"But I work there!" Beck protested as the Military Police officer shoved him into the cell. "You don't have to take my word for it, call the owner!"

"We've already talked to the owner," the officer said, closing the door behind him with a decisive clang of metal against metal.

Jason sat on the edge of the bunk, his head in his hands. Surely they'd realize it was a mistake, and they'd either release him or someone would come to bail him out. He hadn't done anything wrong! He'd never steal from Tate, they'd made a deal!

It wasn't until the sky began to brighten that Jason could admit to himself that no one would be coming to get him.


"If you'll only cooperate, we'll get you out of here." The speaker reminded him uncomfortably of Alan Gabriel, though he didn't look anything like him.

"You've got the wrong guy," Jason said. "I don't know what you're talking about. I told you, I'm an art buyer."

"I have it on good authority that your art career is a recent one," the man said. "I'm not going to argue with you, Mr. Beck. We'll see how you feel in a few days." To Jason's relief, he turned and left the cell, making a great show of slamming the door and locking it behind him.

Jason was pretty sure he was on The Island. He'd finally dozed off in the holding cell, only to be rudely awakened an hour or so later. He'd demanded his phone call and asked about a hearing and was slugged in the jaw for his trouble. When he came to, he was in a cell that was even tinier than the one he'd occupied just before The Event. There was no window, so he figured he was in the east wing of the prison, where they kept prisoners who'd drawn solitary for one infraction or another. He'd spent a day in one of these cells once before, after getting into a brawl with another inmate.

By his best estimation, it was now Monday. He assumed they'd brought him over on Sunday morning, and he didn't think he'd been unconscious for very long. It seemed like hours before the lights went out, and there had been no meal to break the monotony. He'd had a restless night, and been woken by a loud buzzer and the lights turning back on.

This didn't make sense! They didn't just take a man from a holding cell and dump him into the main prison without so much as a hearing, let alone put him into solitary! And now Alan Gabriel's spiritual brother was showing up to make him an offer he couldn't refuse? He remembered perfectly well how that had turned out last time. Thanks, but no thanks! He touched his jaw gingerly. He didn't have a mirror, but he'd bet he had one hell of a bruise, if the tenderness was any indication.

The cop who'd arrested him was legit, Jason was sure of that. The man had been polite and professional, and had only brought Jason in because he'd been told there was a possible warrant. Beck knew there was no warrant, but the cop didn't know that. He'd had managed to stay reasonably calm and cooperative, knowing the man was only trying to do his job.

That officer had to go back for his partner, who had stayed at the scene to gather evidence, and another cop had booked him. That one had been a hard-ass, he'd been the one to shove Jason into the cell and punch him in the jaw in the morning. Jason closed his eyes, trying to remember if the cop had been wearing a name tag, but nothing came to him. He sighed. The best thing he could hope for now is that Tate would have a chance to calm down, check the safe and cash register, and realize that Jason hadn't stolen anything.


"Hit him again!" Missy crowed with delight as Roger scored a touch on Big Trey.

"I'll do my best," Roger smiled at the child's enthusiasm. She'd done so well these last few weeks that Big O had suggested that she be allowed to come with him and Jake when they went out for training exercises. At first Roger worried that it might be too dangerous, but it turned out that there was a jump seat that could be extended from the side wall, complete with safety webbing. It was from the early days of the war, Norman explained, when important people might need to be transported though combat to a place of safety. By unspoken agreement, he and Jake had limited their practice to basic sparring, concentrating on evasive maneuvers.

"Why is that green light flashing?" Missy asked as Big Trey scored a solid return punch to Big O's chest.

"Norman's calling us," Roger said, taking two steps backwards and lifting Big O's hand in the gesture that told Jake a time out was required.

"Master Roger, I'm sorry to disturb you, but there's a gentleman here to see you. His name is Sam Tate," the butler said. Why did that name sound so familiar? The answer came a split-second later. "He's the owner of Tate Gallery, where Jason Beck has been working. Apparently Mr. Beck has disappeared."


"It's obvious there's no love lost between you and Jason Beck," Tate said, "but the boy wasn't stealing from me. I got a call from the Military Police at about ten that they'd discovered him breaking into my safe. Of course I was furious with him, he'd given me his word, and here they are telling me he's robbing my store! By the time I got there, he'd been taken away. I did a quick inventory, and discovered he'd been putting something in the safe, not taking something out. There was a note. I found it under the desk, as if it had been kicked there. It said he was borrowing a briefcase and that he was going to put the things inside it in the safe, and sure enough, the pieces that had been in the case were inside. He'd even wrapped everything so nothing would be damaged."

"I'd think that if you went to the Military Police, you'd be able to straighten things out immediately if you're sure he wasn't robbing you," Roger said. "Why have you come to me?"

"I thought it would be simple too," Tate said, "but when I went down to the station a little after midnight, they said they had no record of him being in the lockup. I even went down to the magistrate first thing this morning thinking maybe there was just a clerical error and that he'd be there for a hearing, but he there was no sign of him. I went back to the station and tried to track him down again, but I wasn't getting anywhere with the desk sergeant and the investigating officer is off today. They say you're a pro, Mr. Smith. I want to know what happened to him."

"Do you have the note?" Roger asked.

"I have it right here," Tate handed it over along with a second sheet of paper. "There were two notes. The other one was in the cash drawer."

Roger looked both notes over. "Is the amount he says he took correct?"

"He's off by twenty in my favor," Tate said. "I found something strange, too. His suit was hanging on the office door, and his street shoes were in a bag. