Chapter 2

"Kowalski!" Lt. Welsh had to yell to get him to stop, because the detective was moving too fast for him to catch up.

Ray turned in the hallway and faced his commanding officer. "Yes, Sir?"

"You didn't turn in your doctor's clearance. Until you do that, you're not going to see your desk."

"Sir, I brought it in yesterday and put it on your desk."

Welsh raised his eyebrows. "You did? If I don't find it this morning, I'm sending you home. As it is, you're confined to desk duty."

"Oh come on, Lieu! I just fell into some cold water! Why's everybody makin' a big deal outta this?"

"You suffered severe hypothermia, Kowalski! You should be taking it easy for awhile." His eyes closed down as he stared at him. "Maybe you should take some vacation time. You've got quite a bit saved up."

"Seriously?" He stuck his hands in his pockets and gave it some thought. "I've been thinkin' how nice it would be to go down to Florida, you know. Get away from this cold weather for awhile."

"Terrific." Lt. Welsh grinned. He very rarely grinned. "Why don't you take a couple of weeks? And take Fraser with you."

"What about the Dragon Lady? Did you clear this with her?"

Welsh put his hand on Ray's shoulder and steered him toward the building entrance. "It's all worked out with Inspector Thatcher. I'd go over to the consulate right now and talk to Fraser if I were you."

Ray looked sideways at him. Something strange was going on, but Welsh wasn't about to come out and tell him. Okay, he could play that game. "Sure. See you in a couple weeks."

"Have fun, Detective."

He parked his classic GTO in front of the Canadian Consulate and trotted up the steps. Constable Turnbull stood in the icy breeze , staring straight ahead as if he'd been frozen into place.

"Guard duty again, huh? What'd you screw up this time?" Turnbull didn't answer, and Ray smiled. "I still think curling is housework, not a sport."

Turnbull's eyes squinted slightly, but they never moved, and his cheek twitched. Laughing, Ray opened the door and let himself inside. He stopped in the foyer and wiped his feet. As he did so, he heard voices inside the Inspector's office. He passed the door and glanced inside, noting that Fraser was with Inspector Thatcher and two men in dark trench coats, looking like Feds.

"Detective Kowalski! Will you come in here please," Inspector Thatcher barked. It wasn't a request.

"Sure. Inspector, what's up? Who are these guys?"

"Foster and Burns, CSIS." One of the men introduced himself and his partner curtly, standing before the Inspector with his hands crossed in front of himself.

"Huh?"

Fraser enlightened him. "They're the Canadian Security Intelligence Service."

"Ah, like the CIA. I get it. So, um, what are they doin' here, or shouldn't I know?"

Inspector Thatcher got out of her seat and came around the desk. She wore a light pink suit, a color that Ray always thought looked good on her. It accentuated her dark brown hair and eyes. "Detective, you're here for a reason. Leftenant Welsh is letting us...borrow...you for awhile to complete a mission that Fraser is conducting as part of a liaison effort with the CSIS."

"Borrow me? For what?" He didn't like the idea of being passed around like the cranberry sauce at Thanksgiving dinner.

Burns spoke. "Inspector Thatcher will fill you in. We are merely here to inform you that we will be watching over you and Constable Fraser while you're in Miami. Just to make sure that everyone's interests are being considered."

What the hell does he mean by that? "Miami?" Ray shook his head. "Whatever. Just somebody fill me in, okay?"

Foster and Burns headed for the door. Foster said, "Inspector, please brief them and provide them with our Miami contact information."

"I will." Thatcher nodded. "Thank you, gentlemen." After they were gone, she indicated the two chairs in front of her desk. "Please, have a seat Fraser, Ray."

They sat, and she opened a file folder and gave it to Ray. "Here are your plane tickets, your rental car, and your hotel reservations. Oh, and here's your expense account."

Ray saw the figure and whistled. "Is this Canadian or American?"

