Before she knew it she had packed her bags, left Max with Helen and Jim, driven into LA and got herself on a night flight to DC. The moves were all so familiar, and so wearying. She spent the trip biting her thumbnail and fretting. It was perhaps Oscar's greatest asset and worst flaw that he was so good at hiding his own feelings. He was always the man in control, the one you could rely on - a rock. When she thought of her recent retirement crisis, she had been so caught up in her own drama that it didn't occur to her (as usual, really) to look into his eyes to see what was going on in there. He invariably told her he was fine - in fact, she could count on one hand the number of times he had complained to her, and even then she had to pull it out of him. He worried, agonized - but not on his own behalf. Gnawing at her was the notion that she had somehow let him down, but at the same time, how do you help a man with such a solid false front?

Upon arrival in Washington, she booked into the Watergate Hotel for a few precious hours of sleep. Russ picked her up very early the next morning, explaining that he could hold the NSB off for another day at most, so it was important that they 'get at it'. They walked in to the OSI together, each telling a number of people that she was bound immediately for a mission in Dubai. As always, she wanted to make the rounds all her friends and catch up on their respective lives - but today she resisted, citing the urgency of the situation in Dubai. She did manage brief visits with her two nearest and dearest - Rudy and Callahan - who were both visibly upset by Oscar's sudden departure.

At nine a.m. she boarded a plane for Dubai, walked straight through the galley kitchen and into the large empty container that had just delivered meals for the flight. As it pulled back from the aircraft, lowered on the forklift and was transported back toward the terminal, Jaime threw on the airport crew jumpsuit and baseball cap provided for her, and walked unimpeded out into the terminal. Now she was officially on her way to Dubai. Good old Russ.

Under an assumed name she then picked up a rental car and drove herself to a small furnished apartment in Georgetown. Russ was there to greet her, beckoning her in like an anxious real estate agent. He had thoughtfully brought with him with several women's outfits, made to measure, and some appallingly frumpy wigs so she theoretically could walk around Washington unrecognized. This was where she was to stay, but she barely took time to look around the place.

"So lets go. We're really close to Oscar's place, right?" she said to Russ. Oscar was doubtless not going to leave a trail of breadcrumbs behind him, and she had the strong feeling it was going to be a long hard search - and a race against Bill Parr.

Russ smiled slyly - an unusual expression considering the circumstances. "Now I don't want you to get the wrong idea, but follow me." he said, leading her into the bedroom. Pushing aside a rug, he revealed a trap door in the floor. "This goes straight there." he said with satisfaction. "Parr and the NSB know nothing about it - and we'll want to keep it that way." They squeezed down into the low tunnel, Russ leading with a flashlight.

"Good lord! Would he even fit through here?" Jaime whispered, scuffing her head on the low ceiling. They walked through the dank passage hunched over, longer than was pleasant - she guessed it was the better part of a block before they hit a wall, and right above it, another trap door. They both held their breath as Jaime listened for any stirrings above them, and when she deemed it safe he pushed upward and they reentered the world of light and air in what was apparently Oscar's bedroom. When Russ dropped the hatch shut, Jaime noted that the contours neatly fit to the hardwood floor.

"How do I get that open again?"

"Ah!" Russ replied. He pressed a corner of a short floorboard and it lifted, revealing a latch.

She had been to Oscar's house on numerous occasions, but never without its occupant in attendance. It felt as though he might come from another room any second and ask them what they thought they were doing. She wished he would. Houses are such organic things, she thought to herself. You can always tell how long they've been left alone - and it's not the dust or neglect so much as a feeling of emptiness that grows the longer they've been left uninhabited. Oscar's house felt recently occupied - in the way the sheets stay warm for a moment after someone leaves the bed. She and Russ toured around together, contemplating just how Jaime should go about the monumental task of trying to figure out his whereabouts by some clue left in his house. Russ would soon have to leave her to get back to the burdensome business of running the show in the boss's absence - and to the thankless task of announcing his sudden retirement.

