Note: Colby and Charlie's chess game is a mimic of the 1905 game between Janowski and Alapin.

Chapter IV: Pawn's Game

They did bring him a chess set.

Many self-played games and agonizing hours later, Colby was sick of waiting for word of his release to float down from high. The lack of information was incredibly frustrating, but he also was smart enough to recognize that although Dolon and Westwood may have use for him, it didn't necessarily follow that they trusted him, or wouldn't sacrifice him for their cause. Still, he wasn't willing to look a gift horse in the mouth because he was grateful he wasn't enduring grueling hours of interrogation. He had a part to play in the game they were busy orchestrating and he was cognizant of his role in their gambit.

It was to stay out of sight and shut up.

Pawns didn't question or disobey. They kept their mouths shut even when the water washed over their heads. So he played chess against himself between meals, during meals, and probably in his dreams. He was getting very good at winning.

And losing.

He sincerely hoped everyone watching his video footage was bored silly. Colby sighed and studied the chess board once again.

Someone walked past the porthole window outside his cell, and for a brief moment his heartbeat skyrocketed and as he shut his eyes, he was five years younger in another cell, in another hell. He didn't move until the footsteps faded far into the distance. The only sounds in the room were the high-pitched whine of the surveillance camera and that of his own shaky breathing.

Inhale. Exhale. There is a chess board in front of him, not a gun pointed at his head. Inhale. Exhale. He squinted his eyes open. The light here was a powerful fluorescent, not a dim single incandescent bulb. Instead of—

"Damn it!" Furious, he shoved the chess board across the table.

He didn't want to relive it!

Most of the white chessmen slid forward several ranks into the center, while half the black ones toppled over and the other half hit the floor. He'd promised himself he wouldn't let the blank walls get to him. He'd lived through hell once for these people; he shouldn't be required to do it again. And yet, here he was.

Here he was playing himself—second guessing himself—and he still couldn't see the whole situation clearly.

The scattered pieces on the floor and the board made everything look clear cut: black and white, good and evil. If only real life wasn't tinged in shades of grey. He bent and scooped up a pair of knights, a rook, and several pawns and laid them on the table. He managed to reach the fallen king, but another pawn was under table and too far out of his reach. What kind of protector was he when he couldn't even keep within the rules? The allure of a peaceful white was a beautiful dream. One he would never believe in again.

To his surprise his cell door opened and the guard he had nicknamed Bruno for his doglike appearance came in and escorted—of all people—Charlie Eppes into the room. Colby immediately stood up, king still clutched in his hand. "Charlie?"

"Colby," Charlie greeted him. He looked perfectly groomed in comparison to Colby's wrinkled detention denim. When the guard came in with his dinner he should remember to ask for a toothbrush.

"What're you doing here?" Colby asked, mindful of the camera trained on them. He really wanted to ask why Don had allowed him to come. Don would never have allowed this visit.

Before Charlie could answer the guard cut in. "I'll be outside if you need me." The door bolted shut behind him. Just the prisoner and the professor now…oh…and about twenty professional profilers kibitzing on their conversation, watching his performance. He'd better play it to the hilt.

"That's odd, he insisted on staying while I talked with Carter," Charlie said somewhat puzzled.

His heart sank further. "You spoke to Dwayne?"

"'Bout an hour ago," Charlie admitted looking at Colby's mangled chess game.

Colby shrugged. "Maybe he felt I was less of a threat."

"Maybe. Odd though…" Charlie trailed off and looked around the sparse setting: a narrow bed, a rickety table, a stained urinal, and the jumbled chess set.

Colby needed to put an end to this line of thought if Charlie wasn't going to put the pieces together and figure out why his security arrangements weren't quite as stringent as his former friend's.

"Charlie, what are you doing here?" Colby asked as he set the king back down on the board. Time to defend it even if he didn't believe it was the best ruler. His country may have its faults, but it was, he honestly believed, the least bad one.

"I came to ask you some questions." Charlie said reaching to grab the errant pawn, rolling it between his empty hands.

"And not take any notes? I don't believe I've seen you without chalk, ballpoint pen, or a dry erase marker for quite sometime." Charlie looked lost without them at his side; Colby felt lost without his gun at his.

"One of the conditions for me to speak with you was that I couldn't take notes," Charlie confessed.

