Special thanks to amethyst for her kind review. I appreciate it.

Chapter VIII

"Indeed," answered a different voice, deep and hearty, "and from ours. I can't thank you enough, Sergei. This is truly an evening of triumph for both of us."

Frank peered cautiously around the pillar. He could see the backs of two men, exiting from a door he couldn't identify and moving down the corridor to his right. One was less than average height and slender, the other tall and broad shouldered and silver haired. Both wore dark overcoats. Both looked well groomed and important. The taller one was talking, using expansive hand gestures. The smaller one had his hands in his pockets. Frank strained his ears to hear him speak again. He didn't.

Frank stared after them in frustration. He had to follow them, but there was absolutely no cover in that corridor, and to be spotted could have uncomfortable consequences. He hesitated, biting his lip. He'd have to risk it, he decided.

He let them get a good lead, then followed casually, gazing at each door, like a tourist looking for the men's room. The silver haired man pushed open a fire door at the end of the hallway and gestured the other man ahead. Frank gave a hiss of disappointment. His position only afforded a good look at the back of the man's head. The fire door swung closed behind them with a click.

Frank frowned after them. Going through a door marked "for emergencies only" would be a dead giveaway. No one would believe he was following casually. Maybe if he let them get far enough ahead...leaning gently on the panic bar, he eased the door open a crack and pressed his eye to it. Parked down the block with its engine idling he saw a large, dark blue Lincoln. A driver was holding the door for the silver haired man. The other man was already inside. There was no way he could follow a car. He stared after it as it pulled away from the curb. The license read "MIMI". The car made a right at the corner, disappeared into San Francisco traffic.

"Looking for us?"

Frank jumped about two feet in the air. "Joe," he gasped, pressing a hand to his heart. "Don't do that."

"Sorry. Thought you'd be glad to see us." He indicated the paper bag he was carrying. "Lunch is served. Say-" he eyed his brother curiously. "What gives?"

"I just - " Frank paused, trying to explain. "I was following two guys. One of them - I'm sure - well, pretty sure, anyway, was Cobra."

Frank repeated his story over corned beef sandwiches and chips in the Green Room.

Callie sipped at her soda. "Did you get a look at him?"

Frank shook his head. "Not really. I only saw his back. He was about the same size...well, I guess he was. It was pretty far away at Alcatraz, and both times he wore loose clothing. He didn't even speak again, and when he did speak, I was half asleep. But it looked like the guy he was with was important. They left in one of those Lincolns."

Joe chewed a mouthful of chips. "We can get a look at the roster, see who signed it out."

Frank nodded. "Good idea. He said something about flowers for Kareechniva."

"She's the Russian soloist doing Marguerite tonight. She gets to wear the necklace." Callie supplied.

Frank screwed his eyes shut, struggling to remember. "The other guy called him Sergei. Ring a bell?"

Joe and Callie both shook their heads. Joe reached for another sandwich. "You know, Frank, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but..."

Frank looked at him. "But what?"

"But...well. I'm not saying we shouldn't check it out, but it's been a rough couple of days. Are you sure you weren't dreaming?"

Frank started to say of course he was sure, then hesitated. Was he? Had he actually heard the voice while he was awake, or was it just haunting his dreams? "Not entirely," he admitted at last. "Still, it's as much of a lead as we've got."

"I'll go see if I can get a peek at that log. While I'm there I'll stare at the jewels for a while." Joe picked up one of the walkmans and tossed the other to Frank. "And while we work, we can enjoy some musical accompaniment. Something tells me you can't dance to it."

Joe took the stairs to the administrative offices in search of Alissa. He saw no sign of her, but he did see that the door of the office he'd broken into - was it really only the other night? - was ajar. He peered inside, trying to look casual. Seeing no one, he entered quickly, and, pulling the logs off of the desk, ducked behind the door to read them. He started with the one on the left. Sure enough, it was the automobile log. Since he was already familiar with the way it was set up, he had no problem finding what he was looking for among the entries. Frank had said that the license plate was "MIMI", and it was signed out to one Brandon Carstairs. Whoever he was. Alissa would probably be able to enlighten him, if he could track her down.

He put the logs back where he'd found them, and checking the hallway carefully for passerbys, stepped back outside the office and slipped the headphones on. He might as well get familiar with the music while he looked around.

He made his way back down the stairs to the lobby and watched the crowd around the display case, making his way restlessly in and out of the pillars. He frankly thought his brother's precautions were ridiculous, but after what they'd been through the last few days, he'd decided to humor him. So he spent some time boredly watching the viewers and listening to the soldiers sing about vin and bier, whatever that was. Actually, the music wasn't half bad. Had kind of a cool beat.

After he felt he'd done his duty, he rewound the cassette tape and started back to the Green Room. Callie could take the last shift. He was part way to the Green Room when he decided on a detour. Alissa might be back in the office by now, and he was dying to know who Brandon Carstairs was. Anyway, it wouldn't hurt to check.

He made his way up the staircase toward the fourth floor administration offices, mulling over Frank's experience in the lobby.

Supposing the figure he'd seen was Cobra, what was he doing wandering casually around the Opera House? It sounded as though he was well connected, and that made their position more precarious than ever. They were going to need irrefutable evidence to convince anybody that a group of teenagers had the goods on some important official. He was frowning, deep in thought, when he rounded the landing to the fourth floor. There was a chorus rehearsal room up there - maybe Alissa was in there. He started down the narrow corridor and stepped into the balcony. He moved stealthily, more out of habit than need, and turned the corner. And stopped dead. He was face to face with a figure in black, frozen into sudden immobility.

TBC