The house was not large, Jaime noted with gratitude. A living room, study, kitchen, two bedrooms and two bathrooms. She'd always thought it a very nice house - a place an overburdened person could use as a refuge. Another mercy was that he was not a pack rat. In fact it was so scrupulously clean it was as though he had expected them. She opened the fridge - empty except for jars of condiments, jams and pickles. She imagined Oscar standing at the counter in his shirtsleeves, putting jam on his toast in the morning - it made her sad.

They agreed that the study would be a good place to start. She would look through his bills. If the NSB did show up, this would be the first place they would look.

"We're going to be lucky if we find anything." Russ said gloomily, casting his eyes around room.

"Unless he actually wants us to find him." Jaime offered, without much conviction.

"I don't know how likely that is."

She felt a flare of anger - the same one she had been feeling for months. "Is this what always happens when people try to retire? They're hunted down like escaped criminals?"

"It's pretty awful, isn't it? Makes you wonder what we signed up for." Russ frowned thoughtfully. "I guess you didn't even really sign up like the rest of us, did you?" He opened a desk drawer, and idly examined the contents - paper clips, pens, a small knife, a wooden nickel. "They're going to think he's sold out. Honestly, Jaime, I don't know what he thinks he's doing. He knows full well he can't walk off the job, now or ever."

It never ceased to amaze her how bizarre the world of intelligence really was. "So are they going to do what they did to me?" she asked bitterly, "Put his mug in the paper saying he's wanted for armed robbery?"

"No, they can't do that - he's too prominent, and it would reflect badly on the whole government. They're going to keep it as quiet as possible."

"Do you think he really could give us the slip completely?" A persistent anxiety was nipping at her stomach.

"Well if anyone knows how to do it, it should be him. I guess we'll find out." Russ replied with an unhappy shrug. "Unfortunately Bill Parr is highly motivated when it comes to trying to best Oscar. " He looked tired and stressed, jingling his keys in his pocket.

"So... how worried are you?" She almost didn't want to hear the answer.

"I don't know. At best we'll find him on a beach in the Caribbean, and at worst - at the bottom of a river somewhere."

"Russ!"

"Sorry Jaime - but honestly, he's got enemies and a brain full of government secrets - he should be protected."

"For the rest of his life?"

"Yup." Russ answered. "But I'm also worried about his state of mind. I never would have guessed he'd do something like this."

"Yeah." Jaime nodded. It was the last thing she thought he would do, but on the other hand - what choice did he have? He was trapped - he would have to live out the rest of his life in the not so tender embrace of the OSI. His departure brought into sharp light her own recent attempted escape, filling her with uncertainty. If he felt strongly enough to disappear, should she have done the same?

"Well!" she said, forcing a positive tone into her voice. "I guess I'd better get at it. I've got to believe we'll find something. He needs us, whether he knows it or not."

Russ dug in his pocket and handed her a package of latex gloves. "For that left hand. You don't want to leave any fingerprints." he said. "I'd better go. I'm sorry to leave you to do this on your own - but I hope you know how much I appreciate it. I'm going to cough up the news at about four thirty this afternoon, and you should be out of here by five at the very latest. I'll come over tonight with some dinner and we can catch up."

"Great, Russ. Thanks for everything." She smiled, and gave him a hug

She started with the telephone bills, examining each one closely, hoping for a call, or series of calls, to some likely location - where ever that might be. Try as she might, she could not imagine exactly where Oscar Goldman would run to. It was a big world, and the possibilities were endless - well, not quite endless. Wherever he was, he'd want to be inconspicuous. This meant a lot of places were off limits, simply because he was tall. Having visited a number of countries with him, she knew he stood out like a sore thumb - even if he did speak the language. She found a couple of long distance calls to Colorado Springs, and a couple to her number in Ojai before she had retired. Of course, all his travel arrangements could easily have been made through local calls, which were not itemized. Perhaps she could get Russ to dig further.

