Chapter 18

Frohike sat at Maggie's desk, sifting through the papers scattered across its surface. Maggie was meticulously organized and this mess made Frohike even more aware that she would never grace his office again.

Yves stood with her hand on the doorknob of his inner office, watching him, waiting.

I should do it, Frohike thought. It was his office but he just couldn't face seeing Maggie's drying blood on the floor. In his mind's eye, he could envision her lying there alone and defenseless. At some point, he was going to have to go back into that room.

But not now.

He averted his gaze, his mouth suddenly parched. He thought of the bottle of amber liquid hidden in the bottom drawer of his desk. It was a powerful craving but the reality of the crime scene in the other room held him rooted to his spot at Maggie's desk.

He heard his office door open and then Yves heels click softly on the floor as she entered. He could tell she made a full circuit of the room, checking it out.

After only a few moments, Yves stepped back into the room, firmly but softly closing the door behind her.

She didn't say anything to Frohike about what she'd found in there and he didn't ask. If there was something he needed to know, he figured she'd tell him.

They settled into an uncomfortable silence. Yves leaned against the wall in a corner of the room where she could easily see the door, the desk where Frohike waited and the window to the street below. She occasionally flexed her injured shoulder, raising her elbow and moving it back and forth, testing her range of motion. She would also clench and unclench her fingers to assess their strength and reliability. She needed to know her limitations for what lay ahead.

Frohike had offered her the only decent seat in the room but she refused it. He needed it more than she did. She could have sat on the bench by the door but she felt more alert, more in control of the situation from this position.

Sitting back in Maggie's chair, Frohike pulled his hat down over his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. The picture of calm he presented in no way reflected his true state of mind but he had learned after years of long stake outs and uncertain outcomes to these jobs that it was a good idea to conserve his energy whenever possible.

They remained this way for some time, silently waiting. Yves cast occasional glances the clock on the wall marking the minutes as they slowly passed.

Twelve o'clock came and went with now phone call. The minutes continued to tick by.

Frohike scowled at his watch then back at the phone on the desk in front of him, which stubbornly refused to ring. He checked his watch again. "He said noon, right?" Frohike wanted nothing more than to end this whole nightmare.

"Yes," Yves said succinctly.

"It's ten minutes past," the detective said in disgust. "He's late."

"He's holding all the cards at this point," Yves noted. "I don't believe he cares if he's a bit late."

"If you're holding someone for ransom you should damn well care!" Frohike stated emphatically.

"I have no control over this man," Yves said bristling at his unwarranted outburst.

"But you're the only one who's really had any dealings with him and the only one who knows anything about him."

"You had your chance when he came in here," Yves shot back. "You could have done a more thorough investigation of him but you just gave up when it became too difficult."

"It's not like I had the time when I was spending the bulk of it protecting your sister and searching for your sorry ass."

"Monica was perfectly safe until you got involved. I made sure she knew nothing."

"And knowing nothing only made her worry," Frohike said, raising his voice. "Did you think after all the money and time she spent to find you in the first place that she would simply forget you existed? And besides, if it wasn't for her asking me to find you again, you and the professor would both be dead."

"I had the situation under control. We were perfectly safe until you showed up with Fletcher and his crony tailing you."

Frohike shook his head. "No…" he insisted. "No, we were not there long enough for him to set that bomb. It was there when we arrived. He found you earlier, using the same information we had. If the boy reporter and I hadn't shown up when we did, by now you would be nothing but bits of charcoal scattered all up and down that beach."

"You think too highly of yourself, Melvin. You should have just left us alone."

"You're right about that. I should have left you to fend for yourself and told Monica to forget about you." He retorted angrily. "If I had," he continued his voice heavy with grief, "Maggie wouldn't have died a senseless death. She would have been safe at home, with the rest of her life ahead of her and not lying in cold locker in the morgue."

The ringing phone interrupted his tirade. They looked at each other; both knowing instinctively it was Fletcher. Mel snatched up the instrument. "Frohike," he barked.

