"Shouldn't we go knock on the door instead of sitting in the car?"
Frohike glared at Jimmy Bond, attempting to quell his irritation from the endless string of questions and comments that began when they left D.C. Unfortunately the young man, who was sitting in the passenger seat, was facing away, watching the beach house intently and missed the private detective's sour look.
Frohike slowly counted to ten, regretting the decision to allow the kid to come with him. He had already argued for a good half hour with Monica about the same thing, just barely managing to convince his client it would be best if he checked out this lead on his own. Exhausted from too little sleep and too much caffeine, he hadn't the energy to argue with the kid, especially since he sensed the big oaf just might try to follow him. Losing him wouldn't have been too difficult but he would have wasted valuable time so he gave in, ordering the kid to do exactly what he said and not get in the way.
"We need to make sure they're in the house," he finally replied. "If they're not, we could give ourselves away if they return while we're in there. Then," he said the next slower, partly to get a handle on his impatience and partly to make sure the kid understood, "they might disappear and we'd never find them."
Jimmy didn't take his eager attention off the house. "What if they're not here? I mean Virginia has hundreds of mile of beaches. What do we do then, Mr. Frohike?"
"We'll figure that out if and when we need to," Frohike replied. "And for God's sake stop calling me Mr. Frohike. Just Mel or even Frohike will work."
Jimmy glanced at him briefly before turning his attention back out the window. "Sure," he said. "Hey!" he whispered excitedly seconds later, "did you see that? The curtains moved!"
Frohike swore under his breath, focusing his attention on the house. "You sure it wasn't just the shadows from the trees?" The sun was sinking towards the horizon and he bet that's what the kid saw: shadows moving over the window.
"The curtain moved," Jimmy insisted vehemently. As if he intended to prove it, he opened his door. The sound of the surf, turbulent and forceful filled the car.
"Jimmy," Frohike hissed through clenched teeth. "Get back here!" But the photographer was already making his way down the sloping driveway. "Dammit!" Frohike scrambled out of the car. And the kid wondered why that reporter, Spender, had it in for him, Frohike thought as he rushed after the younger man.
Bond's long stride ate up the distance quickly but Frohike, though older and with an expanding girth, was no slouch and caught up to him. He grabbed Jimmy's arm and said in a harsh whisper, "If you want to get killed, by all means rush in there."
His words had the desired effect. Jimmy stopped abruptly, casting an uneasy, indecisive look at the house.
"We need to approach this slow and easy," he continued. If Yves Harlow was in that house then it was already too late. She knew they were there. But if…and this was a big if… Harlow was the British agent he thought she was, then the fact they were still alive and not laying face down in the grass with a bullet in their brains heartened Frohike.
It meant she recognized him and deduced he was working on Monica's behalf. Why else send the letter to him? But after all the lies Yves Harlow told her sister, Frohike wondered how the woman would receive him.
If it really was Yves Harlow in that house.
There was one thing Frohike hated more than unanswered questions. It was someone using an unwitting person to further her agenda: especially family members. Monica Reyes already had enough of it from her parents. Shunted aside by a father who had juggled two families and a career, a mother who in all likelihood knew of her husband's infidelity and used her daughter as a pawn against her husband. And Monica's brother, once the infidelity had been exposed on his father's deathbed, had refused to accept the truth, estranging himself from his sister.
Searching for a familial connection, Monica had been used and manipulated by her sister and consequently placed in peril because of it.
Suspecting what he did about Harlow, Frohike would have chosen to leave the woman to defend herself. She was obviously capable of it. But if something happened to Yves because he didn't so much as warn her of the danger closing in on her, it would crush Monica.
And Monica didn't deserve the grief.
His anger burned like a slow fuse. He understood about losing family: the void it created in your heart and your life. Maybe that was why he was now ignoring his own advice and striding to the door with Jimmy trailing in his wake. The woman better damn well be worth it, he thought.
Frohike resisted the urge to pound on the door. That might attract unwanted attention. Instead, he knocked softly, carefully watching the curtains on the window near the door where Jimmy swore he'd seem movement earlier.
