"What we need is to be able to develop a kind of profile for him," mused Francine out loud as they all studied the blackboard covered in notes. "The way they do for serial killers' personalities but with more stuff about where he's likely to go."

The team had assembled in a meeting room, trying to piece together everything they knew about Simon Jensen – an art thief who had recently been targeting Washington, and, more specifically, targeting high ranking diplomats and politicians which is what had gotten the Agency involved. No other intelligence or police agency in town wanted to touch this hot potato – only the Agency had a low enough profile to keep this one from hitting the front pages and embarrassing everyone involved.

"Well, I think we can cross the Israeli Embassy off the list," offered Lee sarcastically. "He must know their Mossad-trained security would just kill him and dispose of his body in the Dead Sea somewhere."

"He's doesn't hit embassies anyway," Amanda pointed out. "He goes for the ambassadors' residences, and I think he's hit most of the ambassadors who had the most valuable personal items with them. He'll probably change that up now."

She was right – the British and French ambassadors had both lost valuable art works, along with the Dutch cultural attaché. It seemed likely that having attracted attention to that type of target, he was going to move on.

"And he went for big items at first, but they've been getting progressively smaller and easier to move," added Francine. "If we could just narrow it down to a few targets instead of a Beltway full of them…"

"I have something that might help," offered Efraim from the corner where he'd been hunched over, sketching things out in his log book. "I've been working on a computer program."

There were a few rolled eyes at this point – notably from some of the older agents who had little time for these fancy new paperweights they were stuck using, but Amanda and Francine both looked interested.

"What kind of program?" asked Amanda.

"There's this accounting software, I guess you'd call it," explained Efraim. "It creates spreadsheets based on data and you can extrapolate information from it, depending on how you factor things in."

Again, the older agents looked bored and skeptical, but Billy knew full well Efraim wouldn't be pulling this out of thin air unless it was pertinent. He leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him. "Would you like to say that in English for the rest of the class, Mr. Beaman?"

Even Efraim gave a slight smile at that one. "I can try to create mathematical formulas to decide least and most likely targets based on his previous robberies, his patterns, and his background."

"What do you mean by background?" asked Amanda, curiously. "I mean, what translates to math from real life? Were we all wrong about that in high school?" she dimpled at him with an encouraging look.

"Simple things, mostly," answered Efraim, smiling more broadly now at her obvious interest. "You know how you figured out where we could find Steven Sallee by plotting out the details from that diary? It's a bit like that but the computer can play with more broad hints and variables for likelihood. So, for instance, if he speaks certain languages, it would make it easier for him to slip into some places more than others. Since we know he's Caucasian, it drops the probability that he'd try and infiltrate an African or Asian embassy unless he had an accomplice. And if he were afraid of the dark or, you know, rats, he wouldn't use sewers as his access point."

Lee's eyes narrowed – and so did Amanda's mouth as she tried not to laugh at Efraim's unconscious dig.

"You really think it would work?" asked Francine. It was almost a rhetorical question – like Billy, she knew Efraim was far too plodding and methodical to suggest he could do something without knowing already that he could.

"I've, uhhh, run a few test ideas the same way and come up with realistic results," confirmed Beaman. "And it's worth a shot right? If someone could give me data, I can figure out something that might give us an edge."

"I can do that," said Francine. "Lee and Amanda can go do their Heckle and Jeckle routine interviewing the robbery victims to see what we might have missed, and I'll compile facts that might help Mr. Peabody concoct his magic formulas."

Everyone might have noticed the way Efraim paled in terror at that idea, but they were all too diplomatic to mention it, knowing it would throw him off his game. And his game was the best idea they had going for them right now.

Francine got to her feet and began gathering all the scattered papers into a pile. "Okay Frank-n-Furter, take me to the lab and let's see what's on the slab."

"Here, I'll pull up a sample and show you what I mean," stammered Efraim once he was sitting in front of his computer, trying desperately to ignore the fact that Francine was leaning in close beside him, one hand on the desk and the other on the back of his chair while she stared at the screen. If she was aware of his discomfort, she wasn't letting on. He tapped out a few keystrokes and opened a spreadsheet full of pie charts and numbers.