"No wonder your business is doing so poorly," Fletcher mocked. "Perhaps you should hire someone with proper etiquette to answer your phone." The man chuckled, his words pricking Frohike like rusted needles under his skin. "Oh, wait. You did. Such a lovely lady. There was a true southern hospitality about her…."

Frohike gritted his teeth against the profanity that threatened to spill from him. He would not give this bastard the satisfaction of knowing how much he was getting to him.

"…but I understand she recently left your employ."

"Goddamn you Fletcher," Frohike shouted jumping up from his seat, the injury to his leg completely forgotten, "when I get my hands on you…" Yves ripped the phone from his hand, leaving Fletcher's laughter echoing in his ear. "…I'm going to tear your head from your shoulders!"

Yves held up her hand, shaking her head at him before focusing on the phone. "I want Professor Langly returned unharmed, Fletcher." Behind her, Frohike started to pace, throwing furious glances at her.

Fletcher merely chuckled. "What? No warm greeting for an old friend? No reminisces of old times? Sweetheart, I'm hurt. Simply hurt." She imagined him clutching his chest as he spoke. The man simply loved the theatrics. When she didn't respond, there was a heavy, exaggerated sigh. "Fine, fine. Since you're there I will assume you got my message. I hope the errand boy didn't mess it up."

"I got the message verbatim," she said coldly.

"Excellent! I made him repeat it several time just in case. His attention span…" His light mocking tone changed to one as serious as a firefight. "I want the Enigma and you want the professor…"

"….unharmed," Yves qualified.

"Of course unharmed, sweetheart," Fletcher said, the mocking tone back. "Why would you think otherwise?"

"Your recent actions speak for themselves."

"The boy tried to be a hero. I only pointed out the error of his thinking."

"How honorable." Yves' voice dripped with sarcasm. "What about the woman? What errors did you point out when you murdered her?"

"That, my dear, was my associate. I didn't do anything but compliment her on her loyalty to her boss. You have that in common with her." When Yves didn't reply to the obvious taunt, Fletcher said, "I so enjoy our verbal foreplay. Perhaps …"

"The exchange, Fletcher," Yves snapped.

Fletcher chuckled. "I knew you missed our time together." When he spoke again all amusement disappeared from his voice. "Tonight at 9:30. Come to 204 Fells Point Rd. Leave Toto in Kansas or else the professor takes swimming lessons in the Potomac."

"Well?" Frohike demanded as Yves placed the receiver on the hook.

Yves leveled her gaze on Frohike. "The meeting is set for dawn," she lied. "We need to go back and talk to the others to come up with a viable plan."

The senior Spender snubbed out his cigarette as his phone rang. He'd been expecting this call but he waited until the fourth ring before picking it up.

"Yes," he said.

"This is Fletcher. I've set up the exchange."

"Good," said CB Spender. "Were you able to gather any interesting information?"

"They're ready to kill each other," Fletcher chuckled. "I left them stewing for a while and all they did was argue."

Spender nodded to himself. This was a good sign. That their adversaries were at each other's throats did not bode well for their continued cooperation.

"And here's the best part," Fletcher went on. "She lied to him."

"What do you mean?" Spender asked.

"Miss Harlow lied to the private detective. She gave him incorrect information about the exchange. She told him it was in the morning." He started laughing out right. "That arrogant little minx plans on meeting me by herself."

Spender tapped his next cigarette on the desktop. "Don't get too cocky, Fletcher. I don't want any more mistakes. You're damned lucky the cops didn't find your hidden microphone in that office when they came to remove the secretary's body."

"That wasn't my fault," Fletcher said quickly. "Who the hell comes to work on Saturday night? That office was supposed to be empty. We couldn't take the chance of someone finding our bug."

"Killing her only brought the police," said Spender in a calm voice that sounded much more threatening than if he'd shown his anger.