He paid for his inattentiveness of the door when it was yanked open suddenly. He barely had time to register the steely grip of a hand on his collar before he was pulled roughly into the house and slammed up against the wall. The cold metal of a gun barrel jammed firmly under his chin was unmistakable.
Frohike heard Jimmy suck in his breath and sent a silent prayer that the kid wouldn't do anything rash.
The look of blind fury was evident in Yves's eyes. "What…" she said through clenched teeth, "do you want?"
"Your sister sent me," Frohike managed to say. "She's worried about you."
She pushed the gun tighter against his neck. "Message received," she said slowly. "Now leave before I ventilate your throat."
They stared at each other, the tension thick in the air. He had little doubt she would follow through with her threat but he had made a promise and he was going to keep it.
"You won't pull the trigger, Sugar" Frohike said mustering a confident, nonchalant tone despite his racing pulse.
Yves raised one eyebrow. "Oh? Why not?"
"The neighbors will hear the gunshot for one," Frohike said. "Second: talk of it will bring a great deal of unwanted attention your way. I'm sure you know exactly who I mean. Now, why don't you put the hardware away and we can have a little chat."
Yves studied him a moment, then the pressure against his throat eased as she lowered her weapon. She stepped back allowing him to stand on his own. Frohike pushed away from the wall, and shrugged his coat back into place, giving himself time to calm his jangled nerves. He turned to see Yves with one hand on the still open door blocking Jimmy's entrance into the house.
"He's with me, Sugar," the detective said to further lesson the tension that radiated off her. "Don't worry, he's harmless."
Yves narrowed her eyes at him. "Your recommendation is reassuring," she retorted but she opened the door further to allow Jimmy to enter.
She closed the door, locked it and said dangerously. "And Frohike? I don't care who hears but if you call me 'Sugar' one more time, I will shoot you."
When Langly saw Yves enter the kitchen with the two men he jumped to his feet, crumpling the piece of paper he had been working on. "Who the hell are they?" he demanded.
Yves noticed the befuddled scientist routine that he'd employed off and on since she first met him was distinctly missing. She raised an eyebrow at him, keeping her tone calm.
"I'm sure you remember Mr. Bond. This is Mr. Frohike. He's a private detective sent to find us."
Langly's face turned ghost white. "A private dick?" The anger in his voice barely masked the fear. "How did you find us? Why were you even looking for us? Do you realize how much danger you're putting us in?"
Frohike, taking an instant dislike to the man, turned to Yves. "Can't you send him away to play with his chemistry set?"
"Chemistry set?" Langly sputtered, outraged. "What I do is far more important than…"
"Um, guys," said Jimmy interrupted the tirade. "…the bad guys."
"Where?" Yves' gun made a sudden reappearance as she stepped closer to Langly, pulling him away from the windows.
Jimmy raised his hands and shook his head. "No. No," he said quickly. "I just meant…shouldn't we be talking about why we're here?"
"I'm not a chemist!" Langly complained refusing to let the insult slide.
"Of course not," Yves said in a soothing tone that sounded as if she was reaching the end of her patience. "But Mr. Bond is quite right." Her gun disappeared once again and she crossed her arms over her chest to gaze at Frohike. "Why are you here?
"I told you. Your sister hired me to find you when she couldn't contact you. She's worried sick."
"You can tell her I'm fine –"
"Fine?" Frohike interrupted, "Not from where I'm standing."
"We've had no problem until you barged in here," Langly shot back.
"Langly," Yves warned, shutting him up. To Frohike she said, "I can take care of myself as you discovered earlier. I can't explain further but I have everything well in hand."
"I know who you are," he said. It was a bluff but he wanted to hear her confirm his theory she was a British agent. But Yves simply gazed at him. "Deny it or don't deny it," said Frohike, "I don't care but you need to go to the F.B.I."
Yves scrutinized his face. "Tell me Mr. Frohike. What were you doing talking to Agent Doggett outside Monica's apartment building?"
Talk about being blindsided! Frohike hadn't seen that question coming. But he hid it, saying smoothly. "Blondie made a serious tactical error when he called the newspaper. We know about the German codes." If he hadn't been scrutinizing her face, he would have missed the ripple behind her eyes. Even then he nearly missed it. He had to admit she was one cool customer. But all it took was one well-placed bullet.
