Note: Dr. Wolff is entirely my invention. Thanks go to my bro's GF for the German and Blackrose for the name. Kinda. :)


"I really don't think so," Kat said. Croaked, actually, since the vise grip on her larynx and trachea made it difficult to talk normally. Her voice would be even scratchier than usual for days after this. Assuming she lived.

She planned on living. Death had never been high up on her To Do list.

That, and she had a few tricks up her sleeves - or to be more accurate, the waistband of her jeans.

"You're hardly in a position to negotiate," Dragonelle said, smirking. She clamped down a little harder on Kat's throat, enough to make spots dance at the corners of her vision. "I have the advantage now. The upper hand, as it were."

Kat had been pinned against the Hawk; Dragonelle was taller and stronger, and was effectively using that extra mass to restrain those parts of Kat's body that weren't throat. It was a poorly-conceived plan, and wasn't being executed that well either.

She should have been immobilized, or KO'd, but instead Dragonelle wanted to gloat - yawn - and make her suffer, blah blah, and so she had more than enough freedom of movement to reach around to the small of her back, pull out the N-Tek-issue energy handcuffs tucked away there, and slap one end on Dragonelle's wrist. The other she attached to herself. "Things change. Oh, and just FYI, the bad pun? - was really bad."

"Flattery," Dragonelle said. She withdrew her hand from Kat's neck and held up the cuff on her wrist, turning it in the light to examine it. She still didn't look as defeated as she ought to. "The bracelet is nice, Agent, but I'm afraid I'll have to return it."

"Go ahead and try to pick the lock. It took Berto a few hours, and he designed them."

Dragonelle made a dismissive noise regarding Berto and used her un-cuffed hand to poke at the slender loop of energy around her wrist. The reward was a bright spark that caught the dragon by surprise and made her suck in an angry breath. She glared at Kat, who hadn't touched her side of the cuffs and was therefore unharmed.

Casually, belatedly, taking way too much delight in the reversal of fortunes, Kat said, "I should warn you - it delivers an electric shock if you try to disrupt the circuit. Kinda stings, huh?"

"This is ridiculous," Dragonelle snarled, rubbing at her wrist - but being careful of the cuffs.

"No. This is insurance." Kat shook her arm, making the dragon's arm rattle too. "This is a hundred-plus pounds of dead weight for you to drag around if something happens to me. Like, say, if I get choked unconscious?"

Dragonelle's glare deepened until her dark eyes were barely slits. "Touché."

The dragon, Kat reflected, would probably be insulted to know that this attempted coup had been anticipated all the way back in Orlando. She tried to sound cool instead of smug: "So we're still going to do this my way. Got that?"

"Why not? Time is on my side. Ability, too." Dragonelle ran her free hand across the gold plate on her forehead, brushing away nonexistent dirt or cooties or something. Maybe just the shame of being repeatedly trumped by an N-Tek girl. "I have a safehouse here in the city. We'll stop there and then go hunting."

"Works for me," Kat said. She retrieved her backpack from the Hawk and tugged the canopy closed, so that it would melt away into invisibility again.

They took the elevator down in silence - Kat's silence victorious, Dragonelle's sulking - and arrived on the level of the secret motor pool seconds later. The Feebs hadn't gotten here at all, so there was quite a selection.

Kat took a set of keys from the office and felt a dark thrill at not having to sign out for the stupid thing. She and her sulking prisoner found the corresponding car with no trouble. Climbing in handcuffed was a bit of a trial, but nothing they couldn't figure out.

"A Shadow," Dragonelle observed, running a finger along the slightly dusty dashboard. "Not a convertible, but I suppose it'll do. Are we jealous of Steel, hmm?"

"Nope," Kat said, starting the engine. "His always blew up."

The safehouse turned out to be located in a sketchy apartment building in an even sketchier neighborhood. Kat parked the Shadow at the curb and set the alarm, then reluctantly left it to the mercies of Berlin's criminal elements. So much for keeping this one intact, she thought with an mental eye roll. Shadows seemed predestined for bad ends.

Inside the apartment building didn't look any better. Dragonelle's hideout was on the top floor, facing the street. It was small - two rooms - with a single tiny, dingy window, and not only was it not furnished, it hadn't seen any housekeeping at all since the day it was built.

Dragonelle led the way, running an idle finger along the thick layer of grime and dust along what had to be the kitchen counter. The "kitchen" was maybe three feet square. "Rent's cheap and they don't ask questions. What more could a fugitive spy want?"

Kat tried the rusty - and encrusted, ew - tap at the sink and came up dry. "Running water."

"We won't be here that long." Dragonelle sauntered into the other room and Kat followed perforce; this one appeared to be a bedroom, although the only clue was an unrolled sleeping bag and some wadded-up blankets in the middle of the floor. There was also a chest-high, ancient-looking safe bolted to the floor and wall in one corner. "I need a change of clothes. Not to mention a new identity."

