carter turned back to Lee. "Blue Leader was afraid your investigation might put the pieces together before we were ready to make our move and the Triads would slip through our fingers again. We couldn't afford to let that happen, so certain information was withheld, evidence altered. To keep you and Desmond off-balance."

Stopping in his tracks, Lee's eyes glinted dangerously. "And just how 'off-balance' did you leave poor Tom Franklin?"

Carter's cheeks flushed. "Franklin stumbled onto the Triad connection, and I was sent in to extract him. But something went off the wire. Salzedo got to him first . . ."

"Yes," Lee broke in curtly. "I saw the results of his handiwork up close, remember?"

"I was doing my job, Scarecrow," the young woman protested in a weak voice.

He gave a contemptuous snort. "No, Carter, Tom Franklin was doing his job. A job *I* sent him in there to do. You and your Blue Leader pals were playing games . . . games that caused a fine agent's death . . . not to mention endangered *my* family." Letting out a harsh breath, Lee grabbed her by the shoulders. "I'm surprised you even bothered to give me the missing persons report on Jamie. You've known he was a hostage all along, haven't you? Haven't you?" he demanded, giving her a rough shake.

"Lee!" Moving quickly to his side, Amanda laid a hand on his arm. When he didn't respond, she squeezed a little tighter. "Come on, Sweetheart," she pressed in a low, urgent voice. "This isn't the time."

Amanda saw Lee's eyes dart toward hers for a brief moment, then, exhaling shakily, he released the agent.

"There didn't seem much point in withholding it," Carter mumbled, her eyes downcast. "'Blue Leader' knew Mrs. King would eventually contact you. I'm sorry. I did my best to keep the two of you out of this. I even tried to warn you . . ."

"Warn us?" Lee asked scornfully.

"The other night, at the hotel," Amanda gasped as understanding dawned. "You were the one who left that note."

"Yes. When I discovered you'd gone rogue, I followed as quickly as I could. I tried to make contact at 'Escondrijo del Amante,' but El Legarto had men watching you at the hotel. So . . ." Biting her lip, she rubbed light circles on her upper arms. "I'm sorry about how this has turned out. I've never had anything but the greatest . . . respect . . . for you, Scarecrow."

Roughly massaging the back of his neck, Lee walked away. "Save it for someone who believes it," he stated coldly as he sat down beside Jamie on the cot with a loud thud.

Amanda moved to stand near her family. "That's the trouble with people like you, Agent Carter," she said, shaking her head sadly. "To you, everyone's expendable . . . as long as the mission stays intact. But people matter more than causes. *That's* the real reason I left the Agency," she said with a long look at Lee. "I didn't want to be part of the system any more. I'd let myself get so caught up in 'saving the world' that I'd lost sight of what's really important in life . . . my family." Her voice caught as she added sadly, "And then, one day, it was too late."

Rising, Jamie gave his mother a quick hug. "It's not too late this time, Mom. We'll find a way out of this mess."

"Yes," Carter concurred in a low voice. "That's what I came here to tell you. I've activated my safety net. I'm getting you all out of here tonight."

~ XXIX ~

Placing his ear next to the keyhole of the thick cell door, Lee listened for any indication of movement, but the small anteroom and the hallway beyond held only an uneasy silence. Scowling, he rose from his uncomfortable squat.

Where the hell was Angela Carter?

Casting a furtive glance in Amanda's direction, he guessed that her thoughts were running in a similar line; she had traversed the same short path between the cot and the wall at least fifty times in the last half hour. Her edginess more than rivaled his.

Only Jamie appeared singularly serene. Drawing the thin blanket tightly around him, he had stretched out on the narrow cot, face to the wall, apparently sleeping soundly.

Amanda let out a short sigh as she momentarily stopped her restless pacing. "Were we wrong to trust her?"

Lee shrugged, unsure how to answer the question that had been plaguing him, too. "I still think Carter is our best shot," he told her, wincing slightly as he worked to loosen the painful knots in his right shoulder. Shooting a hesitant look at Jamie's huddled form, he added in a low voice, "How far do you really think he'd get on foot?"

"I know," she murmured, her mouth tight with strain. "It's just that this waiting is driving me crazy."

He nodded; it was getting to him, too. After outlining the rudiments of her escape plan, Carter had rejoined the others, promising to return for them shortly after dusk. The fall of darkness would help mask their movements as they made their way to the airstrip. She intended to fly them off the island in the small supply plane that was due in late that afternoon. In the meantime, she still had a cover to maintain, as did they. On the face of it, the plan had seemed reasonable enough.

Except that his watch now showed half-past ten. Dusk had come and gone, and still no sign of the elusive Angela Carter.

On the far side of the cell, Amanda had resumed her pacing, maintaining the restive silence she'd adopted shortly after Carter had taken her leave. Lee recognized the signs. His wife had a habit of withdrawing into herself when she was disturbed. He'd always found it strange that the same woman who'd continually urged him to discuss his feelings could have such trouble following her own very sound advice. Then again, maybe it was his fault; perhaps he hadn't been strong enough or persistent enough to break through the defenses she'd built around *her* heart.

Phillip's shooting had certainly proven that. When the Agency board of inquiry had delivered the final findings on the cause of their son's death, Amanda hadn't spoken a word for three solid days. On the morning of the fourth day, she'd marched solemnly into Billy Melrose's office and placed her resignation on his desk. Oddly enough, Billy hadn't even tried to argue with her. Maybe he'd seen something in her eyes, something Lee hadn't wanted to acknowledge. Or maybe it had been the final straw for Billy, too. Less than a month later, his friend and mentor had departed for the wilds of Northern Michigan, and Lee had found himself out of the field, safely ensconced behind the section chief's desk.

"What time is it?" 

Amanda's voice sounded as worn out as he felt. "About five minutes later than the last time you asked," he told her. "Don't worry; Carter will be here soon."

Amanda glanced toward the cot where Jamie slept, then back at Lee. "*If* her cover hasn't been blown."

"A hundred things could have held her up." He tried to reassure her, but his words somehow fell flat. Amanda had always possessed a singular talent for hearing what he wasn't saying.

Frowning slightly, she jammed her hands into the pockets of her olive-green fatigues. "Do you think El Legarto and his men have joined the Triads, too?"

"I honestly don't know. Their beef seemed to be with Salzedo and Los Lobos." He tried for a moment of levity. "It's getting damn near impossible to tell the players around here without a scorecard."

Evidently in no mood for humor, she sent him a sharp look. "It's a convoluted mess. Agents, counter-agents, government factions . . ."

Hearing the strain in her voice, he did his best to reassure her. "We just have to be patient a little longer. Carter will come through . . . it's a *good* plan, Amanda."

With a sardonic tilt of her head, she began to pace again. It *was* a good plan, he reminded himself. Making their escape by air would be quicker and cleaner than traversing the island on foot. Besides, with an incapacitated Jamie in tow, those Triad bloodhounds would track them before they'd gotten a hundred yards off the property.

Running a hand through his hair, Lee winced as he accidentally hit a tender spot. He was definitely getting too old for this kind of thing. Maybe Billy had the right idea after all. Early retirement . . . yes, right now, even that fly-fishing and cross-country skiing his former boss was so fond of sounded damned attractive.

Over by the far wall, he heard Amanda suck in a quivery breath. She gave him a sheepish smile when he cast a curious eye in her direction, as if mildly ashamed to have been caught shivering. "It's so damp down here," she explained with a sigh, rubbing her arms briskly. Gazing in the direction of her sleeping son, her expression unconsciously softened. "I don't know how Jamie's been able to survive it."

Lee crossed the room to stand in front of her. Without a word, he opened his arms, and, though hesitating for a few brief seconds, she stepped into his embrace. Rubbing small circles across her back, he tried to infuse her with warmth. Even through the course fabric of the uniform she wore, he could feel the pointy ridges of her spine. "You're too thin, Amanda," he whispered roughly.

Sighing, she rested her face against her chest. "I'm sorry," she said at last.

"Well, you're just going to have to make a bigger effort to clean your plate," he joked sternly, rubbing his cheek lightly against her head.

"I was referring to my mood," she said with a soft laugh. "Here you are, trying so hard to find the silver lining . . ." She sighed. "Trouble is, I think I *am* a pessimist these days."

Lee stepped back, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. "Do you trust me?"

Tight-lipped, she slowly nodded.

"I'll get you and Jamie out of this."

"I know you will," she said in a small voice.

Looking down into her deep brown eyes, Lee let out a sigh of his own. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, feelings that had been shunted aside for far too long. But did she want to hear them? Was what he thought he saw in her eyes real emotion or merely a reflexive reaction spawned from the danger they were facing?

"Amanda . . ." He tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, he slowly bent down, reaching into his boot to retrieve the small pocket knife. "I guess Scar-face and his pals didn't bother to search us when they brought us back to the cell. Here," he insisted firmly as her face darkened. "I want you to take this."

"Lee . . ."

"No arguments," he interrupted, quickly pressing the knife into her hand. "It will make me feel better to know you have it." To Lee's relief, she silently complied, sliding the small knife into her pants' pocket.

"It'll be okay," he whispered as she stepped back in to the circle of his arms. "We'll be out of here before you know it, and once we're airborne, we can radio the Agency to pick up Scar-face and the rest of his thugs." He let out a light laugh. "Poor Francine must be going a little crazy by now. After I missed our second check-in . . . Amanda," he said quickly as he felt her suddenly stiffen in her arms. "What's the matter?"

Shaking her head, she walked away, her arms folded tightly across her chest. "It's nothing," she replied brusquely, shaking her head as he started after her. "I'm just feeling a little antsy again, that's all."

He frowned. "I don't. . . "

At the rustling noise from the cot, they both turned their heads. Tossing the small blanket aside as he rose, Jamie stood tensely beside the cot. "I think someone's coming," he told them in a loud whisper, looking remarkably alert for someone who had so recently been in such a deep slumber.

"Carter," Amanda sighed, her relief palpable as she moved quickly to Jamie's side. "It's about time."

Lee ran a hand through his hair again. "What the hell took you so long?" he demanded in a loud voice as the door began to open.

"I didn't know you were so anxious to see us." The scar-faced Triad soldier stepped through the door, two of his men flanking him. "I apologize if we kept you waiting, but our mutual friend El Legarto has not been as . . .  cooperative . . . as we'd hoped. He seemed determined to waste our time. I certainly hope we won't have that problem with you, Scarecrow," he added with a glint in his eye as one of the soldiers dangled a pair of handcuffs in front of him.

Inclining his head, the leader motioned his man forward. As the soldier began to roughly cuff Lee's hands behind his back, he heard Amanda call out a sharp, "No!"

"Ah, Mrs. King," Scar-face chirped sweetly as he crossed to her. "Don't worry, your turn will come. In fact," he added with a prurient leer, "I'm kind of looking forward to it." He glanced at Lee out of the corner of his eye. "Of course, how much time we spend together will depend on just how cooperative Scarecrow here turns out to be."

Lee tried to move toward them, but the burly soldier held him fast. "Let's go," their leader ordered sharply. "We have a nice little reception planned for you upstairs." With a brisk salute to Amanda, Scar-face slowly backed out through the door. 

"Lee!"

He could hear the faint tinge of panic in her voice. "I'll be okay, Amanda," he assured her quickly as the soldiers hustled him out. "Remember what we talked about last night in the camp . . ." Their eyes caught and held. "Keep your promise," he shouted as the door slammed closed behind him.

~ XXX ~

"Hurry," Angela Carter urged in a muffled whisper. "It shouldn't be too far now."

Amanda bit down on her lip. "Don't worry about us. We're right behind you."

She saw Carter's shoulders stiffen, but the dark-haired agent remained silent. Amanda supposed she could understand the younger woman's frustration; she even shared it. Negotiating the hilly grounds of the Topping estate with a vision-impaired Jamie had cost them precious time . . . and time was the one thing they didn't have to spare at the moment.

Stepping up the pace as much as she dared, Amanda cast a worried eye on the sky. The night air was heavy with the threat of rain, and as the thunder rumbled again in the distance, she felt Jamie's fingers dig into her shoulder. She let out a sigh as she gave his hand a reassuring pat. With everything that had already gone wrong, why had she expected the weather to cooperate?

Halting, Carter pointed into the darkness. "The airstrip is just over that rise. Give me a few minutes to check things out."

As she watched the agent stealthily climb the hill, Amanda motioned for Jamie to take cover behind a small grove of trees. Her wary eyes swept over the countryside for any signs of a tail, but the evening remained remarkably quiet. No doubt the Triads were all too happily occupied elsewhere to worry about what was happening on the grounds.

Taking one last look around, she stuffed her hands deeply into her pockets. Despite the humid heat hanging in the air, her fingers were as cold as ice. Try as she might, Amanda couldn't seem to shake the chill of that small, dank cell. Or the memory of Lee's face as the Triads dragged him out of it.

"It'll be okay, Mom."

Squatting beside a gnarled tree trunk, eyes squinting in the darkness, her son watched her with studied care. Jamie's attempt to reassure her was so much like Lee that Amanda actually found herself smiling. If she had ever doubted that Jamie possessed the same tenacious grit as his brother and stepfather, the events of the past month would have removed any question. Nurture had won out over nature hands down in their family. Joe King may have been Phillip and Jamie's natural father, but, as they'd matured into men, Amanda had seen more and more of Lee Stetson in both her boys. *Their* boys, really . . . hers and Lee's . . . in every way that counted.

As she restlessly shifted her feet, her fingers closed around the small knife in her pocket. If only Lee hadn't insisted on giving it to her, it might have evened the odds a bit. Over the years, she'd seen Scarecrow turn the tables with much less. Of course, back then, she'd always been there to watch his back. Now, he was on his own.