"I can play that game too, Sugar. Shall I tell you what else I know or can we have an honest discussion here without the one-upmanship?" It was complete bullshit, he had used his trump card and he was afraid she knew it.
Jimmy spoke up then. "You can trust us," he said softly, compassionately.
Yves turned, appraising him coolly. "That remains to be seen," she said then sighed. "The F.B.I. can't be trusted."
"Are you sure?" Jimmy asked.
"Yes. After your little visit, I decided not to take any chances and moved the Professor. When I went back to get a few things, I saw several men hanging around the lab. I recognized their type. I assumed they learned about the Professor from the article the reporter wrote."
"But Spender didn't write an article," Jimmy pointed out.
"I didn't know that at the time," Yves retorted. "All I knew was the Professor had been compromised. I called the F.B.I. and arranged a meeting."
"Let me guess," said Frohike, "it was a trap."
Anger burned in Yves' dark eyes as she remembered her narrow escape. "Yes."
"Which explains the cryptic letter to your sister," Frohike said. "You think Agent Doggett is a mole?"
"I don't know for sure," Yves admitted, "But he's everywhere I turn. I have to think he's a likely suspect."
Jimmy was puzzling over something. "If the FBI has a mole, then how did those men know you were at the warehouse before you called the FBI? Wouldn't it be the other way around?"
Langly snorted, breaking his silence. "Jeez, some reporter you are. The FBI mole is working for someone else."
"The person who stole my photographs," Jimmy said then wrinkled his brow. "Why would they take my pictures of Yves and the Professor and then break into Monica's apartment to steal all the pictures of Yves."
"Someone broke into Monica's apartment?" Yves looked worried. She had suspected they would follow her sister in hopes she would lead them to her and thus Langly but this she hadn't considered.
Jimmy nodded. "Yeah, they took all your letters to her as well as Frohike's files."
"Jimmy shut up," Frohike growled.
Yves looked from Jimmy to Frohike. "What files?"
Frohike ignored Yves question. "Look, you're not safe here. We can talk about this somewhere else."
Yves wasn't going to let him put her off. "What files, Frohike."
The private detective sighed, realizing she was immovable on the subject. "My files of you and your sister when she hired me to find you the first time."
Yves stared intently at him. "Do you have any idea who stole them?"
"Yeah. Some guy who tried to hire me to locate Monica under the pretense of an inheritance. I put him off but, when I tried to check him out, I couldn't find anything on him."
"This man…what was his name?"
Why did Frohike have the feeling she already knew who it was? "Morris Fletcher," he said watching her closely. "Who is he, Yves?"
She ignored the question, asking one of her own. "How did you find us?"
"I think it's your turn to answer a quest…"
"How did you find us?" she interrupted, eyes blazing.
Frohike stared at her deciding to pursue the answers to his questions later. Whoever this Fletcher guy was…he was bad news. "From the postmark on the letter you sent. Monica noticed the town was only an hour away from the family beach house. And when she told me how much you seemed to enjoy it when the two…make that three of you," he added glancing at the still scowling scientist, "vacationed here it seemed a logical place to begin. I considered the possibility that it was a red herring but she also said you mentioned the beach was your favorite place to go to think when you were a child." He smirked at her. "Old habits are difficult to break, Sweetheart."
"You talked to Monica today?"
"Yes," answered Frohike, "right before we headed out here."
"You fool," Yves spat angrily, striding to the nearest window and looking out. "You probably led them right to us!" She searched for anyone lurking around the grounds but the dwindling light and shadows made it impossible.
"No one followed us," Frohike said. "I watched the house for a while before we approached. They would have had to pass us on the road but no one did."
Yves turned from the window. "I'm relieved by your assessment of the situation," she said sarcastically.
"Where are you going?" Langly asked in a panicked voice as she strode out of the kitchen.
"I'm going to take a look around outside." Yves palmed her weapon. "Pack it up. As soon as I get back, we're leaving and for God's sake, stay away from the windows."
