Control leaned one hip easily on the wide sill of the one-way glass and watched the debriefing. He wasn't interested in what Nancy Campbell said so much as how she said it. She was clearly nervous, agitated; her hands moved continuously, her voice occasionally cracked. But she wasn't crying.

Simms was very calming. He went over her story meticulously, repeatedly, his voice even and non-judgmental. Lily just sat and watched. She didn't speak, didn't move. Her face was her usual emotionless mask.

Control hated that mask. It meant that she was hiding everything, that she had cut herself off. She would listen and see and take in everything, give back nothing. Most people didn't even realize she was gone. Even when she wasn't looking at him, he hated her emotional absence.

The rookie was so young, so pretty and fresh, with all her emotions right there on her face. By comparison, his lover was frozen, closed, years of stress and sleeplessness etched in tiny lines around her eyes and mouth, mature, experienced – magnificent.

On the day they met, Lily Romanov had not been as young as Nancy Campbell was. Lily Romanov had never been that young.

There was nothing new in the rookie's story, in any of the times Simms led her through it. Nothing new in the reports from Prague, either. It was beginning to look like Vince Norris really had been killed by an insane sniper with a grudge against foreigners.

Control was not entirely convinced by that explanation, not yet. But he knew Szabo personally, knew that the man would work every possible angle before he gave up. He was boring, thorough, and reliable.

Lily wasn't happy about her new assignment, but it would keep her safe and close for three more weeks …

… which wasn't, Control told himself firmly, why he'd given it to her.

He wondered if when he knew he was lying to himself it still constituted a lie.

Simms led the rookie through her story three times, with three different sets of questions. The story never changed. He hadn't expected it to.

Satisfied that he knew all that she did, he answered her questions. To the best of their knowledge, still, Vince Norris had been shot by a madman because he looked like the foreigner he was.

"That's it?" Nancy protested, incredulous. "They shot him because he was black?"

"Because he didn't look like a Czech," Simms corrected lightly.

"But it had nothing to do with the job? It wasn't about the message or anything? It was just because of the way he looked?"

"As far as we know."

"What's that supposed to mean? You're not sure?"

Simms considered. "Nothing in this business is ever certain. But the overwhelming weight of the evidence we have at this time is that Vince's death was not related to Company activities."

Nancy shook her head. "I can't believe that. I can't believe it was just coincidence."

"We're still looking into it." Simms stood and gathered his papers. "Do you have any other questions?"

Nancy looked across the table to Romanov. The older woman had been silent, unmoving, throughout the interview. She didn't offer any help now. Nancy wanted to ask him, do I still have a job? But she knew he wouldn't answer, at least not directly. When they decided to fire her, they'd let her know.

She shook her head. "No, I'm good for now. Thank you for letting me know what you know about Vince."

Simms nodded. "We'll set up some meetings with the Company counselor for you. Aside from that, take a little time off, think about what you want to do from here. Miss Romanov will be meeting with you over the next few weeks. You're off active duty for the rest of your training period."

"I understand."

Simms left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Nancy folded her arms on the table and put her head down. "Oh, that just sucked."

"You did fine," Lily said.

After a long moment, Nancy realized that the other woman was waiting. Waiting while she rested, while she got herself together. Silent, patient – maybe counting the seconds, keeping score? More marks against her? She sat up. "Now what?"

"I have to clean out Vince's office. Gather up his personal things. You can help, if you want."

Another test, Nancy thought. She wants to see if I'll cry again, if I'll come apart. "Sure."

Lily stood up. "We'll stop and see Munchie on the way, see if he has some boxes to spare."

"Who's Munchie?" Nancy asked.

A flicker of – annoyance? – flashed across Romanov's face. It was gone in a blink. "The man in the mail room. The friendly one you talk to every morning."

"Oh. I never knew his name."

"Nobody does," Lily answered. Her voice was again neutral.

Nancy followed her out, chagrined and confused. Yes, she saw the little man in the mail room every morning. In a wheelchair. He was always friendly, always smiling – and he always addressed her by name. As an agent, she should have made it her business to know his. Observe, observe, observe, Vince said a thousand times. She had not observed what was right under her nose.

From Romanov's comment, though, no one else did, either. Nancy guessed that the older agent considered this worse than unprofessional: she considered it rude. Nancy had to agree. Her rudeness, and that of her fellow agents, embarrassed her. She had been brought up better than that.

She followed Lily down the bland corridors of the building. She felt like she ought to apologize, but Romanov didn't really seem angry. She didn't seem to feel anything at all. She just stated things and went on, unreadable. I don't get her, Nancy thought in frustration. I can't figure her out. How am I supposed to get her to let me keep my job if I can never tell what she's thinking?