She ignored his question. "Yours and Fraser's mission will be to find this man." She flipped past the other information to a photograph of a graying man in his 50s wearing a suit, sunglasses, and relaxing at an open air restaurant. "His name is Charles Finley, and he's wanted by our government in regards to a kidnapping and extortion attempt on the Prime Minister's daughter. Our intelligence says he's crafty, and he can take on other identities and appearances. He has a background in intelligence and special ops, so he'll be quite the handful. Your mission is to find him, capture him, and bring him back to Chicago. The CSIS will take over when he's here."

"So why don't the CSIS guys just grab him, since they're going down to babysit us?"

"I can't tell you that. It's classified."

"Of course." Ray handed the file to Fraser. "Is there a timeframe on this little junket?"

Inspector Thatcher paced slowly as she spoke, her arms crossed in front of herself. "The CSIS doesn't think it will take long to find him. Their intel says that Finley keeps a pretty high profile in the Miami area, at least for someone who is a wanted man. I suspect it won't take more than a few days to locate and apprehend him."

"Miami is a large city, Inspector." Fraser looked up from the folder. "It would assist us greatly if you had a dossier on Mr. Finley. His acquaintances, likes and dislikes, his habits."

"What we know is on the sheet in back. Unfortunately, it isn't much because Mr. Finley is quite elusive when he wants to be." Thatcher returned to her chair. "I suggest you go and pack for warmer weather, gentlemen. Your flight leaves in four hours."

Sam took his mojito at the bar, since he didn't have anyone to sit with. Mike and Fi were too absorbed in each other, Jesse was off on a mission, and he didn't feel like joining Maddie for her aqua aerobics class again. He'd gotten too used to being part of a team over the past six years. Maybe he should be thankful for the break instead of itching for another job, but at the moment he didn't see the benefit of being alone.

He glanced toward the end of the bar, where a brunette sat watching him for the past five minutes. Giving her his best suave, flirty look and smile; he was pleased when she smiled back.

"Whatcha drinking?"

"Long Island Ice Tea," she replied as she tossed her long hair over her shoulder. "And you?"

"Mojito. Are you waiting for someone?"

"No. My friends left me and went off scuba diving. I don't do anything that requires me to trust a tank of air to keep me alive."

Sam chuckled. "I guess we're in the same boat, then. My friends are all in other places doing other things, this is the first down time I've had in ages, and," he dropped his gaze to the bar and then turned it to her. "I'm bored as hell."

She laughed, got off her stool and slipped into the one next to him. "Well then, maybe we can be bored together!"

"Sounds good to me! Looks like you need a refill."

Twelve hours later, Sam woke with the worst hangover ever. The room was dark, the sheets were twisted and wrinkled, and he was alone. He squinted as he turned on the light on the night stand. Looking around, he realized his afternoon fling was gone. It hurt his brain to try to remember what happened. They were drinking mojitos and Long Island Ice Teas, maybe went to dinner, and wound up here...wherever here was. He blacked out, so he wasn't even sure if anything steamy and intimate occurred. One thing he was sure of; he felt as if he'd been in a major fight, but there were no marks or bruises on his body. Sam rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. I think she drugged me. I gotta get out of here, but I...I can't seem to get myself moving. Yeah, she knocked me out with something. I'll figure it out...later. He fell asleep and didn't wake up until someone knocked on the door the next morning.

"Housekeeping."

Sam sat up straight in bed and hastily covered himself with the sheet. His head pounded in protest, but he didn't care. The door opened, and a short, overweight woman in a maid's uniform entered the room.

"Oh, so sorry! I come back!" She quickly backed out of the room with wide eyes staring at the naked man in the bed. She was told the room was unoccupied, but sometimes errors happened.

