She unlocked the door of her room, walked in, and turned to face him, the same secret smile curling her lips. The moment the latch clicked into place, Oscar slipped his arms around her, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"So for once I get to fog up your glasses." Before she could respond he huffed two short breaths at the lenses, and while her vision was still misty, he kissed her. Giggly and exhilarated, she threw her arms around his neck.

It was a mission a few years ago that got it all started. They rolled into her apartment after an insane afternoon of revealing traitors, rescuing her reputation, and nearly being blown to kingdom come by an exploding safe. Extremely relieved and more than a little giddy, they were horsing around, (she had just been teasing him about wanting a raise, and he clobbered her with a pillow) and she was suddenly completely overcome by the urge to kiss him. So she did. In the next few minutes Oscar made a couple of halfhearted attempts to disentangle himself, but his self discipline melted like butter in the sun. One thing led to another, and now, here they were - friends, colleagues, and occasional lovers. When they were in the same place at the same time, they shared meals, chatted comfortably, and when the opportunity arose, they closed the door to the rest of the world and fell into each other's arms.

In those intimate moments, there were no protestations of love; they made no plans – and they muted the tenderness and ardor they felt for each other with jokes and teasing. They talked about many things, from the banal to the philosophical, but they never spoke of their lives in relation to each other. They were simply two single people, occasionally enjoying physical intimacy together. Not one of their friends knew the extent of their relationship, though the complicity between them was obvious to everyone.

An hour later Oscar had dressed and returned to his room to review his documents for the meeting. Jaime, not wishing to linger in the afterglow alone, showered, ironed the wrinkles out of her suit, and went down to the grand sunroom on the south side of the building. It was empty except for an elderly couple seated on a big couch, each soberly regarding their sections of the newspaper through the bottoms of their bifocals.

She sat in a creaky wicker chair that faced out to the view, and for the first time she took real notice of the two giant rounded rocks that blocked the sky on the left of the vista. How odd that the hotel had been built right next to them. Odder still, she mused, that amongst the jagged peaks, those smooth boulders sat in the valley like eggs in a nest. Could they be volcanic? For the hundredth time she made a mental note to learn more about geology. In the meantime, she would ask Oscar – he would know.

Oh, Oscar – there was no denying she was feeling wistful, and he was the cause. Maybe it was time she faced up to facts. He meant more to her than he ought to - and that was just no good.

This was the Seventies – she was supposed to be liberated - free to see and sleep with whomever she pleased. Accordingly, she dated a lot, enjoyed herself tremendously, and never got too serious.

How often had she heard the line Women confuse sex with love in the last few years? Right now she was wondering if she had been sold a bill of goods. Weren't sex and love linked together? Sometimes, anyway?

Maybe I should end it... she wondered. Inadvertently, her eyes screwed shut. She forced them open. He was a hopeless cause. Though they were good together, and the physical connection between them was wonderful, there was no doubt in her mind – he might squeeze her into the few open moments of his life, but he loved his work best. He was married to it, after all. What more evidence did she need than the fact that when they were together he always ended up bolting out of bed like he was on fire, anxious to get back to that insane existence of his? She supposed she ought to give him credit for not being controlling or clingy – she appreciated that - but sometimes she wanted to cling. No, she was out of sight, out of mind with Oscar.

Her life, she told herself yet again, was waiting out there for her…she just had to find it.

"Excuse me…"

She jumped. When she turned in the direction of the voice, there was a man sitting next to her. It took her a moment to realize he was in a wheelchair.

"I'm sorry," he said with a regretful smile, "I didn't mean to startle you." He was a smallish man, very pale, with sad, intelligent eyes.

"That's all right." To reassure him it really was all right, she sat up and gave him her full attention.

"Do you work here?" he asked carefully, as though she might be startled again. Somewhat unkempt, what remained of his mouse colored hair needed cutting, and he had nicked his chin in two places while shaving.

"No, I'm afraid I don't."

He threw his small hands in the air, as though appalled by his own stupidity. "My apologies - I'm doubly wrong to have interrupted you. It must be your attire – you don't quite look like a guest."

"Well, that's because I'm not, I guess. I am working - but not for the hotel… well, not at this instant, but I will be later." How she hated it when she offered up more than she needed to. She was keenly aware of the light green eyes roving her face – taking in every twitch, every gesture. "It's probably the grey suit – the hotel staff wears grey too. It's an understandable mistake."

"Of course, you're right." He paused, his eyes resting comfortably on hers. "And…the work is not going well? I hope you'll forgive me, but I couldn't help but notice that you look…unhappy."

Jaime wondered momentarily if this was an arty pick up, but his manner suggested it was not. "Actually, it's more like regret. In fact, I'm in the doghouse. I forgot to give my boss some of the papers he needed for a meeting here, so I had to come all the way out here to deliver them. He was none too happy about it…and I'm new to the job and now I guess I'm wondering if I'm cut out for it."

