Brilhart came out of his office before Peter could get to the door. "Get in here," he snapped. Peter followed.

"Okay," Brilhart said. "Here." He pushed play from where it had been paused. The video looked over a street corner

Retired Police Captain John Stacy walked to the phone booth and put his back to it, waiting. He pulled out a thin cigarette and smoked it.

The time was yesterday, ten fifteen exactly. Peter grinned broadly.

"That's across town from here," he said.

"And most of Xavier's library collection was in the dome."

"Just missing the personal documents," Peter added.

"I suppose you know the second van, with the Finch collection turned up abandoned?"

"I didn't know that," Peter admitted, "but I'm not surprised."

"They left it in the theater parking lot, down the street, where it could sit for days without being reported."

"Clever, aren't they?" Peter asked.

"Now you tell me what's going on and things will go easy for you, but you leave me with a shred of doubt about your loyalties and you'll find it unpleasant," Brilhart said, the doubt in his eyes making him afraid, which made him angry in one easy slide. "How did you figure this out?"

"You'll note the expensive cigarette," Peter said in a small voice, pointing to the agitated Stacy imposter on the video.

"Get to the point, Parker."

Peter sat down. "From the beginning it seemed clear it wasn't about theft for money. Too dangerous, for too little reward. Nobody's even heard of Finch before, for example. So they were looking for something else. Captain Stacy did a background check on everybody, and Xavier came up with espionage style research possibilities in his spotty past. Personal library, notes. Okay so far?"

"Okay so far," the detective said, arms crossed over his chest.

"It wasn't a frame, either, too sloppy. So the criminal aspect of it was just a cover. If they stole only the notes they wanted, it would pop up red flags a lot more visibly, revealing their goal, to others of similar interests. Implicating Stacy in the theft was an afterthought."

"What, spies are the perps?"

"Yes, exactly," Peter said. "But operating outside government auspice or they would have headed for a safe house right away, so whatever they're looking for probably isn't very nice and no one wants to claim responsibility for looking for it. Didn't you ever watch James Bond or Mission Impossible?"

"Go on," Brilhart gritted out. "I'm more a Hills Street Blues, N.Y.P.D. kinda guy."

Peter shrugged. "Any evidence I secured would be suspect because of my connection. To establish reasonable doubt, I had to get an outside confirming source. So the eatery."

"How did you know the imposter would be there?"

"Back to the dome. From inside the exhibition hall, the ceiling is flat, and it's under the dome. So I knew the dome was close, and unused, and perfect for their purposes. Also, they were camped out up there researching while you all were running around right under them. Nerves of steel." He shrugged. "I left a note where they would find it. An invitation to wait for a phone call, only Stacy and no one else. So the imposter expected to be spotted, but didn't know about the rest of my plan." He sighed. "Everything's back, they just thought they'd check some books out of the library for a while."

"Hell of a library card," Brilhart said, watching Peter sideways. "That's some fancy detective work, kid."

"Think so?" Peter said. His mind followed that for a while, seeing where it could lead.

"I think so," Brilhart said. "So now how do we catch the perps?"

"All seven of them?" Peter said with a smile.

"Yeah," Brilhart said. "Got any genius left?"

"First," Peter said, "do you think this is enough to clear Stacy's name?"

"We've established he has a double," Brilhart said, "but they could be working together."

"What's Stacy's motive?" Peter asked, exasperated. "Money for a collection he didn't sell?"

"If it's spies, there's money in that," Brilhart shrugged. "Maybe they paid him."
"Then why bother with a double?" Peter said. "Or why not come up with an airtight alibi to begin with? Why reveal yourself and put yourself at risk?"

"Maybe he was doublecrossed."

Peter looked at him for a long minute, then shook his head.

Brilhart nodded. "Let us do our jobs, kid. You aren't the police."

"Don't I know it," he said, standing. "I've been as honest with you as possible. Can I go?"

"One other thing," Brilhart said.

"Yeah?"

"Where were you last night?"

"At home, in bed."

"Really?" Brilhart said, a glint in his eye.

"Really," Peter said, challenge in his.

He left.

xXx

Peter walked along the sidewalk towards his car, fists jammed in his pockets, eyes down, mind racing. Something was out of place. He stopped, blinked. He paid close attention to his senses, raising his eyes.

There was a meter maid standing by his car, writing a ticket.

Peter set his jaw and approached.

"Hey blondie," he said. "Sure I can't talk you out of writing that ticket? Seeing as how I'm paid up on the meter?"

She turned, her green eyes bright. "You must think you're very clever, Peter Parker," she said. "Tell me what your connection is to the shadowy man with the adhesives or I'll kill you right now."

"He's called the spider ghost," Peter said.

"How do you contact him? Have you ever seen him under the mask?"

"Never have. He's a friend of John Stacy. He asked me to help him out clearing his name."