"I wish I could talk to Mark," she said.

"Mark who?"

Nancy swallowed. She hadn't meant to say that out loud. Mark had been in the field with Lily; maybe he knew her a little better, could give her some tips or tells on the woman. And also, though she was loathe to admit it, Mark would give her comfort and support when no one else would. She was probably falling in love with Mark. But she hadn't meant to say it. She shook her head. "Never mind."

"Mark O'Donnell?" Lily pursued. "Mark with the scar?" She gestured to the center of her forehead.

Nancy nodded. "We've been … seeing each other. Since the party." It had become, in Company lore, the party; no further explanation was needed. "But he's back in the Balkans now. There's no way to reach him."

Lily nodded thoughtfully. "Go see Munchie, get a couple paper boxes. I'll meet you in Vince's office in a couple minutes."

"Okay, but …" She stopped, because Lily was already striding down another hallway. With a sigh, Nancy made her way to the mailroom.

She reached the half-door and looked in anxiously. Munchie was in the back corner of the room, fiddling with the copy machine. "Hey, uh, Munchie? How are you?"

He turned and grinned. "Hey, Nancy. I heard you were back." He wheeled to the door, took both her hands in his and gave them a squeeze. "How you doin', honey?"

His kindness and warmth brought unexpected tears to her eyes, and she blinked frantically. "I'm okay."

"Sure you are," he agreed, releasing her hands. "You'll be just fine. Let me see if I've got any mail for you." He wheeled to the tall sort rack.

"Thanks. And I'm also supposed to ask if I can have a couple boxes. We're going to clean out Vince's …" She stopped again, choked, tried again. "We're going to clean out Vince's office."

Munchie glanced back at her. "I'd talk to Romanov before you do that."

"I did. She sent me."

"Oh." Munchie brought her a small pile of mail, then wheeled back towards the copy machine, where a neat stack of paper boxes waited. He plucked two and brought them back to her. "She's letting you help her."

"Yes."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I kinda thought she'd keep it to herself. She and Vince were pretty tight."

Nancy's resentment flared. Vince was my partner, she thought. Lily was just someone he trained years ago. I should get to clean out his office. I was the one with him when he died. Why does she get to be the queen goddamn bee around her?

Munchie and Lily were friends, she remembered, and for all she knew, this friendly, smiling man reported every word that she said. She tried to bite all the anger out of her voice. "She's taking over as my training agent."

"Huh." Munchie handed the boxes up to her. "Well, she's the one to help you, I guess. With what she's been through and all."

Nancy's cheeks flared bright pink. Of course, of course. Romanov had been captured, tortured, raped in Central America, seven weeks, and she'd come back to work when everybody said she wouldn't. It had been before Nancy had joined the Company, but it was legend. Everybody knew. It wasn't any wonder Lily got to be the queen bee.

It wasn't any wonder she was Control's favorite.

She was going to cry again. "Thanks, Munchie," she mumbled. She took her boxes and her mail and went to the elevator.

They must think you're a hell of a big problem, she thought, if they pulled Romanov out of the field to have her deal with you. They must really want to keep you.

Control thinks you might be salvageable.

So Control had gotten her the best help he had.

She nodded to herself. Salvageable. Yes. She was salvageable. She was going to keep her job, and she was going to be brilliant at it. She was going to be the slickest, smartest courier they'd ever seen. Well, at least since Romanov. Salvageable, my sweet ass. I'm going to be the best.

The hand-written post-it note on the door said, "Vince is dead. Stay the hell out." There were initials scrawled beneath it; Nancy was pretty sure they were 'LR'.

No one, apparently, had opened the door.

She considered, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. Vince's office had been her second home for months. She had always been welcome there. But now, with Vince gone … finally, she tried the knob. The door was locked.

The door had never been locked before. Nancy set the boxes down and stepped to one side to wait. She hoped no one would walk by. She didn't want to have to explain.

A few minutes later, Lily returned. She deftly picked the lock and opened the door.

"Don't you have a key?" Nancy asked.

"Why would I?" Lily returned. "I suppose there's one somewhere." She kicked the boxes in and entered the office. "Box up anything that looks like it's personal. Start there." She pointed towards the bookshelves, while she planted herself behind the desk.

Nancy took several framed pictures down and placed them gently in the box. Vince and his wife. Vince and his wife and their five children. Vince's oldest daughter in her senior picture. That one was almost new; they'd come in just before Vince and Nancy left for Prague. Vince been so proud of Rochelle. She was so smart and so pretty, too, and such a nice, polite girl …

Nancy bit her lip, hard.

