Carter was not going to wait for LeBeau to make his decision. As the Newkirk impostor bounded up the stairs in typical Springheel Jack fashion, the sergeant pulled the corporal inside the room, pulling both of them under the tiny space under the bed.
LeBeau silently cursed, keeping his eyes shut. He didn't trust himself to look at his surroundings for fear that his claustrophobia would start up again—working in the tunnels beneath Stalag 13 had temporarily desensitized him to enclosed spaces, but he had no chances to keep up this "treatment" method in the past two years since the war's end.
The impostor could be heard leaping around outside in the corridor, opening one room after another, eventually arriving in the guest room. LeBeau still didn't open his eyes, but Carter watched as the impostor's feet bounded into his line of vision.
The impostor opened the closet, not uttering a sound as he looked around. As he opened the closet door, something slipped from his hand and landed on the carpeted floor. Carter's eyes widened; even in the dim light of the setting sun, the sight of green gemstones on a brooch was unmistakable.
The fake Newkirk cursed and picked up the brooch before continuing his search of the room. Thankfully, the double didn't think of looking under the bed, and he left the room soon after. Carter let out a silent sigh as the impostor's footsteps suddenly switched to regular walking as he headed down the staircase once again.
The faint sounds of the ersatz Newkirk rifling through the room downstairs resumed, and it was only then that LeBeau and Carter crawled out into the open.
"We might be able to apprehend him," LeBeau mouthed.
Carter shook his head.
"He could be armed; the colonel wouldn't want anything to happen to us," he mouthed back.
"But it certainly means a lot that he is here, in the reporter's house."
"Does it?" Carter wondered. "Listen to that noise downstairs. He's looking for something."
LeBeau jerked his head towards the master bedroom.
"That robotics equipment?" he offered.
Carter gave a half-nod.
"Maybe, but I think he's just looking for more jewelry; I saw him drop an emerald brooch," the sergeant explained. "Come on; let's get out of here."
He moved to seize a couple of sheets from the bed, tied them together and then to the bedpost, and worked his way down after making sure that no one was nearby. LeBeau followed, finally letting out an audible sigh as they snuck into the shrubbery and crept off of the property. Casually, the duo walked down the street, heading for the bus stop.
"Well, we certainly had an eventful afternoon," the American commented. "And we even got pictures of the robotics and Repli-kirk."
"I just wish I could've put that impostor in his place," LeBeau muttered. "If I had done so, I could have easily cleared Pierre's name."
"Well, it's like I said back there—he could've easily killed you. Even during the war, we avoided direct attacks whenever possible."
"True," LeBeau admitted. "We always worked best from the shadows."
"That makes us sound almost sinister," Carter mused. "Hey, it'd be great for a movie. 'From the darkness they come, and into the darkness they retreat when their task is done: the Shadow Heroes!'"
"The 'Shadow Heroes' would benefit from making sure that no one's following them as the evening darkness falls," Hogan's voice issued from right behind them.
Carter and LeBeau both jumped.
"Colonel!" Carter exclaimed. "Boy, do we have stuff to tell you! We only just got out of that place, and… Why are you here? I thought you and Kinch were with Peter."
"In case you two were unaware of the current time, it's a quarter to six," Hogan said.
LeBeau sighed.
"Pardon, Colonel—I know we promised to call Kinch, but we only got out of the house just now. And it would have been most unwise to use her phone. Was Kinch very worried?"
"Yes, and Newkirk's past worried. By this point, you two should consider yourself lucky if the most you get from him is a punch on the nose when you get back. I had to come out here so that he wouldn't. Come on; we're taking the bus back."
LeBeau and Carter exchanged sheepish glances as Hogan led them along.
"We're sorry, Sir," the young American said. "It's like I was saying—you wouldn't believe what we saw in there. It's why we weren't able to leave—"
"Colonel, Pierre's double is in there—the Springheel Jack!"
Hogan's eyes widened. He knew there had to have been a good reason for why they had not called, and, by the sound of it, his hunch was right.
"Yeah—I told Louis that it was a good idea not to try to confront him until we got the okay from you, in case he was armed or something. We got out through the second-floor window with the old bedsheet rope trick."
"Should we go back and confront him, Colonel? If we capture him, we can clear Pierre's name!"
"No; he's likely to have left by now," Hogan said. "He'll have gotten out of there the moment he got a look at your escape rope. But now we're onto something; it can't be a coincidence that you saw Newkirk's double at the reporter's house. What was he doing in there?"
"He was looking for stuff to steal, I think," Carter said. "I saw him with an emerald brooch. But Louis thinks he might also be after the robotics equipment we found in the master bedroom."
