A/N: Hey people, I'm back from India! Now I'll be able to deliver you more chapters in less time. I hope you guys all had a great Spring Break. I sure did! Now, of course, I'm swamped with homework. I think I'll play it sick on Tuesday so I can catch up on homework (lol, Steelo, by the way, have you done the Macleans?)

Great thanks to: joanoa, Radiorox, Bite Beccy, alix33, starryeyes10, SpaceMan546, Wendy Kaye, froggy0139, Jackia, Tina Frank, Lyssa Grace, snosamie6, cbw, Nesabj, Arian04, RoleModel2, Tomcat GM, jaka, mara-rabb, Abigaile, mjag, MichelleLee, CharmedAli, princess mai, dansingwolf, martini1988, squirtbug158, jaggurl, Tinny, Elysabeth, hothing40, jagdreamer, Steelo, Sube, rjm-az, cutieronnie, sarah, jtbwriter, smithknk, browneyeez, and anyone else who reviewed! You guys are the greatest.

Note: this chapter will start off at Riley's point of view. Do not be alarmed. I'm just shaking it up a little.

With One Simple Phone Call

How had everything gone so completely wrong? That question reverberated in my skull, pounding in a fruitless search for an answer that would not come. I knew the answer, but I winced as I attempted to relive it. When had it began? Only four days ago – if you could say that. Only four days ago . . .

Flashback to Four Days ago . . .

Rrriiiiinnnngg.

My eyes opened – reluctantly – but they opened anyway. I sat up in my bed and wiped my eyes with my hand, blinking back sleep. I leaned over my bed to my side table and checked my alarm clock. Two am. I had at least a good four hours of sleep left before it went off. So what had awoken me?

Rrriiiiinnnngg.

Ah yes . . . the phone. I leaned over and picked up my cordless phone and pulled it to my ear. "Hello?" I whispered, fatigue weighing down my voice.

"Hello."

That voice. I tried to recognize it – but couldn't. I was sure I'd never heard it before. But there was something about it – and eerie coldness that I could not place. The voice shot straight through to my heart, almost paralyzing my body with fear. This was not a normal voice.

"Excuse me, but – who are you?"

"Me?" the voice laughed – a cold, icy laugh. "I'm about to become your best friend."

The words chilled me. "I'm sorry, but do I know you or not? If you've noticed, it's not exactly a popular hour to be up."

Damn my politeness, I thought bitterly. I should just slam down the receiver. But there was something in that voice that prevented me from doing so. Something in that voice . . .

"I assume you are the Agent working on the Phantom case?"

My heart stopped. No one was supposed to know that – no one. Not unless they were in the loop. No one outside the loop knew. It was critical.

"Who ARE you?"

"I'm your friend."

"You're no friend of mine. I don't know you."

"Oh, distrusting soul, your life shall lead down unpleasant roads if you have no faith."

"Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Are you the agent working on the Phantom case?"

"What Phantom case?"

"Do not play fool with me."

"Then I suggest YOU stop playing with ME."

There was a pause at the other end of the line, followed by a cold laugh. "You don't give up, do you?" He stopped, as though waiting for me to say something but my mouth remained shut. The voice sighed. "I have some information for you."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"Than I suggest you and I meet at my office headquarters as soon as possible. I presume you know where I work."

"Undoubtedly."

"Then perhaps we can leave this conversation to a suitable hour?"

"If you insist."

"Would you come down to the building this afternoon?"

"No."

I paused. "No?"

"No," the voice repeated, more firm this time. "That's not the way I work, Mr. Riley."

I clucked my tongue impatiently. "Then how DO you work?"

"I do not work with other people around – other people who watch and listen. I will need to meet with you in private."

"I'm sorry, I don't take tips off the record."

"It's non-negotiable."

"Then I'm afraid I'm not interested."

A cold chuckle met my last comment. "You're not interested?" I could only breathe. "I don't think you're quite in a position to be uninterested, Mr. Riley. This could solve your case right now, as easy as 1 – 2 – 3."

"1 – 2 – 3, eh?"

"1 – 2 – 3. A – B – C, whatever you prefer."

"When do we meet?"

"We don't meet."

"We don't meet?"

"Not physically. We will be at the same place, the same time, we will speak. But we won't meet."

"How's that supposed to work?"

A dark laugh. "You're an agent. You tell me."

I sighed impatiently. "What day?"

"Today."

"When?"

"You'll find out – soon enough. All in good time."

"And how will I . . . find out?"

"A message will be sent to your office. Be expecting it."

"I see."

"Bring no one with you. There will be severe consequences if you disobey me."

"Yeah, and what exactly will happen?"

"You don't want to know that, Agent Riley."

"Un-hunh."

There was a pause at the other end of the phone. "Tell me, are you familiar with A Caesar Box?"