"That means something?" said Francine, in a skeptical tone.

"Yes – now this one is just one I ran up for fun to test out the idea – it ranks all the takeout places in a twenty block radius of the Agency," he said. He tapped on his keyboard again and the graphs vanished, replaced by columns of numbers. "So, this is what I mean about background… things like how often I've been there in the last three months, how often I've heard other people mention it in the same time frame, how many times they've gotten warnings from the Public Health department…" he paused as she made a noise of disgust – "Don't worry, that's just in there for information – if it's really gross they just score zero across the board."

"Good to know," she answered, wrinkling her nose. "At least I know if you ever take me out for dinner, there will only be a tiny risk to my health."

Efraim swallowed heavily at the idea that he'd ever get to take her to dinner anywhere. "Uh, yeah, so… um… here's price, proximity, ethnicity, personal likes and dislikes, recommendations, spice levels, mild to hot, atmosphere, noisy to quiet..."

"All good things to know if you're taking me anywhere," said Francine, eyes still on the screen. She knew she was making him crazy with the jokes but it was irresistible.

"Only if I knew what you liked," he managed to get out. "But anyway, you get the idea. So if I plug in formulas here… and sum here… and weight the responses for each restaurant like this…" he was lost in the math now, almost forgetting Francine as she watched over his shoulder, following his efforts. "Then I process it… and there you go – a chart that shows you the best and lousiest places organized by how close they are to here and then sorted by price."

"That is actually pretty amazing," she admitted. She pointed at one of the names. "You should weight that one for being the place where congressmen take their mistresses – great for private booths, but lousy food because no one is ever there to actually eat."

Efraim grinned and after a few keystrokes and an extra formula, the screen changed again, dropping that restaurant down the list, then typed in a new formula that brought it to the top of the list. "See, that's a great data point – the more you have, the easier it is to narrow down."

"Okay, I'm starting to see what you mean," she agreed, staring off into space as her mind raced to catch up with the possibilities. "Now where do we start?"

"Well, you can keep using this terminal and just start filling cells with things you know about the robberies so we can narrow down his MO and I'll move over to that computer and start plotting formulas to weight the answers. You just tell me anything you can think of that might be a valid data point and then we can combine them at the end and figure out how to narrow stuff down."

"Good plan." Francine sat down in the chair he'd just vacated and paused. "How do I get a blank one to start?"

Efraim glanced up from where he was settling into the opposite terminal. "Um, just hit Control-O to open and follow the prompts."

Francine did as told, noticing along with the prompt for a blank worksheet, it also gave her a selection of other files in the same folder. "You gotta improve your security on here, Efraim," she tsked. "I can see all your files."

He looked up, only half paying attention, already deep in thought about the start of his own work. "Um, yeah – that's my computer and you're logged in as me so you can see that, but you're senior to me anyway so it doesn't really matter. Anyway, those are all just test ideas I was running to see what works and what doesn't – there's nothing classified."

"Good thing for you – I'd have to report you to myself otherwise."

"And yourself for pretending to be someone else," he pointed out, straight-faced.

"Efraim! Was that an honest-to-goodness joke? Color me impressed," she teased, before turning her eyes back to the monitor and starting to work.

Beaman gazed back for a few seconds longer, mouth opening and closing a few times before he too turned back to his work.

They were both quiet for a long time, deep in thought, until Francine finally looked up. "How many data points do you need to make this work?"

"Ten minimum," he answered, barely looking up. "But fifteen to twenty will really make it more valuable."

"Ugh – I've got eleven." She drummed her fingers and stared at her terminal screen.