Behind her, she could hear the drawers opening and closing swiftly. Romanov wasn't lingering over this task. Suddenly Nancy didn't want to, either. She didn't even want to be doing it. It had seemed like such a privilege, something worth fighting over. Now it was just oppressive and hard. The room was full of memories, and their task was to strip it down to an office again.

Most of the shelf was full of manuals and binders, but a few looked unofficial. "These books," she began uncertainly. "I don't know for sure which ones are his."

"If there's any doubt, box 'em," Lily answered. "Simms will have to go through it all anyhow."

"Oh."

"Nobody carries boxes of documents out of this building without a pass," Lily explained.

"I know. I just thought … never mind."

Romanov continued with the drawers.

"I thought Control might sit in on the debriefing," Nancy ventured, working the first set of shelves from top to bottom.

"Simms will report to him on it," Lily answered off-hand.

"I know, but … I mean, an agent killed on duty, I thought that would rate, you know, Control's personal attention."

The older woman sat back and looked at her. "He's not handling the details personally. That doesn't mean he doesn't care."

"I didn't mean it that way, I just meant …" Nancy stopped, shook her head. "I don't know what I mean." She looked at the endless manuals for a moment. They were heavy with dust; Vince didn't have much use for them. Everything worth knowing was already in his head. "It means a lot to me, that he thinks I'm salvageable."

"Ahh." When Nancy turned, Lily was looking into drawers again. It almost looked like she was trying not to laugh.

The phone on the desk rang, startling both of them. Lily snagged it. "Romanov." Then, "Okay, thanks, I'll send her."

She put the phone down. "Alpern wants to see you in Communications."

"Me?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Go ahead, I'll finish this."

"Okay." Baffled, Nancy trotted down the hallway to the huge communications hub. She'd only been there twice, once on her initial tour, once with a message. What did they want with her?

The hub was cool and buzzing quietly. Alpern, the shift head, met her at the door. "We got your call through," he said.

"My call?"

"You can use booth one," he said, pointing to the first of a series of doors at the back of the room. "Line seven."

"Ooo-kay," Nancy answered. Bewildered, she followed the instructions. Behind the indicated door was a tiny room, very much like a phone booth. Lovely, Nancy thought. I shut the door, they gas me, the floor opens to drop my dead body into the incinerator. One failed agent dispatched, no fuss, no muss.

She shut the door, sat down and picked up the phone. It buzzed. She remembered to push the line button. "Hello?" she said quietly.

"Nancy?"

"Mark?"

"Hey, how you doing? I've been worried sick about you."

Nancy sat back, tears streaming down her face. "I'm okay, I'm okay …"

"You don't sound okay."

"Oh, Mark, I've been so … I've been so …" She gave up and wept.

Mark spoke to her, but she didn't know what he said. It didn't matter. It only mattered that he was there, that she could hear his voice. It was impossible. He was on a mission, in the field, nobody could reach him – and certainly not for anything as silly as a stressed-out girlfriend.

But she had voiced her wish, and like magic Lily Romanov had made it come true.

Oh, but Nancy wanted to hate her new training officer. And oh, but Lily was making it impossible.

She listened to Mark talk, and she poured her heart out to him, and she got the comfort she wanted, needed.

It occurred to her, perhaps five minutes in, that maybe this line was bugged, that maybe Lily and Simms and even Control were sitting in some little room listening to every word she said, judging her fitness to continue based on what she said to her boyfriend. But she couldn't stop, and it was probably too late by then anyhow. She talked, Mark talked, and for a few minutes she felt warm and safe and human again.

A discreet red light on the side of the phone began to flash. Nancy wondered aloud if there was another call on the line.

"It means our ten minutes are up," Mark explained. "We're about to get cut off. Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine," Nancy said, wiping her eyes. "I'm so much better than I was before. Really, I am."

"Good. I wish I could be there with you. I'll get back as soon as I can. I want to be there for you."

"You are, Mark. I know you are."

"I'll try to call you again. Nancy, I want you to know, I …"

The light turned solid red, and the line went dead.

Nancy put down the receiver. She sat very still, composing herself. Then she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and stepped out of the booth. Alpern was in the middle of something; he merely glanced her way and nodded. Nancy nodded her thanks back and fled to the ladies room.

There was no hope of looking like she hadn't been crying. She did the best she could, then went back to Vince's office. Lily was putting the lid on the second box. "Good, you can help me carry this stuff," she said.

Nancy nodded and picked up the first box. "That was really nice of you. Thank you."

"Sure."

They made their way to Simms' office and deposited the boxes next to his desk. Simms was not there. "He'll figure it out," Lily said. She pushed her hair back with both hands, and for the first time, Nancy could see the weariness in her. "I need a drink."

