five)

James smeared his hand against his chin, gaze fixed on the vidscreen in front of him. Since Marcia hadn't arrived yet, and he'd been instructed to wait until the entire team was assembled before going after Zeta, the opportunity to call home was appreciated. He'd left in such a hurry that no chance came to finish the chores Jo had assigned. He'd called mainly to apologize. It was getting too easy to say the word 'sorry'.

Saying "I'm sorry" is too easy, and "I love you" too hard. Why is it always that way? Why with Jo? Look on the bright side, Jim. At least you're not talking to yourself in second person. Wait . . . Am I? Forget it. Grammar pedantic men are weenies.

Jimmy currently chattered to his dad. With Frey, Jimmy's best friend, and Toni, Jimmy's girlfriend of sorts, in the background, Jimmy was having a fine time telling his father all about the impromptu baseball game they'd played that afternoon. They'd played at Decker Field, a park not far from the house, just up a few blocks in Englewood.

"It was really, really hot out there on the field, Dad. I was shortstop," Jimmy was saying. "I helped with one double play at first and another at home plate! It was great. Toni even hit a triple!" He grinned a little, pride for his girlfriend. "It was her first one."

"Probably my last," Toni said in the background. "Hello, Mr. Bennett!" She waved and smiled into the relay camera.

"Hello, Toni," he greeted. Weeks had gone by before James grew used to the mere idea of Toni, and several late-night lectures from Jo about how Jimmy wasn't a child anymore, that he was nearly fourteen, and had a right to have girlfriends. Jo had a point, she usually did, but that didn't make James feel better.

"Anyway," Jimmy prattled on, talking so fast he was nearly out of breath, "I think I'll be ready for the baseball team at school this upcoming year. What do you think, Dad?"

James tried to smile. Jimmy would be in the seventh grade . . . Though it didn't seem like yesterday that his son was born, it didn't seem so long ago, either. "The team will be lucky to have you." There was truth in that. Jimmy excelled at sports. He played almost everything, from baseball to soccer to last year's captain of the swim team, and had gained his father's interest in sailing. Even if Jo had had a difficult time adjusting to life in conservative Colorado, after living so long in democratic New England, Jimmy grew into the epitome of Coloradoan: outdoorsy, tanned, sports-oriented, bilingual, fond of small and expensive mountain towns.

"Well," Jimmy began again, "you wound up going to work anyway, huh?"

"Unavoidable," replied James, a hint of remorse. "I don't really want to be here today." For once it was true. For once he'd really rather be home.

"That's all right."

It was all right only because James hadn't made definite plans to spend time with his son. If they'd made plans, and those plans were canceled at the last minute, Jimmy would've been hurt.

James cupped his hands together and placed them under his chin. "Is your mom around?"

"Uh," Jimmy stared blankly into the screen, "she's not home yet."

James kept his eyes from narrowing suspiciously. His tone sounded lukewarm casual. "Oh, I see. Did you talk to her?"

"I tried to ring her mobile to let her know I was home, but the phone was off."

"Maybe she and Bonnie decided to play tennis a little later than usual."

"Oh, no, that can't be it," said Jimmy. "I mean, if she was playing tennis with Mrs. Millford, she can't be playing now."

"Why do you say that?" James tightened his knuckles, squishing his hands together. There was nothing to stop the suspicious look.

"Cos we passed Mrs. Millford's on the way home from the baseball game, and she was out picking at her flowers. Mom wasn't with her. Anyway," Jimmy turned cheerful suddenly, "Mom'll show up for the party you guys are having tonight. I'm going to Frey's house to spend the night. Remember?"

"I remember," the reply sounded remote. He cleared his throat when he noticed a presence in the open doorway of his office. Agent Lee was flanked by Agent Spencer. James returned to the call. "I have to go now, Jimmy. Have fun at Frey's."

"Sure, Dad. Laters."

James said his goodbye and ended the conference. While leaning into his seat, he beckoned the two agents to enter. Both of them stood, Lee still as a wooden soldier, Spencer at ease, in front of his desk. Neither of them made motions to sit. He cocked his eyes to Lee, and, at first, she ignored him, but gave in to a brief look. A very stern and silent and insinuating look. Some part of him thought he'd miss those when, in less than ninety days, a new agent would be standing exactly where she was.

He cleared his throat and clasped his hands atop the desk. "All right, so here we are."

Spencer smirked. "That we are, Jim, and ready to party."

Bennett scanned the empty doorway. "Where's West?"

The three of them turned to the door when a sienna-headed kid dressed in a flight suit flew into the room. He grasped the doorjamb as he did, stopping, panting, hand clutched over his chest.