"Try and think like Amanda," he suggested. Off her look, he explained. "Logical but not too logical – you know, kind of outside the box? Maybe all the buildings were brick because he can climb the outside more easily or he only goes after places with prime numbers in their street address – go crazy with it and the program should sort out the useful from the ridiculous. And we can merge data from more than one spreadsheet too, so if you want to dig around and see what I have in other files like the restaurant one, we might be able to account for overlap." He paused and gave a chuckle. "Although I'm not sure knowing his dining preferences will help much, unless we know he only robs places near a Quickie Chickie Snack Shack."

"Hey – you were the one who pointed out that Amanda helped stop Steven Sallee by finding his favorite sandwich shop," she laughed.

"Good point – maybe we need a spreadsheet of everything around the places he's already hit," mused Efraim. "Maybe he only robs people on his bus route."

"Stranger things have happened," agreed Francine as she clicked open a few of his test files and began to study them. Joking aside, there wasn't anything that provoked inspiration in the restaurant spreadsheet, nor the one that rated video games.

"How can you not have included pinball?" she rolled her eyes. "It's obviously still the best thing in an arcade."

"True, but it's not a video game," pointed out Efraim without a beat, "which puts it out of the parameters of the data collection." He looked up and grinned. "Pinball variations are graded in the file called Pinball – obviously."

"Obviously," Francine smirked back at him, then let out a low laugh when she noticed there actually was such a file. She began to methodically work her way through the files trying to get a feel for what might be a useful data point

"What about women?" Efraim asked unexpectedly.

"What about women?" she responded.

"Does he have a type? Is there anything similar about the ambassador's wives? Age, looks, that kind of thing?"

"Why would that matter?" she asked.

"We might be able to bait him once we get a line on what he's interested in. Didn't you tell the story at one of the rookie classes about dressing Amanda up to appeal to James Delano?"

Francine nodded. "Yes, but that wasn't really the computer, that was just studying his social contacts in the Page Six column and going from there, making her look rich and glamorous and his type."

"Well, now it could all be in the computer," Efraim replied. "I mean, it might not work here since we don't know who he is, but imagine if we kept easily accessible files on say, guys in the Russian embassy, and their preference for librarians over models, or brunettes over natural blondes like you."

Francine started to nod, then caught herself, her expression turning steely. "What do you mean 'natural blondes like me'?" she snapped.

Efraim looked confused. "What do you mean, what do I mean? You're a natural blonde right?"

"Yes, but why are you saying that with such certainty? How do you think you know that?"

"Um, okay… for starters, your hair looks to have good condition and no sign of being overprocessed by chemicals. While it appears overall blonde, it actually has strands that are varying shades of blonde and brown, which wouldn't be there if it had been dyed uniformly. If hair is dyed and highlights are added to try and make it more natural, they are usually too regularly spaced and not random enough, which yours are. Your hair glows brighter gold after lengthy sun exposure such as summer or when you've been on a vacation to somewhere warm – dyed hair doesn't do that, it just bleaches whiter…"

Francine held up a hand. "Okay, okay, I believe you figured it out on your own and not from locker room boy talk."

"Locker room?..." Efraim looked horrified as the penny dropped. "Oh no! I swear it wasn't from anything like that!"

Francine gave him a quick smile to show she believed him. "But why do you know so much about women's hair anyway?"

"Wigs," he said promptly. "We have to make them in Fabrications, but work on enough of them and you can always tell the real thing from the fake."

"Interesting," she answered. "I'm going to have to go down there and get some more lessons on this kind of stuff. That would be useful in the field."

He swallowed nervously. "I've suggested all rookies need to spend more time down there, but most of them just want to get to the spy stuff, not hang out with Q."

"I'll mention it to Billy," she promised. "If you taught me something new, there's got to be room to teach the rookies something too." She turned back to the computer. "Okay, let me get back to this – let me see if you have anything already loaded up with data that we might use."

"Mi data es su data," he commented. "Let me know when you're ready for me to apply weightings."

Francine nodded absently as she turned her attention back to the computer. She opened and eliminated data sets in rapid succession. No to rating the Godfather movies, no to rating comic books, no to likely voter demographics… Her eyes travelled down the list of files, realizing she'd missed one called "Perfect Pitch"; she highlighted it and hit Ctrl-O.