Despite how his head felt, Sam got up and located his clothing. It was scattered all over the room. He picked up each piece and retreated to the bathroom for a quick shower. His skin felt as if he'd had a sweet, sticky mixed drink dumped on him, but his shirt and shorts were clean. The shower helped him feel a little better, and he quickly put his wrinkled clothes back on. His wallet was missing, which really shouldn't have been a surprise. No doubt the girl saw him as an easy mark, got him drunk, and slipped something into his drink when he wasn't looking. He wasn't sure how it happened, but he got snookered.

Even more surprising was that, when he found his wayward sandal under the bed, he also found his wallet. And nothing appeared to be out of place. Even the cash was there in his money clip. He shook his head in bemusement. This is too weird!

Sam left the room and went down to the lobby, debating whether he should go to the front desk and ask if anyone had paid for the room, or who booked it to begin with. As much as he would have liked to sneak out, his curiosity got the better of him, so he moved toward the desk. He was in the Beacon, and that's about all he knew.

"Hi, I was staying up in room 212. This is going to sound really crazy, but can you tell me who booked the room?"

"May I have your name, Sir?"

"Sam Axe."

The woman searched her computer and shook her head. "I'm sorry, no one by that name rented a room here."

"Maybe it was under Chuck Finley, or Charles Finley?" Sam squinted, trying to hold off another headache. "Was it a man or a woman who booked it?"

"A woman did, and she paid with cash. I'm sorry, that's all I can tell you."

"Alright, thanks." He walked away, still not knowing the answer to this mystery. He wondered where the woman went. Maybe he could find her at Carlito's again and get some answers.

She wasn't there, and no one on the morning crew had seen anyone matching her description. He tried just about every bar on South Beach, but it was if she'd disappeared into thin air. With nothing better to do, he went back to his tiny apartment to change clothes and grab his fishing gear, and he returned to the beach. He was quickly learning that his life in Miami was boring without the interruption of his best friend's exploits. He could try to go it on his own, but they'd spent too much time as a team for him to start from scratch. This little hiccup created just enough excitement to tide him over until things went back to normal.

"Man, Frase, this was too easy. Look at the guy! He acts like nothin's out of the ordinary." Ray walked with Fraser a block behind Chuck Finley. "The Dragon Lady's intel wasn't kidding that this guy gets around. Did you see all the bars he hit this morning? And he's not even weaving!"

"Some people can hold their alcohol better than others, Ray."

"Yeah, but twelve bars in two hours! He must have been doin' shots. Now he's going fishing? I mean, I never heard of a spy going fishing, have you?" Ray shoved his hands into his shorts pockets, feeling the warm metal of the handcuffs in one of the deep pockets. His shirt was unbuttoned, showing off his white tank top and the muscles underneath, causing more than one attractive woman to stare and smile. He gave them a sexy grin back, but he had work to do. Maybe there'd be time for play later.

Fraser wore a powder blue polo shirt with khaki pants, had plenty of women staring, but he completely ignored them. He was too focused on the mission. "Our CSIS operative was able to make contact with Finley yesterday. She shared some drinks with him, took him to the Beacon Hotel, and made sure he was unconscious before planting the bug and tracking device in his money clip."

"So have your guys been getting anything worthwhile off it?"

"Not yet. However, they did say he used an alias at the Beacon to attempt to find out who rented the room."

"What name did he use?"

"Sam Axe."

Ray nodded. "Yeah, that was the alias on the list. The very very short list, I might add. What kind of spy is he anyway? He has only one alias, Sam Axe? And what kind of name is that? Sounds like a comic book character or something, not a spy."

"Maybe you can ask him when we capture him, Ray."

"Haha, funny Fraser. We'll be lucky to get anything without beating it out of him, if he was really in SpecOps. Those guys are tough. And besides, that's the CSIS guys' job, isn't it?"

"Yes. Our job is to apprehend him. Stop, Ray. He's on the beach." Fraser jutted his chin in the direction where Charles Finley stood on the sand setting up his fishing gear.

"How do you wanna do this, Frase? There are too many people around right now to just grab him."

