I don't own anything here, not the copyright and something possibly not my own mind. Yada yada yada, I'm taking the characters out for another wee spin around my demented imagination. Thanks to Gryffindor620 for the reviews!

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Piper was about to open her mouth again to call for Leo, when Tom looked back at her and made a shushing gesture. "It's alright, it's far more important to find out what this thing is. As for the third piece," he pulled out the last folder from his bag, "We think it might be here in San Francisco."

"Maybe." Theresa qualified. "It's the best lead we have."

Tom flipped through the folder in his hand, drained the last of his own coffee and then looked at Phoebe. "Have you ever heard of a local millionaire called Richard Cunningham?"

Phoebe rolled her eyes. "Oh boy have I heard of him! The paper's lawyers are scared stiff of him, every time he gets mentioned in the paper he objects to something in the story and tries to sue us. All you have to do is mention his name and a little vein starts throbbing in the editor's forehead."

"Is this the guy who's getting his fifth divorce?" asked Piper.

"Yup. The guy is unpleasant but very, very rich and very, very reclusive."

Tom gave them a hard smile. "He also seems to be very, very dishonest. The British Museum has a stack of accusations about him, detailing how he's bought up black market artifacts, items that are very rare and which somehow vanish from digs.

"Back in 1972, when he still had a good reputation, he financed an archaeological excavation near Karnak in Egypt. Lots of money, lots of resources and some big names to do the digging. However, after two months the Egyptian Government moved in and shut the whole thing down, lock stock and barrel. It turned out that there were some pretty massive discrepancies between what was being discovered and what was being declared as finds. The Egyptians have a lot of experience of this sort of thing and they cracked down hard.

"Cunningham was in the country at the time but flew out that night, despite a warrant for his arrest. The Egyptians recovered some of the missing finds, but not all of them. And not." Tom pulled out an old colour photograph and laid it on the table. "This." It an image of a now-familiar white object. Like the other smaller piece it was about 12 inches long, but this time it was round.

Cole looked up. "I think we have a match," he murmured. "But are you sure Cunningham still has it?"

Molly nodded. "We're pretty sure. We did a search of the archives and nothing like that has been sold on the open - or black - market since it was discovered."

"Besides," added Tom, "Cunningham isn't the kind of person to sell things on. He's never sold anything to do with archaeology. Maybe he's afraid that it'll leave a paper trail back to him, or that it might attract too much attention."

Phoebe nodded. "Let me guess, you're going to pay him a visit? I was wondering why all three of you came."

Theresa grinned. "We do the 'We're from the British Museum and you're in trouble' routine very well now. Not that we have any jurisdiction over here, but at least we can see if it's there."

"And also warn him that there's something, or rather someone, who murdering people to get hold of the entire artifact," said Tom, rummaging in his bag again. He straightened up and threw a small leather wallet to Piper, who caught it with a frown on her face.

"What's this?" She opened it, stared at her picture, and read out loud: "Piper Halliwell, Assistant Director, Room 42, The British Museum." She turned back to her cousin. "Wow! I'm a deputy! Do I get paid?"

"You got some for us too?" asked Paige eagerly.

Tom shook his head. "Sorry, I had pictures of Piper and Pheebles here, but not one of you. Phoebe writes for the paper, so she's too well known. And if we do see, by an amazing bit of luck, the third piece just lying around, Piper can freeze everyone and we can grab it. Not that life is ever that simple."

"Nah," growled Piper, waving her new warrant card under the nose of a scowling Paige who stuck her tongue out, "Our luck normally stinks. Lets go before Leo gets back and asks why my maiden name is on this thing."

"Well, what can I do?" wailed Paige.

Tom stood up and started to put the photos back into the right folders. "Check the Book of Shadows," he suggested, "for anything about Tethos. Even a mention in a description of another demon. We need all the information we can get. If he is as deadly as Cole and Leo say, we need all the help we can get."

"Cole and I will help, honey," soothed Phoebe. She looked thoughtful. "Something's nagging at me about something someone said, but I can't my finger on it." Cole looked at her sharply.