She moved her cursor down to open it, then studied the screen. The data set seemed like it could be relevant at first but then she began to look at it closer.

"Looks, Salary, Clothes, Height, Seniority, Age, Royalty, Connections, History, Kids…" she read, and unable to resist, she clicked on one of the names linked to the file.

"Stetson: Looks: 10; Salary: $50K; Height: 188cm; Age: 37; Royalty: No; Connections: Yes, History: Yes; Kids: No…"She stifled a laugh. "Kids no? Maybe not his own but he sure goes to a lot of school games these days…"

Quick glance to make sure Efraim was still absorbed and she clicked on another name.

"Fielder: Looks: 6; Salary: $35K; Height: 178cm; Age: 34; Royalty: No; Connections: No, History: No: Kids: No… Good Lord, is Efraim trying to date these guys?" she laughed inwardly.

She clicked on the next one, 'Ctrl Subject". "Looks: 5…" Her eyebrows twitched together and she lifted her head to study Efraim across the desk, before tsking quietly to herself and looking back at her screen.

"Well, that's not right", she muttered, only to hear him respond, "What's not right?"

"Umm, nothing – just talking to myself," she answered.

"Public line of sight," said Efraim.

"What?" Her attention had been a million miles away.

"Does he choose places where there are public spaces like parks or coffee shops where he can study the owner's patterns?" he clarified.

"Oh! You mean Jensen! Right – I'd almost forgotten…"

"Forgotten who we're studying?" he asked, starting to laugh.

"No, just, um, that I needed to look at this from a few different angles," she answered.

"Really? That seems like Agent 101."

"Well, apparently it's something more than a few of us should remember."

He quirked a brow at her, but she didn't respond already distracted by the file she had open. She noticed there was a second sheet to the file and opened it up, again stifling her laughter as she read the information that was headlined "Ways to appeal to Francine Desmond, Goddess". This one wasn't punched into any kind of formulas yet and was obviously just a placeholder for ideas Efraim was collecting and the weightings he figured each one had. Another quick glance to make sure his attention was elsewhere and she settled in to read, snickering quietly to herself as she went.

Sober: 5% probability

Drunk: -5 % probability

Greece: 8 % probability

Goats: 0 % probability

Bravery: 7 % probability (*FF does not score here)

Pink Slip to car: 4 % probability

Bar Mitzvahs: 15%

Suits?: 7-8 points (* Stetson scores well with women)

Computer know-how: 6 % probability

Chocolate: 20 % probability

Pizza: 2 % probability

Chinese Food: 8 % probability

Francine sat back and surveyed the list, shaking her head in amusement. He'd really been paying attention if he knew she preferred Chinese food over pizza.

"Efraim, do you ever do anything with all the data you collect for these?" she asked.

"Sometimes," he answered. "Some I do just for fun to work out the kinks in my formulas, but if I'm trying to decide on something like a new computer system or a place to go on vacation, I'll try and create a program to help me figure out what I want."

"That sounds a little…"

"Nerdy?" he supplied with a wry smile.

"I was going to say robotic, but nerdy works too," she nodded.

"I'm a planner, I guess," he shrugged. "I'm not great at being spontaneous, but if I know I have a plan or data at my fingertips, then it's easier for me to seem like I am. I guess that sounds kind of crazy."

"Not really," she said. "Good agents should have a plan going into any situation. That's what'll keep you alive – having information and maybe a good idea of how to get out of something."

Efraim nodded. "That's true, I guess. I was never in the top numbers for field training, but I didn't get 'killed' at Dodge City much either."

"Exactly," she agreed. "And you've proven yourself in the field, even if you don't get out as often."

Efraim grimaced. "I don't know about that. Remember that time I shot one of Stetson's contacts right before he was about to spring his trap? I thought he was going to shoot me too."

"I do remember," said Francine. "I read the report on it. You were in the middle of a firefight and managed to get your target in the middle of a bunch of mayhem without hitting anybody else or injuring yourself. That's more than some people can manage."