"H-Here, sir," he breathed, words sounding like snake hisses. West stumbled farther into the office and slumped exhaustibly into a chair. His hand clasped to his side. "Oh, man, I've got a stitch something awful." West preened his eyes open, one just a bit more closed than the other, surveying Lee and Spencer and Bennett. They had disapproving looks. "Am I that late? I just got the call five minutes ago! I ran all the way here! From Fort Carson! That's five kilometers! Five kilometers in five minutes! That's a kilometer a minute!"

A snort of laughter came from Agent Spencer. "And this fine exhibition of mathematics brought to you by Northwestern University alumnus Orrin West."

Bennett wasn't feeling particularly sympathetic toward West. He caught Lee's understanding peer. "Agent Lee, would you mind . . . ?"

"Not at all, sir." And, acting on Bennett's orders, she slapped West on the back of his head.

"OW!" He scrambled to scoot the chair out of Lee's lethal reach. "What'd you do that for?"

"West," Bennett started, stern in voice and attempting to be stern in appearance, though he ached to laugh. Briefly, he was relieved his agent-clown was staying and Marcia was leaving. At least West amused him. "Why are you late?"

"It's my fault he's late, Jim," said Agent Spencer. Since he was the same Level as Agent Bennett, Level Nine, the highest Level an agent could reach before becoming Assistant Director, Marceau Spencer never addressed Bennett as 'sir'. Well, not never, recalled Bennett, as during formal meetings, in front of The Generals, Spencer was so intimidated that he called anyone 'sir', even West. Agent Spencer drew his lips together, the lines of his age deepening on either side, in a struggle to suppress a smile. "I'm afraid I played a bit of a practical joke on him, Jim, as per I must."

James lifted his brows and tilted into the seat. "Oh? Well done, Marceau. I'm delighted to hear it."

West groused and combed down his messy hair. "Fragging bastard," he mumbled toward Spencer.

Spencer pretended not to hear. "Thought you would be, Jim. Thought you would be."

West couldn't remain quiet. He gestured wildly toward Agent Spencer. "He told me we were having flight training today! So I went over to the Fort Carson Flight Evaluation Center only to find no one there!"

"Of course, West," Marceau said over his shoulder to the kid agent, "what else would expect on a Saturday afternoon? A teddy bear picnic? All the little bears dressed so fine in their fine, fine flight suits?"

"That's not half of it!" West snarled. "I tried to get cleared to enter the building, and Spencer here hacked into the computer and lowered my clearance to Level One, sir! Frag me, I can't remember the last time I was Level One!"

Spencer remained unfazed. "Want me to remind you, West?"

"I think you just did! So then I had all these problems trying to get out of the ruddy gate! Stupid guards! It's not like they've never seen me before!"

Bennett held the tips of fingers together, smirking just vaguely. "Yes, you're quite memorable to them, West." He caught Agent Lee's look again. "Would you mind terribly?"

"Not at all, sir." This time she hit Spencer on the back of his head. His jaw lowered and he reached automatically to the smarting black cowlick, shouting "OW!" at Lee. She grinned proudly, very fond of her job. She wouldn't even think of how soon she'd be leaving it. But she did think it, and her smile evaporated.

Bennett noticed; he cleared his throat as he got to his feet. "Well, Spencer, you've wanted all of us together, and you've got us all together. Now, do you want to tell us why?"

"Reckon you know why, Jim," grinned Spencer. He took out a hologram display unit from the front pocket of his blazer. With his thumb at the proper control button, the display shot up, the image scrambled into its defined shape, the shape of Infiltration Unit Zeta. "It's got to do with this little feller."

"He's charming," quipped West, still trying to get his rambunctious hair to stay flat.

"Yeah," said Lee, folding her arms, "never seen him before. Friend of yours, Jim?"

Bennett went back to the sideways smirk. "Not hardly, Marcia. I've met him once or twice, though."

Spencer was fond of playing along. "Frat buddy of yours from old college days, eh, Jim?"

"That would explain why he's in Colorado Springs," remarked Bennett, an actual Colorado native who'd grown up in Lakewood. He waved a hand and Spencer flicked off the hologram. All of them had seen enough of Zeta's scarecrow-like cranium to last a dozen lifetimes.

The hologram returned to its pocket. Spencer patted it gingerly. "I've been at the consoles all day today trying to find a pattern among Zeta and Rowen's movements."

"And?" said Bennett, not exactly hopeful.

"And nothing." Spencer shook his head. Then he straightened to his full height, one arm up to his chin, tapping fingers there, and the other around his middle. "Funny thing I did notice, though, was how often they're in cities that are sponsoring science conventions."