"If you really want some be sure to ask for the video," Colby waved to the camera high up in one of the corners. Charlie's gaze followed the gesture and he frowned at the ever present reminder of the necessary evil of big brother government. "Have a seat then," Colby said as he sat himself. "I'm sorry I can't offer you much more than that at the moment."

Charlie sat still fumbling with the chess piece, but didn't offer any more conversation.

"Don know you're here?"

"Not exactly."

The way Charlie avoided his eyes told him there was a plethora of information jammed in between those two words.

"Okay…. He doesn't know I'm here and probably wouldn't be too pleased if he did know."

Colby imagined that was something of an understatement. Don would go through the roof. "I'm not in a position to tell him," Colby reassured him. As a distraction he started to return the chess pieces to their starting positions. The previous game hadn't been one of his best—for either side. He was looking forward to starting fresh once Charlie had left. "If Don doesn't know, then who granted you permission to come?"

"I didn't know you played," Charlie replied pointing to the board and ignoring the question.

"I'm hardly a Grandmaster, but it's been a semi-serious hobby for the past few years." Since the winter of 2001 when his Special Forces unit was shipped to Afghanistan, to be exact.

"Would you like to play now?" Charlie asked putting his pawn on the board.

"If you'll tell me who sent you."

"The NSA requested my help."

"I'm sure the NSA didn't send you in here to play chess with me."

"No, but I'm sure I'd make much better opponent than you've had in the past forty-eight hours."

"You would."

Although he didn't particularly want to, he finished setting up the board. Quiet as a mouse Charlie helped him.

"Black or white?" Charlie asked.

Without hesitation Colby replied, "White," and turned the board so Charlie sat behind the black pieces. Colby moved the center queen's pawn out two spaces to begin the game.

Charlie countered with the same move.

"Why are you here?" He slid another pawn out to threaten Charlie's.

Charlie looked up and grinned. "Right now I'm here to take your king."

"Don always said you were competitive."

"Don's right," Charlie said and moved another pawn out.

Knight. Bishop.

Knight. Knight.

"What does the NSA have you working on?" Colby asked and brought his own bishop out to play.

"I'm probably just a, well, you know…"—Charlie held up a pawn—"but Victor Westwood had hired me to do some analysis." Charlie said and put the piece down on the far edge.

Colby's hand hesitated over his bishop. If Westwood was responsible for this little interview, then Colby knew for sure this was bad. It was a brilliant plan he had to admit. Hire a genius to work on their major problem while at the same time strong arming Don to cooperate. That made Charlie the bait. Putting his mind on the game he moved the bishop back from the pawn's challenge. "Don't sell yourself short. You're more powerful than a pawn."

"You're right." Charlie said as he captured the second pawn Colby had put into action.

Pawn. Pawn.

Bishop. Pawn.

"I assume your visit has something to do with Ashby's Janus List." Colby slid his bishop to a more secure b3.

Charlie paused to consider the board and the statement for a moment before taking his second knight from the back rank. "Yes."

"You seem quite coy for someone who is here to ask me questions," Colby said and moved his queen in front of his king.

"I'm trying to find the best way to approach the subject."

"Ask. I don't have anything better to do right now."

Charlie picked up one of his pawns and cradled in his palm. Colby sincerely hoped he wasn't going to have to lie. Again. For Charlie's own good.

"Why did you bug Ashby's apartment for the Chinese?"

Colby had to stifle a laugh. In one question Charlie had shown more insight than his brother. "Because I was told to."

"I've read your classified file." The urge to laugh died. "I know you were held prisoner in China for nineteen days. So, I'd find it hard to believe that you'd obey them willingly." Charlie put the pawn down on the board.

If Westwood had given Charlie that much information then Charlie was deep into his clutches. He needed to protect them both here, but he also had his orders, which was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. "And you think you know how a prisoner would feel?"

"Hypothetically?"

Game forgotten for a moment, Colby crossed his arms over his chest. "This isn't hypothetical. You're talking to a former prisoner. It isn't something you could possibly understand locked up in your ivory tower. There comes a point when you do what they ask and damn the consequences," Colby said, his voice as hard as steel.

That made Charlie gulp. "How were you captured?" he changed the subject.

"Dwayne Carter and I were sent into China for a covert mission. We were caught. I'm sure it was all in the report you read about me."

"Yes, but the whole nature of your mission was blacked out."

"Blacked out for good reason."

"I'm sure." Charlie rubbed his chin and studied the arrangement of the pieces. "The list Ashby left on Naomi Vaughn's voice mail isn't the Janus list."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite."