"Uh, yeah, I think my grandmother has one in her glass cabinet –"

"No, not a cedar box. A CAESAR box."

I paused, running the name through my mind. "No, I don't believe I am."

"Get familiar with it."

CLICK. The line disconnected.

I slammed down the receiver and lay back in bed. That was the most bewildering telephone conversation I had possibly ever had – including all those crank calls from who turned out to be the Fargarson boy next door. I closed my eyes but when it became apparent several hours later that sleep wasn't going to come to me I dragged myself up to my computer and looked up a 'CAESAR BOX'.

That was how it had all started . . . with one simple phone call. With one simple phone call my life changed – a dramatic turn for the worse. Ciaro Café.

That's what the Caesar box said. Ciaro Café. 7 o'clock. It couldn't have been more direct. I left work with my heart hammering in my chest. Sarah Mackenzie. How close had she come to the truth? Unbelievably close. But I couldn't let her know. I couldn't let her carry the burden too. If there was danger, I wouldn't let her anywhere near it. What made me feel so utterly attracted to her? I didn't know. But Rabb would take care of her. That I was sure of. What was going on between them anyway? Love – maybe. Lust – most definitely.

I entered my apartment, took a long hot shower and dressed quickly and casually. How would I know this person when I was there? Was THIS the Phantom? If so, should I have told someone?

And then everything went horribly wrong. So terribly wrong.

"Aaron Riley?"

I whirled around. There was an impossibly large crowd gathered outside the café. Impossibly large. I was being shoved from side to side, front to front, in any direction the crowd pleased. The chatter was deafening, yet I distinctly heard the voice speak to me.

"Where are you?" I called.

There was an immediate harsh reply. "Keep your voice down, I can hear you."

I lowered my voice obediently. "Where are you?"

"Somewhere I can see you."

I sighed. "So, what is this important information you must relay to me?"

"Do you want a drink?"

"What?"

A cluck of impatience. "I said do you want a drink?"

"No!" I felt my patience ebbing away. "Let's just get on with it!"

A sigh. "Fine then. It is correct that so far there have been six victims."

"Yes."

"The Sixth was only days ago."

"Yes."

"All were in the Navy."

"Yes."

"In the same year."

"Yes."

"And all bodies were found not hours after being with their girlfriends or wives?"

A pause on my end. "What?"

"I asked if all bodies were found – "

"I heard you, I heard you," I snapped. My mind whirled back to the case files. A sudden realization took hold of me like a gripping force. It was impossible. It had to be! The same year – maybe. But all with other women? That was insane. I drifted back to the files, my memory taking on a life of its own. The knowledge sunk in slowly, as though refusing to believe itself. He was right . . .

"What does that have to do with anything?" I asked.

"That's what you should find out," the voice told me, its tone persistent. "Who would want to reap revenge on Navy men with other women?"

The question burned itself at the back of my mind. Who would gain from their deaths? A psycho. That's who. If the Phantom was searching for only men with other women. What motivation was that for murder? I bit my lower lip. The top reasons for murder – money – but that didn't seem right. Power – but this wasn't a power struggle. There would have been a name, a picture, some sort of game.

But maybe it was a game. Some sort of sick, murderous game that was only intended to string unsuspecting agents along. I sighed. It was a possibility but I highly doubted it. What were the next motives? Love, revenge. Those were powerful ones. Love – all the victims were killed after dates with their girlfriends or wives. Revenge – revenge was . . . jealousy? But who would be jealous? Why would they be jealous of the men?

If they were jealous of the men, I corrected myself. If they were jealous of the women then . . . would the Phantom be female? The sudden though surged through my mind. The Phantom – female! It was a startling thought – one I should have considered a long time ago.

"The Phantom," I whispered excitedly, "it's female, right?"

There was a long pause, followed by a stony wall of science. I repeated the question again, more loudly this time, and firmly. I strongly believed in the notion.

But again there was no reply. My nerves felt tingly, as though were something about to happen. And then – all of a sudden – the voice spoke again. But – if possible – it was darker this time. "You have deceived me."

It was a simple sentence but the menacing tones could have calmed no one. The voice was a mere hiss – almost snakelike. Only a fool wouldn't be afraid. Hell, the fool would probably scared stiff and just wouldn't know it.

"I deceived you?" I stuttered, almost incomprehensibly. "I don't understand."

The voice wrung with hate. "But I do."

And then everything went completely black . . .

And when I awoke – I knew instantly – it was the beginning of the end . . .

