"You're a diseased maniac, you know that?" Adrian grumbled to Natalie as they sat on the bench outside the temporary office of the president of the I.O.C. inside Candlestick.

"You'll thank me later," she told him, a wry smile crossing her lips to be able to use his own common phrase on her own.

"But you know I won't," the detective countered, "And you're forgetting the one obvious problem with me going undercover: since I'm the focus of a show currently being shown in over two hundred countries, the thousands of people watching me out there will recognize me on sight, and so will the would-be killer."

"They're not going to have the cameras pointed at you, Mr. Monk," Natalie told him, "And you can come up with a cover name if that's what it'll take to keep this undercover."

"Regardless, henceforth you can never talk me into anything again by using the excuse that..." Adrian started to gripe, but it was then the door to the office opened up. "Mr. Ghazi shall see you now," announced the president's secretary, a man from Guinea-Bissau, Adrian had determined. Sighing, he rose up and entered the office. He would have liked to have said that the whole thing had been a mistake then and there, but as Stottlemeyer, liking the idea of sending Adrian undercover (making him wonder if Natalie was using some kind of subversive mind control he knew nothing about), had already called ahead to inform the I.O.C. of their plans, that was already dead in the water. Nonetheless, he tried to force what passed for a happy expression as he approached the desk of I.O.C. president Akbar Ghazi of Tunisia, two time gold medal winner in archery at the Montreal and Moscow games. "Mr. Monk, it is a pleasure to meet you," the elderly man greeted him with a hardy handshake, "How are you this afternoon?"

"Could, could be better, Mr. Ghazi," Adrian waved for a wipe, "I, I guess by now you know what we're here for."

"Indeed I am. Please, have a seat," Ghazi gestured to a set of armchairs clumped near his desk. He stared as Adrian pushed the one on the right over so it would be equidistant from the one on the left, but apparently decided not to say anything. "I've reviewed the information your captain gave us," he told the detective, an uncomfortable expression crossing his face, "And I am more than prepared to accommodate your request to protect Ms. Whitehurst at all costs. You may recall I participated in the Munich games as well, and as you can expect, the memories of what happened there have stuck with me all these years. Now I suppose you are familiar with the rules of our various events, Mr. Monk?"

"I am, yes I am," Adrian glanced at the ceiling to avoid having to look at a blind piece on the window that was stuck in an upwards position.

"Very good," Ghazi handed him several pieces of paper, "I just need you to fill these out to make it official. Due to the shortage of officials, we'll be rotating our judges around to numerous events over the course of the Olympiad. I'll need you to handle the beach volleyball finals at the harbor today at four, if that would be fine by you. You can pick up your judge's uniform downstairs before you leave. Just keep me informed of anything you find. Have you any questions?"

"One, actually, yes; do you think you could add another ring to the Olympic flag?" Adrian asked, tamping the papers down so they all lined up perfectly, "It would make it even. An orange or purple ring for Antarctica, that would be good."

Ghazi stared at him incredulously. "Well, Mr. Monk, you do realize there's a good reason we don't include Antarctica in the Olympic movement," he told the detective, "I don't think penguins and leopard seals would make ideal athletes."

"You, you could train them, then maybe in about twenty years they'll be up to..."

Natalie gave him a brisk tapping on the shoulder to indicate he was going too far again. "Well, it was just a thought," he shrugged, turning back to the paperwork that would make him a judge.

"You look great, Mr. Monk, really," she commended him later as they approached the beach volleyball stadium.

"You think ANY uniform I wear makes me look great, Natalie," Adrian told her, fidgeting with the suit's tie. He was a bit uncomfortable with the color scheme the I.O.C. had designed for this Olympiad: blue tuxedo, white pants, and the tie, which had no color coordination itself. "I am going to stick out like a sore thumb even if the cameras aren't trained on me."

"No you won't," Natalie reassured him, "Now I'll be with Wendy in the front row behind you; the captain made those arrangements. Signal if you see anything suspicious and I'll get him for you."

"Signal? How am I supposed to signal in front of all these people without tipping the killer off? And what kind of signal are you going on about?"

"Just think of whatever makes you most comfortable," she told him, stopping as they reached the judges' entrance. "Here's where you go in. Just don't forget where I am."

Adrian took a deep breath and walked inside. He undid the tie completely and tried to redo it as he followed the sound of voices from the office in the corner of the room. Three men and a woman in similar uniforms as his own were huddled in a corner, conversing. Adrian cleared his throat. "I, uh, I'm told I'll be working with all of you today," he announced.

"Oh, you you're the new one," the tallest judge, a Hispanic, shook his hand, prompting him to dig through his pockets for a wipe, "We got word you'd be coming down. And you are...?"