Her thoughts turned again to what Lee could be going through at this very moment. She had no illusions. Carter had materialized in their cell not long after Scar-face had taken him away. In response to their frantic inquiries, she would only say that Scarecrow had been turned over to Salzedo for questioning. Something in her tone betrayed her, and when the young woman steadfastly refused to meet her eye, Amanda knew all she needed to. Angela Carter was first and foremost an agent. Whether or not she'd known what the Triads had planned for Lee, it was clearly evident that she now intended to turn it to her advantage and cover their escape.

"How long will it take for the Agency to send help?" Jamie asked suddenly.

Frowning, Amanda racked her brain for a reply. "We should be able to radio for backup as soon as we take off."

"That's appropriately vague," her son declared with an accusatory laugh. "Exactly what they teach us to do in med school when you don't know the answer."

She expelled a long breath. "I suppose it depends on how quickly they can mobilize a response team. By morning, certainly, I think. I . . . hope."

Jamie looked away toward the hill. "Shit," she heard him murmur forcefully under his breath. "Where the hell is Angie? We're wasting time!"

Amanda flinched. Jamie was worried, all right; her son seldom used that kind of language in front of her.

Of course, the Agency *could* be on the move even now. Lee had missed two prearranged check-ins with Francine . . . surely that must have set off the blonde agent's alarm bells. Francine was obviously head over heels in love with him. Perhaps she could sense that he was in trouble, the same way Amanda had always been able to do. The way she still could at this very moment.

But how effective could Francine be, all the way back in D.C.? Though Amanda had no doubt she would move heaven and earth to mount a rescue, whether or not she could move Dr. Smyth was another story. That thorny demon deniability -- to a man like Smyth, it was a potent motivator. The Agency's Director of Covert Operations would move in his own good time, for his own good reasons. And, as Lee had so succinctly put it back in Arlington, in this business, everyone was expendable . . . even an agent like Scarecrow.

Amanda sucked in a painful breath. In the camp, El Legarto had called Salzedo the 'Butcher Pig.' How long would Lee be able to hang on with a man like that working on him?

A jagged flash of lightening tore the sky, and in the sudden illumination, Amanda saw that Carter had reappeared on their side of the hill. "We're clear," she informed them, her words all but lost in the booming thunder that followed. "The pilot has decided to turn in for the night."

Amanda raised a sculptured eyebrow. "Just like that?"

"Oh, it wasn't too hard to persuade him to wait for me back in my room," the younger agent replied with an air of nonchalance. "The man's been hitting on me for months." Wrinkling her nose distastefully, she added, "He thinks his dreams just came true."

"And you're sure you can fly the plane? This storm . . ."

"Don't worry. I've been flying since I was a teenager." Carter's lips parted in a slow grin. "I'm very good at what I do, Mrs. King."

"Yes, I'm sure you are." Amanda took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. "That's why I'm trusting you to get Jamie out of here safely."

"Mom," Amanda heard her son call out apprehensively as she locked eyes with Angela Carter. "What are you talking about?"

Carter stared back at her gravely. "It's suicide."

"Maybe. But I have to try. I can't leave my . . . partner . . . hanging like that." Turning to Jamie, she said in an urgent voice, "Please understand."

"I do understand, Mom." His voice rang with equal measures of fear and pride. "Maybe even more than *you* do right now."

Amanda pulled him into a fierce hug. "Kiss Joey for me," she said in a shaky whisper. "And tell your Grandmother that I love her." Pausing for a moment, she cupped his face with her hands. "Be happy."

Blinking back his tears, Jamie could only nod. Turning to Carter, she demanded brusquely, "I'm going to need your service revolver."

Hesitating, Carter eyed Amanda speculatively. "I really should use it to knock you out and drag your unconscious body along with us."

Amanda's lips curved into a bittersweet smile. "But you won't, though."

Blowing out a short breath, Carter handed her the gun. "The clip's fully loaded. They've probably got him up on the third floor. There's a small room at the very end of the hall that Salzedo uses for . . ."

She nodded. "I'll find it. Get Jamie out of here."

"I'll radio for reinforcements as soon as we're off. If you can hang on until they get here . . ." Pursing her lips, Carter added in a low voice, "Good luck . . . Amanda."

~ XXXI ~

From behind, one of the Triads gave him a vicious shove. "Keep moving, Scarecrow."

Unable to maintain his balance beneath the thick hood they'd placed over his head, Lee fell hard on the steep steps. 

"That's enough," he heard their leader order sharply. "Or *you* can explain to Salzedo why we've handed him damaged goods."

Two pairs of arms grabbed him, shunting him roughly to his feet. "Come on," the soldier instructed harshly, evidently still stinging from his verbal chastisement.

"It would be easier if I could see where the hell I'm going," Lee muttered in a hoarse whisper. "Is this damn rigmarole really necessary?"

"Just a precaution, Scarecrow," Scar-face replied with a laugh. "In case you're entertaining any ideas of becoming a runner."

"Fat chance. I'm cuffed *and* outnumbered here."

"And it's gonna stay that way," the man to his left grumbled as he propelled him forward. "Salzedo told us a few stories about Buenos Aires."

Lee let out a short laugh. "He still remembers. Gee, I'm flattered."

"You won't be when he's finished with you."

Tightening their grip, the two men half-dragged, half-pushed him down what Lee supposed to be an upstairs hall. They must be somewhere on the third floor. After they'd emerged from the basement dungeon, he'd counted two separate flights of stairs. 

But that's all he could be sure of. Lee had tried vainly to keep track of their position, but as the soldiers force-marched him tirelessly around the large mansion, he'd lost all sense of direction. In his confused mind, it felt as if they'd been walking for hours, though he knew it couldn't have been longer than thirty or forty minutes at best.

He heard the noise of an opening door. "Step inside," one of the soldiers barked.

Moving cautiously forward, he felt his shoulder brush up against something solid. Another man, perhaps? For a moment, he thought he'd felt a puff of warm breath against his neck.

"That's far enough," Scar-face ordered severely.

Shrouded in darkness beneath the hood, Lee struggled to remain in control. It wasn't hard to guess what they had in store for him. The Triads had obviously been well trained in interrogation techniques . . . disorientation . . . intimidation . . . the whole standard bag of tricks. He wondered vaguely exactly how much time they'd allotted to this particular game. The longer they played, the better the odds that Amanda and Jamie would be able to make their escape.

Reminding himself to breathe slowly and evenly, Lee endeavored to exhibit no sign of fear. He knew there were people in the room; he could hear their muffled words. And somewhere off to his right . . . or maybe his left . . .  he caught a faint whiff of cologne . . . and . . . something else. The smell was sweet, almost sickeningly so . . . vaguely reminiscent of the ether the doctors had used at the base hospital on Guam when they'd performed his emergency appendectomy. He'd been seven years old, and scared out of his wits. 'Good soldiers don't cry,' had been his uncle's response to his unreasoning fear of the tall men behind the large, white masks. 'Good soldiers don't cry' . . .

Lee shivered.

"Well, it has been a long time since that weekend in Buenos Aires, Stetson."

The game was beginning. "Salzedo," he returned, keeping the dread from his voice with a Herculean effort. "I haven't forgotten you, either."

The man laughed. "Welcome back to my little laboratory."

As the hood was abruptly torn from his face, the harsh glare from the overhead lights hit him squarely in the face. Blinking a few times, Lee made a vain attempt to locate the owner of that lightly accented voice, but the grisly scene that greeted him stopped him cold.

In the center of the room, firmly strapped to a large steel chair, lay the motionless body of El Legarto. Pant legs rolled up to his knees, his stiff, bare feet sat in a bucket of water. Wires from the electrodes attached to the man's arms, legs and chest led back to a large, metal box. Even in death the old soldier's face was contorted into an agonizing grimace.

Behind him, Salzedo chuckled softly. "I see my comrades have not yet cleaned up the mess. How careless. Quítelo," he ordered sharply.

Lee fought the nausea stirring in the pit of his stomach as one of the Triad soldiers ripped the wires from El Legarto's body then pushed the dead man from the chair with an especially vicious shove. Bending with an exaggerated motion, the soldier grabbed El Legarto's lifeless body by the legs, dragging him slowly from the room. Leftover garbage to be disposed of.

Standing a little straighter, Lee fixed his eyes determinedly on a spot on the wall. He knew the drill. That little performance had been staged for his benefit.

"I am so sorry you had to witness the remains of my . . . accident," Salzedo said as he moved to stand directly in front of him.

The man's breath smelled of stale cigars. "'Accident,' Salzedo?" he inquired, managing to keep his tone even. "Then you *are* getting sloppy."

Salzedo fingered the edge of Lee's collar. "Same old Scarecrow," he stated, his wide smile revealing a row of slightly crooked teeth. "I'm so glad." Motioning toward the vacated chair, he instructed in a low growl, "Fájelo en."

Strong hands forced him to his knees. While Scar-face removed the handcuffs, his cohorts grasped him firmly beneath the arms, lifting him up even as they slammed him down into the chair. Though he tried to resist, it was futile; steel belts were fastened firmly around his waist and arms. Yanking open the buttons of his jacket, one soldier used a large scissors to cut away his t-shirt, exposing his chest, while another roughly removed his shoes and socks.

"Now," Salzedo said as the men began to attach cardiac leads to the areas above and below his breastbone, "It turns out our friend El Legarto had a bothersome little problem with his heart. Unfortunately, it brought our session to a rather . . . untimely . . . close. You'll be glad to know I won't be taking any chances this time."

"I'm overjoyed," Lee snorted. Through veiled eyes, he watched the soldiers place his bare feet in the bucket of water, then restrain his legs in the same manner as his arms. With a parting smile, the last soldier attached the remaining electrodes to his calves then, saluting with mock solemnity, quickly followed his compatriots from the room.

The door closed with a firm click, leaving the two men alone. His old adversary said nothing as he strolled leisurely about the room, every so often checking an instrument panel or referring to a chart. Lee recognized the tactic. Anticipation was in itself a weapon.

To distract himself, he started making a mental composite of his tormentor. Though perhaps a bit thicker around the middle, the years had altered Salzedo's appearance surprisingly little. Dark hair, even darker eyes, what looked to be a permanent five o'clock shadow . . . and a faint scar under his chin from the knife wound Lee had inflicted.

That was a small souvenir from their last encounter in Buenos Aires. Salzedo had tirelessly tortured three members of their team that night before Lee had somehow managed to get the jump on him. It was almost as if the Argentinean had drawn some strange kind of energy from other people's pain. From the look of things, Lee thought grimly, he hadn't changed much in *that* respect, either. As his interrogator turned a curious eye to the EKG printout, Lee began to recite his mantra in his head. 

Salzedo finally grunted in satisfaction. "Good. All is as it should be . . . your heartbeat is steady, though perhaps a bit fast," he added with a grin. Pulling up a chair, he sat down beside Lee. "What does the Agency know about 'Project X'?"

As Lee remained stubbornly silent, Salzedo drew a deep breath. "What does the Agency know about 'Project X'?" he demanded again, the timbre of his voice dropping a notch.

Affecting a smile, Lee shrugged his shoulders. "It follows 'W'?"

Without blinking an eye, Salzedo turned a small dial swiftly to the right. As the electric current shot through him, Lee gritted his teeth, trying desperately not to cry out. Salzedo's eyes clearly showed his enjoyment. Slowly counting to three, he released the dial. Panting, Lee collapsed down into the chair.

"What does the Agency know about 'Project X'?" Salzedo repeated calmly.

"Not a damn thing," Lee choked out. 

Salzedo turned the dial again, this time counting to five before letting go. "What does the Agency know about 'Project X'?" he demanded one more time.

"I don't know," Lee repeated, his chest heaving. "And even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

Salzedo's smile sent a chill down his spine. "Oh, but you will tell me what you know, Stetson, make no mistake about it. Each man has his breaking point; it is merely a matter of discovering how long . . . and how much." Rubbing his hand across his midsection with an overstated motion, Salzedo stifled a yawn. "But for now, I find I am tired. This tedious business with El Legarto caused me to miss my dinner. How about you?" he taunted, his face inches from Lee's. "Are *you* hungry?"

Lee tightened his grip on the arms of the chair. "I'm just fine."

Stretching, Salzedo smiled blandly. "Then I won't bother to bring you anything. It is just as well . . . what this machine can do to a man with a full stomach is not. . . pretty. I will see you later, eh?"

Lee's eyes blazed. "Go to hell, Salzedo!"

"All in good time. But you, my friend . . . I am afraid *you* are already there." Laughing, he threw the coarse hood roughly over Lee's head again. "A little something for you to mull over while I enjoy my dinner."

The overhead lights went out, leaving him in darkness. As the last echo from the slamming door died away, Lee let out a shuddering sigh. Though the reprieve was welcome, it was, at the same time, disconcerting. He'd steeled himself for the entire symphony, and all he'd gotten was the overture.

Of course, that was the point. Keep him off-balance, on edge. All too soon, Salzedo would return. His torture would be slow; the man was in no great hurry to break him. No, his tormentor would take his time, savoring each scrap of pain.

Of course, no matter what method he employed, Salzedo would never get the intel he was after. Thanks to Blue Leader's interference, Lee really didn't know a *damn* thing about 'Project X.' On a certain level, he had to admire the irony. Salzedo would never believe him ignorant . . .  which would eventually cause that pig to play his trump card.

Lee's blood ran cold; he could only pray that Amanda and Jamie were miles away from here. Underneath the rough hood, he squeezed his eyes shut, his uncle's long-ago words echoing in his mind.

'Good soldiers don't cry.'

 ~ XXXII ~

Keeping as close to the wall as possible, Amanda slowly crept up the stairs. From the floor below, she could still hear an occasional guffaw from the Triad soldiers she'd discovered playing cards in a small den not far from the kitchen. Unfortunately, Scar-face was not among them, a fact that afforded Amanda no small amount of trepidation.