"If it's a fake list, then why'm I still here?"

"Because you admitted to working for the Chinese."

"So you believe I'm a Chinese agent?"

"You and others have gone a long way to make it seem so."

To cover his unease Colby returned his concentration to the chessmen. All his pieces were set up to make the protection of castling to the king's side more than practical. It also had the advantage of using his newly uncovered rook aggressively. Decision made he castled.

Charlie mimicked the move with his own pieces. "Who told you to put the Chinese bug in Ashby's apartment?" Charlie asked.

Colby moved his rook and evaded the question. "Charlie, it isn't your place to rescue me. I'm sure your brother would have even more choice words to say about it if you did." Colby looked at the bishop that Charlie was sure to move next. "I don't need you to take my confession either."

"That's fair," he said and did indeed move the bishop. "Then I'll ask another question: Why didn't you kill Naomi Vaughn?"

To delay Colby tapped his fingers rhythmically on the edge of the board. He needed to center himself and it was pathetic that he was resorting to this technique against questioning by little Charlie Eppes.

Charlie pressed his advantage. "Logically, if you were a Chinese spy you would have done anything to protect yourself. You should have killed her."

"And if I wasn't told to kill the reporter?" Colby moved his rook.

"You were ordered to kill her." Charlie moved his own rook.

"Yes, I was." Just not by the Chinese. "There's a line in the Army Special Forces creed that I haven't been able to get out of my head for the past two days: 'I am a professional soldier. I will teach and fight wherever my nation requires. I will strive always, to excel in every art and artifice of war.'"

"And you believe the case is comparable to war?"

"I do." He should have said did. Past tense. He wasn't about to be allowed to touch this case any time soon. They'd make sure of that. Thankfully Charlie seemed to busy thinking over his answer to notice. While Charlie thought, Colby looked to the arrangement of the pieces. There was a tide-turning move here, he could feel it.

"Do you also approach chess as a war?" he asked a few moments later interrupting Colby's concentration.

"In a way. The goal is obviously to capture the opponent's king, but I don't adhere to a specific strategy to do so. Instead I look board and the pieces as a whole." The pawn or the knight? "The relationships the pieces form usually provide an answer without having to play the game forward in your mind very far, or at all." The knight to e5! Colby smiled as he moved the piece. It was an excellent development play that would block the black pieces and also press all of his into active service.

Charlie blew out a breath as he studied the movement. "I wasn't expecting that."

"My answer? Or my move?"

"Either," he admitted.

"You don't think of chess as a war?" Colby asked and sat back trying not to gloat.

"No, I approach it as a problem that has an optimal solution."

"And how is that different from a war?"

Charlie replied as he picked up one of his knights to capture Colby's. "It's a zero sum game yes, but…Deep Blue…" Charlie trailed off. His expression went completely blank as he rehashed some complex mathematical problem to find enlightenment.

"Charlie?" There was no response. "Charlie?" Colby tried again.

"The Minimax algorithm," Charlie stated in a hush like he was revealing a top secret government plan.

"Yeah?" Colby drew out the single syllable word and leaned back accepting that the chess game wasn't going to be finished anytime in the near future. Here comes the nearly incomprehensible math speak, he could feel it.

"The Minimax algorithm is something used in decision theory to minimize the maximum amount of loss. For each state, or move in chess, you assign a value to how good of state it is. Positive is good and negative is bad. The best play is the one that several moves ahead does the least amount of damage to the end goal, winning the game. It's the technique that IBM's Deep Blue used to play Garry Kasparov." Charlie stuck his hands in his pockets but came up empty. "I could analyze in the same way! I need—"

"To find a piece of chalk?" Colby asked wryly.

"Umm…yeah…" Charlie ran a hand through his mussed up hair and scooted his chair back to stand. He balled a fist to rap on the door, but he turned and searched for Colby's eyes as if something else had struck him. "They'd already made the decision when they sent you in."

"What?" Colby asked, not following.

"You were an acceptable loss to Falcon's Blessing. It was luck you got out again."

Colby just blinked. How did Charlie jump from chess to treason and espionage?

"Never mind," Charlie said and did knock on the door. "I don't need an answer. You probably shouldn't answer it."

Still stunned, Colby couldn't find words.

Bruno opened and then half closed before Charlie looked back at him again. "Is there anything, you'd like me to tell anyone?"