Lee's brow furrowed. "Conventions?"

"Science conventions, that's right," repeated Spencer. "Detroit, Albuquerque, Oceanside, Gotham City . . . Every time that Rowen and Zeta were there, a convention was taking place. With prominent speakers."

Bennett was naturally intrigued. "Like who?"

"That I've not had a chance to run through the systems just yet."

"Let us know when you know."

"The very second. You could even know before I know, Jim, super spooky as you are."

"We'll see. Is there a convention taking place in Colorado Springs this weekend?"

Lee glanced at Bennett, as she'd been thinking the same thing. It would be odd, she decided, going to work for another handler, under Director Goubeaux, someone who didn't understand her half as well as Bennett. . . . Again with the thinking too much! she reprimanded herself.

"The only convention in town is for kitchen appliance sellers," said Spencer without delay. "That'd hardly draw a scientific, I'm-secretly-a-robot crowd. I can't find any motive behind their stop here." He flashed the group a smile. "Unless it's to pay you guys a visit!"

Lee huffed in something like a laugh. "Yeah, right. I'm sure we'll be the first people they'll want to see. Right after Roden Krick and Director Wellington, maybe."

Despite the intensity, Spencer chuckled, and even Bennett broke into a brief smile. The silence overcame the room, only to be smothered by the sound of soft snoring. The three of them turned their gazes off each other and onto Orrin West. The kid had fallen asleep with his cheek in a raised palm.

"Aw, bless him," said Spencer. "We've tuckered out the little tyke. He looks so peaceful like that, so nice and quiet. Such a shame we'll have to wake him."

Bennett, Lee, and Spencer made no immediate motions to wake West. The trio looked around at one another, then Spencer and Lee looked at each other, silently asking why Bennett was being so un-Bennett-like, even downright lazy. He wasn't exactly rushing them into a van and straight into the ream of Zeta sightings.

"I take it," surmised Bennett, "that we really don't have much to go on at the moment with Zeta and Rowen?"

"Not really, sir," concluded Lee. "Aside from the official sighting from a convenient store clerk in Aspen Park, we've no idea where they are now."

Bennett darted his gaze around thoughtfully. "Aspen Park is a bit to the northwest of where we currently stand. Maybe they're just passing through."

"I don't know, Jim," cranked out Spencer. "It's possible that they—"

"Last time I remember, Agent Spencer, you were not a certified member of my task team."

Agent Spencer caught himself about to protest. Outwardly, he was confused at this odd observation. Bennett hinted his meaning.

"And as such, your ideas fail to sway my conclusion," said Bennett, showing off the weight of his handler and Level Nine guises. "And my conclusion is that Zeta and Miss Rowen are merely passing through this fine city of ours on their way to another convention. And, seeing as how there is no conclusive lead on their current location, I'm at liberty to return to my day off without the slightest touch of guilt."

"Right," drawled Agent Spencer, catching on. He tapped his nose to say he understood. "I fully agree with you, Jim. It's also my conclusion that Zeta and Rowen are merely passing through, perhaps, as you so keenly observed, on their way to another convention. In that case I see no reason for the four of us to remain within this shackle of a building. Marcia," he turned to her, "how about we stop at Club Pierre for a drink?" He cleared his throat pompously. "Non-alcoholic, of course. My treat!"

"Oh, sure," said Lee. "Best idea you've had in weeks, Marceau." Non-alcoholic was all right with her; she'd had enough of it for years to come.

Bennett finished writing himself a reminder note when he spoke up, "Why don't we all go?" As expected, Spencer and Lee gaped at him. Lee's mouth was even open slightly in her shock. "I know, I rarely ever socialize."

"Rarely!" shrieked Lee. "James, I can't remember the last time you went with us anywhere, I mean that wasn't . . . that didn't have . . . where—"

"It's all right, Marcia," he said calmly, hand raised to let them know he was still as sane as he ever was. "I can stay out late and play with the other kids, as long as I'm home by seven-thirty."

"What happens then, Jim?" asked an ornery Spencer. "You turn back into a pumpkin in the NSA's experimental garden patch?"

"No," Bennett stuck the reminder note on the computer screen, where he'd read it first thing tomorrow morning, "I turn back into a scaly old dragon and breathe fire on malevolent Rat agents!" He made sure his desk was tidy enough—it wasn't great but it would do—and stood on the other side of dozing West. Marcia was across from him. All he had to do was look at her, and she knew what to do. He'd really miss this wordless form of communication with someone. As he headed for the door, he heard West snort and wake up as soon as Marcia smacked him in the same spot as before.