"If I start drinking," Nancy said seriously, "I'm not going to stop until I fall down."

Lily nodded. "I'll drive."

They had burgers at a small, dark little bar. Nancy didn't think she was hungry, but the burger smelled so good she couldn't resist a bite, and the rest went down easily, with beer. They ordered stuffed mushrooms and onion rings. She switched to bourbon. It all went down easily.

She started talking. She was careful, at first, picking just the right words, just the right topics to make Lily think she was confident and competent. Lily listened. She listened very well, Nancy thought, and she ordered bourbon often. Nancy drank, and she talked. The more she drank, the less careful her words were.

"Do you think he's gay?" she said suddenly.

Romanov looked at her over her Guinness. Nancy wondered if that was still her first beer. "Who, Mark?"

"Control."

"Nancy, you're officially drunk."

"I know." Nancy did, too. Her toes were tingly. Her nose was warm. "But do you think he might be?"

Lily began to laugh. "No, I don't think so."

"But he could be," Nancy protested.

Romanov laughed harder. "I don't think so."

Nancy was suddenly indignant. "Look, I know you like him, but facts are facts. He hasn't been seen in the company of a woman since … since … forever. His closest friendship is with another man. And another thing." She leaned over the table and gestured Lily closer, so that she could whisper her dark secret. "Vince told me he used to wear bow ties!"

"Bow ties are evidence of homosexuality?"

"Shh, shh!" Nancy protested. She looked around, afraid that someone had overheard. "They could be, couldn't they? And besides … and besides …" She bit her lip, then leaned closer again. "And besides, I hit on him and he just gave me this little knowing smile, like he had some secret. So that's got to be it. Right?"

Nancy was drunk, and knew it. What she didn't understand was why Romanov, who she knew was much less drunk, slid towards the floor, laughing helplessly.

"You're laughing at me!" she protested. "Here, let me help."

She stood up, steadied herself with one hand on the table, and reached her free hand down to Lily. The older woman took it and tried to haul herself up, but Nancy slipped, and she fell back on her butt. She couldn't stop laughing, and the whole situation was suddenly funny to Nancy, too. "Here, wait, I'll help you …" she began, and then laughed so hard she slipped back onto her chair. "Wait, I can help, I can help."

"I've got it," Lily answered. "Just stay put, I'm okay." She clambered back into view and sat on her own chair. "Damn. Good thing we weren't on barstools, that might have hurt."

Nancy was still giggling madly. "You fell down."

"You're drunk."

"I'm drunk, but you fell down." She looked at her glass sadly. "Can I have some more?"

"Sure, why not." Lily gestured to the bartender, who brought another glass.

"I think you're about done here," he said dourly, indicating the giggling rookie.

"I think you're about right," Lily assured him. "Thank you."

When he left, Nancy leaned conspiratorially across the table again. "You didn't answer the question."

"What was the question?"

"Do you think he's gay?"

Lily shook her head. "When did you hit on him?"

"At the party. While we were dancing. But he just sorta shrugged me off."

"Maybe you're just not his type."

Nancy sat back. "Look at me. I'm everybody's type."

Lily laughed again. "Okay, sweetie. Finish your drink, and then we're going home."

"Well do you?"

"Do I what?"

The trainee sighed heavily. "Do you think he's gay?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Lily considered the question for a long moment. "There are stories. About a Russian ballerina."

"Yeah, so?"

"So they're pretty detailed stories. Explicit. Too factual to be discounted."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"Nancy, my sweet, it's time you learned, every man who doesn't want to bed you is not necessarily gay."

"I didn't say that! I just think he is."

"He's not."

"You're sure?"

Lily giggled again. "I'm as sure as I can be, okay?"

Nancy sighed. "Did you sleep with McCall?"

"Where did you hear that?"

"I hear stuff. Around."

"Don't believe everything you hear."

"I don't. That's why I'm asking."

Romanov considered again. "Who I sleep with is none of your business, unless it's you. The same holds true for Control. And everybody else. What we do when we're not working is nobody's business."

"What about that other guy? What's his name? Kostmayer?"

"Drink up. You're going home."

Nancy slammed her drink back. "I left him," she announced, quite suddenly serious.

"Mark?" Lily guessed carefully.

"Vince. His face exploded, I felt it hit my shirt, I heard the shot … I just ran. I didn't even … wait … until he fell, I didn't … check. Maybe he was still alive. I didn't wait, I didn't see. I just ran."

Lily stood up and drained the rest of her beer. "Good for you," she said quietly. "Stay alive. That's the first rule. You did good." She grabbed the rookie by the arm, hauled her to her feet, and marched her out into the cooling night air.