The dragon spun the dial of the safe too quickly for Kat to see the combination, although they both knew that Dragonelle would never come back to this safehouse after today. She swung the door open on surprisingly silent hinges and stepped back to let Kat have a peek inside.

Masks, wigs, passports piled up in drifts, makeup, clothes - even something that looked like a slimmed-down version of her distinctive (aka ridiculous) DREAD uniform. There were also stacks of euros and other coinage, paper and metal both, tucked into every free space. Kat was willing to bet that a lot of the money was not the genuine article.

Dragonelle pulled out the uniform, a passport, and some of the cash. "Take something. You need to not look like a bleeding-heart N-Tek groupie."

"Flattery," Kat said. She was going for a mocking tone and obviously succeeded, because the dragon scowled. Needling Dragonelle was big fun, if you ignored the circumstances and the handcuffs. "Okay, fine."

She selected a black leather biker jacket with metal studs everywhere and, by lucky coincidence, a snarling tiger embossed on the back. She also grabbed a passport and flipped it open to see who else Dragonelle might be. This one was issued to DRAKE, NELL.

Wordplay. Cute. Kat suppressed a gagging noise and tossed the passport back into the safe.

Then they got to have an argument over Kat's refusal to undo the handcuffs long enough for the dragon to slip into something more comfortable. Since she had the key, she won. Dragonelle sulked but managed anyway, although Kat didn't see how since she kept her eyes averted. Some things were better left unknown.

You are seriously not worth this, she told Josh/Max in her head. But of course he was.

Rocks and hard places. They always sucked.

Dragonelle finished her transformation from convict to supervillain by applying a heavy coat of cosmetics, apparently to compensate for the lack of ridiculous gold armor. "Let's go," she said.

And then the dragon produced a katana from thin air, yanked the cuffs taut and sliced through them in one smooth move.

"Relax." Dragonelle slid the katana into a harness on her back. "Unfortunately for both of us, you have resources I need. I can't eliminate you until I find Mr. Dread."

Kat shook out her hand. The sword had grazed the flesh on the back of her wrist; it stung, but wasn't bleeding, just kind of oozing. Another battle scar to show off back at the office. "Yeah. Vice versa. Keep that in mind."

Dragonelle met her eyes and held them. "Oh, I will."

They had a short but intense staring contest, during which time the tiny apartment crackled with mutual animosity and grudging teamwork. The dragon looked away first.

Eye of the tiger, Kat thought. There was a joke.

She picked up her stuff, including the really sweet biker jacket which Dragonelle was not getting back, and they exited the safehouse. The car was still parked where she'd left it, all four tires were present and whole, and the windows and gleaming blue paint job were unscratched. Miracles happen.

"I'll tell you where to go," Dragonelle said as they climbed into the car again. The lack of cuffs made it a heck of a lot easier. Kat was secretly glad that Dragonelle had gotten rid of the things... if only she could trust the terrorist not to put that sword into her back. Cooperation from a professional chameleon was always suspect.

"Where are we going? The Minion Information Clearinghouse?"

A nasty smile twitched across the dragon's face. "Not quite."

Where they were going was a large, well-maintained house in an affluent neighborhood, one entirely devoid of gang slogans and spray-painted obscenities. Kat did a drive-by sweep, checking for trouble, then made an illegal U-turn and went back. She stopped a few houses down and was pleased to notice that the Shadow looked as if it belonged on this street. That'd make things easier. Probably it wouldn't get trashed, either.

"Dr. Kaspar Wolff," Dragonelle said, gesturing at the house. A light was on in one of the windows. "A very good surgeon with a very bad cash-flow problem. DREAD supports his lifestyle."

"And blackmails him while you're at it," Kat concluded. "Nice. Two birds with one stone."

She was being sarcastic, but Dragonelle flashed another nasty smile. "Clever, yes. He's too useful to lose. Dr. Wolff was the one who stitched Mr. Dread back together after N-Tek destroyed his base here."

Another mystery solved, another name to go on N-Tek's watch list. Thanks to Dr. Wolff, Dread had come back from the too-evil-to-be-dead with revenge on his horribly scarred mind, and Max had nearly gotten killed. And of course Kat was not down with the killing Max thing. "I already hate the guy. So are we gonna knock on his door or what?"

The smile turned downright predatory. "Exactly."

They got out of the car and strolled up the sidewalk to the house, looking as inconspicous as two women wearing black leather and a katana could look. At least it was dark out.

"Follow my lead," Dragonelle murmured as the closed in on Wolff's door. "As far as he knows, you're DREAD. Be silent. Be scary."

"That from the DREAD training manual?" Kat murmured back.