"I don't like it when things nag at you," he said wryly, "Bad things tend to happen afterwards."

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Getting to see Richard Cunningham was easier said than done. For one thing, he lived in a large house that overlooked Candlestick Point. The gardens were quite extensive, enclosed by a large wall with electrified wire running along the top, just above stretched razor wire. There seemed to be only one gate. There was nothing even remotely ornate about this, it was massive, hung on hinges that were firmly cemented into the wall and made of some kind of reinforced metal. A security camera hung on each side of the gate, red lights blinking on top.

"Whoa," said Piper, "This guy is either seriously paranoid or he's made some very bad enemies."

"Both, from what I've heard," muttered Tom and then pressed the button on the intercom. After a while the security camera nearest them turned slightly to focus more closely on them and a tinny voice said: "Identify yourself."

Tom pressed the button again. "Tom Evans, Theresa Atkins, Molly Durrell and Piper Halliwell, from Room 42 of the British Museum. We would like to see Mr Cunningham on a matter of some urgency."

There was a pause. Then the intercom clicked back on. "Mr Cunningham is busy. However, Mr Andrews, his head of security, can see you. Please follow the path to the house, where you will be met. Do not leave the path for your own protection."

A series of heavy clacks followed and the gates slowly opened outwards, allowing the four in.

The path was more of a road, with lampposts on either side of it, and went straight to the front of the house.

"Interesting," said Tom as they walked down it.

"What?" asked Piper, who was feeling increasingly nervous.

"The nearest trees are that clump over there. Nothing near the walls, or this path. A clear field of fire, or rather it makes it easy to see who's in the path. And judging by the size of the dogs I can see over there, dragging that security guard, it's designed to allow then free rein. By the way, don't look but there's a camera on every other lamppost. I think the idea is to intimidate."

"Yeah? Well, it's working," muttered Piper. "And when did you become all Mr Observation?"

He shrugged. "Part of the job I suppose. You need to use your eyes." The front door of the house opened as they approached and a large African- American man emerged, dressed in a beautifully tailored double-breasted suit that failed to hide his muscles.

"Mr Evans?" he said, holding his hand out for Tom to shake. "I'm Karl Andrews, head of security." He shook hands with the others as Tom made the introductions. "Let me show you all to my office."

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Cortalyn hurried down the passageway, swearing under his breath. It had been a bad idea, but no, the Source hadn't listened. He never listened to anyone except the Oracle these days, and he was getting dangerously short- tempered even with her. Bounty hunters! Useless rabble! He preferred a well- trained, quiet assassin any day of the week. Assassins were more reliable and less likely to get drunk in demon bars, shoot their mouths off about who they'd killed during their short, brutish, careers and then get into a fight about who someone else there was looking at.

He slowed as he approached the Source's throne room and smoothed his cassock in a nervous gesture. Far off to one side, down one of the passageways he heard a faint echo as a voice burst into song before trailing off into anguished sobs and his head snapped around. It was true then, Malchance was awake for the first time in almost a decade. Whatever Tethos was planning, it had to be big to get the old Source so agitated. Sighing, Cortalyn walked forwards into the throne room and went down on one knee.

"Speak," came a voice, and he looked up to see that the Source was standing in front of a large golden frame suspended in mid-air, in which a vertical blue pool shimmered and rippled.

"Aach is dead, master," said Cortalyn. "He came across Tethos, who killed him instantly."

The Source made an angry sound and the blue pool shuddered for a second and turned a reddish colour before it went blue again. "Where did Gorgos find him?"

"San Francisco, master. But we do not know where exactly."

"Has Gorgos reported back?"

"No, master. Given his two previous failures, he is most likely in hiding," Cortalyn said, greatly daring.

The Source turned and stared at the demon, who stared back for a second and then dropped his gaze to the floor.

"Be thankful," his master said as he turned back to the pool, "That I do not send you next. Raise the bounty again."

Cortalyn gaped. "But master!"