"How were we supposed to know someone was meeting her there? The private dick was supposed to find the body when he came in to wait for the call."

"I'm tired of your excuses, Fletcher," said Spender allowing some irritation to be heard with this statement. "If you make any more mistakes, I will have no choice but to take appropriate actions."

There was silence on the line. Spender flipped open his lighter with an audible click and lit his cigarette. He pulled the smoke deep into his lungs as he waited for Fletcher to respond.

"We can't go wrong at this point," Fletcher finally insisted almost as if he were trying to convince himself. "Miss Harlow's overconfidence will guarantee that."

"It's not her overconfidence I'm worried about," said Spender blowing smoke at the receiver. "Take Krycek with you."

Fletcher started to protest but cut himself off. "Yes, sir," he said. "I'll do that."

"I want that Enigma, Fletcher. You have no room for errors." With this, he hung up the phone.

Fletcher waited patiently inside the empty warehouse. Harlow would be on time, of that he was certain. She wanted her professor back, even though she knew there would be hell to pay for losing the Enigma again. He chuckled to himself. He'd read her perfectly. It's what he did best: reading people, finding their weaknesses and exploiting them for his own gain.

And Harlow's weakness was this idiot professor. Fletcher glanced over to where he had the man tied to a support beam, his mouth taped shut to stop his incessant whining and complaining.

Unfortunately for her, she'd sworn to protect this guy just as she'd sworn to bring the Enigma back to England. Fletcher smiled to himself. She was about to fail on both counts.

"Krycek," he called to his companion. "Check if she's here yet and make sure no one followed her.

"Keep an eye on him," Krycek said, meaning the professor. "And whatever you do, don't take his gag off or I really will shoot him this time." With this the FBI agent left the building.

Outside, he scrutinized the deepest shadows in the darkness around the warehouse. He wouldn't put it past Harlow to arrive early. Even now she could be watching, preparing to make her move against them.

It was something he would do.

After a few minutes, he relaxed, almost disappointed when he glimpsed no unusual movements or sensed no unseen eyes on him. He hated the waiting game of undercover operations, preferring those brief surges of action. He considered making a circuit of the perimeter, not only to make sure everything was secure but also to expend some of his excess energy when he saw the telltale sight of headlights.

He glanced at his watch. One thing he could say for the Brits: they were always punctual. He waited, watching as the slow moving car turned the corner, tires crunching the gravel in the expansive lot.

As it drove under the lone streetlight outside the door, Krycek noted that the car looked familiar. When it drew closer, he recognized the damage he'd caused to it: the bullets holes along the sides and the shattered back window.

The Ford Fordor stopped about 20 feet from him. He couldn't make out the driver through the glare on the windshield.

"Agent Krycek, I presume?" the woman asked in a voice full of contempt as she stepped out of the driver's seat.

A bit taken aback that she knew who he was, he neither confirmed nor denied it. "Where is the Enigma?" he demanded, drawing out his gun.

Harlow shook her head. "You're not getting it until I know the professor is safe."

Krycek ignored her, moving around to where he could see the inside the car, all the while keeping his gun trained on the MI-6 agent. Satisfied no one was hiding in the backseat, he said, "Hands on the car."

"If you think I'm going to allow you to pat me down, you're seriously mistaken. I have no weapon." She held open her jacket. The tight outfit she was wearing made it obvious that she wasn't lying. But Krycek was never a person to take someone like Harlow on her word.

He held his hand out. "Give me the jacket." She complied. "Now turn around." She did so, slowly. Noting that she had no gun hidden on her person, he patted the pockets of her jacket before tossing it back to her.

"If you're satisfied," said Yves, "I'd like to see the professor now."

Krycek indicated the warehouse with his weapon. "He's inside," he said. "Get the machine and follow me."

"Back off so I can get it out of the trunk," Yves insisted shutting the driver's side door.

Krycek did as he was commanded but stayed close enough that he could see the interior of the trunk as Yves keyed it open. The space was big enough for someone to hide in but it was empty except for a smallish wooden box with a leather handle.