I'm sorry. "No." Don't forget me. "No, there's nothing."

"Goodbye, Colby."

"Except…"

"Yes?"

"Be careful, will you?"

"Don't worry about me," Charlie tried to wave the question away.

"I'm serious. Watch yourself. You're treading on dangerous ground. Ask yourself what kind of people you're working for."

That reached him and Charlie looked taken aback. "I know who I'm working for. They're the same people you've been working for."

The guard bolted the door shut and Colby waited until the footfalls were long gone before he could face the chess set again. The hum of the surveillance camera seemed almost loud enough to drown out his breathing. It was only through sheer luck that he'd survived, luck that Westwood had been more than eager to employ elsewhere. He had been an acceptable loss.

So was Charlie, but he didn't even know it.

-oOo-

Megan sat down at her desk and punched in her security code to collect her phone messages. "Agent Reeves, this is Naomi Vaughn from the LA Ledger." As if Megan could forget the woman over the past weekend. "I'm working on a story about the events of the past few days." Of course she was. What else would a fluff ball reporter do? "And I was hoping to speak with you. Please call me"—not in this lifetime—"at 555-8784 at your earliest convenience."

She slammed the phone down in disgust.

"Naomi Vaughn?" David asked, swiveling his chair around to face her.

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"She's already left messages for both me and Don trying to wrangle up interviews. I figured she'd try and hit you up next."

"I can see the headline now." Megan arced a hand in the air tracing invisible words. "Spy within the FBI. FBI arrests one of its own. FBI bungles espionage case." She snorted and dropped her hand into her lap. "I'm half surprised it hasn't already been plastered all over the news. Richard Miller, Robert Hassen, and Colby Granger. He's gotten his name next to some really illustrious former agents."

"At least there's no wife, or sex tapes," David replied.

"That we know of," Megan said grimly. "I just wish I could make his actions line up with the man I know. Ms. Vaughn will no doubt spin Friday's events into something sensational."

"It is possible she has some class."

"Have you ever met a reporter who actually has class?"

"I think you're redirecting your anger at Colby," David said looking her straight in the eyes and refusing to rise to her bait.

Megan realized she was dry washing her hands in her lap and clasped them together to stop the restless action. If she was completely honest with herself she would have to admit that she was angry with Colby. She'd poured her heart out to him at sunset and not four hours later he abandoned her to Black Rain's paid assassins. So yes, she was angry. Very, very angry. "When did you apply for my job?"

"Just keeping the seat warm for you."

She smiled. "Okay… Okay. I'll be positive. She's a very persistent reporter. That work for you?"

David laughed.

"Has Don let her know we can't talk about it?"

That stopped David's laughter cold. "I—ummm—haven't exactly spoken with Don since yesterday morning."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow.

"After he met with Dolon yesterday he wasn't in the best of moods." Megan held her peace when it seemed there was something more David wanted to add, but couldn't bring himself to. "We searched Colby's apartment earlier," he finally admitted. "We had a fight just before we finished."

"That was a monumentally stupid thing to do," Megan scolded him.

"The fight or the search?" he asked trying for levity.

"Come to think of it picking a fight with the boss is never a smart thing to do, but I mean searching Colby's apartment. What on Earth possessed you?"

David scuffed the floor with his shoe not contradicting her. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. I wanted to try and understand why he did what he did. We've all worked side-by-side for two years. Sure he's been gone time to time and has missed some cases, which in twenty-twenty hindsight is suspicious and…" he trailed off.

"And?" she prompted.

"I want another chance to speak with him."

Megan saw David stiffen as Don stormed into their area of the bullpen. "Well, you'll get your chance," Don announced.

"What?"

Don slammed a folder down on his own desk. "He's going to be released."

That stunned both Megan and David into silence for a full five seconds.

"When?" she asked.

"How?" David asked an eyeblink later.

"Tomorrow," Don grunted and sank into his chair. "As for how I'm sure my gross incompetence will figure into it somehow." He sighed. "I'm sure Assistant Director Dolon is in the process of pulling some hefty strings to make the situation into whatever he wants."

"What do you mean?" Megan asked.

"The official party line will be that this has been a large misunderstanding, the grand delusions of a mad man, who we unwisely believed."

Colby had confessed to planting the bug. She heard him. How were they going to sweep it all under the rug? "That doesn't make—" Megan started, but cut off when she saw the glare Don shot her.

