At noon the next day, Angela Shirry called Robert at home. "Michelle is here, in my office. She wants to talk to you."

"Put her on."

"M-Mr. McCall," the girl said nervously, "I didn't know what else to do. They arrested my dad, you know, and now they . . . and now they're letting him go."

"Already?"

"His union, they have a bail fund thing, they got him out. My mom went to pick him up. And I just . . . I can't go back there, Mr. McCall. He's so mad at me . . . I didn't know where else to go. Ms. Shirry says you can help me."

"Of course I'll help you," Robert answered reassuringly. "I want you to stay where you are, for the moment. I'll come and get you, and take you somewhere safe. Can you think of a place?"

A pause. "My aunt's. She lives in Jersey. She hates him."

"Good. Good. All right, Michelle. You stay right there, all right? And don't worry. I am going to help you."

"Thank you."

"Put Ms. Shirry back on the phone now, will you?"

"Sure."

Robert made the arrangements with her quickly. Security was tight enough at the clinic, since the protests and the bomb threat. Angela would keep the girl until he got there. She would get the aunt's telephone number and call her.

He hung up the phone thoughtfully. A little drive to Jersey had not been on his agenda for the day, but at least it wasn't rush hour. But first, one small matter to take care of. Robert nodded grimly. Yes. One small matter.

# # #

He'd just put the Jaguar into park when John Laskey came running out of his house, screaming. "Where is she? Where is my daughter?"

The wife, Dora, trailed behind him, her eyes wide and nervous.

McCall climbed out of the car, unhurried. Then he walked across the street to address Dora. "Mrs. Laskey, your daughter is safe. If you want to come with me, I will take you to her."

As expected, John Laskey lunged for him. McCall grabbed his hand in mid-arm and twisted it hard to the left, forcing the thumb nearly out of joint, driving the man to his knees. Laskey screeched, "Where is she? Where is she?"

"I was not talking to you," McCall said coldly. "Shut up."

"What did you do with her, you pervert? Where is my daughter?"

Robert twisted the hand harder, not caring now that the thumb dislocated. "I said, shut up." He looked again at the wife, noticing that she made no attempt to intercede in her husband's behalf. "Mrs. Laskey. I ask again. Do you want me to take you to your daughter?"

"Shut up! Leave us alone!"

One further twist, and Laskey dissolved into whimpering agony at McCall's feet.

Dora looked at her husband, at McCall, at her husband again. "I sent her," she said faintly. "I sent her away this morning. I didn't want . . . him . . . near her. I was afraid . . . "

"You bitch! Shut up!"

"You did the right thing," Robert assured her. "But you must now continue to do the right thing. If you want your daughter to be safe, then you must be willing to leave this . . . man . . . forever."

John Laskey started up, started to say something. Robert looked down at him, loathing full in his eyes. Then he drew the man's hand toward him, bringing the man in close, and punched him in the temple.

Laskey fell as if pole axed.

"Now then." Robert straightened his coat. "We were discussing your daughter."

"I tried . . . " Dora began helplessly, dissolving into tears. "I tried to protect her, I fought him, I did, and he never . . . he never . . . "

"He hasn't yet," Robert guessed. "But he will, if you and Michelle remain here."

Dora nodded solemnly. "I won't let him do that to my daughter."

"Good for you." He looked once more at the man in the yard. "Shall we go?"

Dora licked her lips. Her eyes were still frightened. It was a big step she was taking, and into an uncertain future. But the alternative was clearly worse. She nodded. "Yes. Let's go."

# # #

Dugan and Horwood lasted only one more day - one more sucker, two cream-filled popsicles, and a banana. Then, with a variety of sternly-worded memos and warnings about confidentiality, they slunk back to the Beltway.

Lily went directly to McCall's apartment, and had a quiet cup of cup of tea with Robert before Control got there. Robert let his friend in, and then without comment retreated to his bedroom and quietly, firmly shut the door.

"That's . . . awkward," Lily observed.

Control shrugged. "I thought you'd feel safer if he was here."

"I'm not afraid of you," she answered sadly. "Not like that." She'd left her vamp at the office; she was back to being serious and quiet and careful.

"Good." Control sat at the opposite end of the couch from her. "Well. Now I've got you here and I don't know where to start."

She smiled wanly. "I know."

"It used to be the easiest thing in the world to talk to you."

"Long time ago." No heat, no anger. Just resignation.