Yves picked it up with one hand and slammed the lid of the trunk with the other never once taking her eyes off Krycek. "Lead the way," she said.

Krycek only grinned wolfishly. "Ladies first."

Harlow raised one dark eyebrow but walked ahead of him, stopping at the heavy metal door. Krycek watched as she shifted the box from one hand to another then glanced back at him, a smirk gracing her expression. "Apparently, Mr. Krycek, your manners haven't fled completely along with your allegiance to your country."

Anger burned in Krycek's guts at her words but he tempered his emotions knowing she was baiting him in an attempt to catch him off guard. He holstered his gun but continued to wait for Yves to enter the building ahead of him. She finally did but once inside, neatly sidestepped so he could enter and walk along next to her.

Deeper in the warehouse, Fletcher could hear Yves talking as they entered the building. He noticed the professor perk up at the sound of his protector's voice. Fletcher snickered, walking over to the bound and gagged man.

"Your bodyguard is here," he said to Langly. "We'll see if she really did come to save your life or if it's just to sell you out. I keep telling you, that Enigma is more important to her than you are."

The tape over his mouth prevented Professor Langly from responding but his nostrils flared in mixture of fear and defiance.

Yves stopped when she saw Fletcher and Langly. Krycek came around her to stand closer to their kidnap victim. She studied the professor. He looked emotionally beaten and ashamed yet in his eyes she saw desperate hope.

"Let him go," Yves demanded.

"Not until I see the goods," Fletcher replied.

Setting the box down on the floor and crouching beside it, Yves unlatched the front cover. In his eagerness, Fletcher took a step towards her.

"Stay where you are," Yves warned, her hand going automatically to her side where her gun was usually concealed. Fletcher stopped, his fingers twitching as if he could barely wait to get his hands on the prize.

Refocusing her attention on the wooden box, Yves lifted the cover to reveal the Enigma inside. She stood up next to it and nodded to Fletcher to let him know he could take a closer look.

Wisely staying just out of Yves' reach, Fletcher examined the machine. The self-satisfied expression on his face changed to one of anger almost immediately. Eyes flashing, he rounded on Yves. "What the hell are you playing at?"

Krycek moved closer to Langly, unnecessarily grabbing his long hair and jerking his head sideways causing him to make a pained sound that was muffled by his gag.

Yves forced herself to ignore the professor's distress. "What do you mean, Fletcher? I brought the Enigma as promised."

"You know perfectly well this isn't everything. Where's the other box with the rest of the gears? It's worthless without them."

"They're my insurance," Yves stated calmly. "I'll tell you where they are when you release Professor Langly."

"My associate doesn't take too kindly to ultimatums," said Fletcher. Krycek didn't disappoint, delivering a swift belly punch to the scientist.

Langly doubled over, his shoulders straining against his bonds, a strangled hiss escaping from behind the tape. The F.B.I. agent shoved Langly back against the post, forcing the scientist's head up. Langly's eyes were wide with fear, confusion and anger.

Krycek glanced at Yves, a feral grin on his face. He was baiting her, of that Yves was positive; trying to unbalance her; to get her to act rashly and retaliate. It would give him the excuse he needed to kill her and the Professor. They were the only ones who knew he had betrayed the country he had sworn to protect. They were all that stood between him and a lifetime in jail. Whatever Fletcher's plans were, Krycek didn't intend to leave any witnesses behind.

Yves had to keep her composure for the Professor's sake as well as her own so she tapped down the anger radiating through her; responding only with a cold glare.

"The other box." Fletcher repeated. "Where is it?"

"At least let me talk to the Professor first." Yves leveled her gaze at her nemesis. She was done with his cat and mouse games, the innuendos and the faux suggestion of intimacy between them. This was business stripped to its essentials.

Fletcher nodded in accord. "Alex."

One word and Krycek ripped the tape off the professors' mouth. The scientist inhaled air greedily through his mouth then coughed.

