Mike stared at his partner without moving for a long beat, as if not believing his ears; Steve smiled slightly. "Ah, what…?" The word was breathless.

The younger man nodded gently. "I found them…"

Slowly, the blue eyes looked down at the file Steve was holding out and with a slightly shaking hand, he took it.

Steve leaned forward even more, staring at the top of his partner's downturned head. "Alfred and Jane Lonsdale… they used Kovalev's, ah, services in January of 1950…" He watched as Mike picked his reading glasses up from the endtable and put them on, his eyes raking the top piece of paper in the file. It was a handwritten list of names, most of them scratched out, two of them circled. Underneath was a small black-and-white photo of a middle-aged man and woman.

Mike glanced up. "The Lonsdales?"

Steve nodded. "From what I can figure out, Kovalev supplied them with social security numbers and documents, and a driver's license for him but not for her. Guess she didn't know how to drive." He shrugged.

Picking up the top sheet, Mike asked, "This is their new names? Peter and Adele Carlyle?"

Nodding again, the younger man pointed to a notation on the list. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure." He reached out and lifted a couple of fake documents, pulling out a piece of letter-length yellow lined paper. He pointed to a name circled several times in black ink: Peter Carlyle. "As you can see, there's a number of duplicates in there… but I think they're, I don't know, practice documents…? Kovalev did tell us he was just starting out back then, so I'm thinking he was perfecting his craft, so to speak. What do you think?"

Mike was nodding slowly, his lips pursed. "Yeah, that sounds about right, I'd guess…" He looked up and grinned. "You did good, Smiley, you did really good…"

Steve sat back and chuckled. "I just lucked out, that's all, it was your hunch." He slapped his partner on the knee and got to his feet, picking up his empty coffee cup and heading towards the kitchen. "You want a coffee?"

Mike glanced up from the papers he was rifling through. "Ah, yeah, thanks…" He raised his voice when the younger man disappeared into the kitchen. "So you know what we have to do now, right?! We have to call –!"

"Sacramento, I know!" Steve called back. "Already did it! I'm getting them to track down a Mr. and Mrs. Peter and Adele Carlyle to see if they have been paying their taxes and what their address is! They promised to get back to me as soon as they can!" He re-entered the living room with two mugs, handing one to his partner before sitting on the couch again.

Mike was watching him with a proud smile. "You've had a busy and productive morning, haven't you?" he chuckled as he took the cup.

"Well, I had to do something while you were gone." He took a sip of his coffee then put the cup on the map still on the table. "So, you still think Lonsdale will have tried to make it to his parents place?"

Mike, swallowing a sip of his own coffee, nodded as he put the cup on the endtable. "Yeah, I do. I don't think he's ever broken those ties… they're just too deep. I mean, it was his parents who got him out of the country and no doubt kept in touch with him while he was in The Philippines. And from what we know right now, there's no indication he's had a job all these years so… what? He's been living off his parents all this time…? Well, if that's true, then where do you think he'd go now… he's on the run, he's hurt…" Mike raised his eyebrows and tilted his head.

"Yeah, that makes a lot of sense," Steve nodded slowly. "Well, let's just hope they stayed in California."

"Well, 'up north' means only two other states, you know…" Mike chuckled. "Oregon and Washington… I don't think they're in Canada… So it's not like we're gonna have to check out all 48…"

Steve laughed, picking up his coffee cup and sitting back. "Well, that does narrow it down a fair bit."

His grin disappearing, the older man stared at his partner for a quiet second. "This is it, Steve, I just know it," he said soberly, raising the file slightly and nodding at it. "And now I really do believe we're finally going to be able to close the book on that whole Brigitte Larson tragedy…"

A sober silence settled over them for a few long seconds, then Steve said quietly, "Well, I for one am really hoping they stayed in California… because if they're anywhere else, that means we've gotta cross state lines and that means the FBI will want to get involved… and I don't want that, do you?"

Mike was staring at him without expression. "This is ours… and I'm not handing it over to anyone." He smiled determinedly, and so did his partner.

# # # # #

When the phone rang a couple of hours later, they both jumped and stared at it, then looked at each other. Steve grabbed the receiver. "Hello… Yes?... Yes," he gestured for the pad and Mike picked it up and dropped it on the table in front of him as Steve scrambled to pick up a pen. He started to jot things down, the older man looking over his shoulder. "Yes… Unh- hunh… Yeah… Okay, thank you. Thank you very much, you've been very helpful." He hung up then looked up at his anxious partner.

Mike was squinting at the chicken-scratch handwriting on the pad. "Does that say Picard Road?"

"Yeah," Steve nodded rapidly. "Peter and Adele Carlyle live at 2821 Picard Road outside Dorris, California."

"Dorris? Never heard of it."

"I don't think anybody has… well, outside of Dorris itself, I guess. It has a population of 831. It's not what you'd call a metropolis."

Straightening up, Mike chuckled. "Where is it, exactly…?" He started to bend over the map.

Steve leaned forward as well. "She said it was up near the Oregon border." They studied the map. "Here," he said suddenly, pointing.

Mike sighed heavily. "How long to you think it would take us to drive up there?"

After a couple of silent seconds, Steve looked up. "About six hours, give or take."