Moving on to his credit card statements, she found that most of his expenditures were on restaurants. There was one at a tailor's and several at a bookstore. She couldn't help but let out a wistful chuckle when she found a slip of paper in between the two latest statements. Written in his familiar scrawl were the words, "Forget it. You won't find anything."

The desk was next. She went through it, drawer by drawer, once again finding it too tidy to be true. In the bottom drawer she found a shoe box full of photographs. It was odd that he kept it there - almost as though he needed to have it nearby. On top of the pile she was startled by her own face grinning back up at her. The photo was taken at last year's Christmas party. She was wearing that teal dress that she later decided was a mistake, and her arms were wrapped snugly around Oscar's waist. He had a gratified, if bemused smile on his face. The two of them formed the center of the composition, and crowding around them were the usual suspects - Rudy and Callahan, Lynda, Tony from accounting, Gordie the lab tech - a happy bunch. As tempting as it was to browse, she put the box back.

She wandered into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water and went into his bedroom. What she needed was some sense of achievement - to get at least a couple of rooms eliminated from the search, and this seemed as good a place as any to start. It was a sleek room, simply furnished, with an large inviting bed and a nice view onto his private backyard. It was difficult not to feel invasive, and it made her tentative in her search. The bedroom was a part of Oscar's life she was entirely unacquainted with. She knew nothing of his love life, and he seemed intent on keeping it that way, though from what she could guess he had few secrets to keep. While she felt apologetic and nosy, she had to admit to herself that she was keenly interested in this room. He had always been so damned mysterious, and there is nothing that piques the curiosity like mystery. She opened the bedside table drawer, revealing a travel sewing kit, a button, a few coins, and a shoelace. The other one was much the same. Then she started on the dresser on the opposite wall. Interestingly not much was there, no socks, no underwear, no t-shirts. In the bottom drawer she did find a couple of very old things - some linens and lace, possibly his mother's, and two Navy dress uniforms, now not quite white anymore (his and Sam's?) She moved on to the closet, finding there all the suits she knew so well. She could picture him in each one, and the sight of them made her miss him keenly. She stepped into the closet, face to face with the first blazer, and began to methodically go through each and every one of the multitudes of pockets. There was an intimacy to this job that was both comforting and upsetting - she could smell his aftershave, and fishing around in his clothing, she felt downright forward. Every pocket in every jacket and every vest was empty, (save for one mint) which was odd in itself. Finally in the brown blazer she discovered a slip of paper that read "Gomez - 17:15" Her pulse quickened - this had to be something important. She grabbed the datacom, reported to Russ, and received his assurances that he would follow up right away. Pensively, she dropped the piece of paper onto the bed and stared at it a moment, as though it would give up more secrets if she looked at it long enough. And in a way, it did. Torn from a note pad, the paper was wrinkled in such a way that it looked as though it had been crushed once and flattened out. It was not worn - it had not traveled long in that pocket. Of course he could have written it down late in the day, come home, and taken the jacket off. But then there was the writing - it was more legible than usual, and therefore suspicious. She decided right then. He had planted it.

She completed her search of both bedrooms, and finding nothing more of note she was able to eliminate them from her hunt. It was now 3:30, and she was starving. As much as she wanted to slip back through the tunnel for food and coffee, she had to keep going. It seemed clear that he had intentionally not left any real clues, so she changed her search. She pulled the fridge and stove out, looked behind sets of drawers and under furniture, flipped through magazine piles - but found not one forgotten scrap of paper, not one lousy hint.