"Professor? Are you all right?" Yves could see the whining complaints bubble up within the man but his abduction and abuse had cemented the reality of the situation in his mind where all of Yves' previous warnings had failed.

Langly nodded then, as if remembering he was free to speak, said, "I'm ok. Just a little bruised." The last was said with a furious glare toward Krycek.

"Now that you've chatted," Fletcher stated, "I want the missing gears."

"They're in the car under the passenger's seat."

"Alex, would you please go get them," Fletcher said not taking his eyes off Yves.

Krycek narrowed his eyes at Fletcher; tired of being regulated to the role of errand boy for this man. If he didn't fear a reprisal from Spender, Alex wouldn't hesitate to eliminate Fletcher when this job was over. "You're sure you can handle these two?" he sneered.

"Just get the box," Fletcher snapped.

Biting back his next comment, Krycek stalked out to the car. His only consolation was that this would all soon be over and he would have the personal satisfaction of eliminating the irritants that both Harlow and the professor had become.

He let the warehouse door slam behind him. Giving less than a cursory glance around the area around the car, Krycek approached the vehicle and opened the front door on the far side.

Digging around under the front passenger seat, he found nothing. The meager light from the one streetlight in this area did little to assist in his search. Considering the possibility that Harlow had lied, he decided to try from the back seat

Krycek stood but was stopped dead in his tracks by the feel of the cold metal of a gun barrel being pressed to the back of his neck. "Don't move, Krycek," a familiar voice commanded.

Alex froze, assessing the situation. "Well, well, Agent Doggett. Fancy meeting you here." He tried to turn to face the other agent.

"Don't turn around," growled Doggett. "I'd hate to shoot you. Explaining your death to our superiors would be difficult. The paperwork alone could take days." Doggett reached under Krycek's jacket to remove the other man's pistol. He tossed it beneath the car then bent to get the smaller gun that he knew Krycek kept strapped to his ankle.

He barely got it out of its holster before Krycek spun around, knocking him backwards and onto the gravel. Doggett dropped Krycek's extra gun as he fell. Alex heard it hit the road and frantically searched for it while Doggett tried to regain his feet.

Still on his knees, Doggett reached out to grab the other man who gave up hope of finding his gun and took off running. On his feet and quickly catching up, Doggett yelled, "Stop or I'll shoot." In truth he didn't want to shoot his fellow agent. A dead Krycek really would be a lot harder to explain than a live one. He needed the man to confess to his dealings with Nazi sympathizers.

But Krycek had no intention of just giving himself up. He knew his actions in this situation could be considered treasonous and he didn't want to suffer the consequences. He also knew Doggett could outrun him. They'd trained together enough for this to be obvious. Putting on an extra burst of speed, he rounded the corner of the warehouse.

Coming to the end of the building, Doggett skidded to a stop. The only streetlights on this side of the warehouse were far away in the main parking lot but he should have been able to see and hear someone running away from him. He heard nothing. He couldn't see much either.

Gun in hand; he stepped cautiously forward, warily eyeing the crates and wooden pallets stacked against the wall to his right. Since he could see so little, he strained to listen for any sound of the man who he was certain was hiding there.

Beyond the piled debris, there was a loading dock. The door was recessed and Doggett couldn't be sure if it was open or not. He had to consider the possibility that Krycek had managed to get back inside the building. If this were true, Yves and the professor would be in far greater danger.

His muscles tense and his senses crackling, Doggett inched forward. Every tiny sound, every shift of shadow demanded his attention. Each second required several life or death decisions. With his gun at eye level held at the extent of his arms and his finger on the trigger, he turned his back to the feeble light from the parking lot.

A slight noise off to his left drew his attention, making him wonder for less than a split second if he'd misjudged, that his quarry had gone the other way. In that moment of indecision, Krycek exploded with a roar out of his hiding place among the crates, once again knocking Doggett to the ground.