My head hurt terribly. I winced at the pain as I ran my hand through my hair. Such a simple gesture – unbearable pain. What had happened? I must have been hit on the head. That was the only solution. I could remember only very vaguely what had happened. There was something about a man dying – but he didn't die. I realized that later. It was just a very good actor paid high price to fake dying in the public. And then I could vaguely see the outline of the café's roof. I had been carried up there – by a man. The voice. I knew it, though I never heard the man speak. And then – I could only watch helplessly from a corner of the roof – when he pushed her. I don't know how I knew it was her. But I was dead certain I saw Sarah Mackenzie fall and then – I woke up.

The man walked into the room. He was short – shorter than perhaps me. And he had dark hair, even darker eyes, and a smug expression graced his wooden features. "Ah, you're awake."

I knew instantly, from the first sound he uttered that he was undoubtedly The Voice. There was no question about it. And this – more than anything – made me feel more terrified. I was in some sort of cell – a clay cell. Concrete. No window, one door, bare furnishing. To me it was hell.

"They've deceived you, Riley," the man spoke confidently. "The woman has, Rabb too. They've all been keeping you in the dark. They don't want you to know about the Phantom."

The words resounded with disbelief in my mind. It couldn't be. Even I was not as stupid as to believe that. I stared at him with distrust. "That's crap. Why would they put me in lead of the investigation in NCIS if they didn't want me to know? We were on the verge of cracking the case."

The man snorted. "When was the last time you received a tip from the CIA? From Webb?" He grinned as I furrowed my brow in thought. It had been a long time. "And on the verge of cracking the case? You were no where close, we both know that! The CIA knows, Webb knows. Webb sent Mackenzie and Rabb just to monitor your behavior."

"No," I replied in defiance. "That doesn't make any sense. Why would Webb, who heads the investigation, want to prevent someone from solving it?"

"Don't you see!" the man cried. "Webb is the one behind the murders. He invented the Phantom as a cover up. He headed the investigation so he could cripple it from the beginning. Rabb and Mackenzie were with him from the very beginning. They're all good friends, remember?"

I remembered. But still . . . the whole idea was farfetched. Yet . . . we really hadn't received any proper news from the CIA in a long time. And Rabb and Sarah's visit was suspicious – though he couldn't say he'd thought of it before. They stayed less than two days. And they didn't really do much.

"Well then what are you doing?" I asked. "Why are you here? Why am I here? How are you involved in this?"

"I," he said slowly. "Am a CIA agent too, but I caught on to the plan very quickly. That was why Webb deserted me in the case. He knew I was getting close to the truth. But I believe you, Riley, and I have the power to stop him. We can't let Webb get away with any more."

"But the Phantom killed Webb's father!" I cried. "Why the hell would Webb do that?"

"Don't' you see?" he hollered. "He inherited all his father's old cases. He moved up in ranks because of the cases he got to cover after that. He inherited the family fortune. What didn't he profit of his father's death?"

"So what?" I fought back. "He just became some death obsessed freak after that?"

"Call it what you will, but Webb must be stopped," the man spoke slowly. "His father was his first killing. He had not even intended the existing of the Phantom. And then he realized what all he could profit from deaths. If he solved the murder then not only would he be granted more than enough money for him to never work another day for the rest of his life, but he would be given a great amount of credit and would go down as one of the CIA's best operative if not the best operative."

"So Webb's just stringing everyone along?" I asked in wide-eyes. It was all beginning to make sense. "He's an awful good actor."

"Trained liars usually are," the man agreed. "And Webb's put on a frightfully good show, but now, I do believe, it's time for his act to come to an end." He stared at me through dark eyes. "And there won't be a call for encores."

I nodded. "What do you want me to do?"

"Rabb and another Webb associate, O'Neil, we've captured them. You and our substitute Phantom are going to . . . ahem . . . interrogate them. We need to know what they know. We need to see how we can get to Webb."

I paused. "What do you mean by our substitute Phantom?"

"Well," the man explained. "We're not quite sure if Rabb and O'Neil are being played by Webb or if they're in on the plan. It's best to string them along with a Phantom of our own before we know the capacity of their knowledge."

I nodded along. "When shall I meet your phantom?"

"Right now," a voice said behind me. I turned around.

"You!" I cried. "You're in on this!"

"From the very beginning," she said smoothly, her voice like silk. "I've been helping you all along. Without your knowledge."

I nodded dumbly. The mission was now clearer than it had ever been before. Destroy Webb. Down with Rabb. They must be stopped. They must be gone. They must die.

Smirking inwardly, Harris admired the wild gleam he had put in Riley's eye. Harris had been right. Riley was the perfect idiot to pick. He was going to tear up Webb's own empire, under the illusion he was the bad guy. It was almost too perfect. Almost. There was only one thing left in his plan.

It had yet to succeed.

A/N: Whoa, I wrote the whole chapter in Riley's POV. I didn't mean to, I guess it just happened. Um, well, review, as always. Hope you enjoyed, and I'll try to get back to you as quickly as possible on the next chapter.