"How do you make contact?" she asked.

"I don't, he finds me. He's kinda stupid, though, and mouthy as hell."

She nodded once. "I have an errand to run, then we'll talk about that some more. Don't try to skip town."

"Hey, about Stacy," Peter said. "Don't be a sore loser, okay?"

Her eyes went frosty for a moment. "I'll show you sore loser," she murmured. Then she turned and walked into the crowd. In a single reflexive motion Peter sucked on his tongue and spit a thin stream of pheremone loaded saliva at her; it sprayed her calf. She didn't seem to notice.

Peter watched her go as he absently tore up the ticket.

xXx

"Lookin good, stud," Harry said, slapping Peter on the shoulder. Peter looked down, wearing Harry's clothes, borrowed for the occasion. Band collar shirt, baggy slacks, wingtips, a silver studded belt.

"I'm wearing my last paycheck," he said nervously. "You sure this is okay, Harry?"

"You're clubbing with MJ and Gwen and me tonight, Pete," Harry said firmly. "You can't have a delicious arm ornament like Gwen and not club, kapeesh? Furthermore, you're going to have a good time or I'm gonna hurt you. You've been all wrapped up in this crime thing for the last couple days, and you seriously need to relax, my friend. So we're going to go relax, let it all hang out. It's Saturday night, for God's sake. C'mon, man, you're built like a dancer. Show Gwen your stuff. This is your chance to show MJ what she could have had if she had stayed with a bum like you instead of going for the gold." He grinned, then turned to the mirror and combed once again through the controlled, contained mat of curly burnt umber hair.

"Okay," he said, looking at his reflection. He spritzed his mouth with freshener. "Okay. Tonight God loves women, because you and I are unleashed, roomie. Ready to go?"

"Sure, Harry. Let's get outa here."

A car pulled up in the driveway, thudding bass dully penetrating the walls. The horn beeped once, twice. They headed out to see an extremely attractive redhead hopping out of Gwen's car, wearing a sheer, tight black dress that could be a slip, accessorized with four inch stiletto heels and black and silver jewelry.

"rrRRow," she said, her eyes roving the two men.

"Cut it out, MJ," Gwen said from inside the car.

"Didn't say which one I was looking at," MJ said with a predatory grin.

"Both," Harry said. "You look smashing, darling. Shall we go?"

She hopped into his car after he unlocked the door with his remote. Then they roared off. Pete slid down next to Gwen and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Ready?"

"Let's go," Gwen said, and they followed.

She turned off the stereo once they got on the road. "Peter, you seem… preoccupied."

"I don't think we're ready to celebrate yet," he said, his thoughts distant. "Something else is going on with the case." The Stacys were threatened. Peter felt time slipping away, knew that as long as the spy was on the loose they were in grave danger. But he couldn't tell Gwen that. She said nothing further, watching the road. She bit her lip once or twice; she was thinking too. He didn't notice.

Harry didn't even ask, he covered the door charge for the four of them to head into the thudding, dim interior of Elektroflash. They found a table, and Harry led the charge to the dance floor.

Peter absently copied one of the other dancers, mimicking his moves almost subconsciously. He was vaguely aware of Harry's hoot of amusement, impressed with Peter's concealed history of dance; Gwen didn't need to do much dancing, she was beautiful enough to move with the music and attract looks. MJ was wriggling like a fiend, and Harry was keeping time. This was one rocking party.

Here and there, under the heavy smell of dozens of perfumes and body odor and cigarette smoke and other smoke, Peter kept catching flashes of his own breath, flashes of a face in the crowd, of a hundred faces in the crowd. Peter's mind flashed along what the spy had done, what the spy would do, how he could counter it, the danger that surrounded him. He stopped dancing at the end of the song, not even winded, and the group trooped off to a table.

"Peter, you okay?" Gwen said.

"I'm really not feeling well," Peter said.

"Tuckered out, mister dervish?" MJ said, her eyes sly. "You sure don't look it."

"I think I gotta go. Thanks, Harry, see you tomorrow, Gwen. I just need some rest right now, sorry guys," Peter said as he stood and took his leave. "Can I take the car, Gwen?" he asked.

"Sure," she said, her eyes unreadable as she gave him the keys.

Harry watched him go, his mouth a tight line. "Doesn't know how to work or play," he muttered. Then he looked back to the ladies. "There goes a troubled man with no instinct for territory," he said, grinning at Gwen. "It falls to me to make sure you ladies get the time of your lives tonight."

"Here we go again," MJ said, rolling her eyes, leaning her head back on Harry's shoulder.

"Be back in a minute," Gwen said with a quick apologetic grin. She moved at the best semi-casual speed she could after Peter.

"Still hasn't dumped him," MJ said without shifting position.

"Yep," Harry said, his voice tight.