Maggie couldn't decide what to feel as she sank into her office chair. She had hoped Mel would be at the office although what he would have been doing alone in the dark she didn't want to contemplate. She sighed, leaning back in the chair. Did she really want to find Mel drunk or passed out?
Of course not, she admonished herself. And Mel was stronger then that. Yes, he'd had a few set backs recently but the Jennings case had hit him hard. However, he was doing better in his professional and personal life. He even….
Maggie shot up in her chair, laughing aloud. Of course! Why hadn't she thought of it before?
She grabbed her phone and quickly flipped through her address book until she found the number she wanted. Mel, she was sure, would seek the company of the one person who was responsible in large for his improved mood these days.
She dialed the morgue, hoping she was correct. The phone rang several times with no answer.
"Office attire has never been more lovely."
The familiar voice made Maggie turn around. "Mr. Fletcher," she said, dropping the receiver on the hook.
Morris Fletcher stood at the door, a smarmy grin on his face. "It's Maggie, right?"
Maggie stood up, unconsciously smoothing her dress, trying to disguise how uneasy the man made her feel. "What are you doing here, Mr. Fletcher?"
He entered, still smiling. "I was hoping to speak to Mr. Frohike about my case." His gaze flicked around the room, settled on Frohike's closed office door a moment before returning to Maggie. "Is he here?"
"Of course not," Maggie said cautiously in her most businesslike voice. "It's Saturday night."
"And yet you're here." Fletcher's smile never wavered; his voice never lost its mild tone. It unnerved Maggie. She had worked too long for Mel not to understand the man was fishing for information and was not above putting her on the defensive to get her to slip up and reveal the information he wanted.
Except Maggie didn't know where Mel was. She pasted an embarrassed smile on her face. "Yes. I was meeting a friend for dinner…" Where was Fox? He should have called all ready. "…when I realized I had forgotten to type up a contract for a client."
"If you're still interested in talking to Mr. Frohike," she continued, "he will be back in the office at 9 a.m. on Monday." Maggie tried to guide the man out but he neatly sidestepped her.
"I don't think you understand what I want, Maggie." Fletcher continued to smile.
Before Maggie could think of anything to say, she heard footsteps in the hall. She looked up, expecting to see Fox, a boyish grin on his face and she nearly let out an audible sigh of relief.
It caught in her throat.
A man, tall and good looking stood in the doorway. He didn't say anything, just gazed at her. His silence was more frightening then Morris Fletcher's malevolent smile.
"Alex," Fletcher said cheerfully. "Come in. Maggie and I were having a conversation, why don't you join us?"
Krycek stepped inside the office, closing the door behind him.
Maggie heard the snick of the lock a moment later.
Jimmy couldn't believe his luck. His camera seemed to have made it through the evening's craziness intact. Its only real value was sentimental. He'd purchased it with his first paycheck as a staff photographer on the Gazette.
He looked through the viewfinder and scanned the room. Professor Langly was sitting in a corner with a notebook and pencil furiously attempting to recreate his lost notes. If Langly had been agitated about being in a morgue, he apparently had forgotten all about his fears once he was lost in his work.
He turned his attention, adjusting the focus until he saw clear images of Frohike and Dr. Scully talking quietly to each other. Back in the chair he had claimed when they first arrived, Frohike looked a lot better. Dr. Mackenzie had sutured his leg and ordered him to stay off it as much as possible. He had pretty much obeyed her instructions with the exception of washing up and changing into an extra set of clothes he had stashed in the trunk of his car for long stakeouts.
He heard footsteps from the hall and quickly set the camera on the little table that held gleaming surgical tools. Trying not to dwell on the possible use of a particularly nasty looking saw-like thing, he watched anxiously as the door swung open.
He let out his held breath when Yves and Dr. Mackenzie entered. Yves looked a lot better. Like Frohike, she had washed off the worst of the dirt and soot. Dr. Scully had lent her some clothes she kept in her office for, as she said, 'just in case." She hadn't elaborated or given an explanation for those cryptic words but after seeing the tools of her job, Jimmy didn't particularly want to know.
"Miss Harlow," Dr. Mackenzie was saying, frustration evident in her voice. "You should be wearing a sling to keep that shoulder immobile. "If those stitches …"
"They won't," Yves interrupted dismissively.
"Then at least get some rest." Mackenzie's gaze slid from Yves to Frohike. "Both of you. Your bodies have suffered significant trauma and blood loss not to mention the signs of exhaustion you're both exhibiting. You need to let your bodies heal; sleep is the best remedy I could prescribe." When both of her patients just met her gaze with obstinate expressions, she sighed.