"Have the two of you also received calls from Naomi Vaughn?"

She and David nodded.

"I want you two to meet with her."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Megan asked. "We can just not return her calls. Surely she'd figure the message out."

"I don't care how insistent she is," Don continued ignoring her suggestion, "but you two will need to quash any desire she has to write whatever she's planning on writing. If we ignore her she'd still write her story, which is exactly what the Assistant Director"—he nearly spat the name—"doesn't want to see happen. Consider it an order I was given that I'm now giving to you."

"I'll give her a call," David offered.

"We can set up lunch," Megan said through gritted teeth.

"Good. Make sure you keep me out of it," Don snapped and left for the kitchen.

"He's Mister Charming today," Megan muttered as soon as Don was out of hearing range.

"We have Osteen, Clarke, Hensley, and Roybal to thank for that."

Before David had gotten the fifth name all the way out Megan felt her eyes go very wide. She tried to form words, but she could only gape at him. There's no way he should have know them. No way at all.

"What?" he asked puzzled.

"Where did you get that list of people?"

"What do you mean?" he asked puzzled.

"Where?"

He looked at her like she'd fallen off the deep end. "They're some of the names of the Americans who were spying against us that turned up later on the Janus List."

"That's not possible."

"What are you talking about?" David scanned his desk and picked up a piece of paper. "Haven't you seen the full list?"

"No." Friday had been too hectic of a night and besides Colby and Carter no one had told her who else was on the list. It wasn't necessary. Plus she hadn't been in any condition to even think to ask to see it on Saturday morning.

"Take a look," David said and handed her the list.

She felt the blood drain from her face. Amid the one hundred and eighty-six names they were there. All of them! Osteen, Clarke, Hensley, Roybal, Thornhill, Allard, Harrington, Wong, Vanhook! There were only names on a white piece of paper, but she could imagine their photographed faces as clear as day. She'd spent six weeks staring at their surveillance photos. She'd spent six weeks listening to their voices on questionably retrieved phone taps. She could hear Clarke's arrogant tone of voice as well as Harrington's lisp as if they were speaking two feet in front of her.

"Megan? Are you alright?"

No. No. No! NO!

This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. Black Rain had shown itself willing to kill for this list and the FBI and NSA had already known some of the names. Megan's mind started to spin. If they knew the American names then did they know those of the other countries? Did they know Ashby was going to make a scene?

They'd known the events two days ago were going to happen two months ago! Megan stood with woozy legs. "The Assistant Director is using the spare office down the hall?"

"Personally overseeing the continuing investigation," David said. "We are to report to him directly."

"What?"

"Instead of Don. We are to report to him."

"When did that happen?"

"Yesterday afternoon."

She reread the list to make sure she wasn't hallucinating and her eyes caught and lingered on Colby's name. Odd that she'd been researching and profiling all those American spies except for Carter and Granger. She smelled a rat.

"Will you excuse me for a moment?" She handed David the list as she passed him.

He caught her by the arm before she could get very far. "You're not okay."

"I'm fine." She wanted to tell him everything, but she stopped herself just in time. "Call Ms. Vaughn. Tell her I'd be delighted to meet her for lunch tomorrow," she said and charged through the office not seeing anything or anyone except for the names on that blasted piece of paper.

She got to the Assistant Director's office and discovered the door was already open. Pausing for a moment to catch her breath (thank you Brother Jikai) she hesitated even longer when she heard voices arguing inside.

"He's asked for permission?" She overheard Dolon ask someone.

"Yes, for the file," the second man said. Megan knew that voice, but couldn't immediately place it.

"I told you it was a bad idea to involve him. I told you to wait."

"It's done. Besides we can handle it if he gets to be too much trouble."

"Fine." The inflection in his voice suggested it was far from fine. "And you granted your permission?"

"Unless you have any objections I plan to." It was Victor Westwood! If he was here then there was no possible way her special assignment had been a fluke. She didn't need Charlie to calculate how possible it was for this to all be a coincidence.

"No, I have no objections. In fact we can use this as an opportunity to divide and conquer," Dolon replied.

Wanting to listen more, but also knowing she shouldn't be caught eavesdropping, Megan gave a brief courtesy knock on the open door jamb to announce her presence.

"Ahhh, Agent Reeves," the Assistant Director said rising from his chair. Westwood turned around to face her. "I believe you know Victor Westwood." Oh, she knew Victor Westwood and his condescending attitude all too well. Six weeks of departmental cooperation had been a blast.