Langly hurried off to do what he was told. He wasn't happy about it but he did trust Yves's judgment. He began packing up the Enigma machine and all it's parts replacing the wooden casing and closing the lid. Another smaller box lay nearby.
Jimmy watched him. "Do you need any help?"
"No, I've got it under control," Langly said not looking up from his work. He had two of the screws in place and was working on a third.
Jimmy bent to pick up the fourth screw, which had rolled onto the floor. He held it out to Langly who snatched it out of his hand then inserted it into the wood casing. "I really don't need your help," said Langly twisting the screw into place. "I actually can take care of myself."
Jimmy could sense that Langly resented their presence - his and Frohike's. "We just want to help you," said Jimmy. "We want to make sure you're safe and can finish your work."
Langly paused for a moment to glare at Jimmy. "If that was true, you would have left us alone." Everything had changed so much in the past few months. Before he had solitude, numbers and endless time to do his work. Then Yves showed up challenging him with the Enigma. And now he was in hiding and on the run with this terrible fear shadowing everything he did. He just wanted to figure out this puzzle and maybe help win the war in Europe. Well, that and stay alive. That would be good, too.
"I'll never get my work done if I have to run off every few days because some big, dumb reporter and his pals just can't keep their noses to themselves."
"Hey, you called me!"
"And I'll regret that decision until the day I die!" Langly closed his eyes. If only he'd talked to Yves before he'd made that call. None of this running and hiding would have been necessary. He returned his attention to Jimmy. "And besides, Yves told you to drop it. You should've just minded your own business."
He realized he probably sounded irrational but he plowed ahead. It was the only way to keep the growing uneasiness at bay. "What I'm working on is important and I don't really need you interfering with it." He turned his back on Jimmy at that point, who heard a distinct click as Langly locked down the wooden lid of the machine.
Jimmy left him to his work and returned to the kitchen where Frohike was looking at the papers the professor had been scribbling on when they came in. "Is he ready to go?" Frohike asked Jimmy as he set the paper he'd been holding on the table.
"Yeah, just about," said Jimmy. "Boy, is he in a bad mood."
Frohike snorted. "It's probably from living with the queen of happiness for so long."
A loud racket on the deck facing the beach cut off Jimmy's response.
"Langly!" Yves yelled, sprinting into the house. Behind her, the sliding door slammed shut with a crash then bounced back on the track. "Langly!"
"Yves…" Frohike came out of the kitchen, Jimmy behind him.
"Get out now!" She snapped brushing passed them. "Langly!"
"I'm here. I'm here," he muttered, lugging the Enigma machine, the other wooden box and a small black bag. He saw her face and stopped. He had never seen her look anything but cool and composed and now there was fear on her face. "What?" His voice was barely a whisper. "Oh God, are they here?"
Spoiling for an argument, Frohike barked. "We're not going anywhere until…"
Yves whirled to face Frohike. "There is a bomb," she hissed. "We have less than two minutes to get out." With those words, she turned to back to Langly who stood as if paralyzed, his eyes like an owl's behind his thick glasses. "Go!" She pushed him toward the front door. "Professor!" she urged.
He snapped from his paralysis, and took off for the door like a racehorse coming out of the starting gate, his long legs pulling ahead of Yves, clutching the heavy Enigma machine to his chest. With his arms full and no free hand to open the closed door, he stopped. Yves grabbed the handle, sweeping it open. "My car is across the street in the neighbor's drive."
"My car is closer," Frohike shouted from behind her. "A Ford Fordor on this side of the road."
Yves would have ignored Frohike if she was alone but she wasn't. And she had no idea where the person or persons were who'd set the bomb. "His. Don't stop," Yves clipped the orders when Langly paused. He made a whimpering sound but did as he was told.
With Jimmy behind her and Frohike bringing up the rear the quartet raced out of the house. Yves had lost track of how much time they had but knew the countdown was close. But they were quickly putting distance between themselves and the bomb. They were going to make it.
They had to.
"My notes," Langly shouted frantically, skidding to a stop. "I forgot my notes!"
"Leave them…Langly, NO!" Yves yelled.