Her progress had been painstakingly slow. Forced to crouch in the bushes for what seemed like an interminable interval while a soldier enjoyed his evening smoke, she'd half-expected to hear the welcome roar of an airplane's engines overhead, but the night remained unusually still, save for the occasional boom of thunder out over the ocean. Pushing her worry for Jamie to the back of her mind, she could only hope that her faith in the fresh-faced Agent Carter hadn't been misplaced.

"What are you doing?"

Lost in her thoughts, the sullen voice caught her unawares. Flattening herself against the wall, she tried to be inconspicuous.

"It's bad enough that you've been holding Jamie King against his will all this time."

Someone laughed. "You are in this as deeply as I am, Topping."

To her great relief, Amanda realized they weren't addressing her. Taking a tentative step forward, she continued cautiously to the second floor.

The commotion seemed to be coming from the bedroom at the far end of the hall. Though the door stood slightly ajar, Amanda couldn't see inside, but young Bennet Topping was certainly agitated about *something*. The other man, whose voice she didn't recognize, appeared equally disturbed, though in a quieter, more controlled way. She deduced that he must be the only man she had yet to encounter -- Roberto Salzedo.

Licking her dry lips, she carefully calculated the distance to the second staircase. Unfortunately, she would have to pass right by the open door to gain access to the third floor, where Carter had told her they were holding Lee. She briefly considered waiting until the men vacated the room, but if Salzedo was presently occupied with Topping, this just might be her optimal chance.

Topping's shrill whine split the silence again. "I never signed on for torture," he shouted. "What you did to that man upstairs . . . "

"Was necessary, my young friend, believe me. He refused to tell me what I needed to know."

A shuddering sob began in her chest, but Amanda forced it down with an effort of will. Refusing to acknowledge the possibility that she could already be too late, she began to tiptoe down the long hall. Lee was fine; he had to be.

As she edged closer to the staircase, she heard a radio playing. A country song, she noted absently, its strains intended to muffle the conversation. But as the exchange grew more impassioned, the men's words were clearly distinguishable over the background noise.

"You're a self-righteous hypocrite, Topping," the other man cried, his accent growing as thick as his anger. "What do you call what that vaccine of yours did to all those people in San Cardenzia, eh?"

"That was an accident -- you know that."

His friend's slow laugh sent a chill down Amanda's spine. "You didn't seem to mind when that 'accident' made you 'el disparo grande.' Have no fear. This new deal will make you a bigger 'shot' than ever . . . not to mention a richer one."

A fist slammed down on a table. "No! I don't want any part of your blood money. What you're planning to do with 'Project X' is treason."

Torn between her desire to find Lee and her curiosity over the mysterious 'Project X', Amanda lingered beside the door. If she could glean some intelligence now, it might prove helpful in the long run.

The man she supposed to be Salzedo cackled softly. "What do you think this is? A kiddie ride you can just jump off of any time you choose? There is only one way to dissolve a partnership like this . . . with a bullet. Are you certain *that* is what you want?"

"Roberto . . ."

"Go ahead. End our partnership . . . if you're man enough." As Topping stifled a small sob, Salzedo went on with a demeaning laugh, "I thought not. Now, stop squealing like a half-grown pig. We have details to discuss before the 'Project X' shipment arrives."

The radio's volume increased suddenly, the rest of the conversation lost in the plaintive voice of the singer who vowed to 'stand by her man.' Smiling at the grim irony, Amanda crept forward, grateful for the music that masked the squeaky floorboards on the stairs. She hoped anew that Carter had been able to alert the Agency. Whatever this 'Project X' was, it certainly had Ben Topping running scared.

As Amanda reached the upper level at last, a long, narrow corridor stretched out before her. It must lead to one of the four turret rooms, she realized as she slowly made her way down the dimly lit hall. Saying a silent prayer that fate had led her to the right spot, she warily opened the door.

The room was dark. Patting the wall to her left, she located a switch, holding her breath as she flipped it to the 'on' position. The inky blackness was immediately replaced by too-bright florescent light. Blinking to re-establish her field of vision, she wished she'd had the foresight to ask Carter for her flashlight.

Her eyes fell on the tense figure in the chair. "Oh, my . . ." Biting back her exclamation, she sprinted across the room. "Lee!" she cried as she quickly tore the rough burlap hood from his head.

"Amanda?" He stared at her in disbelief, as if trying to decide if she were flesh or fantasy.

Cupping his face tenderly in her hands, she smoothed his hair back off his forehead. "Are you okay?"

Her touch dissolved his doubts. "What the hell . . ." he began, his surprise causing him to speak a little too loudly.

"Shhh," she reminded him. "I didn't see anyone outside, but that doesn't mean the soldiers aren't around."

"What are you doing here?" The words came out in a breathy hiss. "Where's Jamie?"

"Hopefully airborne by now. Carter came for us right after the soldiers took you."

He frowned as he searched her eyes. "Why aren't you with them?"

She hastily averted her gaze. "Must have missed the flight. You know I've always had a problem making it to the airport on time."

"Oh, Amanda . . ." Lee groaned lightly as he shook his head.

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. "We can debate the right and wrong of this later. Right now, we've got to get you out of this . . . this . . . contraption." Her eyes misted as she took in the cruel chair with its insidious attachments of torture. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," he assured her solemnly. "Luckily Salzedo was in no hurry to begin his interrogation. See if you can find the lever that will release these bands."

Bending her knees, Amanda examined Lee's restraints, her fingers feverishly probing beneath the chair for anything resembling a release mechanism. "I think your friend Salzedo has other problems at the moment. I overheard him arguing with Bennet Topping . . . something about torturing someone?"

Lee nodded. "El Legarto is dead."

"Oh, my gosh," Amanda murmured as she switched her search to the back of the chair. "What about the rest of his men?"

"I would assume they're dead, too. I don't think we can expect any help from that quarter."

"Carter is calling for backup. They should be . . . there, I think I've got it," she proclaimed in satisfaction as the metal bands binding Lee to the chair suddenly sprang open. Pivoting, she started to free Lee's legs from the wires and electrodes. "Sorry," she muttered as she yanked some fine hair off along with the sticky circlets. "These are on pretty solidly."

"I'm just glad to be free of this blasted paraphernalia," he said with a sigh as he began to cautiously remove the cardiac leads from his chest. "Though I still wish . . ." He licked his dry lips. "These guys mean business, Amanda."

Pushing aside his unspoken remonstration, she concentrated on her task. "Why do you think 'Project X' is so important to them?"

Lee shoved his feet into his shoes. "Your guess is as good as mine. Salzedo wanted to know the Agency's latest intel about the project, but I couldn't tell him anything."

From her perch on the floor, Amanda caught Lee's eye. "Couldn't or wouldn't?"

"Couldn't," Lee enunciated pointedly, his fingers tugging at his shoelaces with unrestrained vigor. "Do you honestly think I'd keep information from you now?"

"Yes, Stetson," a harsh voice demanded in thickly accented tones. "I would like to know the answer to that question myself."

With a short laugh, Roberto Salzedo stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a dull thud. Gun clutched tightly in his right hand, he appeared unruffled by his discovery of the ill-fated escape attempt. If anything, the anticipatory gleam in the man's eye betrayed amusement, as if he somehow found the scene playing out before him strangely humorous.

All this Amanda absorbed in the mere split of the second it took Lee to pull her to her feet. "Go to hell, Salzedo," he growled, shielding her with his body as he stepped in front of her.

Salzedo smiled. "How inadequate, Stetson. Such lame invocations are starting to make me think you really *don't* know anything . . . which, of course, makes you no use to me whatsoever." Moving toward them, he slowly cocked the trigger.

"Don't . . . please." Amanda's voice cracked as she gasped out the plea.

Salzedo turned to her with a smugly satisfied smile.

Just as she'd intended, Lee made the most of the man's brief hesitation. In the blink of an eye, she saw him swiftly kick out with his left foot, knocking the gun from the stunned Salzedo's hand. Moving just as quickly, Amanda drew her weapon, her fingers closing around the trigger even as Lee tackled their adversary to the floor. Sucking in a breath, she braced her right hand with her left, training the gun on the twisted mass of arms and legs writhing in front of her.

As she worked to still the slight tremor in her hand, Amanda suddenly grasped the sticky 'catch--22' they'd landed in. A shot was certain to bring the Triads down around their heads. Yet, in his present condition, Lee was clearly no match for the stockier Salzedo, who was rapidly gaining the upper hand. Breathing heavily, she pointed the gun toward the ceiling, her wide eyes searching the room for a weapon . . . something . . . anything . . .

She suddenly remembered the knife. Delving into her pocket, she quickly retrieved it, flicking the blade open with her finger. "Lee!" she cried, struggling to keep her voice even. Amanda saw understanding in his eyes as she sent the weapon skidding toward him across the polished floor.

Everything seemed to happen at once. As Lee lunged for the knife, Salzedo tackled him, wrapping his hands tightly around his opponent's throat. Lee countered with a swift chop to the head, but Salzedo's chokehold was too strong. Hatred shone from the man's dark eyes as he tightened the vise-like grip of his fingers. Reaching out blindly, Lee's long fingers searched desperately for the knife. Before she could act, Amanda watched the blade all but disappear into the soft flesh at the base of Salzedo's neck. Collapsing, Lee delivered the last lethal twist.

The two men lay motionless on the floor.

"Lee!" Amanda cried again, her hand reflexively covering her mouth as she looked at the still forms. Lee finally pushed Salzedo's limp body from him with a loud grunt. "Thank God," she murmured under her breath as, rubbing his throat, he struggled to his feet.

Tucking her gun safely into her belt, Amanda crossed to him without a word. She wasn't quite sure who opened their arms first, but suddenly, somehow, Lee's body was pressed tightly against hers. They stood together, swaying slightly, his fingers tangling in her hair. "It's okay," he murmured huskily over and over again. "That pig Salzedo won't hurt anyone else."

She could only nod. Closing her eyes, she pushed closer against him. The beat of his heart was comforting in its steady rhythm, and she savored each thump for a few joyful seconds before reluctantly tearing herself away. "We'd better get out of here," she rasped, finding her voice at last. "Before someone else . . ."

"Happens on this touching little scene? I'm afraid it's too late for that, Mrs. King." Amanda's heart thudded into her feet at the sound of the scar-faced soldier's callous laugh. "This really doesn't seem to be your day, does it? Now, kindly drop your weapon to the floor."

Amanda saw Lee's eyes flash ominously as they rested on the man standing in the open doorway, a semi-automatic rifle braced in his arm. They didn't stand a chance against that kind of firepower, she realized with a short sigh. Scar-face would cut them down before they took two steps, no doubt with a great deal of pleasure. Lee must have come to the same conclusion; nodding, he silently instructed her to comply. As she placed the gun on the floor, Lee stepped protectively in front of her again.

Kicking the weapon out of the way, the solider touched his forehead in a mocking gesture of tribute. "Let me congratulate you both on a bravura performance. Thanks to your efforts, now I'm only going to waste two bullets instead of three." 

Lee shot a questioning glance at Salzedo's crumpled body. "I thought he was a friend of yours. Or are those little marks on his arm just for decoration?"

The Triad leader shrugged. "You know what they say about politics making unlikely bedfellows . . . Salzedo there was becoming a liability. The man's left a trail of bodies a fool could follow. *Two* fools, if you will," he amended with a sudden laugh. "Unfortunately for you, I have no more use for fools . . . though I have found the pair of you more entertaining than most. Now move over there," he barked, his congeniality taking a deadlier turn. His bloodshot eyes narrowed as he leveled his weapon. "For Mrs. King's sake, I'll try to make this as painless as possible."

Out of options, they moved toward the wall. Tiny black spots danced suddenly before Amanda's eyes. She drew in a few deep, slow breaths, but for some reason the oxygen wouldn't reach her lungs. Her ears began to buzz.

"Amanda."

She felt the tingling heat of Lee's gaze. "Look at me," he whispered softly, his hands grasping hers tightly.

Pressing her lips together, she nodded. As she locked her gaze on his, she was suffused with an inexplicable feeling of warmth. His eyes had darkened to a deep shade of green, and she suddenly found herself thinking, not of this moment, but of the countless others when she'd drawn strength and solace from those familiar depths. Dimly, she heard the pounding of feet on the stairs -- reinforcements, no doubt. She pushed those thoughts aside, shutting out everything but those amazing eyes that held her fast. 

"Captain! Captain!"

Something in the man's tone caused Lee's head to turn. Amanda reluctantly followed his gaze, shivering slightly as she felt their unspoken connection dissolve.

"We've got a problem," the first soldier stated as he burst into the room, another soldier and Ben Topping close on his heels. Beside the well-muscled men, the blonde Topping looked every inch a boy, his eyes clearly betraying his fear as they fell on the lifeless body of his former partner.

"What happened?" he gasped out. "Roberto . . . is he . . ."

"As a doornail," Scar-face confirmed, dismissing him with a curt wave. Turning instead to his Triad compatriot, he demanded tersely, "What problem?"

The soldier's eyed darted from Lee and Amanda then back to his leader. "Dr. King seems to be missing . . . along with the Carter woman and the small supply plane."

"Damn it," Scar-face cursed. "The pilot, too?"

"He's clean. We found him in Angie's room . . . all set for a big night. He thought the woman was coming to meet him. Guess Junior here wasn't quite enough for her," he said with a snide look in Topping's direction.

"Damn," the Scar-faced soldier spat, ignoring the taunt. "I wasn't counting on this. Did you . . ."

"Already taken care of," his ally assured him. "I sent the sergeant after them in the Stryker 900. It has wing power as well as fire power. They won't be a problem for long."

"And if she called for backup?"

The soldier shook his head. "Impossible. The storm is interfering with all the com lines. Sarge will reach them long before they're clear."

Scar-face nodded. Turning a cold eye on Bennet Topping, he demanded harshly, "This complicates things. Exactly when is the 'Project X' shipment due to arrive?"