Dragonelle threw a burningly unamused look and knocked. Brisk, professional, and somehow chilling. Definitely a knock you'd want to answer if you were a doctor with terrorist accountants. Unsurprisingly, someone inside hurried to the door. It opened a crack and promptly had a black-leather, gold-plated boot wedged into the gap, forcing it wider.

"Guten Abend, Herr Doktor," Dragonelle said smoothly, flashing a lot of sharp teeth. "Wo ist John Dread?"

Dr. Kaspar Wolff was in his fifties and had definitely been a fan of strudel his entire life. Round body, round face - sagging into jowls - and large square glasses framing round blue eyes. The eyes widened and the jowls blanched. "D-D-Dragonelle! Guten - guten Abend! Ah - yes, ah - John Dread - I -"

"It's a simple question," Dragonelle said. "I even asked it in your language. Should I try it in English?"

Wolff took a step back, into the imagined safety of his house. He recovered enough to notice Kat, who was trying to look like she regularly beat up old jowly doctors for no good reason - but he still was pale as a ghost and clearly rattled. "Yes, I mean, no. I'm so sorry. You've caught me by surprise. Where is Mr. Dread - yes. I - I haven't seen Mr. Dread in quite a while. I'm not certain I remember -"

Dragonelle pushed past him as if she owned the place - she sort of did - and Kat followed. "That's fine. We'll wait inside while you think about it." They stopped at the base of an elegant staircase.

Wolff hesitated, then shut the door and hurried to join them. "Please, Dragonelle, make yourself comfortable. Your friend too. Am I to be introduced?"

"No," Dragonelle said.

Kat cracked her knuckles.

The good doctor nodded his head vigorously, making his jowls bobble. Obviously he thought ignorance was an excellent idea. "Well. Yes. Mr. Dread. He came here after that unfortunate business - Well, you know this. I had thought not to see him again. To my surprise he returned - oh, a little more than six months ago."

John Dread hadn't died in Del Oro. John Dread was stopping by Berlin six months ago.

Kat wished she had Berto eavesdropping on this, just for proof. She felt a savage satisfaction. So much for the CIA. Got your trail now, Dread. Ha!

Dragonelle's face was blank, but her eyes glinted with much the same emotion. "How?" she demanded.

"Ah - the Frenchman. Again." Wolff took his glasses off and held them up to the light, inspecting for smudges.

Kat slouched against the stair rail, looking casual but thinking furiously. The Frenchman, "again"? Was that L'Étranger? Or worse, was it N-Tek's Benedict Arnold, her old boss Jean Mairot? Either way, it was bad news. Mairot was supposed to be dead and the stranger a solo act.

She sure was getting an education on this mission. Not to mention a headache.

"This time Mr. Dread was in very bad shape, very bad indeed. There had been other doctors, but they had done little more than stabilize him. He barely survived the journey here." Wolff slid the newly un-smudged glasses on. "I repaired what damage I could and held him until he was strong enough to travel once more."

"Where did they go?"

"I don't know. Moscow, I believe. They asked if I had connections there - they wanted not to reactivate the Russian cells."

Which would reactivate N-Tek or, at least, CIA interest in DREAD. Kat wished for Berto again. All this time Dread had been sulking around in the shadows, right under their noses, and no one had had any idea.

"Sadly, I could recommend no one." Wolff tried to look sad and failed abysmally. "They assured me that they could arrange something regardless."

The dragon pondered this, then asked, "And Mr. Dread was alive when you last saw him?"

Arrogance and anger flashed in Wolff's eyes, professional indignation, but he buried it quickly and nodded. "Of course, yes, of course. I would never disappoint such an important man by allowing him to die in my care."

Dragonelle cut her eyes to Kat and put a hand on the hilt of her katana, making an obvious nonverbal statement: Time to be scary.

Old memories bubbled up out of nowhere. Old bad memories, of what the young bad Kat used to do. Oh yeah, that's right - this criminal stuff makes me feel like puking. No wonder I switched to heroics.

"I'll start the car," Kat said flatly.

She left the house before Dragonelle could finish pulling out the sword, or Dr. Wolff could stammer out a frightened question about what the sword was for. There was no point in keeping close tabs on the dragon now; she had the jet and it was a long walk to Moscow.

Kat got into the Shadow and fired it up, checking the clock. It was well over twenty-four hours since Josh had collapsed; it was almost twenty-four hours since she'd hatched her so-called brilliant scheme, which was starting to really suck.

She was racing the clock. And the clock was starting to win.

I'm moving as fast as I can, she told Josh. I'm getting closer. This is going to work. This is going to work. You're not going to die on my watch.

Dragonelle slid into the car looking entirely pleased. "Back to N-Tek and then on to Moscow. If that's all right with you, Agent."

Just hang on, she thought, but whether that very desperate plea was for Josh or herself, Kat didn't know.