Langly dropped the Enigma none too gently then abruptly turned and raced back toward the house. She started after him when she felt Jimmy's arm snake around her waist pulling her backwards into his chest, restraining her. She could feel his heart pounding with fear.
"Yves, no!" Jimmy's worried voice said in her ear. "Frohike'll get him."
He was right. She saw the private detective sprinting after the Professor. But Yves couldn't stand back. The professor was her responsibility. She rammed her elbow into Jimmy's stomach. He grunted in surprise, relaxing his hold. She shrugged him off and tore after Frohike and her charge.
"Yves!"
She heard Jimmy shout and then his footsteps somewhere behind her. The man was either extremely daft or very brave.
And then the beach house exploded.
The force slammed into Yves, flinging her backwards. She crashed into the ground, gravel biting into her skin. Her breath whooshed from her lungs, stunning her. Intense heat licked her skin and debris rained down on her. She threw her arms protectively over her face. Rubble struck her arms, her legs. It continued for what seemed an eternity but in reality she knew it was only a few seconds.
She crawled to her knees hearing only the roar of the fire. Pain lanced through her shoulder where something hard had struck her, ripping her jacket and drawing blood. "Professor," she gasped, tasting thick, acrid smoke. She struggled to her feet. He had been so much closer to the house when it blew.
Then she saw Frohike kneeling next to the prone scientist who didn't appear to be moving. Yves sprinted the remaining distance ignoring the pain in her shoulder.
Frohike glanced back when he heard Yves' shout. The woman ran up to them, skidding to a halt then dropping to her knees next to him. "Professor."
"He's unconscious but alive," Frohike informed her, watching as she checked the unmoving man on the ground. His glasses were gone, either knocked off when he fell or blown off by the force of the blast. "I think he was struck in the head by debris. We need to get out of here before the police arrive."
She tilted her face to gaze at him. The fire was bright enough that it gave Frohike a good look at the damage done to her. She had cuts and scrapes, her clothes were torn and pieces of rubble were tangled in her dark hair.
He felt as bad as she looked. His own clothes were dirty and ripped. There was a gash in his leg that brought searing pain when he put his weight on it. His face stung from a number of cuts: some felt deep enough to draw blood. But the thing that hurt the most, he thought ruefully, was the loss of his favorite hat, which had been blown away in the explosion.
"We need to get out of here before our 'friends' realize we didn't perish in the explosion," she retorted. She glanced up as they heard footsteps on the gravel.
"Guys?" Jimmy looked shell shocked but other than that he barely had a scratch on him.
"Help me get him up," Yves said.
Unquestioningly, Jimmy crouched down to haul the unconscious Professor off the ground.
"Wait. Leave him," Frohike said quickly before Yves could object. "We don't know what kind of injuries he has. Carrying him might make them worse."
He dug into his pocket. "Jimmy!" Frohike tossed him his keys. The kid caught them two handed when they bounced off his chest. "Go get my car. Now!"
Jimmy took off at a dead run, vanishing into the darkness.
"Listen," Yves said, her voice straining with tension. "Sirens." They were barely discernable over the roar of the flames.
"Police," Frohike identified grimly. They were still a ways off but the last thing they wanted right then was to answer a bunch of questions. He glanced at Yves. She withdrew her gun, meeting his gaze with a cold look of determination that made him shiver. Where the hell was Jimmy?
He heard his car making its way slowly down the driveway seconds before the flames from the burning house illuminated it. Jimmy hadn't turned on the headlights, which in another situation would have been good thinking, but the fire raging behind them made it pointless.
Leaving the engine running, Jimmy hopped out of the car and jogged over to them. Together, he and Frohike easily lifted Langly but had to struggle to put the unconscious man in the car without doing further injury to him. Yves ran behind the car to snatch up the Enigma from where Langly had dropped it in the gravel.
"Hurry!" Yves warned tossing the two boxes carelessly onto the floor in the back seat. "Someone's coming!"
Frohike cleared Langly's feet of the door, shut it, then turned to see car beams at the end of the drive slowly making their way toward them. The firelight reflected off the windshield of the car making it impossible to see who was in it.
One thing he knew for sure though… it wasn't the police.