Topping shifted nervously. "Five or six hours, but . . ."

"What's the recognition sequence?"

"Don't tell him, kid," Lee spoke up suddenly. Nodding in the direction of Salzedo's body, he added grimly, "The heavy artillery's already been eliminated. Do you really think he's gonna keep a toy gun around?"

Sweat breaking out on his brow, Ben licked his lips. "I don't think . . ."

"You're right," Scar-face threatened ominously as he grabbed the boy by the shirt. "*You* don't think . . .*I* do! Now you brought that treacherous little bitch to the party, so you'd better talk fast."

"Um . . ." Topping heaved a sobbing breath as his eyes flitted from the Triad leader to Lee then back to the soldier again. "The code is 'Geronimo,' the recognition, 'Little Big Horn.' But there's another problem . . ."

"What now?" Scar-face demanded, giving the boy a rough shake. "Spill it, Topping," he snarled as Ben struggled to find his voice.

"We needed Dr. King to verify the formula once it arrives. Without him, we'll have no idea whether or not the modification to the chemical agent is sufficiently toxic."

Amanda felt the cold nausea of fear in her stomach as understanding dawned. North Shore Labs had government contracts, some for the military. 'Project X' must be some sort of biological weapon . . . something Salzedo and the Triad's had stolen and modified, for God-knows-what purpose. As Lee shot her an alarmed glance, she realized he, too, had reached the same grisly conclusion.

Scar-face let out a frustrated growl as he released Ben. "So what do you propose we do? This was your project -- surely you and Salzedo had contingency plans."

"There isn't any way to know," Topping reiterated stubbornly. "Not without Dr. King to verify the formula. Unless, of course, you did a field test, but that would mean . . ."

"Field test?" The Triad leader let out a low laugh as his eyes raked over Lee and Amanda with new interest. "Yeah, I think a 'field test' could be arranged. As for you," he said, drilling his eyes into Topping's skull, "I appreciate the intel, kid . . . but you should have taken Scarecrow's advice. Never give away your ace . . . especially when you don't know what hand your opponent's holding," he finished, putting a quick bullet between the boy's eyes. Bennet Topping fell to the ground in slow motion, a slightly puzzled expression on his lightly freckled face.

Amanda clutched convulsively at Lee, burying her head in his shoulder. "Somebody take out the trash," she heard Scar-face bark at his remaining men. "And let me know the second 'Project X' arrives. I wouldn't want to keep our guinea pigs here on tenterhooks any longer than necessary."  The man's smirking smile was clearly evident in his voice.

As Lee drew her closer, she slowly raised her head. "Sorry for the change in plans, Mrs. King," Scar-face lamented as his eyes met hers. "I guess this won't be quite as painless as I thought." Sighing, he gave his head an affected shake. "A pity, really . . ." Turning to his men, he ordered gruffly, "Take them back to the cell."

As a soldier motioned roughly with his gun, she felt the subtle pressure of Lee's hand on the small of her back. Closing her eyes briefly, she said a silent prayer for Jamie's safety. It was all she could hope for now.

~ XXXIII ~

Lee watched Amanda out of the corner of his eye. "If you keep that up, you're going to wear out the floor," he told her as she made yet another pass by the narrow cot where he lay.

She sent him a thunderous look. "I don't see how you can make jokes at a time like this."

"It sure beats thinkin' about things we're powerless to change."

Her plaintive sigh reached him from across the cell. "I just can't get rid of the picture of poor Ben, his body crumpled in a heap on the floor. He looked so surprised. I keep remembering that little boy who used to sit at my kitchen table eating chocolate chip cookies."

"Some 'little boy,'" he said with a harrumph, launching himself off the cot to map out a circuit of his own. 

"I think he just got in over his head. Ben always had this huge need to impress his father. I remember when he ran for class treasurer . . ."

"This is hardly some elementary school nonsense, Amanda." Though he was well aware of her compassionate nature, he found her sympathy for anyone with the last name 'Topping' particularly untenable. "Your pal Ben was every bit as responsible for what happened to Jamie as Salzedo, Scar-face or any of those other assholes upstairs."

"You think Scar-face and his buddies caught up with them, don't you?"

"I didn't say that." Recoiling from the haunted look in her eyes, he marched toward the far corner of the cell. The walls seemed thicker somehow; their dank, musty odor assaulted his nostrils. "Carter's a good agent."

"That's not an answer, Lee."

He could hear the prickly accusation in her voice. "What the hell do you want from me, Amanda?" he shot back. "Yeah, okay, I think Jamie could be in trouble . . . big trouble. Does that make you feel better?"

"Not particularly," she answered coolly. "Does yelling at me make *you* feel better?"

Rubbing the back of his neck, he carefully avoided her eye. "If Jamie *is* in trouble, there's not a damn thing we can do to help him from this blasted cell. I just hope to God that Carter can . . ." Leaning forward, he braced his hands against the wall. "Damn it," he muttered, slapping his palm against the rough brick, "damn it all to hell." Tightening his fingers into a fist, he drew his left arm back.

Soft hands pulled at him. "Don't!" Amanda shouted fiercely, her voice growing huskier as he tried to twist away. "This self-flagellation has got to stop, Lee."

He let out a bitter laugh. "I'm just taking responsibility, Amanda. I thought that's what you wanted."

She sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, the sound a sharp hiss beside his ear. "It won't bring Jamie back," she stated in steely tones, "or Phillip, either, for that matter. Some things are just . . ."

Glaring down at her, he raised an eyebrow. "Beyond our control?"

"Yes." Taking a long breath, she added hesitantly, "That day at the warehouse . . . you know, when Phillip . . ."

He shook her off and flopped back down on the cot. "I can't do this now. I'm just too tired." Covering his eyes with his arm, he cocooned himself in a warm cushion of darkness. Whatever she needed to say, he couldn't let himself listen. It was safer to concentrate on basic things, like where his next breath was coming from.

As Amanda began to pace back and forth again, Lee turned his face to the wall. He couldn't drown out her footfalls, though; they resounded hollowly on the hard concrete floor, the flat 'clomp-clomp' beating in time to his heart. Faint echoes of a past doomed to repeat itself.

In those silent months following Phillip's death, she had paced many a night away just like this. Sleepless and alone in their bed, he'd listened to the staccato sounds drifting up from the kitchen. What was that old saying about husbands and wives taking on each other's traits? Under less tragic circumstances, he might have found the phenomenon amusing, but it had only served to increase his bitter longing for his wife.

Her footsteps ceased abruptly and, jolted by the silence, Lee rolled to his side. "Why is it so cold down here?" he heard Amanda exclaim under her breath.

The edge to her voice was slight, but it worried him. He took in her pinched expression and flushed cheeks in one long look. As he suspected, her chill came more from within than without. Lee understood only too well; the prospect of being injected with 'Project X' scared the hell out of him, too. Scar-face had been right about one thing -- a bullet would have been infinitely kinder.

Forcing himself to sit up, he cast about for a distraction. "You call *this* cold?" he prompted, sending a grin in her direction. "What about that night we spent in West Berlin? We were waiting for our contact in that run-down hotel room . . ."

"And the heat wasn't working," she finished with a weak laugh. "I'll never forget it."

"You kept banging on the pipes with your shoe."

"Don't knock it," she defended, warming to the game. "It always worked with the furnace at home."

Lee laughed. "Must have been the language barrier, I guess."

"Very funny," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Germany wasn't half as bad as that afternoon we spent in the woods up in Minnesota. How long *did* it take for that courier of yours to show?"

He cocked his head to one side. "Too damn long. By the time he finally put in an appearance, I'd almost frozen my. . . uh, *tail* off," he amended quickly at her raised eyebrow. Clearing his throat, he countered, "But that night in Rock Creek Park . . . you have to admit, *that* really takes the prize." 

"That was your own fault, and you know it. I told you not to wear those silly Bermuda shorts you'd borrowed from Beaman." 

"Hey -- as I recall, Jamie thought they were 'gnarly.'"

Amanda grinned. "*Jamie* was thirteen."

"It was the best I could do at the last minute. The stores were closed, and I needed something to make me look more like a tourist." The memory brought a smile. "Billy was already steamed enough, and I didn't want to blow the assignment."

"But, Lee, they were plaid," she reminded him with a quick laugh. "There was a day you wouldn't have been caught dead in a get-up like that."

He rolled his eyes. "I probably wasn't thinking straight at the time. Billy'd had me on the road for the better part of the month. We were still doing penance for that 'mystery marriage' nonsense, remember?"

Lee watched her cheeks grow hot. "Yeah," she whispered softly, "I remember."

He looked away. It was evident that she recalled the events in the park that night as clearly as he did. Alone for the first time in weeks, they'd barely been able to keep their hands off each other. Lee smiled faintly; after sleeping apart for the better part of a year, they'd anticipated a 'normal' life once they were publicly wed. To their chagrin, they found they'd only traded one set of challenges for another. Still, despite the sometimes daunting demands of his job and his instant family, the first six months of their 'official' marriage numbered among the happiest of Lee's life.

Amanda's wistful sigh tore him from the past. "It's always cold in Chicago," she croaked. "When the wind whips up off the lake, it cuts right through you."

He nodded, flicking a piece of fuzz from the blanket. "This past winter in D.C. wasn't much better."

Tilting her head, she traced the edge of her upper lip with her tongue. "Really?"

"Yeah. 'Unseasonably cold' -- I think that's how your old pal Dan described it."

"Dean," she automatically corrected, her eyes narrowing. "And since when do you watch channel 5?"

He shrugged sheepishly. "I kinda fell into the habit this past year."

"I used to catch him, too, sometimes. On satellite," she admitted in a voice so low he could barely hear her. Staring down at the floor, she gave her arms a few vigorous strokes. "What time is it?"

He ran a hand over his naked wrist.  "They took my watch. I figure we've been down here maybe a couple of hours."

"And if Carter and Jamie *did* manage to get through and call the Agency?"

Lee frowned, wrinkling deep creases into his forehead as he considered what she was really asking. "I don't see how they could get here before mid-morning at the very earliest. Scar-face and his cronies are expecting the 'Project X' shipment before dawn."

She ran her tongue across her lips. "The authorities on the island . . . would they . . ."

He shook his head. "Local security is a joke. With the Seaforth system they've got protecting this estate, well . . ." His smile became infinitely sad as he caught Amanda's eye.

Crossing the room, she sank down beside him on the cot. "So I guess we may not make it out of this one after all."

He studied the cracked pattern in the brick on the far wall. "We've managed to get ourselves out of some pretty tight spots over the years."

"Good try, Stetson," she said with a sigh, her fingers toying with the blanket's frayed edge. "But I think we're way past lies at this point, don't you? Even compassionate ones." Resting her hand on his thigh, she added, "I'm sorry I dragged you into the middle of all this."

"I'm not," he told her, his hand covering hers. Despite the small goose bumps on her skin, her fingers felt wonderfully warm as they entwined with his. "If you hadn't called me, then Jamie would still be the one in this cell right now."

She nodded. "At least, with Carter, he had a fighting chance."

"So did you." Leaning forward, he searched her eyes. "You shouldn't have come back."

"We're partners, Lee."

He rubbed his thumb absently across her palm. "Scar-face and his cronies have been one step ahead of us from the get-go on this one. I . . . I didn't want this for you."

She bowed her head. "I knew what the odds were. I suppose it *was* foolish of me to think I could mount a rescue single-handed."

"Foolhardy, maybe," he said with a soft smile, "but never foolish, Amanda."

"Mother always said that stubborn streak of mine would get me into trouble one day." Glancing around the cell, she gave her head a rueful shake. "I guess she was right, huh?"

"Hey, your stubborn streak has saved my butt more times than I can count. I still remember that day you showed up out of nowhere, dressed in that silly den mother uniform, pretending your finger was a gun. That crazy cooking show woman . . . what was her name again?"

"Mrs. Welch," she supplied with a grin.

"Mrs. Welch," he repeated, shaking his head. "I thought she'd burst a blood vessel when she found out she'd been apprehended by a housewife from Arlington."

"We *have* rounded up our share of bad guys over the years."

He gave her hand a squeeze. "And then some."

"It just galls me to think those jerks upstairs are really going to get away with this," she replied somewhat breathily.

He let out a short sigh. "They'll trip themselves up sooner or later. At least Blue Leader knows the Triads are involved."

Amanda snorted. "Yeah, that makes me feel a whole lot better." Pushing off the cot, she folded her arms across her chest as she began to pace again.

Springing after her, Lee caught her by the shoulders. "Amanda," he ordered huskily, "Stop. You're making me dizzy."

"I can't," she returned, her voice cracking on the second word. She held his gaze for a few brief seconds before letting her eyes dart away. "If I stop moving, I'll have to think. I can't do that anymore, Lee. I'm too scared."

He pulled her to him. "I know," he murmured as his hands roamed over her back. "I'm scared, too."

Lee felt a chill sweep through him as she opened her arms and wrapped them tightly around his waist. "All this awful stuff keeps playing over and over in my head, like some kind of bizarre video," she gasped roughly. I can't make it stop. What they might have done to Jamie . . . all those things Scar-face said about 'Project X' . . . and . . . and Phillip. Wondering what might have happened if *I* had been with you that day at the warehouse instead of . . ." She drew another shuddering breath. "I just want all the pictures to stop."

As her body shook in his arms, Lee pulled her closer.  "Shhh," he comforted, the words he'd longed to say for so long spilling out. "It's okay, it's okay. I'm here."

Pulling away from his embrace, she raised her eyes to his. Moisture had pooled in their corners, but she clung stubbornly to her tears, refusing to let them fall. "Make it stop, Lee," she said, a deep tremor running through her voice. "Please . . . for just a little while."