"We're going to Club Pierre," Lee told West, already wide awake and wide-eyed. "Want to come along?"

West was out of the chair and stretching indulgently. "What about Zeta and the girl?"

Lee just shrugged. "Coming, or have you got a hot date?"

He snorted, this time in self-ridiculing laughter. "Agent Lee, arcades ambo, ignotum per ignotius."

"Latin! Oh, shut up, West," said Lee, throwing a hand at him. It infuriated her that he knew Latin and she didn't. "Coming, or not?"

And he laughed yet again. "Club Pierre is my hot date." West joined Bennett and Spencer in the hallway. He scanned his handler up and down. "What's this? You mean you're coming with us, sir?"

Bennett only nodded and followed the gang down the corridor. He took his mobile unit from the inside pocket of his black blazer and hit speed-dial for his wife's phone. It rang once before message service picked up, meaning her phone, as Jimmy had said, was completely shut off. Dismayed, mouth twisted, Bennett returned the mobile and found himself in the lift with Lee, West, and Agent Spencer. Lee, nearest to him, leaned in a bit.

"Why are you coming, James? Isn't your anniversary party tonight?"

"I'll be home in plenty of time for it," Bennett said quietly. "Besides," he tossed her a glance she couldn't read, part playful and part melancholy, "why should Jo be the one who has all the fun?"

Lee clearly didn't understand. "Is everything all right? You seem a bit more—dare I use the word?—chipper than—well, ever."

He touched her shoulder momentarily, a sign of reassurance. The lift doors opened to the NSA's main floor. "Everything's just fine. In fact. . . ." He paused his steps down the corridor to the entrance and took out his mobile unit again. He shut its power off and left it in his pocket. Jo wasn't going to get away with this. Absolutely not. Positively not.

Lee was giving him a wry glance. He looked straight ahead as he responded, "I'll explain it to you some other time. Who's driving?"

"I am," said Spencer.

There was a round of laughter into the arid, hot late afternoon.

"You sure we can all fit into your car, Spencer?" Lee inquired, aware of Agent Spencer's tiny orange colored roadster, with two seats in front and a rumble seat in the back.

Spencer had West in a walking headlock and rubbed knuckles into the kid's thick hair. "We'll throw West into the rumble seat! He folds up so nice and neat, you see," he directed at Lee, who smiled.

"Yeah," she said, "I wish I had a dozen suits just like him. Easy for traveling."

West straightened out his hair, a constant struggle, and lunged for the protection of Marcia. "Okay, I'm in back, but Marcia sits with me!"

With a click of her tongue, Marcia arched her eyes. "You're a Level Five technical operative for the NSA, West! Do you really need me to protect you? I am not your gallant superhero, Orrin."

"Yes, you are!" He took her hand and valiantly kissed the top of it. "And you'd look smashing in a cape, don't you know!" He kissed her hand again and dashed ahead, chasing Spencer down, who'd taunted him.

Marcia watched, idly sighing. "I've grown fond of that kid," she said to Bennett, whether or not he listened.

"Sickly enough, so have I." Still, he was more fond of her. "I wish you'd reconsider this hasty decision of yours. Even Colonel Lemak wants you to reconsider. He had no idea you'd take things this far."

"Yes, I've heard from the Colonel already. I won't be leaving right away, but I believe Director Wellington will approve expedience in this case; he'll want to make sure I'm replaced with practical alacrity. We have to tough it out a little while longer until I meet with everyone's approval." Marcia paused with James, just long enough to touch his elbow and let go quickly. "I've made my decision. I'm sorry, Jim."

So am I, he thought. This wouldn't be the end of it. He'd never stop hearing about Marcia Lee's resignation from one of the most important task teams ever formed within the NSA. But, as the two of them had figured out, one of them needed to go in order to satisfy the suits of higher command. "It just won't be the same without you."

"I'm glad to hear it. It'd be devastating to find out I haven't been missed."

The roadster came flying out of the parking garage. West was in the rumble seat, his arms raised above his head, and he caterwauled wildly like a wolf at the full moon. The car stopped in front of Lee and Bennett. West scooted over and patted the empty space beside him. Lee fell ungracefully in. West threw a casual arm across her shoulders and gave another "Woo!" for no reason at all. Then he purred to Marcia, really rather good at it, nearly sounding feline and everything.

"This is a fantastic day!" he shouted as Spencer's vibrant orange car sped out of the parking lot and down the deserted lane. "A whole day off," he said, conversationally, "and a whole evening too!" West made a noisy kiss against Lee's cheek. Lee aggressively pushed him away, but West didn't care.

"A whole day off!" He wailed it at the sky, he sang it to the sun, at the height of feeling free.