"Yes." Control sighed. "Let's start with this: I'm sorry for everything that happened in Nicaragua."

"None of it was your fault."

"I know. But I'm sorry anyhow. I'm sorry for what you went through. And I'm sorry I made it so much worse when you got back. What I did at the hotel . . . was stupid, and it was unforgivable."

Lily almost smiled. "At least you didn't bite me."

"Well, there is that." Control shifted, looking at his hands. "I want you to know that not everything I said at the hotel was a lie."

She sat back, waiting.

"I . . . " Control stopped, took a deep breath. "I love you. I have loved you since Budapest. I just . . . never got around to telling you."

Lily sighed patiently. "I am not giving up this child."

Control shook his head. "I'm not asking you to. I won't ask you to. I'm not going to tell you that I understand it, I don't. But it's your choice. And if you want to keep this child . . . then I'll do whatever I can to help you."

Her expression remained blank. "Why?"

"I told you why."

She shook her head. "Why, really?"

"Robert says . . . that once I see this child, once I can hold him in my arms . . . that it won't matter where he came from. Only that he's yours."

"Do you believe that?"

"I want to believe it."

"What do you want from me?"

Control hesitated. If ever there was a time for honesty, it was now. "I want you back in my life."

"Why?"

"I told you . . . "

"No."

"Lily . . . "

"I don't need your pity."

"This isn't about pity. It's about selfishness."

She waited.

Control stood up and paced. "I've lived with you, and I've lived without you. With you is better. It's that simple." He looked at her frankly. "If I wasn't selfish, I wouldn't even ask this. I'd throw some nice interesting man in your path and let you go make a life with him. A real life, with a home and a dog and a picket fence. A real father for your child . . . " He shook his head. "I can't offer you any of that. And if that's what you want, then go find it. I won't get in your way, I swear. You already know what kind of life I'm offering you. It's not what you deserve. It's not even what I want for you. But it's all I can give you."

Lily turned and stared into the empty fireplace. "I can't do this."

Control felt his shoulders sag. He summoned up everything he had left, spoke from his love. "All right. If . . . "

"No." She turned back to look at him. "Not no, just . . . I can't decide this. Not right now."

There was some hope, then. "I understand," he answered uncertainly.

She shook her head again. "You don't. I wake up every morning and I have to think, about where I am, about what happened - it takes me five minutes to figure out who I am. I feel like I'm in a fog all the time, like I'm . . . " she rubbed her eyes impatiently. "I can't decide anything. Not right now."

Control nodded. "All right. That's fine." God, what was he doing? Hadn't Robert tried to tell him? After all she'd been through, and he couldn't wait a week, or a month? "You don't have to decide now, you don't have to decide anything. Just . . . think about it, when you're ready."

"Thank you."

Thank you, like he'd done her some favor. Control shook his head, furious at himself. "I'm leaving the country for a few days. Business. Why don't you go out to the cabin? It's peaceful there, you can . . . "

Lily laughed gently. "You never stop manipulating, do you?"

"I thought you liked the cabin."

"I liked it because you were there with me."

"Oh."

Lily stood up. "I might go out there." She shrugged. "I might stay somewhere with really good room service. I'll let you know."

"Good."

They stood for a moment, awkward, strangers in a mutual friend's living room who had run out of things to say. "I should go," Lily said.

"I'll get you a cab."

"I can manage."

She didn't move. Control looked up at her. Something in her face, something she wanted and couldn't ask for. "Anything," he whispered. "Tell me."

Lily shrugged uneasily, her eyes brimming with tears. "I've missed you."

He moved, covering the space between them and carefully, slowly, wrapped her in his arms.

It wasn't enough, it wasn't all that he wanted; it might have been Lily saying good-bye, as much as Lily saying hello. But for a moment, at least, he got to hold her. And then she pulled away
and left.

After a time, he went and got Robert. "This time went better?" his friend guessed. "You're not bleeding, at least."

Control half-smiled. "It went better. I need one more favor, old son."

"Besides chaperoning your romantic rendezvous," Robert offered grandly, "what else can I do for you?"

Control took out his wallet, and removed a claim slip. "There's a jeweler, up by the office. He's mounting the emerald for me."

Robert raised one eyebrow, but didn't comment.

"I'm going on a . . . business trip," Control continued. "If for some reason I don't come back, I want you to pick it up and give it to Lily."