"Amanda . . ." He followed the curve of her cheek with the tip of his finger. "Amanda," he whispered again, his voice gravelly and deep. He saw her eyes widen in wonder, but she didn't pull away. Mouthing her name one last time, he leaned in to kiss her.

Her lips were soft and wonderfully pliant beneath his, just as he remembered them. He ached to deepen their contact, to kiss her long and hard, but for some reason his mouth refused to open. Frozen, he stood there, his lips covering hers, unable to go forward but at the same time unable to pull back. It was an odd, off-balance feeling he hadn't experienced since he was a teenager. He could almost feel his palms begin to sweat. Then Amanda made that little sound, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, in the back of her throat. Desire surged; instinct took over, and his lips parted at last.

She met him with equal ardor, and, driven by a profound hunger, he made quick work of the buttons on her fatigue jacket, slipping his hands underneath the rough fabric. He felt her tremble slightly beneath his touch, and, pausing just long enough to slip the jacket off her shoulders, he lifted the shirt over her head.

She shivered as the cool air hit her skin. Outlined against the backdrop of the dark, barren cell, she seemed particularly vulnerable. He longed to mold himself to her, to hold her body next to his again with nothing between them. Removing his own jacket, he quickly stripped away the remnants of his torn t-shirt, tossing both garments aside. Closing the last distance between them, he enfolded her in his arms, the feel of her next to him setting his senses ablaze. Shutting his eyes, he allowed the purely physical sensations to wash over him, drowning out the words that still hadn't been spoken, the feelings that still needed to be resolved. This response, at least, he could comprehend; *this* he was sure of.

Bending, he lifted her into his arms and moved quickly to the narrow cot. As she returned his fevered kisses, he knew that she wanted this as much as he did. Whether it was a result of the impending danger or the potent pull of the past, he didn't care. There were no more yesterdays or tomorrows, only this moment, and the burning need between them. As he took possession again of what had once been wholly his, he felt it all fall away . . . the squalor of the damp cell . . . the unknown threat they faced . . . the cruel loneliness of the past year. There was always and only the velvet touch of her fingers on his skin, the feel of her lips against his, the surge of emotion in his heart as he lay beside her.

This was no gentle lovemaking. They moved to a cadence beyond his control, a needy, possessive rhythm measured by past pain and present heartache, and a future in which they would play no part. "Oh, Amanda," he whispered, his lips seeking hers once again. As he surrendered at last to the swirling vortex of pleasure and need and regret, a new joy began to grow inside him, eclipsing everything else.

It was only as he held her in the pale afterglow of their spent passion that he realized that, even in their moment of deepest intimacy, she hadn't once called out his name.

~ XXXIV~

"Amanda." Lee's voice washed over her. "We should get dressed."

She stirred against his side, but even that small effort was too much. The awful uncertainty of the past few weeks had been momentarily banished by the assurance of her husband's loving touch. Warm at last, she didn't want to move.

"Amanda."

She silenced him with a finger to his lips. The steady rhythm of his heart beat reassuringly against her ear; it was all she needed to listen to. Making love with Lee again had shaken her to the core. When his lips had met hers, it was if there had been no more separation, no more loneliness, just a unity of mind and heart and body she'd forgotten existed. The power of her response had rendered her speechless.

"Amanda." She let out a small sigh; Lee was determined to talk, it seemed. "I think I heard them upstairs."

Alarmed, she raised her head. "So soon?"

"I don't know. But I don't think it's a good idea for Scar-face or his buddies to find us like this, do you?"

"No," she answered in a low voice. She certainly didn't want to give Scar-face any ideas; the man's leers already made her flesh crawl. Reluctantly, she began the process of extricating herself from Lee's embrace.

Lee took a deep breath as he let her go. "You know, I've been lying here thinking about some things."

"Me, too. Kind of hard not to, I guess." Her words were unhurried, lazy, a delicious languorousness governing her tone. The soldiers would either come or they wouldn't, there wasn't anything they could do about it. This moment was just for the two of them.

"Yeah." Lee scrubbed the fatigue from his eyes with the tips of his long fingers. "I figure when they come down here we have two choices -- go quietly like sheep or put up a fight. Personally, I prefer the second option."

The worn blanket slipped from Amanda's shoulders as she stiffened. Struck by the cool air, her skin turned to gooseflesh. Lee's demeanor was more suited to an Agency briefing room than the bed still warm from their lovemaking.

"Whatever's going on here," he continued as he set about working the kinks out of his neck, "it can't be good."

She forced a laugh. "I'd say *that's* the understatement of the year."

He sat up, shaking his head from side to side. "We've got to try to do something."

"Do what, Lee?" Amanda challenged. She had no right to be annoyed, yet she couldn't seem to stem the flow of angry feelings.

Abandoning the cot, Lee grabbed the clothes he'd discarded so willingly only a short while ago. "I don't know . . . something. I have no intention of becoming a test case for some new biological weapon."

"I'm not exactly thrilled about that idea, either." Drawn by the subtle interplay of muscles across his back, her eyes drifted lower. Suddenly conscious of her own nakedness, she wrapped the blanket tightly around herself and looked away.

Scarecrow droned on in full agent mode. "There's got to be some way to stop them."

"I'd like to know how." Her voice was thick with sarcasm, but she didn't care. Stumbling across the room, she snatched her scattered clothes from the unforgiving floor. "We're unarmed and outnumbered."

The elastic waistband on his boxers made a snapping sound as he pulled them on. "I'll just have to get the jump on them," he informed her.

She twisted her t-shirt in her hands. "They'll take you down without batting an eye."

"Maybe," he said, shoving a leg forcefully into his pants. "But while they're busy with me, you can make a run for it."

"Lee . . ."

"Amanda, we've got to find a way to let the Agency know about Project X."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Project X?"

"Yes. God only knows what those assholes plan to do with it." He quickly buttoned his pants. "More than our lives may be at stake here."

The cell floor felt grainy and cold beneath her bare feet. Turning her back, she slipped on her panties and t-shirt. "That may well be, but this so-called plan of yours has more holes than a sieve." Wrapping herself modestly in the blanket again, she faced him. "Suppose by some stretch of the imagination I *did* manage to get out of this cell -- getting off the estate is another matter entirely. I have no idea where their sentries are placed, not to mention the alarm. I'm sure it's been reset, and I don't see how . . ."

"Amanda." Her name on his lips staunched her ready flow of words. "I want you out of here. Even if it means . . ." Shoving his belt through the small loops, Lee dragged the cloth end through the metal closure, thumb and forefinger snapping the buckle shut. "I'd rather not make this too easy for them, that's all."

Pushing into his shoes, he yanked the laces tight. As Amanda watched him tie them in that backward, left-handed way she used to tease him about, she let out a sigh. "'Do not go gentle into that good night,' huh?"

Lee shrugged. "Somethin' like that."

"Exactly like that, I think." Amanda smiled sadly. His eyes were filled with an aching sorrow that defied description. Lee had already accepted their fate; it was Scarecrow who needed the illusion of action.

She gripped her hands tightly. "Funny, the things you remember sometimes," she murmured to herself. "Dylan Thomas was one of my favorite poets in college. My sorority used to sponsor readings in the campus coffee house every Thursday night. So many years ago, and now it all seems like yesterday . . ." Raising her eyes, she looked up into Lee's gaze. He was standing right in front of her, and she hadn't even realized it.

"Here," he croaked, offering up her fatigues.

She reached for the clothes, letting the blanket fall. A chill swept through her, but it wasn't from the cold. Standing bare-chested before her, his face shadowed by a two-day growth of beard, her husband had never looked more rugged, more masculine, more . . . alive. She caught a sudden flash of something behind Lee's eyes; he was affected, too. Tilting her head, she offered up her lips, but his mouth bussed her forehead instead. 

"You'd better finish dressing."

Stung, Amanda turned away. Whatever Lee was feeling, he couldn't -- or wouldn't -- share it with her. Not even in what could be their last private moments on this earth. Damn him anyway, she thought with angry resentment; damn that controlled Stetson reserve. Damn everything to hell! If *he* wouldn't say it, then *she* would.

His look stopped her. "Did you hear that?"

She turned an ear to the door. He was right; the firm tread of fast-approaching footsteps resounded on the stairs. Their timing remained impeccable to the end.

Taking up his position, Scarecrow motioned her to the other side of the door. Amanda threw on her clothes, quickly doing up the buttons on her fatigue jacket. Outside the cell, the sounds grew louder; something metallic clinked in the lock. Calling up her last bit of courage, she squared her shoulders.

Lee looked at her then, his fierce expression softening for just a moment. It was more than her overwrought emotions could bear. As the door opened, she gulped down a strangled cry and turned her head away.

The scuffle ended almost before it began. Halfway through the door, she mumbled a surprised, "Oh, my gosh!" as Lee cried out, "Francine!" Momentarily frozen, they all gaped at each other.  

The blonde agent regained her equilibrium first. Ushering Amanda back into the cell, she called out quickly, "The package is secure. Finish your sweep while I brief the Chief."

Francine closed the door, her big blue eyes growing even larger as she took a mental situation report. Amanda was suddenly acutely conscious of Lee's missing shirt, her own slightly disheveled appearance and the conspicuously rumpled bed behind them.

Lee wiped his hands on his pants. "Francine . . . this, uh, is, um . . ."

Francine cut him off. "Don't. I've bought you a few minutes, but if you don't want this all over the Agency by nightfall, I'd highly suggest you finish dressing."

Though Francine's tone remained professional, her pale complexion betrayed her. Amanda shot a glance at Lee, but he was already reaching for his jacket. "You're certainly a sight for sore eyes," he teased in a half-hearted attempt to break the tension. "How on earth did you . . ."

Francine's eyes swept over Amanda's bare feet and the remains of Lee's torn t-shirt before coming to rest on nothing in particular. "You can thank Dr. Smyth for the rescue party. When Carter didn't report for work the other day . . ."

"Oh, my gosh! Carter! Jamie! They . . ."

"Are both fine, Amanda. Air Rescue picked them up a few hours ago." Francine's eyes softened as she added, "A little water-logged, but none the worse for wear."

"They were shot down?" Lee's words sounded heavy with worry.

"Someone blew their Cessna out of the sky, but they both managed to bail in time." Francine looked at Lee. "I guess Carter wasn't quite as 'green' as we all thought."

He rolled his eyes. "Not by half. She got word through, then?"

Francine shook her head. "As I was about to tell you, when Carter called in sick for work, I decided to go roust her out of her apartment. I didn't find her, of course, but I *did* discover a coded phone number that turned out to be a contact for . . ."

"Blue Leader," Lee finished. "Yes, we know."

"When Smyth found out about *that* connection, he went ballistic and ordered full tactical support." One finger toying idly with the narrow lapel of her smartly tailored jumpsuit, she stared at Amanda. "From the looks of things here, I'd say it was a good thing Smyth decided to act."

Furrowing his brow, Lee managed to tuck in the rest of his shirttail before asking, "The Triads? Were you . . ."

"The situation's been contained. Surprisingly, they didn't put up too much of a fight, except for a nasty looking little man with a scar on his cheek. He's in custody now, and not talking, but I'm sure he . . ."

Lee's grim smile cut her off. "He'll talk when I'm through with him. I have a score or two to settle with that guy."

Amanda's head began to throb to the beat of their verbal volleyball, and she squeezed her eyes shut. "How did you find us?" she asked. "This place is pretty well hidden."

"The tracking bracelet we issued you. We picked up the signal."

Amanda's hand immediately went to the small, deceptively delicate bracelet dangling from her wrist. In the chaos of the past few days, she'd forgotten all about it.

She heard Lee's laugh. "Leatherneck will be thrilled to hear that his newest trinket actually works. Lucky for us you're still wearing it, Amanda."

"Yes," Francine remarked. "This must be your lucky day." 

Amanda opened her eyes into Francine's cool glare. It was the same disdainful look she'd bestowed that first morning in the bullpen. Amanda felt once again, as her mother used to say, 'a day late and more than a dollar short.'

"Well, I, for one, am damned glad to get out of here," Lee responded a little too enthusiastically as Amanda turned away. He moved to the door, extending his arm with a flourish. "Shall we, ladies?"

"Yes." Francine's toe tapped the hard floor. "I think that would be an excellent idea."

"Amanda?"

She affected a casual smile. "You two go ahead. I need a minute."

Lee frowned. "I don't want to . . ."

"I'm perfectly all right," she asserted, showing him her back. "Don't shirk your official business on my account."

The door made a grating sound as Lee yanked it open. "Fine, then. I guess you know the way out." Pausing for a beat, he demanded harshly, "Are you coming, Francine?"

She seemed to hesitate, and Amanda silently willed her to leave. "The Com Center's been set up in the study, Amanda," Francine said at last. "When you're ready."

The blonde agent's words sounded almost kind. Shame flushed Amanda's cheeks; the woman had just saved their lives, and she hadn't even offered a word of thanks. "Francine," she began, turning slowly. "I meant to say . . ."

The room was empty. Amanda could hear a blurred murmur from the stairs, then it, too, died away. They must have reached the kitchen. In her mind, she pictured the snapshot -- Lee's hand resting firmly on Francine's back as they stepped into the bright, cheery room.

Exhaustion swept through her, and, stumbling to the cot, she sank down. Too tired to think, she let her hand trail over the mattress. The weight of their bodies had left a mark, two hollows that seemed to mock her. Gritting her teeth, she briskly smoothed them away. She needed no visible memories . . . the ones she carried in her heart weighed heavily enough. The arousing scratch of his beard on her body as he kissed her. The tiny beads of sweat that clung tenaciously to his shoulder. The pleasurable friction of skin on skin. For her, their lovemaking had been filled with passionate yearning; for him, it had been nothing more than a necessary physical release.