Yves spoke up. "Doctor Mackenzie."
Expecting yet another warning to remain silent Mackenzie said, "I know it's pointless to tell you not to worry so I won't. But I will say this: however unorthodox this situation is, I believe what you told me earlier. The only assurance I can give you is that I gave Dana my word I would keep silent. I would not willingly betray her trust and by default…yours."
Mackenzie left it at that; whether the young woman chose to believe her was up to her. Yves listened and when she finished, she saw the corner of Harlow's mouth lift a fraction of an inch.
"I just wanted to thank you," Yves said.
"Oh." Dr. Mackenzie was momentarily taken aback but she recovered quickly, offering a slight smile in return. "You're welcome. Dana? Walk me out?"
Once the two doctors left, an uneasy silence fell over the weary quartet and each slipped into his or her own thoughts. Langly continued to scribble in the notebook Dr. Scully had provided him. Jimmy, at a loss of something constructive to do, took up a sentry position by the door. Frohike had said they would be safe here and he believed the detective but the vibes he was getting from Frohike and Yves did nothing to quiet his rattled nerves.
Frohike, taking Dr. Mackenzie's advice, remained in his chair. He stuck his bad leg straight out in front of him. Yves, her back against a wall, arms crossing over her chest, watched the Professor. Their calm veneer belied the fact they'd nearly been blown to bits earlier in the evening.
Since arriving at the morgue, Frohike'd had time to think. He kept going back to the abbreviated conversation at the beach house and the questions it birthed. He had set them aside once all hell had broken loose and their focus had changed to one of survival. But they weren't running for their lives now, making it a good time to get some answers.
He labored out his chair, grimacing when he placed his weight on his bad leg. "We need to talk, Yves. I want –"
"Goddammit!"
Startled by Langly's furious outburst, Frohike, Yves and Jimmy all focused on the Professor.
"What now?" Frohike growled, expecting another round of theatrics. He already missed the quiet when the Professor was unconscious.
Langly shoved the notebook away from him. "You can't expect me to recreate from memory equations that took weeks to formulate especially when I'm tired and hungry. When are we leaving this hole?" The last was directed at Yves.
"We will as soon as I can arrange a safe place for us." For the first time since he had met her, Frohike saw a shadow of doubt behind her eyes.
"This place stinks," Langly continued to whine. "I need someplace that doesn't stink."
Ignoring the scientist, Frohike leveled his gaze on Yves. In a skeptical voice he asked, "That's your big plan? Run and hide?"
"My first priority is to keep the Professor alive," Yves said. "If that means we run and hide, then that is what I will do."
Not what she wanted to do.
It was obvious to Frohike that she preferred a more direct approach to the problem but as long as she was saddled with the task of protecting the Professor she would do just that.
"Yeah," Langly said in a haughty voice. "Besides, it's only for a couple more days."
"Professor, do you intend to call another press conference?" Yves asked mildly. A guilty flush spread over Langly's face and he lapsed into silence.
"What's going to happen in a couple of days?" Jimmy asked glancing from one to the other.
"Nothing that concerns you," Yves said tersely.
"The hell it doesn't," Frohike retorted, jerking a finger at Jimmy. "He and I were nearly killed tonight. I think we deserve to know the truth about what's going on." When she didn't reply, he took several steps toward her. "I want answers, Yves, and it had better be the truth."
Yves stared at him, a bland expression on her face. Frohike glared back, refusing to back down. After a few seconds, she sighed, as if coming to a decision.
"What you said at the beach house was correct," she said finally.
Frohike mentally reviewed what they had discussed. They had touched upon a number of things but before he could ask which one Yves meant, Jimmy did it for him.
"What was he right about?"
Yves flicked a glance at him before returning her attention to Frohike. "Before I answer that, I'd like you to answer a question." She studied him carefully continuing. "Who do you think I am?"
Frohike grinned. "British Intelligence. MI-6 to be precise."
Yves crossed the autopsy room to stand by the table where she had placed the two wooden boxes. Frohike recognized them as the boxes the Professor had made a point of taking from the house before it exploded. Yves had also risked her life to save them before they fled from their pursuers.
"You were correct about this being about German codes."
It was at that point the Dana Scully returned. She looked from Frohike to Yves, sensing the tension in the room. "Am I interrupting something?"
Frohike's first impulse was to assure Dana she wasn't. After everything she had done for them, he figured she had a right to hear what Yves was about to say, no matter how much the younger woman pursed her lips in disapproval. But common sense won out in the end. The less Dana knew, the safer she would be. "Dana, could you give us a few minutes?"