"Control . . . "

"No questions, old son. Just give it to her. She should have had it all along."

There was a long silence. In the end, Robert elected to respect his friend's wishes. "When are you leaving?"

"Tonight."

"I'll come with you."

"No." Control glanced over at him. "I have to do this. You don't. But if I don't come back . . . "

"I'll look after her, of course."

"After them," Control corrected quietly. "Thank you, Robert." Silent, now, Control walked out of the apartment.

# # #

Control settled into his first class seat on the Miami-bound plane. He got a drink from the attendant - plain ginger ale over ice - and opened the grimy manila file for one more review. A man dropped into the seat next to him. Control ignored him, until he spoke.

"Told you it was a good plan," Kostmayer said.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Going with you."

"No, you're not." The attendant was already closing the door. "Damn it, Kostmayer . . . "

"Don't start, Control. Here's the deal. I know the plan top to bottom. I ought to, I made it up. Now you can ditch me in Miami - maybe - but if you do, I blow the whistle on the whole thing. And your little field trip is over."

"You wouldn't dare."

Kostmayer grinned unkindly. "Try me. Besides, it was a plan for a five-man team. Now maybe you and I can do it, with some modification. But by yourself? With nobody to watch your back? Even you aren't that good."

Control glared at him for a full thirty seconds. "You do realize, Kostmayer, that this is completely illegal."

"Yeah, yeah."

"If we get caught, we'll be lucky to get a firing squad."

"Got that part, too."

"You've got no reason to go, Mickey."

"I got my reasons, Control. None of which are any of your business. But think about this. If you go alone, and you don't come back, who do you think'll end up raising Romanov's kid?"

"McCall."

"Me. And do you really want to meet the kid that Lily and I raise between us?"

"I'll be dead," Control reminded him.

"I'm going along."

Control thought about it until they reached cruising altitude. "All right, Mickey. All right."

"Knew you'd see it my way."

# # #

They left the main terminal in Miami, caught a cab to a downtown hotel, then caught another back to the private airstrip behind the public airport. "You line up a pilot?" Mickey asked.

Control grunted. "There's the plane." He pointed to a small blue twin-prop. It was on the tarmac, ready to go. As they approached, a young black mechanic walked over to them. "All set to go," he said, handing over the log book.

"Thank you," Control answered, and kept on walking.

"Uh, Control? The pilot?"

"Don't need one," Control answered as he climbed into the pilot's seat.

Kostmayer stopped dead. He had planned on facing death on this trip - hostile forces, jungle warfare, that sort of thing. He hadn't bargained on being in a plane that Control was flying. That was a whole different kind of scary.

Control slammed his door. The props fired. Shaking his head, sure he'd regret it, and probably sooner rather than later, Mickey ran for the passenger side.

The takeoff was remarkably smooth. Mickey managed to unclench his fingers from the armrest. "There a meal on this flight?"

"Only if you brought one," Control answered. The plane dipped suddenly toward the ocean. "Radar," he explained, as Mickey clutched at the arm rest again.

"Sure," Mickey said, unconvinced. "Just out of curiosity, do you even still have a pilot's license?"

Control glanced over at him. "A what?"

"Never mind."

# # #

His phone rang just as he was sitting down with his tea and his morning paper. "Robert McCall."

"It's Lily." Her words, her tone were casual, but there was something just - wrong.

"What's wrong, love?"

Half a breath of hesitation. "Do you know where he is?"

"Our mutual friend? He's . . . out of the country, I believe. On business."

Another pause. "In Central America?"

Damn. Damn, damn, damn. "I don't know," Robert lied.

"Shit," she said, and hung up on him.

Robert took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't handled that at all well, but he didn't see how he could have done any better. Where was she? What was wrong? He felt the icy slide of intuition, that something was very wrong - but what? How could he even find her?

Well, she might still be at the hotel. He reached for the phone, and it rang in his hand. "Lily?"

"Sorry," she answered. "I'm sorry, Robert. I just . . . I'm surrounded by idiot men. I suppose Mickey's with him."

"I . . . don't know."

"Of course you don't."

"Are you all right, Lily?"

"Yeah." Her voice was soft, but not unsure. "I'll be fine. I'm always fine."

"Lily . . . "

"When he gets back," she said, before he could ask any more, "tell him I went up to the cabin."

"All right. But Lily . . . "

"Thank you, Robert. For everything."

And then she was gone again.