Though Lee hadn't actually said it, in retrospect, his actions made it all perfectly clear. His uncomfortable reticence as their passion cooled . . . the sudden attention to business . . . the guilty look as Francine walked through the door. While Amanda had been well aware of Francine's feelings, she hadn't realized how strongly her husband returned them. Was Lee even now trying to explain his lapse to his lover? She could almost hear the words. 'Just two lonely people looking for a little . . .' Well, she supposed he could fill in the appropriate blank.

Still, if she'd lost Lee's love to Francine, she only had herself to blame. She was the one who had walked away from their marriage. Said all those terrible things . . . left him alone for the better part of a year. All that righteous anger. . .

She sighed bitterly. Oh, yes, she'd been angry, all right -- but at herself, not Lee. For not being there to back him up that day at the warehouse . . . for being alive when Phillip was dead . . . for not telling him how weary she'd become of Agency life . . .

For always withholding the part of herself he'd tried so desperately to reach.

That was the part of her that had stubbornly refused his help . . . that had lashed out with hateful recrimination . . . driven her husband from their bed. She'd prided herself on being a private person, self-reliant, self-contained. Amanda West, who had been her mother's rock during her father's illness; Amanda King, who had held her head up high when her husband all but deserted her; Amanda Stetson, who had kept her tears at bay at her own son's gravesite. 

Yes, she was a private person. Private . . . and alone.

Holding her stomach, she began to rock back and forth. The first sob started somewhere deep in her chest, a strange, alien sound that seemed to have a life of its own. She couldn't stop it, couldn't hold it in; she simply didn't have the strength anymore.  She let herself fall, hugging her knees to her chest as she curled into a ball. There, on the bed she'd shared with Lee, Amanda finally let grief claim her.

She cried.

Cried for the lives that had once been filled with laughter . . . for the family she'd unwittingly torn apart . . . for the little boy named Phillip whose joyful spirit was gone forever. 

Most of all, she cried for the two souls who, in the face of unspeakable loss, had somehow become lost themselves.

~ XXXV ~

"The tests on Project X should be concluded sometime next week," Lee reported, "but the preliminary results demonstrate an unusually hardy viral agent with a casualty potential we haven't seen since the Russian bacteria PD-2." Scarecrow acknowledged the young agent with a nod. "Yes?"

"What about the lab that created it?"

"North Shore Labs has been shut down pending the outcome of the investigation. The CPO, Dan Roman, will most likely be indicted for espionage, along with two other silent partners in Iguana Associates."

"Senator Topping?"

Lee's eyes narrowed. "It looks as if he'll be cleared of criminal charges. Though what the long-term consequences this investigation will have for his political career remains to be seen. Topping has called a press conference for this later this afternoon. Desmond and Fielder will cover it." As silence settled over the conference room, Lee concluded, "If there are no more questions, that's it, people. Don't forget, weekly status updates are due by day's end."

As the agents filed out, Lee rubbed his bleary eyes. The days since his return from the island of San Simeon had been brutal. Though Dotty, Lisa and Joey had flown in for the joyful reunion with Jamie, Lee had seen little of them. Between questioning the captured Triad soldiers and formal debriefings with both Dr. Smyth and Blue Leader, Lee had barely made it home each night. Not that it would have mattered anyway; Amanda had removed herself to the Potomac Plaza with the rest of her family. In his one brief visit to the hotel, she hadn't even been there. Dotty had reluctantly informed him that she was helping Bryce Topping with the funeral arrangements for his son.

"Scarecrow."

Collecting himself, he looked up into Angela Carter's dark brown eyes. "I see your final debriefing's been concluded," he told the younger agent.

"Yes. I wanted to say goodbye. And thank you."

Lee shook his head. "I'm the one who should be thanking you. Your quick thinking saved Jamie's life."

Carter shrugged off the praise. "My father was a pilot. The first thing he taught me was to never to take off without a parachute. Or two."

"Good advice, it seems," Lee declared with a ready laugh.

"Well, that day, anyway." Carter's expression softened. "Thank you for crediting me with the bust. After everything that happened, I really didn't expect. . ."

"That I'd stop behaving like the arrogant ass you've been working for these past six months?" Lee smiled at her somewhat embarrassed grin. "No, Carter, it was only fair. You were the agent of record, not me. Dr. Smyth was wrong to insinuate otherwise."

A voice chimed in from the doorway. "Our fearless leader was wrong? No, I don't believe it."

They both laughed as Francine rolled her eyes dramatically. "I almost felt sorry for him at yesterday's debriefing," Carter empathized. "Blue Leader's chief was pretty tough on him."

Francine pulled her lips into an attractive pout. "Good. Maybe he'll retire."

Lee sighed. "I wouldn't count on it. Blue Leader may be on his case at the moment, but Smyth hasn't lasted this long without learning how to land on his feet."

Francine shared a grin. "And here I was about to apply for his job."

"I'm not sure I disagree with him," Lee went on. "At least where Blue Leader is concerned. Their black op cost the lives of more than one good man."

"And kept a dangerous biological weapon from killing countless others," Carter said, frowning. "Sometimes sacrifices are a necessary part of our job, Scarecrow."

Lee's jaw tightened. "Tell that to Tom Franklin's widow. We take enough risks, Agent Carter, without having to watch our backs in the office, too."

Francine cleared her throat. "Where are you off to now, Angela?"

"Chicago. I've been assigned to Chief Fleetwood's office to assist with the NSL investigation. In fact, I'm on the four o'clock flight." She looked at Lee. "I was hoping to talk to Amanda . . ."

"I'm afraid you're too late. Amanda, Jamie and the rest of his family headed home early this morning."

He must have spoken more harshly than he intended; Carter immediately slipped back into her professional mode. "I'll catch up with her in Chicago, then," she stated, her voice reassuringly neutral. "I expect to be spending a good bit of time with Jamie over the next few months."

It didn't look as if Francine was going to let him off that easily, though. Seeing her mentally wrestling with a response, Lee swiftly extended his hand. "Good luck, Carter. I'm sure you'll have the Midwest Division humming in no time."

Carter grinned. "It was a hoot for me, too, Scarecrow. You can tell your next assistant I left my stash of antacids in the bottom drawer of my desk."

Lee rolled his eyes. "I'll miss you, too, Carter."

As his former assistant took her leave, he felt Francine's cool blue eyes hone in on him. Turning away, he immediately opened the flash data report and pretended to study the page.

"Sharpening our field skills, are we?"

Damn, the woman could be downright annoying sometimes. He coughed slightly. "I don't have time to play at the moment, Francine. I'm busy."

"Then perhaps you shouldn't read upside down," she suggested, turning the report around. "It's much more efficient this way."

"I'll try to remember that." Before she could supply a witty comeback of her own, he gathered his papers and threaded his way through the bullpen to his office. He'd seen the look Francine had exchanged with Carter at the mention of Amanda's name, and he had no desire to resurrect *that* topic again.

Desmond, unfortunately, seemed to have other ideas. "There's no sanctuary anywhere," he griped as she closed his office door behind her. "And look at this desk. Did you do any work at all while I was away, Francine?"

His obvious attempt to derail her had no effect. He could see that look of single-minded determination in her eyes that always spelled trouble. "She left?"

Avoiding her glare, Lee added the armload of files to the general clutter and sank down into his chair. "Was there some part of 'heading home' you *didn't* understand?"

"Oh, I don't know," she lobbed back, her tone as prickly as his. "Maybe it was the part where you just let her leave."

He swiveled his chair toward the wall. "Yeah, well, there didn't seem to be much choice in the matter."

"Did you offer her one?"

The large leather chair creaked beneath his weight as he rocked back and forth. He made a mental note to call maintenance about the damnable squeak.

"Did you offer her one, Lee?" Francine repeated.

Her voice sounded too close. Turning, he saw that she'd perched on the edge of his desk in the same sassy way Amanda used to. Francine obviously had no intention of letting him slip through her fingers again today. He knew she'd been fairly bursting to have this conversation ever since they'd returned from San Simeon.

He cloaked his words in what he hoped was an air of finality. "Look, Francine, whatever you think you walked in on back on the island, you're wrong. Nothing's changed. Amanda's as stubborn as ever."

She groaned. "Scarecrow, for a man who's spent twenty-five odd years practicing the art of espionage, you can be incredibly obtuse sometimes. Not to mention a complete idiot."

Lee sprang from his chair. "What the hell do you know about it?"

"I know that you still love your wife."

"Ex-wife," he said harshly. "Amanda's a free agent. Or she will be, as soon as those damned papers I signed are filed."

Francine snorted. "Yeah. About as free as you are."

"I can't believe you," he grumbled, starting to pace. "One stupid little lapse, and suddenly you're Amanda's biggest advocate."

"Stop kidding yourself. We both know it was more than that."

Pausing, Lee sucked in a breath. He knew what it cost her to say that; he could hear the pain underneath her words.

"Look," Francine continued, her voice subdued. "I'm no fan of Amanda's -- I think I've made that pretty clear. But I've got eyes in my head, and I know what I saw. I have ears, too. I was at Carter's debriefing, remember? I heard what went on between you two down on that island."

"Then maybe you should have paid more attention at *my* debriefing. I distinctly told you . . ."

"Yes. And now *I'm* telling *you*. Do I think the woman treated you unfairly? Yes. Do I think she deserves you? Definitely not. Do I think she's behaved like a selfish, self-centered . . ."

"I get the point, Francine." He resumed his pacing. Like a fidgety little boy, he couldn't  seem to stay still.

"No, you don't," she shot back, shadowing his steps. "I may think all of that and more about her, but in the end, what *I* think doesn't matter one whit. It's what *you* think that counts -- you and Amanda."

His jaw clenched. "Amanda's made her feelings abundantly clear."

"Yes, she has. The question is -- what do you intend to do about it?"

Lee rubbed his temples. His head was throbbing, and Francine's nonsense wasn't helping matters. "I've got a lot of work to catch up on," he said, dismissing her as he marched back to his desk.

"Lee . . ."

"Tell you what -- you can harangue me all you want over dinner tonight." He gave her his best imitation of a smile. "Say eight o'clock at Emelio's?"

"No."

He dropped down into his chair again. "Then you pick the restaurant. I really don't care."

Straightening her back, Francine drew herself up to her full height. "I won't have dinner with you, Lee. Tonight or any other night."

"Francine . . ."

"I'm sorry, but I'm nobody's consolation prize -- not even yours."

He rubbed his tired eyes. "I never thought you were."

"Yes, but don't you see? In some ways, that's exactly what our friendship's become. And when Amanda came back, and I saw the two of you together, well . . . oh, I don't know, I guess all that anger I felt when Jonathan left started to take hold all over again." Francine let out a sigh. "So much so that I almost let myself make the second biggest mistake of my life the other day in this office. If you hadn't had the good sense to say no . . ."

He started to go to her, but she waved him back into the chair. "Let me finish. You see, Amanda did the same thing to you that Jonathan did to me -- she left. It didn't matter that the circumstances were entirely different; the end result was all I could see. But she's not Jonathan. I realized that when I saw the two of you together in that cell."

Lee contemplated the design of the trim silver pen lying atop the stack of papers. "We thought we were about to die."

"That's a convenient excuse, and you know it." Leaning over the desk, Francine forced him to meet her eye. "The simple truth is that you love Amanda. And she loves you. Sometimes I think it's obvious to everyone except the two of you. If you don't want to do anything about it, I guess that's your choice. But I won't help you fill your empty evenings anymore." Her voice cracked. "I can't."

Reaching for his coffee mug, he took a long drink. Life was so unfair sometimes. He'd never intended to hurt her, but that's exactly what he'd done. "You're a good friend, Francine. Better than I deserve."

"Go to her," she urged. "Tell her how you feel before it really *is* too late."

He shook his head. "Now I'm the one who can't."

"I'm truly sorry about that, Lee." Francine let out a long breath as she walked to the door. Pausing, she looked back over her shoulder. "You know, a little pride can be a very healthy thing. But too much . . . well, too much can be downright lethal. Think about it."

~ XXXVI ~

"United Airlines flight 851, with nonstop service to Chicago, O'Hare, will begin boarding momentarily," the disembodied voice informed pleasantly. "Please have your boarding passes ready when I call your rows."

"It's about time," Dotty grumbled. "How many 'mechanical difficulties' can one plane have?"

Looking over at baby Joey, Amanda sighed. "I don't know, but I don't think our poor little guy could stomach one more."

Jamie lifted his fussy son from his wife's lap. "It's that tooth he's been working on," he said, holding the baby playfully in the air to distract him. "Isn't it, Joey?"

The baby let out a deep belly laugh, a thin line of drool escaping his mouth to land on Jamie's cheek. "Maybe he's letting his daddy know that he should stick closer to home from now on," Amanda teased.

Grinning, Jamie wiped his face. "It looks like he'll get his wish. With North Shore going under, I'm going to have a lot of time on my hands."

"You know, if you guys need a little something to tide you over until . . . well, I'd be happy to . . ." Amanda saw Jamie exchange a pointed look with his wife. "What did I say?"

"Nothing, Mom. Lisa and I really appreciate it, but we'll be just fine. Besides," Jamie added with a quick laugh, "Lee already offered."

Amanda shifted in her seat. "I didn't realize . . ."

"Well, maybe you would have, Amanda," Dotty informed her in a prickly tone, "if you hadn't been spending every waking minute these past few days with a certain Senator."

Squirming under her mother's gaze, Amanda made a show of looking through her purse. Dotty had been on her case since the moment her plane had touched down in D.C. She knew how her mother felt about Lee, but every pointed comment seemed like one more knife in her chest. Before her mother could speak again, Amanda jumped up. "I need some chewing gum for the flight. I'll be right back."

"I've got some right . . . honestly," she heard Dotty grouse as she kept on walking. "I could throttle that girl."

"Give her some space, Grandma. You can't force something she's not ready for."

