Leaving Sam to take car of the equipment details, Asten left the morgue and headed down the street for the Hungry Tiger. He walked up to the hostess and placed a take out order, then nonchalantly leaned against the wall, waiting. He glanced at his watch and then went up the steps leading to the side door, and ducked into the men's room. After a minute or so, Stan Donovan walked in. The captain checked the room, making sure it was clear.

"I see you found the note," he said.

"Yes. Interesting choice for a meeting, Donovan..."

"We don't have much time, Asten. In 20 minutes, a helicopter's gonna land on top of your building. I want you and Fujiyama to be ready to go, understand?" Asten nodded silently, and Donovan continued, "Do you have the location?"

"Yes, but the directions I have were meant for driving on the highway, not flying..."

"Don't worry about that, the pilot will have to figure out a place to land, and it won't be too close to the target or the FBI will find you. Just be sure you're ready to go, or you'll lose the advantage on the feds. They're not expecting this and it'll take them a little time to get a chopper; by the time they do, you guys will be long gone."

Asten stared hard into Donovan's pale eyes. "Why are you doing this, Donovan? Monahan quit the department, and you're sticking your neck out pretty far."

"No further than you are. Monahan's a good man, Asten."

The director nodded. "So's Quincy."


Sequana paced the length of the office in the Federal Building, talking on the phone. "He picked up food, then what?"

"Took it back to the morgue," Maxwell answered. "Guess they're working late."

"All right. Stay tight on him, Maxwell."

"Yes sir," the agent answered, hanging up the receiver on his end.

"Rick," Louie said, handing him a paper, "Here's the report on Asten's office tap."

Sequana began to read the report. "Okay, he called home to tell his wife he was working late. It's consistent with the take out order." His eyes continued to scan the paper, then widened. "Oh shit!"

"Rick?"

"Monahan called in to him. Why wasn't I notified immediately?"

"I--"

"--Oh hell, we've got to move in, now!"

As Sequana's units descended upon the Los Angeles County Morgue, the helicopter was lifting off of the roof with Asten, Sam and all their equipment aboard.

"Damnit!" Sequana yelled, "Damnit!"

"Take it easy, Rick. A helicopter can't just fly around LA, land on a county building downtown and take off to an unknown destination; the pilot would have had to file a flight plan."

"You got the registration number of the chopper?"

"Well, no..."

"So now we've gotta contact every heliport in Southern California in the hope that we hit the one that logged a plan into downtown LA. By the time we find it, Louie, they could be half way across the United States!"

"Calm down, Rick," Louie said, "we're the FBI; they're just locals. We'll find them."

"Any chance it was a PD copter?"

"I doubt it, but I'll check; they're local, but not stupid."

"They've sure made us look like a bunch of chumps."

"I'll lean on Donovan," Louie said, "he's gotta know somethin'..."


"I'm sorry...Agent Fox, was it?" Donovan smiled. "But I don't have information regarding the flight plan of that helicopter."

"But you did make the contact with the pilot on behalf of Monahan and Asten, didn't you?"

Donovan stared into the man's eyes. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"Now you listen to me, Donovan, I'm the FBI, and you're a local police captain who's withholding information pertinent to a federal investigation. Do you have any idea the world of shit I can make for you?"

"Well Agent Fox, you'd have to have some kind of proof that I have information, and we both know you ain't got shit."

"You're protecting two former cops under your command. That's probable cause and connection, that's all I need."

"Uh-huh. And if that meant anything, Fox, you would have already hauled my ass into a federal lockup. You don't got a damned thing or you wouldn't be in here trying to bluff me. Now get out and stop wasting my time. I've got work to do."

Realizing he had no other course, Louie Fox stormed from Donovan's office, slamming the door behind him. Donovan shook his head, smiling, but the amusement was fleeting as his thoughts returned to the welfare of his friends.


Monahan glanced at his watch: it had been two hours since he'd arrived at his aunt's house, and Quincy was losing ground, fast. He tenderly held his friend's hand, as he'd done since Quincy had grasped it, noting that the coroner's pallor had turned slightly gray. He adjusted his position on the bed then, trying to alleviate the stiffness in his back, which had become fatigued from sitting so long without any support.

Quincy moaned in pain then, his head tossing from side to side. "Easy, Quincy," Monahan said softly.

The moans intensified and Monahan realized the ice had all but melted, allowing the medical examiner to become aware of the burning in his abdomen. Monahan tried to set the coroner's hand down, but Quincy frantically held onto him.

"Quince, rest easy, it's okay. I'm just gonna get some ice; it'll help with the pain in your belly."

But Quincy gripped Monahan's hand even tighter, delirious with hurt. Monahan felt his throat tighten and his eyes sting from the helpless despair that filled his heart. He softly brushed his hand over Quincy's brow.

"Aw, Quince, please take it easy, buddy. Please..."

Monahan rewet the washcloth and replaced it on Quincy's head, hoping the coolness of it would help soothe him. He finally pried his hand away, despite the medical examiner's disquieted cries, and taking the wet towel with him, he deposited it in the bathroom, grabbing a dry one. The ex-cop went into the kitchen, filled the towel with more ice and took it back to Quincy, gently placing it on the wound. He sat down on the edge of the bed, taking Quincy's hand in his own.

"Just hang on. They'll be here soon."

But Monahan was wondering what in the hell had happened to Asten and Sam...


The pilot and Asten chose to set the chopper down at the base of Clark Mountain, just north of I-15. The pilot secured them a car and once loaded, Sam and Asten were headed toward Victorville in a nondescript brown sedan, packed to the brim with lab equipment.

"We're about 40 miles from the Stoddard turnoff, Dr. Asten," Sam observed from the map, "I just hope it's not going to be too hard to find the house after dark."

Asten gripped the wheel in his hands, his stomach tied in knots with worry. "We just need to get there, Sam. Quincy was in bad shape when Monahan called and that was a good three hours ago."

Sam put a hand on the director's shoulder. "Quincy's pretty tough, Dr. Asten, don't forget that."

While Asten appreciated Fujiyama's attempt to calm him, he couldn't shake the feeling of dread from his soul.