Then there was a garage out back - she was going to have to look in there, too. After checking for any signs of surveillance outside, she slipped out and tried the garage door, hoping it was open. It wasn't, naturally, and as she wasn't in a mood to go on a key hunt, she cranked it open. Inside there was a workbench, plenty of tools, and boxes on shelves along the side. Would she really have to go through those...?, she wondered, feeling weak. The car was gone. The only sign of recent activity was a sanding project at the workbench. He seemed to have been refinishing a chair - though why he would bother with this one she couldn't understand. It was a wreck of a wooden chair, perhaps twenty years old, and there was nothing about it to suggest it was worthy of such attention. It was almost completely sanded down, but not quite. She backed out, closing the door behind her. She would only come back as a last resort.

As the day drew to a close, she became panicky - she had nothing real to show for her efforts and the NSB would be moving in tonight. A few minutes before five, Russ called with a warning to clear out, so she slipped back down the rabbit hole and back to her little apartment, frustrated and shaky with hunger

Russ showed up an hour later, also frustrated and shaky, but for different reasons. Oscar's disappearance did indeed cause the firestorm he was expecting, and, also as expected, the NSB had demanded control of the investigation and ordered the OSI to stay completely out of it.

"They're all up in arms." he reported. "The President, the VP, the Secretaries - and if they weren't in a lather before, Parr made sure they were by the time he'd finished with them. He made a resignation sound like an act of sedition."

Jaime groaned, and clapped her hand to her forehead.

"They think he's done something underhanded - and that he's running so he won't be caught."

"That's ridiculous!"

"I'll say." If Russ looked worried this morning, he looked close to frantic now. "And it also means they're now going over all OSI business with a fine tooth comb, which is going to make my life a living hell. Did you come up with anything else?" he queried anxiously.

She shook her head. "Anything come up with that Gomez thing?"

"Yeah. An "Olivier Gomez" got on a plane to Buenos Aires at five o'clock on Saturday."

"Olivier Gomez! It's got to be a decoy. It's just too obvious."

"That's what I thought."

Russ sat down at the kitchen table, pulling open containers of Chinese food while Jaime retrieved plates and cutlery, her mouth watering. When she turned back from the cupboard, he was staring out the window, holding a box of rice.

"Did you know I started out at the NSB?" he said, turning to her.

She sat down opposite him, suddenly interested. "No, I didn't."

"I was there for about a year. I hated it. I went in, full of ideals, wanting to do a good job, help my country and all that, and all I got was resistance. The place was full of people who would do anything to get ahead - including denigrating anyone they found threatening, or taking credit for other peoples' work and other peoples' ideas. Just when I was seriously reconsidering my career choice, Oscar took me aside and asked me if I wanted to come and work for him. I don't know how he spotted me because I'd only met him about three times, but he's like that, you know? He has great instincts about people. And he knows how to navigate the politics of the job without losing sight of what's important." He paused, set the rice down and absentmindedly pried open the lid. "He always tries to do the right thing. Do you know how hard that gets to be? Seeing the forest for the trees in this business? Don't get me wrong, he drives me nuts, but fundamentally I have nothing but respect for him. Guys like Parr get to the top through burning ambition and backstabbing. Oscar is the soul of the OSI. If he's gone...well, I don't know if I can do what he does."

Though Jaime shared his fears, she put her hand on his and patted it reassuringly. "Oh, Russ, I know this has got to be terrifying for you, but if it comes to it you can do it. Oscar had - has - a lot of confidence in you. He picked you for a reason you know."

"Well, thanks, Jaime. That means a lot coming from you." Russ smiled tentatively. "See...you're a great example. Parr or Hansen could never have got someone like you - because you've got too much integrity, too much heart. Like Oscar."

"Thanks. What a nice thing to say." she replied quietly, feeling an intertwined sense of pleasure and pain in her chest. "I just can't believe..." She found she couldn't finish the sentence. There was no need anyway.

"I've got some really big shoes to fill." Russ sighed.

"Literally." Jaime said, with a laugh, squeezing his hand.

As they dug into their dinner, less than a block away, five NSB agents began their intensive search of Oscar's house. Now Jaime would have to wait, like an anxious racehorse at the starter gate, until they had completed their investigation.