Picking up her pace, Amanda went in search of the small concession they'd passed earlier. 'Not ready,' Jamie said. If only things were that simple. A few short weeks ago, she'd known exactly what she wanted. Now, she seemed less sure . . . now, when it was too late. Why couldn't everyone see what, to her, was so painfully obvious? Lee had moved on. Even the blue-backed legal papers rustling in her purse seemed to know it.

Detouring to the large observation window, she looked out at the planes lining up to taxi. So many passengers, their journeys either beginning or ending. Soon she would be one of them. In a few short hours she would be back in Chicago again, back . . . home. The flight promised to be a smooth one; a great expanse of blue greeted her as she turned her gaze heavenward, stretching as far as the eye could see. 'Clear as a bell,' her mother used to say to her when she was a child. 'That sky is clear as a bell, Amanda.'

Then why did she feel so jittery?

Perhaps it was leftover emotion from the funeral yesterday. She hadn't been able to take her eyes off Bryce Topping as he stood beside his family's crypt. His tall figure looked as if a good wind would shatter it into a million pieces. All the emotions flashing across his face Amanda knew with painful intimacy. All the telltale little signs . . . the tight smile at the murmured condolences . . . the affected nod of the head . . . the silent screaming when people said it would get better in time. They meant well; they just didn't understand. Things didn't get better -- only different. She saw that so clearly now. Every day that she lived, Amanda would be discovering new ways to miss her son. And new ways to deal with her sorrow.

Her heart went out to Bryce. He was such a good man, kind, compassionate and, as her mother would say, 'easy on the eyes.' Later this afternoon, he would announce his resignation from the Senate. He wanted something different, he'd told her -- a way to make up for the grief Ben had caused so many others. Bryce was beginning to care for her; he'd asked her to help him start his new Youth Foundation. Would getting involved with him really make a difference in her life? Or would it just be another temporary band-aid on a wounded heart that would never heal?

"Mom." She felt the comforting pressure of Jamie's arm around her shoulder. "They've started boarding our flight."

She nodded. "Thanks for deflecting your Grandmother's concern back there. She means well, but . . ."

"Her methods leave a little something to be desired. Yeah, I know." Falling silent, Jamie turned his eyes to the window.

Amanda smiled at her son's reticence. Sometimes she could still see the sensitive little boy beneath the strong man he'd become. "I hear a 'but' coming," she prompted gently.

Jamie's eyebrows shot up in a perfect imitation of his grandmother. "I can't say that I disagree with her, Mom. I know Grandma thinks it's her mission in life to 'tell it like it is,' but I watched you and Lee together down on San Simeon. I know you still love him . . . you risked your life to save his."

"He would have done the same thing for me."

Jamie smiled. "Exactly my point. You both care, no matter how hard you try to disguise it. And I can't help thinking how sad it would make Phillip to know that he ended up coming between you guys."

"Is that what happened?" Amanda rubbed her aching head. "I don't even know anymore."

Jamie hugged her closer. "You know, Lee wasn't any happier than you were when Phillip announced he was going into the 'family business.' In fact, the week before he started formal operative training, Lee took Phillip out to dinner."

"I remember." She'd wanted Lee to blackball Phillip's application, and they'd had a huge row about it.

"It was supposed to be a 'guy's night out' sort of thing. But that was only a cover. Lee just wanted to talk to Phillip one last time. Get him to change his mind. Phillip told me Lee tried everything he could think of, but . . . well, you know how Phillip could be once he got an idea into his head."

Amanda nodded. "He was so stubborn."

"Yeah."

Pulling back from Jamie's embrace, Amanda gazed thoughtfully at her son. "Lee never said a word to me about that."

Jamie shrugged. "Maybe he was embarrassed about trying to influence Phillip. After all, you guys raised us to make our own decisions. To stand up for what we believe in."

"Yes," she whispered throatily, "we did."

"You also taught us to go after what we want." His eyes fixed on his mother, he gave her a gentle nudge. "And not to run away when the going gets tough."

"Jamie . . ." She drew a ragged breath. How could she tell her son that she was too much of a coward to practice what she'd always preached? "So many things have happened," she began in a halting voice. "Events . . . people . . . and they . . . well, they complicate things. It's too late to go back."

"You're absolutely right. But it's not too late to go forward. Where there's love, there's hope." Jamie smiled. "A very wise woman told me so."

Through her gathering tears, Amanda shook her head. She wasn't wise at all; her actions bore witness to that. "There's the final boarding call for our flight," she whispered as the intercom blared once again. "Lisa will skin me alive if you miss it."

"Mom . . ."

She propelled him forward. "Come on, Sweetheart. It's clear as a bell outside. A perfect day to fly."

~XXXVII~

Shifting his bag to his right shoulder, Lee pushed his way through the main terminal to the shuttle. He was late. If he didn't know better, he'd swear there was some sort of conspiracy at work. First the cab had been delayed, then the traffic had been a nightmare. And the line at the ticket counter hadn't been a line at all -- it was more like a swarming hive of tourists. It would have been so much more convenient to fly out of National, but Angela Carter was booked on the afternoon flight to Chicago. Besides, once the decision was made, he'd needed to act on it. Four more hours afforded him too much time to change his mind.

With relief, he saw the shuttle for the United Airlines terminal had arrived. Focused on his objective, at first he didn't hear the tentative voice calling his name. He turned when the sound finally registered, only to be confronted by a mass of elbows thrusting toward a common goal. Thinking his mind was playing tricks on him, he joined them.

"Lee!"

He paused again. The throng flowed past him, parting like a wave, until he heard the shuttle doors close. "Amanda," he called, finally free to make his way toward her. "I thought you were on your way to Chicago."

She moved to meet him. "Our original flight was canceled -- some kind of problem with the hydraulics."

"Oh."

She inclined her head toward his carry-on. "Off on more official business?"

"Ah, no. . . not really." The bag was beginning to press heavily into his shoulder, and he let it drop to the ground. "I was just, ah . . . where's the rest of the family?"

"Halfway home by now, I imagine," she told him with a faint smile.

"What, you couldn't all get on the same flight?" he asked, a chill hovering around the edges of his words.

"No. I, uh . . . no."

Her face scrunched up into a frown, and he mentally kicked himself; his question had sounded more like an accusation. "That didn't come out right," he apologized in a vain attempt to salvage the unexpected encounter. "I didn't mean to . . . interrogate you in the middle of the airport."

"And I didn't mean to sound evasive." She pinched the zipper on her black leather purse tightly between her thumb and forefinger. "What I meant to say, was . . ."

Someone pushed her from behind, jostling her in his direction. Steadying her with his hand, he looked around, surprised that another crowd had gathered. "Maybe we should get out of the way of this traffic."

As Amanda nodded, Lee shouldered his bag again. Fitting his free hand into the small of her back, he guided her toward an empty corner. He couldn't help but notice that she kept glancing around, almost as if she was waiting for something . . . or someone. He let his bag fall to the ground with a thud.

She looked up at him. "You didn't say where you were headed, Lee." 

He tried to speak, but under the careful scrutiny of those solemn brown eyes, it seemed he'd forgotten how. Damn . . . he was feeling just like a schoolboy again. He'd rehearsed what he wanted to say to her over and over again -- behind the closed doors of his office when Francine had finally left him in peace, in his bedroom as he'd tossed some clothes into his bag, and then once more on the seemingly endless cab ride to the airport. But, here, in person . . . well, he just hadn't anticipated having to face her quite so soon. Maybe he should have followed his first instinct and picked up the telephone. These things had always come easier to him that way.

Amanda seemed to be growing tired of his ridiculous inability to speak. Breaking their gaze, she began rooting around in her purse.

"I was on my way to Chicago," he blurted out.

Pausing, she stared up at him once more. "For the Agency?"

Lee could read her apprehension in the rigid tilt of her head. Well, he'd started this, there was nothing to do now but finish it. "I was on my way to Chicago to see you," he said, his voice surprisingly level despite his churning emotions. "I thought maybe . . . well, I thought maybe we had some unfinished business between us."

She nodded. "That's why I didn't get on the plane. I almost did, but then I realized . . . well, I realized I couldn't leave without seeing you one more time, without giving you this." With a shaking hand, she removed an envelope from her purse. "Here."

Lee ran his finger over the familiar embossed lettering in the upper left-hand corner. "The divorce papers? You've already had time to file . . ." The words choked him.

"Open them, Lee." Amanda's voice seemed to catch in her throat as well. "Please."

Sliding his thumb under the folds, he numbly looked inside. "What the . . ." As he stared at the torn remains of what had once been legal documents, he heard her heartfelt sigh. "I guess I thought we had some unfinished business, too. Maybe we could . . . well, go somewhere and . . . talk . . . about it."

Relief flooded through him as he slowly raised his eyes to hers. "Let's go home."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lee closed the door to the house on Maplewood Drive. "Do you, uh, want something to eat? I'm sure I can find a thing or two in the fridge that isn't . . ."

"Green?" She smiled. "No, thanks. I had a big breakfast, so I'm really not all that hungry."

He followed her into the den and sat down beside her on the couch. The uneasy silence that had fallen over them on the cab ride home still lingered, and he didn't know how to dispel it. He knew the words he wanted to say by heart; he just didn't know how to begin. 

Amanda seemed to be suffering from the same affliction. "My famous gift of gab appears to have failed me," she told him with a wry smile.

"Amanda King? Speechless?" he teased. "I don't believe it."

Her quick laugh broke the tension, but only for a moment. "It's been a, uh, pretty incredible couple of weeks," she began, embarrassment reddening her cheeks. "You know, I never even said thank you."

"For what, Amanda?"

"For finding Jamie. For going back into the field again." A worried frown crossed her face as she added quietly, "I know what that cost you."

He shrugged off her concern. "I'm just happy that things turned out the way they did. Seeing Jamie back with Lisa and Joey . . . well, that's all the thanks I need. Besides," he grinned, "it wasn't so bad out there in the field again, partner. In a lot of ways, it was just like old times."

"Old times . . ." Folding her hands in her lap, Amanda squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm sorry, Lee," she said at last. "So sorry . . . for what I did . . . what I said . . . for everything. It's pretty inadequate, I know, but I don't know what else to say."

Resting his arm on the back of the sofa, he toyed with the fringe on the blue and white throw blanket. "I'm sorry, too."

She ran her tongue lightly over her upper lip. "I was the one who left, not you."

"I could have tried to stop you, come after you. I didn't." He twisted a long yarn around his finger. "I've made more than my share of stupid decisions this past year . . . decisions I'm not . . . proud of."

She drew a long, slow breath. "We all make stupid decisions, Lee. God knows I have."

"I was lonely after you . . . well, after you left. I thought I could fill that loneliness with . . ." He exhaled loudly, his fingers massaging his forehead. "I've made a pretty big mess of things." 

"With Francine?" she asked in a low voice.

Feeling her soft hand brush his arm, he jerked his head up. "You knew?"

Amanda sighed. "She's made her feelings pretty obvious."

Lee shifted uneasily beside her. "We're friends, Amanda. This past year I couldn't have asked for a better one."

"Lee, you don't have to . . ."

"Yes, I do," he told her, shaking off the comfort of her touch. "It's important to me that you . . . understand."

Nodding, she responded with a quiet, "Okay."

She was sitting right beside him, yet her voice sounded so far away. Lee looked down, searching for the right words in the familiar tweed of their old sofa. "You remember how messed up Francine was after Jonathan's business went belly up and he walked out on her again?" he began slowly. "I guess I . . . well, I wasn't in much better shape myself after you left. I needed a . . . a friend, so Francine and I started seeing each other pretty regularly. We didn't plan it, it just kind of . . . happened, I guess. We both had a lot of empty hours to fill, and work . . . well, work only went so far. One night, after dinner, we ended up back at her apartment. I know it's not an excuse, but I'd had more than one scotch too many, and . . ."

Her sharp intake of breath cut him off. "Maybe the past is best left where it belongs." 

"I never slept with her. I can at least promise you that much . . . but . . ." Breathing deeply, he avoided her eyes. He could tell her, but not if he had to face the same brown eyes he'd looked into as he'd spoken his wedding vows. "I'm ashamed to say I probably would have if Francine hadn't had the good sense to call a halt to it."

Amanda took a long breath, then slowly let it out. "I'm in no position to judge you, Lee," she told him at length. "You or Francine, for that matter. I guess we all do the things we need to do to . . . to survive."

Lee looked at her curiously. Her relief was plainly evident, yet there was still an aura of unhappiness about her. He saw it in her cryptic smile, heard it in her voice. Her undemanding response carried unconditional absolution; perhaps she was seeking the same from him. Part of him longed to just leave it at that and move on, but there were too many unanswered questions hanging between them. Things he needed to understand.

She read the uncertainty in his eyes. "It's okay. You can say whatever it is you're thinking. I'm through running."

"Is that why you left, Amanda? Survival?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I've asked myself that a thousand times. I guess I didn't think I could go on anymore, not the way I was . . . well, the way I was with you, anyway."

His body tensed as he sat up straighter. "With me? *I* was the problem?" He knew he sounded defensive, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

"No . . . I mean, yes . . . I mean . . ." Rising, she buried her hands in the large pockets of her suit jacket. "This is so much harder to put into words than I thought."

"Try."

She walked to the bookcase, and Lee watched silently as she lifted Jamie's wedding photo from its place of honor. Running her finger across the edges of the pewter frame, she examined it with a strange reverence. He understood; more evenings than not, he found himself studying it as well. Taken just three months before Phillip died, it was the last picture of all of them together. It was a typically mundane family portrait, yet there was something behind the eyes of that smiling family that intrigued him. They were happy.

Amanda replaced the photo on the shelf. "I wonder if those people even exist any more," she said, giving word to his thoughts. "When Phillip died, he took part of me with him . . . a part I'm not sure will ever come back to life. At least, that's what I used to think."

Lee wet his dry lips as he asked in a low voice, "And now?"

She turned to face him. "Now, I want to try. But I'm not sure I know how."