"We'll pretend we're a couple of tourists, start asking him questions about his fishing, and get into his confidence. Then we'll get him somewhere less conspicuous, invite him to lunch. We'll then signal the van, they pull up, and we cuff him and throw him into the vehicle."

"Not a bad plan. I knew eventually I'd rub off on ya." The corner of Ray's mouth tipped up into a smile. "I know if you had your Mountie uniform on, you'd go charging in there, lasso him, and drag him off to the CSIS guys."

"Oh Ray, let's be reasonable."

Ray laughed. "I am, Frase. You and I have spent too many years working together, I know how you operate." They crossed the street and cautiously approached Charles Finley. By the time they reached him, he was knee deep in the ocean casting a line.

One of the things Ray hated most about his job was surveillance, which sometimes required spending hours in one place staring at inanimate objects, waiting for someone to appear. Hopefully their suspect. But in this case, it wasn't so bad watching a guy fish. Back home, if he had time and a good place to go, he'd grab his pole and fish in his off hours. He'd never tried it in the ocean before. Maybe, before they nabbed Chuck Finley, he would let him have a chance.

Sam felt like he was being watched, and his instincts told him it wasn't some hot bikini babe. He turned a little as he cast his line again and saw two men on the beach staring at him. The dark haired one in the preppy clothes looked like he was studying a specimen. The blonde with the spiky hair wearing an outfit similar to his own looked like he wanted something. Hey, maybe they want me to do a job. The line flew out into the surf and he slowly brought it back in. Still nothing. He shook his head and reeled it in completely, then turned and came out of the water. They were still there.

"Hi. Can I help you guys?"

"Not really. We were just watching you fish. Do you catch a lot out here," Fraser asked.

"Some days. Most days, I just come out here to think more than anything."

The blonde eyed his fishing rod. "That's some rig ya got there."

"Thanks. It's built for ocean fishing. I've got a buddy with a boat and sometimes I go out marlin fishing with him. You need a sturdy rod to catch one of those babies." He grinned, recalling the last one he and Virgil captured.

"Hey...mind if I give it a try?" The blonde stuck out his hand. "Name's Ray...Ray Vecchio. This is my friend Fraser."

Sam nodded and extended his hand. "Sam Axe. Sure, you can give it a shot, if you don't have a problem with a left-handed reel."

"I'll deal," Ray said with a smile as he took the rod from Sam. He kicked off his shoes and waded in just like Sam did. It took him a few tries to get used to the weight, the feel and the reel on the left side, but he was soon casting out like a pro.

"He's got some experience. Lake fishing, no doubt." He'd picked up on the guy's midwestern accent. "You guys from Chicago?" Sam met Fraser's stare and knew by the man's silent reaction that he'd hit it dead on.

"Well, Ray is. I'm from Canada."

Sam nodded. "And here I was thinking Michigan. Not much of an accent on you."

Fraser's eyes squinted as he studied Sam. "You're quite astute about such things."

"In my line of work, it helps. My friends and I, we help people who are having trouble with lawbreakers, extortionists, kidnappers, drug dealers, you name it. We...let's say we give them a resolution that the cops are unable or unwilling to pursue."

"I see."

"Do you need that kind of help? Is that why you two were standing here watching me?" Sam stood with his hands casually in his pockets, but he was on alert. There was something about these guys that got the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

"No. Not exactly. We need you..." Fraser hesitated as he watched his friend finish up with the rod and come back up the beach. "We'd like you to come with us."

"Why?" His radar was really up now. In his pocket, he hit the speed dial for Mike's phone, hoped he would pick up and hear their conversation. Then he'd have backup if things went south.

He heard a muffled response as Mike picked up.

"Excuse me, there's someone on your phone," Fraser said as he glanced down at the pocket in which Sam's hand figeted.

"Oh! Really? Well, yeah, how about that? Let me take this." Sam spoke into the phone. "Hey Mikey, how's it going?"