Hogan gave Carter a long stare.
"Maybe you'd better tell me the whole story from the beginning."
The search through Newkirk's apartment yielded nothing in the way of hidden microphones or any spy equipment that might have been left behind. Left with nothing else to do but wait, they turned on the radio, Kinch half-listening to it as he watched Newkirk pace.
Kinch didn't blame Newkirk for pacing the apartment while he incessantly muttered under his breath—a combination of his vocal worries for LeBeau and Carter, as well as few British curses. But the staff sergeant seemed to be getting tenser himself with every round that Newkirk made as he paced.
"Maybe we should both have a cup of coffee," he suggested.
Newkirk took a look at the coffeepot.
"I don't know, Kinch—that lot 'as been in the pot since morning. Drink that, and we won't get any sleep tonight."
"I doubt either of us could get any sleep at this point even if we didn't drink it."
"…Good point…"
Newkirk put the coffeepot back on the stove to reheat it and resumed pacing while Kinch temporarily turned his attention back to the radio. He soon turned back to Newkirk after a few more minutes of pacing.
"Look," said Kinch. "I'm sure there's a good reason why they didn't call. Carter's the one most likely to forget—you know that."
"Maybe Andrew is, but not Louis," Newkirk said, flatly. "Louis knows the way I think."
Newkirk slammed his hand down on the table.
"I tell you, Kinch, that ruddy fool drives me completely mad. Louis knows exactly what gets me goat, and more often than not, 'e gets it. 'e never cooks English food, 'e always 'as to argue with me over every little thing and always must win, and 'e never misses a chance to patronize me. And 'ere I am, worried sick that Louis might not come through that door. Cor blimey, is there even a name for this?"
"Last time I checked, it was called 'brotherly love.'"
Newkirk froze in his tracks, turning his head towards Kinch and staring at him in a mixture of wonder and admiration. He nodded.
"That explains a lot—why didn't I think of it before? Louis and I must've been brothers in a previous life. Andrew, too…"
"And Carter doesn't get your goat at all?"
"Oh, 'e does, but purely by accident."
Kinch chuckled in response, turning his attention back to the radio as the newscaster droned on. Newkirk went to get the coffee, lost in his own thoughts as he got a pair of mugs and placed them on the counter.
He had just taken the coffeepot over to the mugs when the newscaster's voice suddenly turned serious.
"We are now receiving conformation of the reports that a murder has just taken place in Epping. Details are still pending, but it is believed that this murder is connected to the recent rash of the Springheel Jack sightings and robberies around Greater London—"
A loud, metal clang issued from the kitchen as Newkirk dropped the coffeepot. He yet out a strangled yell as the hot liquid splashed onto his feet, but he leaped out of the kitchen, tearing his slippers off as he ran where Kinch was with radio.
"You said they were in Epping?" Newkirk asked Kinch, his eyes filled with unbridled fear. "And they didn't call…"
"Hold on," Kinch said. "Are you sure you all right? You weren't burned by the coffee, were you?"
"Oh, for the love of 'eaven, forget about me!" Newkirk responded, turning up the volume of the radio. "Was there any description of the victim?"
The newscaster didn't give him anymore information—she didn't know the details, either. Newkirk stared despondently at the radio as he sunk to his knees. He barely heard Kinch saying that he had to calm down and not automatically assume the worst. But the Englishman was now mentally berating himself. His sixth sense had told him—practically screamed at him—not to let LeBeau and Carter go off to Outer London alone…
The Englishman barely even heard the door open, but he did hear Carter's cheerful "We're back!"
To Newkirk, it almost sounded like the voice of an angel.
He turned to see LeBeau, Carter, and Hogan carefully avoiding the torn part of the carpet as his ears also registered Kinch's quiet prayer of thanks. Newkirk then ran forward, practically pulling LeBeau over the ruined carpet, as he weighed the least, and launched into full fury as he ranted at him.
LeBeau stared at Newkirk in utter shock for the first ten seconds of the rant before beginning to counter in his native tongue, but at the same volume. Carter stared at them, his eyes widening from the spectacle, as well as the knowledge that it would be his turn next once Newkirk had finished with the Frenchman.
"He actually seems more upset than I thought he'd be," Hogan admitted, looking to Kinch.
"Well, we heard over the radio that they just confirmed that a murder took place in Epping not too long ago. Newkirk, of course, jumped to conclusions," Kinch explained. "And I have to admit that I was beginning to make a jump, myself…"
"What?" Hogan asked, flatly. After hearing Carter and LeBeau's story on the bus ride back about the robotics and the fake Newkirk showing up, he realized that he should not have been so surprised about an incident occurring in Epping. But, still… a murder? Were they that desperate to frame Newkirk?