Leaning back on the couch, he looked up at the ceiling. "I'm not really sure I know how, either. Maybe . . . well, maybe we could try counseling." As Amanda arched her eyebrows, he flashed her an embarrassed grin. "Yeah, counseling . . . I know. But I don't want to go back to the way things were between us. I don't think I could survive living like that again."

"I know. There were days I just . . ."

He heard a world of sorrow in her sweet sigh. "You just . . .what?" he entreated. "Talk to me, Amanda. Please."

Frowning thoughtfully, she paused to tuck her hair behind her ears before she answered. "I don't know how to describe it. It was everything . . . and nothing. Some days I felt like the world was closing in around me. Some days I wanted to scream. Some days I wanted to scour the Agency for the imbecile whose bullet had taken Phillip's life. And some days I didn't feel anything at all . . . as if the Novocain they'd given me that afternoon at the dentist's office had never worn off."

Lee rose slowly from the couch. "That day in the emergency room, when I told you about what went down at the warehouse . . .  I saw the light go right out of your eyes. You don't know how badly I wished then that I could trade places with Phillip . . . that it had been me."

"Not as much as *I* wished it had been *me*." She folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself lightly. "Ironic, isn't it? I lost a filling, so Phillip ended up losing his life."

Coming up behind her, Lee slipped his arms around her waist. Her bones felt fragile, like fine china, and he pulled her against his bulk with guarded caution. "The 'what-ifs' will drive you crazy if you let them, won't they?" he murmured softly in her ear.

Trembling, she managed a throaty, "Yeah."

He gave her a tender squeeze. "I've second guessed myself so many times over the years . . . what if my mother had stayed home that night instead of going to meet Blackthorne with my father . . . what if I hadn't agreed to meet Barney on the dock that morning . . . what if I had only taken one of the other rookies with me to the warehouse that day. But in the end, none of it matters. In the end, life unfolds the way it does, and all the 'what-ifs' in the world won't do a damn thing to change it."

She closed her eyes, suppressing a sigh. "That sounds awfully fatalistic."

"Did you know that my contact was supposed to be at Dulles that morning? He changed the meet at the last minute. Thought he'd blend in better on a train."

Unclenching her arms, she let him tighten his embrace, resting her hands lightly on top of his. "Now that's an understatement if I've ever heard one," she said as he rocked her gently. "If there was one red hat that day, there must have been twenty."

As their soft laughter mingled, he felt her relax at last, her fingers caressing him with slow, unhurried strokes. It was a heady feeling to know she was in his arms again, but this time because they were going to live, not die. "Why couldn't you have told me all this before?" he asked. "I'm your husband. I would have understood."

"That was the trouble, you see. More than anything, I wanted to feel your arms around me, just like this, to hear you say that everything was going to be all right. But . . . every time I looked into your eyes, I knew."

"Knew what?"

"That you felt the same emptiness I did. And if I couldn't make it okay for you . . . how could you possibly make it okay for me?" She leaned forward, brushing her thumb across Phillip's smiling face. "Everyone always said he was the spitting image of Joe, but that was only on the outside. Inside, he was exactly like me."

"I knew that right from the start." Closing his eyes, Lee breathed in the sweet fragrance of her hair. "Why do you think I loved him so much?"

He felt a shudder sweep through her. "I've said such terrible things to you. And last week . . . Oh, Lee, I even slapped you! I can't even begin to explain *that*."

"You don't have to explain it. *I* wanted to break that damn Senator's neck. The thought of you with him . . . it drove me absolutely crazy."

"I know the feeling. Every time you so much as mentioned Francine's name, I wanted to . . ." She chuckled softly. "Well, maybe it's better if we don't go there."

He laughed lightly in her ear. "Maybe not."

"I *was* attracted to Bryce," she admitted, snuggling against him once again. "At first, I couldn't figure out why, because I hadn't felt that way in so long. But then . . . well, then I realized that all the qualities I felt most drawn to were the ones that reminded me of you." As he laid his cheek against hers, she said contritely, "I was just so scared . . . scared that we were going to lose Jamie the same way we lost Phillip."

"Jamie's safe, Amanda. Safe at home with his family. What happened on that island was terrible, but he's a strong, determined young man. He's going to put all this pain behind him. Just like we are."

"Lee . . ." Her breath caught. "What happened on the island . . . between us . . ."

"When we . . . made love?"

Her cheeks burning, she gave a quick nod. "I needed you so much that night."

"I needed you, too," he said, his voice turning even more gravelly as his thoughts traveled to that small, dank cell and the words they still seemed unable to utter. Fear flashed through him as for one brief moment he allowed himself to wonder if it might really be too late to bridge the distance between them.

"I want it to be like that again," she continued uneasily, "but I just don't know . . ." Her words trailed off into a hushed stillness. 

As he felt her begin to pull away again, Lee tightened his embrace. For some incomprehensible reason, her doubt served to banish his. Love was worth the risks it brought; Amanda had taught him that lesson years ago.

Letting out a breath, he held her snugly against him. "It will be even better," he told her, his whispered words a promise. "When we're ready."

She turned slowly in his arms. "I told you what *I* wanted, but what do *you* want? What do you really want?"

"You," he said simply. "That's all I've ever wanted, Amanda."

"Oh, Lee, I . . ." Her eyes were the deepest shade of brown he'd ever seen as she stared longingly up at him. "I do love you."

"I love you, too," he returned ever-so-gently. Tears had wet her cheeks, and he traced their tracks with the tip of his finger. "I love you, too . . . Mrs. Stetson."

Epilogue

The wind ruffled her hair as she knelt by the grave. Though the breeze was cool, the day held the promise of warmth. Springtime in Virginia really was her favorite time of year. Amanda almost couldn't believe she was about trade it in all over again for the cold, gray drizzle of Illinois. 

Tilting her head, she sat back on her knees. Quiet surrounded her, and she filled her lungs with the sweet morning air. Everything seemed so peaceful, the beautiful grounds neat and well-tended. There were even fresh flowers by the headstone -- daisies, Phillip's favorite. It must have been Lee, she realized with a guilty pang. It had been a good three months since she'd found time to visit her son.

There had just been so many things to deal with, all the endless odds and ends surrounding yet another move. Finding a brand new place to live in Chicago, closing on the deal . . . selling the house on Maplewood Drive, deciding what to keep and what to give away. Amanda felt as if she was drowning in details. And she really shouldn't have let her editor con her into writing those two latest pieces simultaneously. One of these days she would take her mother's advice and learn to say no.

Of course, 'no' certainly wasn't a word Dotty had much practice with herself. She was currently heading the volunteer committees of at least three charities -- that is, when she wasn't playing bridge with Mr. Harding or trading gourmet recipes with Mr. Miller . . . or babysitting her great-grandson while his parents enjoyed a well-deserved weekend alone.

Jamie was finishing up the first year of his pediatric internship at Children's Memorial Hospital. Research had lost its appeal after his ordeal on San Simeon; these days, he preferred the 'hands on' approach of real, down-to-earth medicine. It was much safer that way -- or so he'd informed her with a wry smile.

Safer, maybe, but the hours were certainly more grueling and the pay considerably less. With Lisa back at work, Amanda was looking forward to being able to give them both a much needed hand. In a few months, Joey would officially enter the 'terrible twos.' She remembered her own boys at that age . . . handfuls, both of them. Her 'boys' . . .  No matter how much time passed, she would never stop thinking in the plural.

Brushing aside her tears, she ran a trembling hand over the headstone. The gold wedding band on her finger gleamed in the bright morning sun, its familiar weight oddly reassuring as she traced each carved letter with gentle reverence.

'Phillip Joseph King, 1973 – 1998.'

Very soon now there would be another Phillip King in the world. Jamie and Lisa were expecting another baby in August, and Jamie had asked if it would be too hard for her if they named this new boy after his uncle. When Joey was born, it had been too soon, but now . . . now it just felt right somehow. 'Phillip Lee'. . . yes, *that* felt very right indeed.

Surprisingly, this move to Chicago had been Lee's idea. At the beginning of May, her husband would take over as the Midwest Division Chief. In the aftermath of Blue Leader's investigation, the Agency had cleaned house. Any agents with ties to Sid Rollins, the Triad's original founder, had been forced out. Remembering the way the pompous Herbert Fleetwood had stonewalled her first inquiries into Jamie's disappearance, Amanda couldn't help but feel a small sense of triumph at the news that he'd been 'scooched.' She was still human, after all, despite Francine Desmond's occasional remarks to the contrary.

She had a feeling Francine held her largely responsible for Lee's resignation as Field Section Chief. Though his new job was ostensibly a promotion, any agent worth his salt knew the real action in the intelligence community was in D.C. The Chicago bureau would seem pretty tame by comparison. However, Francine's very vocal opinion on the matter notwithstanding, Amanda knew this job was exactly what Lee wanted. Her husband was more at home in his skin these days than ever before. With the successful prosecution of Russell 'Scar-face' Scurto safely behind him, Scarecrow had nothing left to prove. He was actually looking forward to a slower pace, and the chance to spend more quality time with his family. Life had taught him just how precious a commodity that was; Francine was just beginning to learn it.

Amanda's reconciliation with Lee the previous year had driven a discreet, but undeniable wedge between her husband and his good friend. The first few months had been pretty rough, but, eventually, they had all achieved a new equilibrium . . . especially after Francine had started seeing Mark Reynolds. Handsome, wealthy and definitely unattached, Mark was a free-lance writer for her magazine. When he'd surfaced in D.C. to research an article entitled 'The Changing Face of Espionage,' Amanda had immediately put him in touch with Agent Desmond. Evidently Mark had found that particular face of espionage especially intriguing; he'd been dating Francine exclusively for almost six months. Amanda smiled softy. Mark Reynolds was one of the good guys; she hoped this worked out for both of them. Underneath Francine's carefully cultivated sophistication lay a lonely, vulnerable woman who deserved to finally find a little happiness of her own.

Happiness . . . that word, Amanda had discovered, was a two-edged sword. It hadn't been easy to put the pieces of her marriage back together. In fact, at times, it had been downright painful. That day Lee brought her home from the airport had been an emotional one for both of them. But, all too soon, that first rush of feeling had passed, leaving a wary awkwardness in its wake. Amanda knew intellectually that she was exactly where she wanted to be . . . feeling it was another matter entirely. It had taken them nearly three months of counseling sessions to get to the place where they were comfortable enough to make love again.

But, oh! What a night that had been! She felt warm all over just thinking about it. She had spoken her wedding vows once again with her heart and her body. As they'd made love with tender abandon, she knew in the depths of her soul that she would never take anything about her marriage for granted again. Not the stolen dinners at Emelio's, the quick phone calls just to say hello in the middle of the day, the shuddering responses his hands evoked from her flesh, nor the roughly whispered 'I love yous' close to her ear. They had marched through all kinds of hell to get back to this place, but the deep and lasting love they'd rediscovered was worth every bump along the way.

"Hey, Mrs. Stetson." 

Turning, she looked up into a pair of sparkling hazel eyes.

"You have the strangest look on your face," her husband told her as he effortlessly pulled her to her feet. "What the devil are you thinking about?"

Reaching out, she traced his lips with her finger. "I'll show you later," she promised with an inviting smile.

Pulling her against him, Lee lost no time covering her mouth with his. The kiss was deep and warm, offering a world of possibilities. "Mmm," he murmured lazily as they parted at last. "I have a feeling we're in for an exhausting couple of weeks."

"We do have fourteen whole days all to ourselves, no magazine, no Agency . . ." Amanda tilted her head as she considered the more appealing options that idea presented. "Maybe we can go for a new personal record."

"I'm certainly willing to try if you are." With a twinkle in his eyes, Lee brushed his lips across hers again. "I think we're gonna have to put those plans to 'christen' our new house into immediate operation."

Amanda smiled. "I'm looking forward to every single maneuver."

He raised an eyebrow. "Even in the kitchen?"

"Especially in the kitchen." Running her tongue over her lips, she added with a slow grin, "I'm starting to develop a real taste for chocolate and whipped cream. Although, Stetson, I still suspect it's your incredibly subtle way of ensuring an adequate caloric intake."

Her husband shrugged his shoulders with a sheepish smile, and Amanda knew that although she had spoken in jest, her words weren't all that far from the truth. Despite her modest weight gain this past year, her family still wasted no opportunity to encourage her to eat. All this misplaced concern drove Amanda more than a little crazy; she'd always been on the thin side. Though she had to admit, Lee's interactive approach did have some pretty amazing fringe benefits.

"Amanda." Her husband's gravelly voice wrapped itself warmly around her. "We really should get on the road before the traffic gets too bad. Are you about ready?"

She nodded, turning her eyes on Phillip's resting place once again. "'It is from numerous diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped,'" she read from the headstone in a low voice.

"Robert Kennedy," Lee whispered as he folded his arms around her from behind. "I remember when Phillip wrote that paper."

"It was his first 'A' in high school; he was so proud." Twisting in Lee's arms, she looked up into his eyes. "Do you think maybe . . . well, maybe that was really true for Phillip? That he made some small difference in this world?"

"He died doing what he believed in, Amanda. And that always makes a difference." Lee pulled her closer, his voice rough with emotion as he assured her, "Phillip would have been the first person to tell you that."

"Yeah," she said with a sigh, "he would have."

She felt the gentle pressure of her husband's arms once again and, nodding, she took one last look around. In her mind, she finished the quote Lee had selected for Phillip's epitaph. '. . . Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope . . .'

Ripples of hope . . . maybe that's what it was all about after all. Her son had touched so many people . . . from the tall man standing silently by her side to the unborn baby who in a few months would bear his uncle's name. The ripples of Phillip's life were unending.

Amanda turned her eyes in Lee's direction. "Come on," she said, "it's time to head to our new home."  Slipping her hand into his larger one, she took the first step of the journey.

The end.