# # #

Santoro was either stupid or sloppy, Kostmayer decided, surveying the encampment at daybreak. All of the troops - maybe twenty-five men - were having breakfast. Together. There were sentries posted at the four corners. They had put down their weapons so they could eat.

Mickey glanced to his left. Fifty yards away, Control crouched in the weeds, also surveying the camp. Kostmayer had to admit, he was impressed with the older man. They'd made good time from the dirt runway in Honduras, stopping briefly to pick up the gear Mickey had had stashed for his rescue team, then moving across the border through the jungle. Once they got into the trees, Control moved almost silently. He didn't hurry; he didn't fuss with his gear; he just glided through the brush like the consummate phantom he was.

Besides, Mickey appreciated the complete lack of small talk.

This was, in a great many ways, easier than a rescue attempt. There was no intel to gather, no prisoners to take, nothing. Kill 'em all, let God sort 'em out. Just revenge. Pure and simple and clean.

He wondered, briefly, what was going on in his companion's mind. Killing these men was not going to change what had happened to Lily. It wasn't even going to make her feel better about it - if they ever told her. But it would make Mickey feel better, and Control, too. Never mind that it was illegal as hell, and possibly treasonous. If it went south, it would cost them their jobs, at least, and almost certainly their lives. None of which mattered. These were the men who had hurt Lily Romanov. And these were the men who would die for it.

Right about . . .

Now.

Control moved, and Mickey rose in unison with him. Machine guns, semi-auto, left to right sweep, ten-count on the sweep. Control swept back. Mickey shouldered his gun and threw four grenades into the camp.

Half, maybe two-thirds, of the troops were down before anyone returned fire.

Control moved forward, to the cover of the last tree before the clearing. Glanced at Mickey, reloaded while his companion did another machine gun sweep. Snapped his barrel up, waited while Kostmayer reloaded and moved up. Threw two grenades of his own. Then a smoke grenade, then another. The camp was full of shouting and blood and confusion. No organized resistance. No direction.

They moved into the camp itself, closing the distance between them to ten yards. Shooting everything that moved. Walking, slowly. No panic, no hurry. No need for cover, really, except the smoke. The government troops had been thrown into a panic; they didn't know who was shooting them, and they didn't know where to shoot back.

They covered the camp in three minutes. The smoke began to clear in a light breeze. The main tent smoldered from a grenade hit; the canvas was too wet to burn openly. At the far end of the camp they stopped and reloaded. "Find Santoro," Control said quietly. They began to walk back. Checking the bodies. Covering each other's backs. Not hurrying. Alert.

The latrine door swung open with a creak, and both men leveled their guns at it. The boy - in army fatigues - threw his hands up.

Mickey lowered his gun. Control did not.

"Control . . . "

"Come here," Control snapped at the boy. The boy just stared at him. "Here!"

The child moved. Stood in front of him. His eyes were wide and still, and he was completely silent.

Control still had his gun aimed. Carefully, slowly, Mickey reached over and pushed the barrel away.

"Go home," Control said sharply to the boy.

"No home," the boy answered.

"Where is your mother?"

"Dead."

"And your father?"

The boy looked around the smoking, silent camp. Then he raised one hand and pointed to a body.

"Shit," Mickey said under his breath.

Control nodded. "Go," he said to the boy. The child just stared at him. "Go!"

The boy ran into the jungle.

In silence, they found Santoro's body. Control put another bullet in his head, just to be sure. They moved back into the jungle, rearranged their gear, and headed for the border.

They took a rest break, ate a few granola bars at noon. "Okay," Mickey finally said, his first words since they'd seen the boy. "This is done now, right?"

Control turned to look at him. "What?"

Mickey gestured. "Back there. They're all dead. This is done now."

"Yes."

"And you're not going to give Lily any more shit about the baby. Right?"

"Ah." Control understood now. "Yes. It's done."

"Good."

# # #

First class, Miami to New York. Kostmayer was stretched out, trying to sleep. Control working on some report, sipping a drink. "Kostmayer?"

"What?"

"She'd be better off with you. Her and the baby both."

Mickey opened one eye. "Yeah," he snorted. "You tell her that. I'm sure she'll come running right over."

Control considered this, then nodded. Kostmayer closed his eyes again. "Mickey."

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

This time he didn't bother opening his eyes. "Didn't do it for you, Control."

"I know. Thank you anyhow."

Mickey grunted and went to sleep.