"Sam, you called me. What's going on?"

"Not much, I'm at the beach due east from my place. You know, where the pier is? Anyway, I'm out here fishing and these two guys just came over, we're hanging out, they're asking questions..."

"Sam, are you in trouble?"

"Maybe, don't know yet. We're going to head over to Carlito's, have some drinks, and talk."

"Fi and I will be there in ten minutes. Keep them busy."

"Will do, Mike. See you soon." He closed off the connection and sighed. That turned out better than he anticipated. "So, how about it, guys? Wanna go over to Carlito's? They've got some of the best food and drinks in town, and it's reasonable, too."

Fraser and Ray looked at each other. "Sure, why not?"

"Great. We can even walk over there, it's just up the way a couple blocks. Let me ditch my gear in my car first." He walked to the car, put everything in the trunk, and led them to his team's favorite watering hole.

Ray had to fight to keep himself from getting giddy. This was just too damn easy! And this guy is supposed to be a spy? Finley was leading himself right into their trap, but Ray suspected that the guy maybe got suspicious and was playing it safe by going to a place he knew well. He and Fraser could both see it in the way he looked at them as he made small talk along the way. He was almost sorry that their mission would be over so soon, because Ray never even had a chance to get out and sample the nightlife.

Fraser and Ray followed Finley to the bar, all the while looking around and calculating where was the best location for the van. It followed them and passed, and Fraser watched it turn off a side street before coming back. The driver found a space near the open air bar. Now they needed to situate Finley at a table on the outside, back facing north, and he would be in the perfect position to grab.

"Here, let's sit here," Finley said as he indicated a table half way into the establishment. "This is where I usually sit with my friends."

"Ah, I was hoping we could find something closer to the sidewalk," Fraser said.

Finley gave him a grin and chuckled. "I get it. It's a better view of the babes. But trust me, this table is better if you wanna talk." He pulled out a chair looking toward the street and sat.

So much for that plan. Fraser glanced at Ray and realized that his friend had been thinking the same thing. "Well then, allow me to get the first round." Fraser made a move toward the bar. "What would you care for?"

"Come on, sit down, Frase." He raised an arm and the server came over. "Consuela! Por favor!" He gave her a big grin.

"Hello, Sam. What'll it be today?"

"Well, let's see what my friends want. Frase, Ray? I highly recommend the mojitos. Best ones in town are right here."

"Yeah, sure, I'll have one."

While Fraser didn't normally imbibe, he agreed. At least he'd get to experience something from Miami before they had to leave with their prisoner.

"Tres mojitos, Consuela."

"Coming right up, Sam."

Finley sat back in his chair and his eyes slid from one to the other behind his sunglasses. Fraser saw the movement, thanks to the way the late morning sun filtered into the place. The man was definitely suspicious. It was best to keep an eye on him, in case things went bad quickly. Fraser leaned back in his chair, giving the impression of being relaxed, but in reality he was on alert.

Finley spoke. "So, your friend says you're from Chicago, Ray. What do you do up there?"

"Not much, just a cubicle monkey."

"And you, Fraser?"

"I work in...security." It was true enough, if one considered all the times he spent on guard duty at a consulate that no one ever bothered to storm.

"Down here on vacation? I don't blame ya. It's cold up there now! After I retired from the Navy, I got a one way ticket to Miami and never regretted it." The drinks arrived, and he took a sip of his. "Oh yeah, just perfect Consuela." He turned toward her as she walked away. "Hey, tell Julio to keep 'em coming for me and my friends!"

That's all the time Ray needed. The second Finley turned his back, Ray dropped the powder into Finley's drink. Unfortunately, there was no time to mix it, so they would have to hope he didn't see the chemicals infusing into the liquid.

When Finley returned his attention to the men, Ray sat leaning forward over his drink, sampling it. "Wow, that's good."