The Source chuckled. "The more the bounty hunters chase him, the more markers he will leave as he kills them. And when I know where he is, and that it is close to him, I will make my move. With it in my hands, nothing can stop me. Not Tethos, or even the Charmed Ones."

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"How can Mr Cunningham help the British Museum?" asked Andrews as he faced the four across a desk that was bare apart from a broken bayonet that seemed to be doubling up as a letter opener and a small but powerful laptop. On the wall behind his chair was just one picture, that of Andrews in marine uniform with a group of fellow marines clustered around an Iraqi flag.

Tom looked at Andrews for a moment. The man, he realised, had a poker face that looked as if it was carved out of granite. Okay, he thought, this bloke is all business. Well, we'd better be all business back at him. He opened the first folder and slid the picture inside over the desk.

"Four days ago a security guard at the British Museum interrupted a burglary and was torn to pieces by a person or persons unknown," he stated.

Andrews looked down at the picture of the shredded body.

"Nasty," was his only comment as he slid the picture back across the desk.

"Two days ago, a Professor Ibrahim Hussein was killed at an archaeological dig in Egypt," Tom went on, laying a second picture on the desk in front of him.

"Equally nasty," said Andrews after he had looked at that picture as well. "I take it there's a connection?"

"Yes," replied Tom and then took out the pictures of the first two parts of the artifact and giving them to the head of security. "The large was one was stolen in London, the smaller one in Egypt."

Andrews said nothing, but from the faintest of flickers of his eyebrows Tom knew that he had him. "Is this still in the possession of Mr Cunningham?" and he flicked a copy of the picture of the third piece over the desk.

Andrews looked at the picture and then slid it back across the desk. "Mr Cunningham owns many valuable artifacts. What makes you think he has ever owned that?"

"I know that it was discovered on a dig that he financed in 1972 and that it vanished at the same time that he left Egypt."

"Mr Evans, if you are trying to insinuate-"

Tom broke in. "I'm not accusing him, I know that he has it. We're not here to demand it, we don't have the authority, if anyone does it's the Egyptian Government, but we are here to tell you that someone has killed twice to get their hands on the other parts of the artifact. Someone who, as you saw in those photos, is not afraid not just to kill but also to dismember. Whoever has that object is in a great deal of danger."

Andrews stared at Tom, while Piper did her best not to gape at her cousin. Since when had he learnt to sound so authoritarian? Molly and Theresa didn't make a sound. This, Piper could tell, was what Tom did best, the stern deliverer of nasty warnings.

Suddenly Andrews stood up. "I'll pass on your warning to Mr Cunningham. He has a wide range of... contacts. If any of them owns this object, I'm sure that they will take appropriate measures. Your mobile phone number is on your card, so someone might be in touch with you. In the meantime, I'll show you out."

Piper blinked but followed the others as Andrews ushered them politely but firmly out to the front door and then off up the path.

"What..." she started, but paused as Tom shushed her. They strode quickly away from the house.

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Andrews watched the four as they walked away from the building. He was frowning hard. Two other people had been listening to the meeting, one of whom was his secretary who had quickly done some checking into the two murders that Evans had mentioned. Andrews now had her research in his hand. He turned as a side door opened and a wizened but wiry man in his 70's and dressed in denims came through.

"Interesting," said the old man, looking up the path at the four. "Were they bullshittin'?"

"It seems not sir," said the ex-marine, holding out the printouts. "The deaths they mentioned did occur when they said. The thefts seem to be the motive. But I think that Evans was hiding something. And the Halliwell girl certainly thought that he should have said more. I think there is a possible risk here, Mr Cunningham. We should increase security, at least for the short term."

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"Okay," protested Piper, "What was that? Why did we just leave so quickly? The third piece is in there, you heard him skate around the subject!"

Tom smiled. "Didn't you see the microphone blinking on his laptop? It wasn't just him listening in there, I think Cunningham heard everything as well. No, we know it's in there, we'll just have to come back late tonight."

"What about the dogs and the security flickety things?"

Tom and Theresa shared a grin.

"Leave that to us."