Hogan shook his head. They would have to tell Newkirk the entire truth about the situation and the interview set-up, and that things were getting more complicating—and dire.
"All right, hold it!" he ordered, but LeBeau and Newkirk went right on yelling at each other. "HOLD IT!"
Both corporals' heads turned, their eyes wide and faces red.
"Brotherly love," Kinch explained to Hogan, wryly.
Hogan bit back a smirk and continued.
"Newkirk, you may as well know that it wasn't LeBeau and Carter's idea to go to Epping; it was mine. I found out the address of that reporter and had instructed them to take a look around while you kept her busy in town."
Newkirk blinked. He wasn't upset by this revelation, thankfully, though he was slightly disappointed that he hadn't been privy to this information.
"Did they find anything?" he inquired.
"Did we ever!" Carter exclaimed, waving his camera. "We've got your double on film!"
"You mean 'e was there, in Sandiego's place?" Newkirk asked, stunned. "What was he doing?"
"Robbing it, we think," LeBeau said, his voice still somewhat cool. "André saw him take a piece of jewelry. We had to hide when he heard us upstairs and had to sneak out later; that is why we were unable to call."
"Blimey, maybe 'e went after 'er because she said she wanted to 'elp clear me name. Cor, you don't think that was 'er who was killed, do you?"
"Before you start worrying about her, you may as well know that she was not innocent, either," LeBeau went on, wanting to be the one to break the news to him. "We found under-construction robotics in her bedroom."
"Robotics?" Kinch repeated, intrigued.
"Yeah, and we got those on film, too!" Carter grinned. "She also had saved a bunch of Spanish articles on robotics—she didn't even write them, but they were all circled and everything."
"So you see, Pierre, I was right about her all along!" LeBeau said. "She is a spy!"
"As you say in your language, Louis—au contraire. That Springheel Jack is doing 'is best to frame me. 'e could easily be trying to frame that reporter, too."
He didn't really believe this—and everyone in the room knew it. This was just a matter of not admitting to LeBeau that he was right, especially after all the worry that the Frenchman had put him through. And even though LeBeau knew this was a matter of pride, he was still not about to let Newkirk win.
"Imbécile, you are grasping at straws! You are worse than André and his long list of people he thinks could be Gretel!"
This would have kicked off the yelling between them all over again, except that Hogan intervened.
"Boy," Carter sighed, as the colonel restored peace. "I shudder to think what you two would do if you didn't really care about each other… After what Louis told me about—"
"Shut up!" the Frenchman hissed, worried that he was referring to his will.
"—About how he wanted to apprehend that impostor," Carter finished, making LeBeau go red again.
"One problem with your gallant plan, Louis," Newkirk said. "Just 'ow would you take on someone who is a copy of this flawless physical specimen?"
"Let me demonstrate, I implore you; it would be my pleasure."
Kinch shook his head. Newkirk was right—they really must have been brothers in another time and place.
"Enough," Hogan said. "Things have just gotten even more serious with this latest report. Getting Newkirk framed for robberies is one thing. But now they've taken this to the level of murder."
"You'll still be able to pull those strings, won't you, Sir?" Newkirk asked, more concerned than he was letting on.
"Of course I will, but it'll be harder," the colonel admitted. "I suggest getting back into that Scotsman's disguise and not getting out of it at all."
"Aye," Newkirk answered, in his best Scottish accent. He failed to fully hide how upset he was by this recent twist, and even LeBeau's anger began to dissipate as he felt compassion for his friend. In hindsight, Newkirk snapping at him was something he should've expected.
"Look on the bright side, Peter," Carter said, placing a hand on the Englishman's shoulder. "Things couldn't possibly get any worse, can they?"
"I reckon they can't," Newkirk admitted. He felt the familiar arm of LeBeau around him, and he took a moment to marvel at how their behavior towards each other had changed in a matter of seconds.
"Kinch, turn the radio up," Hogan said. "I want to hear if they find out anything else about the Epping murder."
"Sure, but they're on the international headlines at the moment," Kinch said, turning up the volume.
"German Intelligence is shaken to the core after a raid was launched on one of its maximum-security prison facilities in Heidelberg earlier today," the newscaster said. "Though the attackers are still, at this time, unknown, it has been confirmed that only one inmate has escaped—convicted war criminal Wolfgang Hochstetter. Investigations are being launched to determine how the breach occurred and if the attackers had received help from the inside."
All eyes turned to Carter, who gave a sheepish smile.
"I knew I should've listened to Mom when she said to never tempt fate…"