"Yeah, didn't I tell you?" He grinned and took a long drag on his. "Hits the spot on a hot day. Come on, Fraser, give it a try!"

Fraser took a cautious sip. The high alcohol content hit him like a sledgehammer between the eyes. Finley saw his reaction and laughed. Turning to Ray, he said, "Looks like your pal doesn't drink much."

"No, he doesn't. He's kind of a stick in the mud that way."

"So, what were you guys planning to do while you're here in Miami? You like to fish, I know a guy who rents boats for charter fishing out on the open water. Oh, and you gotta go do the airboat rides in the 'glades. Those are great!"

Fraser watched Finley as he spoke. His speech began to slur, and he was totally unaware that he was falling under the influence of the knock out drug that Ray had put into his drink. All they had to do was be patient and wait it out. Another few minutes, and a couple more downings like the first one, and Charles Finley would be incapacitated. Then, under the guise of being helpful, they would take him to the waiting van. Fraser would put on the restraints once he was inside, because they didn't want to attract too much attention.

"Okay, somethin's not right. I...I'm not feelin' so great." Finley's head bowed, and Fraser saw that it took him a great effort to keep upright in his chair.

"Hey, maybe we better get you home," Ray suggested.

"Yes. We'll get you home, and if you give us your keys, Ray or I can drive your car there."

"No, no, no. That's not necessary."

Fraser tried reasoning with him. "Really. We insist. You can't leave your car where it's parked all day, can you?"

"No." Finley lay his forehead on the table and let out a breath.

"Come on. Give me your keys, and we'll get you home." Ray held out his hand.

While Finley gave him the keys, Fraser waved the server over. "We'd like to settle the bill, please."

"Sam, are you okay?"

He lifted an arm and it dropped weakly. Then he tried lifting his head, but he only succeeded in turning it to rest on his left cheek as he looked at her. Or tried to. Fraser recognized the glassiness in his eyes. He was fighting it. Finley knew by now that they drugged him. It would still be useless for him to resist, but he could make a big enough fuss that someone would come to his aid.

"No, I'm not fine, Consuela. Call...call Mike." Then his eyes slid closed, and he was out.

"That's quite unnecessary, Miss," Fraser said as he stood and reached for Finley's arm. Ray stood and took the other one.

"Okay. I'll, uh, I'll just put these on Sam's tab. You better get him home. He's probably still recovering from that last case that he and Michael and Fiona handled."

"Excuse me, Consuela, these spies tell you about their missions?" Fraser asked her, incredulous that they would be so bold.

Consuela laughed, her smile lighting up. "They're not spies, sir. They have a, well, it's not really a detective agency, but...they help people. I really shouldn't talk about it any more than that." She looked past Fraser and noted a couple walking toward the bar. "Oh, look! There are Michael and Fiona right now! I'm sure if you stick around..."

"No thanks, we've gotta get going. Frase! Grab him!"

Consuela gasped and in her shock jumped back, giving them free access to Finley. Fraser grabbed one arm, and Ray the other. They hauled him out of the chair, letting it fall backwards to the floor. They draped his arms over their shoulders, and hustled to the black panel van that waited in a tow away zone.

"Sam? Sam!"

Fraser glanced down the street and saw the dark haired, well-built man and a slim woman with reddish brown hair walking toward them on the sidewalk. They gaped at Fraser, Ray, and Finley, and then the man started running toward them. "Now! Go!" He and Ray pushed Finley into the van, Fraser jumped inside, and Ray slid the door closed as it peeled away and down the street.

"Sam!" Fraser heard the woman scream. Finley must have firmly entrenched himself in Miami with his alias for even his friends to use the false name. Not unlike his friend Ray, when he took on another man's name to protect him from the mob while he worked undercover.

"Where are we headed now," Ray asked.

"MIA. The airport." The driver, Agent Foster, said with a confident smirk. "By the time Finley wakes up, he'll be in Chicago at the CSIS offices."