"You'll be all right." he said, with a reassuring smile. "It's always hard when you're starting out. Experience is the best teacher, if not the most pleasant way to learn."

"Ain't that the truth!" she laughed. "I just hope I don't get fired before I collect all the experience I need. Or…" she mused, "maybe I want to be fired…" It amazed her how easily this fiction was rolling off her tongue, and how true it felt.

"But you're still here." The man pointed out encouragingly. "You haven't been sent home in disgrace."

"No you're right." Jaime admitted. "I'm pretty lucky, I guess. He decided I could be helpful later…and getting to come to this beautiful place…it's not so terrible, is it?"

The man twisted in his chair to face her better. He seemed to want to engage, as though he had found a sympathetic spirit. "Don't you think that when you're someplace truly beautiful – like this – you wonder about all your decisions? A landscape like this can make one wonder about the course of one's entire life. Is it going in the direction it ought to? I wonder if I lived here if I would actually be a better person." He shook his head slowly in contemplation of the question.

Jaime gazed out to the snowy mountains, so huge, so impassive - and so humbling. "I know what you mean."

"I've always loved the outdoors. I used to come out west all the time to camp and hike - to be closer to nature - but…not anymore."

Jaime was hard pressed to know what to say, assuming he was referring to his disability. "Well… this is a lovely alternative. That ground gets pretty hard in the middle of the night. Cold too."

He smiled at her, appreciative of her attempt at consolation. "I also come to take the waters – I know, I know," he added, as though he expected her to object, "a hopelessly old fashioned notion. But I sit for in the springs and it gives me the illusion that I feel better."

Jaime nodded and frowned sympathetically.

"I can see you're too polite to ask – it's multiple sclerosis. A steady downhill trip, I'm afraid."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." Jaime said, and she was.

"Well, I won't take up any more of your time." he said, suddenly cheerful, " – except to ask you - even though you don't work here - do you know where the dining room is?"

"As a matter of fact I do." Jaime replied, pleased to be helpful in some small way. She got up, pointed him in the correct direction, and watched him slowly wheel away from her.

She had banished her melancholy by the time she knocked on Oscar's door. He was in the middle of putting on his tie, and was now in full work mode – deadly serious and deeply preoccupied. There were no smiles, no jokes, and no intimacy between them now.

"I'm coming to the meeting." she said quickly, as though she could rush the idea past all his objections, straight to acceptance.

"I know."

"You're not going to kick up a stink?"

"I know a losing battle when I see one."

The meeting place was a small lounge on the same floor - an elegant room with large windows and a lovely view, meant for private parties and sparkling conversation. The hotel had provided coffee and sandwiches, and placed them on the big coffee table, along with a bouquet of fresh flowers. Flowers and Intelligence just didn't go together. Normally a symbol of innocence and purity, all Jaime could think was that a bouquet made an ideal hiding place for a microphone.

They were the first to arrive. Oscar was clearly anxious, jamming his hands in his pockets and pacing the edge of the room. She was about to say something soothing when from the door she heard a newly familiar voice.

"Well, well!" It was the man in the wheelchair, and he was looking at Jaime and smiling. "Now I get the picture."

"Dr. Prochazka?" Oscar said, advancing toward him, "I'm sorry about this, I –"

"I know. It's fine." The little man said, waving aside Oscar's concerns, "We met downstairs, the young lady and I." He shook both Oscar's and Jaime's hands, his grip light and tentative. The pleasantries lasted a few minutes, and followed a familiar pattern. Oscar, being the one to court Prochazka, opened the conversation with profuse compliments, followed by solid reassurances as to the doctor's safety and wellbeing. The other man responded with tentative compliments to Oscar and the OSI. He expressed regrets over past mistakes, sorrow over the fall of Dr. Franklin, some grave misgivings about his own future, and the desire to give Oscar whatever he wanted - provided a few conditions were met. Oscar then moved on to the concrete offer – a fully equipped lab at the OSI, as much technical support as he needed, a place to live, a handsome salary, and round the clock protection if he desired it.

Jaime watched the two men closely, while pretending to take notes in the small book she had brought with her. Prochazka gazed at Oscar in that same mild, attentive way he had looked at her earlier, and she knew exactly what he saw in front of him – a bureaucrat in a dark suit - imposing, humorless, earnest, opaque - and powerful. Oscar reeked of power. That was how she herself had regarded him when they first met, but now she knew better. He was playing a part – a carefully crafted 'commanding persona' to disguise the real man - who was gentle, warm, funny, oddly goofy, and even a little uncertain of himself. He put on a good performance – she had to give him that.