"My name...my name..." Adrian thought hard for a reasonable alias to use. Then it hit him what the perfect name would be. "I'm...I'm Charles Kroger," he said slowly, his face contorting in pain at the thought of his former psychiatrist, "And you are...?"

"Carlos Lagos, Peru," the Hispanic shook his hand, "This is my fourth Olympiad. We'll be working with these people," he gestured at his associates, "Allow me to introduce Anton Krajic of Poland, Floriana Cadorna of Italy, and Moses Parkinson of Cameroon."

"A, uh, pleasure," Adrian reluctantly shook all their hands and pulled out more wipes. The judges stared at him, their jaws hanging open. "Don't, don't mind me, just, just standard operating procedure," he told them, "I do have extras if you need them."

"You know, Charles, you look awfully familiar," Krajic looked him over, "Have I seen you before?"

"Um, no, I don't think so," Adrian said quickly, handing him a set of wipes for himself, "I, I do get that a lot, though. So, it's beach volleyball, is it? Anyone done that before."

"The last Olympiad I did," Cadorna was looking at him in a way that made him a hair uncomfortable, "Just remember, every serve scores. Has anyone every told you that you have the loveliest hair, Charles?"

"Uh, th-th-thank you, it, it came with the head," Adrian sputtered out the words, "Um, well, if we're ready, let's, let's get down to business and get, get the game underway."

"I think it's good, Charles," Parkinson called to him, a tinge of impatience in his voice.

"Just, just a little more," Adrian called back. He squatted down and moved his file along the sand on the court, painstakingly trying to even it out. He'd been at it for close to a half hour by now, and he could tell the crowd was starting get a bit restless. The teams, from New Zealand and Argentina, were definitely impatient, walking around in tight circles, making the detective realize he didn't have much longer. He leveled out the final section of sand and hustled back to the judges' table. "We're, we're good to go now," he told his fellow judges.

Lagos waved the players forward onto the court. "It didn't have to be perfect, Charles," he told him.

"Oh let it go, Carlos, he's just being efficient," Cadorna fixed Adrian with a gaze that made him flinch, "I appreciate men who are efficient."

"Um, uh, very, very nice," Adrian couldn't help jerking his chair to the left away from her. He glanced backwards up into the stands. There was Wendy and the Teegers right behind him as promised. He glanced up into the stadium. No immediate sign of the attacker. He fidgeted with the tie once more before returning to the game at hand. The New Zealand team sent the first serve to the Argentinians, who shifted backwards to return, displacing a lot of sand in the process. The ball went back and forth for about a minute before the New Zealanders missed a return, giving their opponents the first point. "Time," Adrian abruptly called. He hustled out to the court and tried to level the sand out again, to loud groans from the players. This took about ten minutes before he was satisfied. "Continue," he gestured at the players, returning to his seat. Unfortunately, the next serve messed up even more sand, prompting him to call more time. This time the entire stadium was groaning as he evened out the sand; indeed, he could make out Natalie sternly mouthing, "You're blowing your cover!" as he returned to the table again. "I can't help it; they're messing it up," he mouthed back. Nonetheless, he decided to stay put and fix the damage after the match. Unfortunately, the match quickly turned into a tight game, with the New Zealanders and Argentinians in a dead heat.

The score was in fact tied at sixteen apiece, and as Adrian was taking advantage of a score by Argentina to once again fix the tie, that he noticed something in the upper deck behind him. He squinted hard against the sun. It looked very much like the figure he'd seen on the tape earlier in the day. The person may or may not have noticed him in turn, as he or she rose at that moment and walked towards one of the exits. "Time," the detective called out just as New Zealand's captain had sent the ball into the air. The Argentinians turned in shock at this pronouncement, and as such one was bonked in the head by the ball.

"Now what!?" Krajic asked, irritated.

"Um, uh, bathroom break," Adrian spit out the first thing that came to his mind. He rushed for the stands, making a waving gesture towards Natalie. "I think I've seen him," he told her when she approached the edge of the seats, "Upper deck back there, he's...what?"

"Wendy just stepped out for a Coke," the words were barely out of Natalie's mouth when the sound of loud shouts from the nearest exit, and security officials could be seen running towards it. His heart in his throat, the detective vaulted over the fence and barrelled up the stairs after the officers. Sure enough, a sight he didn't want to see greeted him once under the stadium: a large crowd gathered near one of the refreshment stands, and inside the crowds loud crying could be heard. Adrian rushed over and tried to push his way through the crowd. "Wendy, what happened!?" he asked breathlessly, "Did he...?"

"He jumped me!!" Wendy's voice was pained as she clutched her chest in agony, "He came at me with a bat! He went that way!!"

She pointed at the exit. Adrian rushed over and glanced around, but the assailant had vanished. The detective sighed. This was going to be even harder than he'd imaged, and he now wondered if anything he did to protect Wendy would work at all.