"Yes, sir, I do." She nodded in Westwood's general direction.

"Excellent," he said and offered her a chair. "I was hoping to talk with you yesterday, but I learned you'd taken the day off."

"I did," she said slipping into the chair he indicated. It was still slightly warm with body heat; this must have been where Westwood had been sitting minutes before. Behind her Westwood closed the door so the three of them could have a private conversation.

"Did Agent Eppes want you to take the day off?" Dolon asked catching her off guard and she felt her eyebrows knit together.

"It was his suggestion," she admitted.

Dolon leaned back in his chair and it squeaked. He sighed. "That's what I feared. Did he order you to?"

He couldn't know what she'd intended to do yesterday morning. She swallowed nervously. "Excuse me?"

Instead of answering he asked her another question. "Have you mentioned your familiarity with the names on the Janus List to anyone? I do trust you've seen it by now."

"I've seen it," she said darkly. She probably shouldn't mention that she'd been a hairsbreadth away from blurting everything out to David five minutes earlier. Since she hadn't done so she could still answer truthfully. "And I've told no one."

"Good. I was concerned over the fact Agent Eppes gave you the day off. I'd worried that he'd put two and two together and figured out the nature of your previous assignment was directly related to the names on the Janus List and tried to get you out of the way while he conducted a questionable search of Granger's place. I'm most unimpressed with his actions."

Which explained why they were to now reporting directly to him instead of Don.

She cleared her throat. "He only knew I was doing profiling work under the guidelines set down in the Patriot Act. He didn't know anything else."

Dolon leaned back in the chair behind his massive desk and let out a sigh of relief.

"I'm certain you have questions," Westwood said from his position behind her. She had to crane her neck around to see him.

Bet your ass she had questions! She had accusations too, but was smart enough to realize those would only get her into trouble. "How did the FBI and NSA already have a several names on the Janus List?" She impressed herself with how calm she sounded: cool, collected, under control.

Barely.

"We've known for sometime that Ashby had been compiling a Janus List. In fact, we've assisted in that compilation in order to control him and the information as long as possible."

And then it clicked home. "You just didn't think he'd be putting your spies on the list as well."

"No and now we're worried that the information may be sold to a third party," Westwood revealed.

"And the poisoning?"

"Dwayne Carter acted alone."

Megan wished she could believe that.

"Which was most unfortunate," Dolon said picking up the thread. "We've been putting out false information to bolster the idea that the list is a fake."

"But it isn't?" she asked.

"No," Westwood replied. "Some of it is," he amended. "We've managed to slip a few false leads in to solidify our position, but the majority of the list is true."

"Colby?" Megan asked tentatively trying to keep the hope out of her heart. "I learned a few minutes ago he was to be released."

"He'll be transferred to continue his work for us elsewhere."

Her next thought, which came hard on the heels of that revelation, was that they should be talking to Don about this. He was senior; she was junior.

"Why are you telling me this?" Megan asked listening to the warning bells.

"Your work in the Los Angeles office has been exemplary," Dolon said promptly. "Your profiling skills would be invaluable in the fight against terror. The hard work you've been assigned in the past six weeks was the final test and—if you're willing—we've decided we'd like you to take a more active role in analysis. Have you ever considered running your own team?"

Her own team? Don was right to have been concerned to about losing her to the DOJ. Her eyes went wide and she stuttered trying to think of something coherent to say, something—anything—that would conceal her repugnance and fury. These men had torn Colby away from the team and they were clearly involved in trying to remove Don from the equation. And they were using her to hasten his fall!

Both men chuckled at her tongue-tied attempt at speech. "You don't have to decide anything on the spot," Dolon said misinterpreting her expression.

"The Assistant Director is correct. Before you answer please give our offer some thought," Westwood said and shook her hand firmly as she rose to her feet. "You could become a major player in the war against America's enemies."

"I will," she managed to get out as she tried to shut out the buzzing in her ears that threatened to overwhelm her.

Megan walked half-stunned to her desk. Her hand shook as she reached into her desk and pulled out the letter she'd written in the dark early Saturday morning. She didn't open it; she simply held it, a letter light as a feather, but containing emotions heavier than lead.

However, she'd promised Don two weeks so she stuffed it back into the drawer for later. She'd always kept her word. Always kept her oath….

She hoped to hell Don was still going to be around to hand it to.

-oOo-