"That's an excellent offer, Mr. Goldman. It will be an enormous relief for me to get back to work again. I have been at a standstill since Dr. Franklin burned out in his dramatic way, and it has been extremely frustrating." A hesitant smile flicked across his face and turned quickly to an anxious frown. "I wonder if it is possible for you to do something else for me?"

"What's that?"

"I have a brother," Prochazka said, as though making a confession, "and I very much wish to see him again. He is my only remaining family, and that is important to me, even though we are strangers to one another. As you know, I am from Czechoslovakia, which, when I was born, was a great country – full of promise. When the Nazis marched in, my parents wisely decided to get out. The family split up - my father took me, and my mother took my brother - reasoning that if we escaped separately at it was more likely that at least half of us would make it. We were to meet in Dover…but my brother and my mother never arrived. It was impossible to find out what happened to them – especially after the Russians took over. A few years ago, by pulling every string available to me, I discovered that Kazimir was alive. As you might imagine, it has been my dream to get him out. I would like you to help me with that."

Jaime realized she had been holding her breath as Dr. Prochazka spoke –so many people in the world experienced such astonishing hardship in their lives.

Oscar, who had been expecting a more minor demand, nodded quietly. "That could be problematic, but let me look into it. I can't make any promises. We will of course have to investigate your brother thoroughly before we undertake any action."

"Of course - and thank you. It will mean so much to me. Now," he added, "Did you bring the Franklin papers with you?"

"As you requested." Oscar nodded. "And I will hand them to you on the plane - if you agree to accompany me back to Washington. I want you to understand, Doctor, that the papers will always remain physically in the hands of the OSI, and that every time you review them, I or a member of my security team will be present."

Prochazka exhaled, his nostrils flaring slightly, and he said in an aggrieved tone, "Is this a nice way to begin a relationship? Without trust?"

"No, it's not a nice way – but it's the only way." Oscar replied calmly. "I brought the papers in good faith because you made it a prerequisite for the meeting. I did not say I would hand them over. I don't mean to impugn your integrity Doctor, but there are risks I will not take."

"But you don't understand!" Prochazka blurted. "You told me your laboratory is not ready for me yet. I could do wonders in the time it will take you to set up the lab. I am almost there! All I need is the papers - and then it will work! Is time not of the essence?!" Very suddenly he had gone from calm and warm to a little frantic, and Jaime wondered at the change. Was it passion for his work, or something else?

"I'm sorry Doctor." Oscar replied calmly, "It's the best I can do."

Prochazka glared at him. "There is something else, Mr. Goldman - something I fear you will resist." Now he was indignant. "I would like to make it clear that I will not compete with second rate scientists. This is perhaps the one subject on which I am in sympathy with my old colleague Doctor Franklin. He was a terrible man, but a genius – and for you to favor this Dr. Wells and his silly prosthetic program – it boggles the mind. " His manner suggested he thought Dr. Franklin had lost out to a child with a Meccano set. Jaime instantly burned at the affront to her friend. Prochazka folded his hands tidily in front of him and continued. "I wish to have your absolute assurance that my program will take precedence over his. In fact I would prefer it if you were to get rid of him altogether."

Jaime suddenly became aware that she was looking indignant. Fortunately Prochazka was focused on Oscar, who - also fortunately - remained completely impassive. She softened her eyes and smoothed her skirt.

"Anything else?" Oscar asked politely, his voice cool and free of emotion.

"No. That is all." Prochazka replied with a stiff smile, as though aware he had perhaps asked too much.

With that, Oscar rose to his feet. "I will have to make some inquiries to see how far we can comply with your requests, but you have my assurance that I take what you say extremely seriously. I should have some answers for you later today."

They all left the meeting room together, and took the same corridor to their rooms. Arriving at the scientist's room first, they paused at his door.

"Shall we meet again in two hours, Doctor?" Oscar reaffirmed.

Prochazka, now calm and courtly again, nodded soberly. As he reached to unlock his door, Jaime volunteered to open it for him.

"Thank you, Miss Sumner." he smiled uneasily, as though embarrassed by his behavior.

Holding the door open, she handed him the key as he passed.

"Miss Sumner," he said, "you need not attend this second meeting. It can't be very interesting for you."

"I believe that's my decision, Doctor." Oscar replied curtly.

She smiled apologetically and left him, rejoining Oscar, who was looking broody, hands stuffed in his pockets.

As had become her habit, she 'left her ear behind' though she couldn't imagine what she expected to pick up from a man alone in his hotel room. Oscar was murmuring something she wasn't listening to. Instead she was focused entirely on the sound of the wheelchair on the carpet. Though very quiet, it let out a slight metallic hiss as it moved, and the leather seat creaked under his weight. Then the creaks intensified as his weight shifted. She heard him make a slight "humph" sound in his throat – and then she heard … footsteps.