"I have some paperwork that I need to attend to," she said. Frohike could have kissed her right then and there but she had already turned to leave, her heels clicking on the linoleum. She was an incredibly special lady, one he didn't deserve, but he would do whatever it took to atone for every ugly thing he'd dropped on her doorstep.
"The Allies have been unable to decrypt the German codes," Yves continued, glancing at Frohike. "We received information that they had an advanced encoding device called 'the Enigma'."
"Enigma?" Jimmy interrupted looking at Langly who had set his notebook aside and was listening to the conversation. "You mentioned that a couple times when I talked to you. I thought you were referring to the codes but it was a machine." He pointed to the box. "That machine."
"Actually," Langly said in a superior tone, "I was referring to both."
"Shut up. Both of you," Frohike ordered. To Yves he said. "I take it there was a mission to…" he paused, "…acquire one."
She nodded. "Only it was the Poles who succeeded but before they could hand it over to British agents it disappeared. It was learned that an unknown player had hired an independent agent to steal the machine. This person's identity has not been discovered, but the thief's identity was and plans were made to recover the Enigma."
"Why do I have the feeling," Frohike said, "that the thief was Morris Fletcher."
"Morris Fletcher is a slick conman," Yves said by way of confirmation. "Each time he would identify the agents then…"
"He'd disappear," Frohike finished.
Yves scowled. "Not right away. He'd let the agents get close and then vanished, often setting them up so they would end up in embarrassing or compromising situations. To him it was a game, something to amuse himself until he could deliver the item to his employer."
"London decided to send one last agent but this time the agent was to play Fletcher's game and use it against him. This agent succeeded where more experienced agents failed." From the brief, proud smile Frohike suspected Yves had been the agent in question. It was then he realized with some amusement that she never admitted to being an agent.
Jimmy furrowed his brow. "I don't understand. Why would you bring the Enigma machine to America? Why not England?"
"It was taken to England originally. From what I understand, there is a cadre of scientists working around the clock on deciphering the code. After a time, I was asked to bring it here."
"Yeah, they sent Yves to beg me to join them," Langly boasted.
Yves rolled her eyes. "In a few days we are rendezvousing with MI-6 agents who will escort the professor to a place there where he can help break the codes."
Jimmy's brow furrowed, "But you have an Enigma machine. Don't you know how it works?"
"They do," Langly said from his corner, "but there are 150 million million million possible combinations. For the last ten months, the best minds in cryptography have been trying to figure out which combination the Nazis have been using but they are no closer to it than when they started."
"Thanks for that enlightening lesson," Frohike said sarcastically, "don't let us keep you from your work." With a frown, Langly submerged himself in the notebook muttering to no one in particular about his ill treatment. Frohike turned to Yves. "So basically, what you're saying is Morris Fletcher is trying to get the Enigma back?"
"Don't be so quick to dismiss Fletcher. He's a conman, yes, but he's also quite dangerous. He didn't take losing the Enigma very well." Yves glanced at the machine, a shadow passing over her features. When she looked up again, she wore an expression of careful neutrality. "He's working for someone who is powerful and far more dangerous…"
"This mysterious employer have a name?"
"The only name we have for him is a codename." Yves shrugged as if to infer she had no part in naming him. "Cigarette Smoking Man… due to the fact that, the few times they've gotten close to him, they found ashtrays full of crushed cigarettes."
Jimmy snorted. "That doesn't narrow it down much: nearly everybody smokes."
Frohike glanced at the photographer. "I think that's their point."
Yves went to stand next to Langly. "Regardless, the fact remains that this person is powerful and has connections inside the FBI and Fletcher has access to those resources."
"Which means we can't trust anyone in the FBI," Langly said softly, fear in his voice. "And because of the Blitz, Yves can't contact anyone to let them know we're in trouble."
Carefully considering everything Yves had told him, Frohike said. "I think I know someone who may be able help us."
Yves raised an eyebrow. "Us?"
Frohike leaned against the desk taking some of the weight off his bad leg. "Whether you like it or not, Sugar, we're involved: me and the boy wonder there. The bad guys know what we look like and I have no intention of crawling into a dark hole counting the minutes until your buddies get here. And from what I've seen of you, you wouldn't much care for that either."
"What are you suggesting?" Yves asked.
"The F.B.I." He raised a hand when she started to protest. "I know someone who has connections. I'm sure they could find you somewhere safe to wait until it's time to meet up with your pals."
"How can you be so sure I can trust this person?" asked Yves.
"He's honest and can't be bought."
"Everyone can be bought," Yves stated. "It's just a matter of discovering his price."