"You drive," he told Jimmy, circling to the passenger side. "Let's go, Sugar, we're leaving."
Shooting Frohike a dirty look, Yves jumped into the backseat with Langly. "Go!" she shouted.
With the other car blocking their only means of exit, Jimmy had only one choice: to go toward the burning cabin then loop around. He just hoped Frohike's car could handle driving on the beach.
The car shot foreword, gaining speed as Jimmy tried to put as much distance between them and the other car as possible.
"No!" Yves practically shouted from the backseat. "There's a seawall!"
"A what?" Jimmy's gaze darted back at her incredulously.
"Watch where you're going!" Frohike snarled.
Jimmy tore his gaze back to his driving and what he saw filled him with cold, liquid fear. A half-dozen yards ahead the bright scarlet blaze of the fire illuminated the drop-off. Beyond that he could see frothy whitecaps and the black void of the ocean.
He yanked the steering wheel hard to the right. The tires spit gravel before crashing into the tall privacy bushes. He heard twigs scraping the sides of the car and undercarriage but he kept going, pressing the gas down, praying he wouldn't come out of the bushes safely only to crash into a tree.
They shot out of the underbrush onto spacious grass. The headlights illuminated the neighbors' driveway.
"Go right," Frohike ordered.
"I know," Jimmy muttered, twisting the wheel toward the road.
Once they were on the highway, Jimmy eased up on the gas. "Where to?" he asked, needing the reassurance of a concrete course of action. When no one responded he glanced at the private detective. "Frohike?" he pressed.
"I'm thinking!" Frohike snapped.
"Car bearing down on us!" Yves warned. "Mr. Bond, step on it."
The first shot shattered the back window.
Jimmy did as she said; the fear that had eased with finding the highway returned in full force. His heart felt as if it would crash out of his chest.
Frohike swore, yanked open the glove compartment and grabbed his gun. He rolled down his window, leaned out and fired. A deafening boom shook the inside of the car.
The sound hadn't come from Frohike. Jimmy risked glancing in the rearview mirror. He saw Yves firing a large, lethal looking gun out the back window at their pursuer.
The other car swerved as the driver worked to evade the bullets before bringing it back directly behind them.
Another shot… this time from Frohike.
The car veered crazily then drove off the road.
Frohike whooped. "Got him!"
"You got his tire," Yves corrected, "there's a difference."
"I stopped him, Sugar," Frohike retorted. "What did you do?"
"I kept him from shooting you." Yves returned to her seat to check Langly. He was coming around. "Langly, are you okay?" Yves asked him. His answer was incoherent, not much more than moaning, and his face was far too pale for Yves liking. "We need to get Langly to a doctor," she informed the two men.
"There's a hospital about ten miles up the road," Jimmy spoke up, glancing toward the back seat. Yves had Langly's head in her lap and she was gently smoothing his tangled hair.
"No," she said immediately. "We can't go to a hospital: too open. People will ask questions. We need to go somewhere more discreet."
"The morgue," Frohike decided.
This statement shocked Jimmy. "But…he's not dead."
"Just do it," Frohike said, "I know someone there who can help him."
Jimmy nodded his acquiescence. He checked the rearview mirror to make sure there were no headlights following them. All he saw was darkness and Yves' worried expression. "Who were they?" he asked aloud.
He didn't get an answer but then he didn't really expect one.
The driver of the pursuing car struggled to keep control of his swerving vehicle. The flat tire was making it veer back and forth dangerously across the highway. He managed to bring the car back to the correct side of the road and off onto the shoulder, barely keeping it from sliding into the drainage ditch that ran parallel to the highway.
Shoving his door open with one foot, the driver climbed out and stood watching the retreating taillights of his intended victim's car.
In fury, he kicked the flat tire, uttering a string of curses.
"Alex, are you finished or will you continue to take your aggressions out on the car?"
Krycek glared at his companion but ceased his actions. Morris Fletcher was right. It was wasted energy. "Now what do we do? After this they'll disappear and we'll never find them again."
A large, self-satisfied smile spread over Fletcher's face. "Don't worry, Alex," he said mysteriously, "we're not out of options yet."