Efraim gave her one of his shy smiles. "You'd think that was a low bar, but darned if Fred can't just limbo right under it."

"Not right now, he can't," she quipped. "He can only breathe when he's upright."

Fred had come back from his last field case with a broken nose after trying to break down a door, only to discover it opened outward when the bad guys barreled out of it, much to the amusement of the entire bullpen. His misery had only been slightly diminished by Amanda bringing him an apple pie to cheer him up.

"So," Francine continued, "do you ever try new things or will you only try stuff with a high certainty of success?"

Efraim leaned back in his chair, and pushed his glasses back up. "Well, I have to try new things, or I don't get new data," he answered. "And if I have new data, that increases the chance of success the next time, right?"

"Do you ever consult other people to get your data?"

"For Agency stuff, of course, all the time," he said. "That's exactly the kind of thing that requires multiple sources of input."

"So if I saw something in here that I could add to, you wouldn't mind?" she asked, gazing at him innocently.

"Of course not," he stammered. "I'm sure anything you add would be very useful and worthwhile."

"I bet you say that to all the girls," she murmured, turning back to her own computer. "At least when you've been imbibing liquid courage."

Efraim made a strangled noise that might have been agreement or horror and he dove down behind his monitor. She could still see the tips of his ears though, burning red and chuckled to herself.

Half an hour later, Francine stood up and stretched. "I've run dry of ideas but I've filled in as much as I know about the other heists to let you dry run the program," she declared. "Will it take you long to come up with something?"

"It shouldn't," he answered. "This data isn't subjective – it's pretty straightforward stuff."

"Good. I'll go let Billy know we'll have another tool to work with shortly."

"Tell him it'll be an hour or so," Efraim said. "Once it's in, it runs fast but inputting can be slow." He walked around to look at her screen. "Oh maybe not – you've already added a lot of the stuff I would have needed to look up."

"Glad to be of service," she gave a wave of her hand. "It's fun to see how the nerdy half lives." Her teasing smile greatly diminished the sting of the comment.

She turned to leave, pausing in the doorway. "Oh, and I did add some stuff to some other files. You might find it useful. Be sure to let me know, will you?"

Efraim nodded. "Of course."

He checked to make sure she had saved her data to the floppy disk, then popped it out and moved back to his computer. It actually took him less than an hour to produce a likely list of targets and even probable day of the week for a heist at each one, based on a cross-reference with diplomatic and society events. Smiling happily that it seemed to have worked, he hit the Print button and sat back. The dot matrix printer in the corner beeped to life and the print head began to zip back and forth rapidly.

Efraim stood and stretched, then walked back around to the computer Francine has been using, preparing to shut it down for the night. She had left multiple files open so he started with closing them, watching to make sure it was saving properly. When there was only one left, he moved to close it automatically, but then realized what was open.

"Oh no," he muttered in a horrified whisper. "Oh no, no, no, no! She didn't see this. She couldn't have seen this!" he tried to reassure himself, but in his heart of hearts, he knew it was a lost battle. There was no way she hadn't seen a heading that said "Francine Desmond, Goddess." He tapped the down arrow key miserably, looking at each ridiculous suggestion and its probability. She was probably planning a terrible revenge, he told himself. He was going to go upstairs with this printout and there would be a bullpen full of people ready to mock him. He'd have to ask for a transfer to the FBI, or the CIA or the French Foreign Legion – he would never be able to hold his head up in front of anyone again.

He sighed, then tapped the Close key.

"Do you wish to save the changes to this file?" queried the computer screen.

"Changes?" he said out loud. He quickly backed out and started checking the file again to see where it had changed. He didn't spot anything as he went through it until the very last line. He stopped breathing for a moment, then fell back in his chair and closed his eyes, feeling light headed.

After a moment, he straightened up, opened his eyes and stared at it again, still not quite believing it could say what he thought it said. But there it was, the cursor blinking alongside it like a neon sign:

"Just ask her out like a normal person: 100% probability."