"That's an awful way to think," said Jimmy quietly.
Yves turned her gaze on him. "It's reality," she said simply.
"So, do you agree?" Frohike asked.
"To what," Yves asked, "exchanging one rabbit hole for another? It's still hiding and I'm no longer in control."
The woman could be stubborn, Frohike thought. But he still had an ace up his sleeve and he played it. "At least the professor would be safe. Besides, you could throw the G-Men a few tidbits about Fletcher. And I'm sure they would like to hear whatever information you can give them about a mole in their ranks."
Yves frowned, thinking long and hard about Frohike's offer. The others watched her knowing that, with the Professor under her protection, all the decisions for his safety were hers to make.
After a full minute of silence, she admitted, "I don't like it but I can't see that we have any other choice."
"You always have a choice. Just make sure you're using that pretty little brain of yours when you make it." The angry spark that lit her eyes told him he'd gone too far. "Easy, Sugar," he said. "All I meant was, I can help you but I don't want to get back here and find you've vamoosed with the walking math problem over there."
"We'll be here," Yves assured him.
"Good. I'll go now," Frohike turned to leave then paused. He glanced back at Yves. "You're returning to England with Blondie, I take it?"
"Of course," she said.
He reached into his pocket, removing his wallet. He took out a slip of paper and offered it to her.
"What's this?" Yves asked quizzically.
"In case you're wondering, I sent Monica out of town for the weekend. That's the phone number where she can be reached." When Yves didn't reply or take the paper, he asked, "You were going to tell your sister that you're leaving?"
Even as he said the words, he knew she had no intention of telling Monica. He wondered whether or not Yves had used her relationship with Monica as a cover. He was afraid to look too closely because he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.
"I don't have time to deal with Monica right now." Yves' dismissive tone angered Frohike.
"You'd better make time because you were the one who pulled her into your little web of lies and put her in jeopardy. She knows we went to that beach house. I think you owe her a phone call to let her know you didn't get roasted alive before she hears about it on the radio."
He let go of the folded paper, which fluttered to the floor. He then turned and stormed from the room as best he could with his bum leg. He nearly ran into Scully who was returning to check on them. She took one look at his expression and, circling an arm around his waist, left with him.
Yves picked up the piece of paper. She looked at it a moment, indecision on her face before crumpling it up.
"You're not going to call her?"
Yves glanced at Jimmy, noting the disapproval in his expression. "No."
"But she's your sister," he protested.
She sighed. "Which is precisely why I can't call her."
"But you wrote her that letter," Jimmy pointed out, not comprehending her reasoning. He studied her face wanting to understand.
She averted her gaze to watch Langly scribbling in his notebook. There was no reason she should have to explain herself to Jimmy Bond. It was none of his business.
"Why is a phone call different, Yves?" he gently pressed.
"The letter was a grievous error," Yves said finally. "I intended to warn her but all I did was place her in greater danger."
"But she's safe now," Jimmy insisted, "Frohike told her not to tell anyone where she was."
"I can't risk it." Her face hardened. "Besides, once I'm gone, it will be a moot point. Frohike was correct when he said I was using Monica."
Jimmy winced at the callousness in her tone. He remembered what Monica said about their background. "Monica told me about your dad."
"Mr. Bond, I don't see how any of this is your business." Yves' voice was tight, angry...defensive.
"I'm sorry," Jimmy said quickly, sensing she wouldn't tolerate the conversation much longer. "I didn't mean to intrude. It's just that…the two of you have a lot in common. Your dad betrayed both of you. When her dad told her about you, she was deeply hurt but in spite all that, she used her inheritance to find you. She accepted you as her sister, inviting you into her life and in the process alienating her brother. He refuses to speak to her."
"I'm well aware of how the story goes," Yves retorted but there was no rancor in her voice.
"My point is," said Jimmy quickly, "she didn't have to do all that but she did. I think no matter how this thing with the Professor plays out, it wouldn't change the fact that you are Monica's sister, her family." He paused letting his words sink in. Whatever she did next, it was up to her. He just hoped she would give Monica a chance.
"I've gotta go give Frohike his car keys," he said. "He forgot I still have them." He headed for the door to leave her with her thoughts. "Think about it. It's just a phone call. I'm sure you won't regret it."
Yves watched him go then opened her hand and smoothed out the piece of paper. She explored her emotions, surprised to discover the resentment and anger she had harbored since Frohike had first found her in England had completely disappeared.
He was right, she decided. While Monica had proved to be a convenient cover, in spending time with her, Yves had found her to be family. She did need to talk to Monica and tell her something.
She owed her that much at least.