"Six, hunh?" Mike mumbled, sitting back down on the armchair. He sat in silence for several very long beats then leaned forward. "Pass me the phone," he said quickly and Steve picked it up and set it on the coffee table in front of the older man. Mike carefully stuffed the receiver between his ear and left shoulder and started to dial. "I'm calling Rudy. We need to get a lot of ducks in a row if you and I are driving up there tomorrow and raiding that house."

Steve's eyes widened.

# # # # #

The waiting was the hardest part. Mike had made all the necessary phone calls and put the requisite wheels in motion and now everything was out of his hands.

So to make the most of their time, and even though they had already found what they were looking for in Kovalev's copious files, they decided to work their way through the rest of the boxes on the outside chance the prolific forger had done work for Jeffrey Lonsdale and just forgot about it.

The late-in-the-day summer sun was starting to set when the phone finally rang. Mike got to it first, snapping it up as he was crossing from the armchair to the kitchen with his empty coffee cup. He swallowed a gasp of discomfort as he almost lunged for the phone, slamming the cup down on the table before he could grab the receiver. He glanced over his shoulder into the kitchen, hoping his partner hadn't heard the sharp, pain-filled inhale. "Hello," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"Mike?" It was Rudy Olsen, sounding very confused.

"Yeah, yeah, it's me."

"Oh, geez, it didn't sound like you for a second there. You okay?" The confusion had turned into concern.

"I'm fine. What's the news?"

"Ah, okay… Well, tomorrow is out. It seems –"

"What?" Mike interrupted sharply. "What do you mean 'tomorrow's out'?"

"I mean," Olsen overrode loudly and sharply, "that we can't get everything together that we need to on such short notice. You've been at this long enough, you know how things work." There was more than a hint of frustration in his voice now. "A lot of things have to be signed, sealed and coordinated and you know that better than most. I'm working as fast as I can – a lot of people are – but we can't perform miracles. It's still a bureaucracy, you know."

The line went silent for several long beats. Finally Mike said quietly, "Okay… ah, when do you think all the things we need will get done then…?" He sounded almost contrite and on the other end of the line there was a soft sigh and an almost inaudible chuckle.

Mike looked up. Steve was standing a couple of feet away, staring at him with raised eyebrows and a tiny smirk; he knew what was going on, and that his partner had just been gently dressed down by his boss.

Olsen cleared his throat. "Okay, well, I've managed to get in touch with CHP and they're notifying the station in Yreka, which is the closest one to Dorris."

"Eureka? That's not very close –"

"Not Eureka. Yreka, with a 'Y'. That's how it's pronounced too – Y-reeka, just so you know. It's about an hour away, to the south. The commander there is going to arrange for a search warrant for the Carlyle house but that can't be done till sometime tomorrow. He's pretty sure there won't be a problem… After I explained everything that's going on, he was a hundred percent on our side. He's going to get a judge to sign the warrant and then he'll put together a team to serve it… but it won't be till the day after tomorrow. He suggested you and Steve drive up there in the morning and they'll have everything ready to go early afternoon. And that way, if Lonsdale is there, all the paperwork will be done and you can bring him back here the same day."

Steve could see Mike's posture begin to sag as he listened silently to what their captain was telling him. His disappointment was obvious.

"So, ah… you still there?" Olsen asked suddenly, surprised that he hadn't been interrupted.

"Yes, I'm still here," Mike answered pedantically and Steve snorted and swallowed a smile. The older man shot him a scowl and he turned and walked back into the kitchen.

"So, anyway, that's where things stand at the moment. I suggest you get a good night's sleep, and take the day tomorrow to rest up 'cause the next day is going to be a long one. Oh, ah, and, ah, you're not going up there alone, you two. Tanner is going with you."

"What? That's not necessary –"

"Oh yes it is!" Olsen cut him off again. "You're both still, technically, on sick leave, you're both still recovering, and I am not having you sitting in the back seat with Lonsdale on the way home. So you're taking Tanner with you – no ifs, ands or buts – or you're not going at all. Do I make myself clear?"

There was another uncomfortable silence followed by a clipped, "All right."

"Good. Well, ah, that's it for now," the captain growled gruffly, "so, ah, you and Steve have a good night and I'll call you again tomorrow and let you know how things are coming together. Okay?"

Mike exhaled loudly. He wasn't happy but he was also practical. He knew Olsen and the powers that be at the CHP were doing the best they could as quickly as they could. He really couldn't expect anything more.

"Yeah… Listen, ah, Rudy, thanks a lot. I really mean it. I, ah… it's a lot to get done on such short notice and you've done great, you really have…"

"Well, ah… thanks, Mike, I appreciate that… So, ah, I'll call you tomorrow."

"Okay. Good night."

"You too."

Mike stood with the receiver in his hand, staring into space, for several long seconds. Steve wandered back in from the kitchen, a cold can of Coke in one hand and a ginger ale in the other, and approached his partner. Mike shook his head slightly as if waking himself up and looked at his partner. He took a deep breath. "So, ah, we're not going 'up north' till the day after tomorrow."

"Yeah, I kinda got that impression." He held the ginger ale out.

Mike glanced at it and smiled, bending down to hang up the receiver before taking the can.

"Don't worry, we'll get him," Steve said with quiet assurance. Then, smiling, he held his Coke up.

After a moment's hesitation, Mike raised the ginger ale, clinking it against the Coke can. He smiled as well. "To us."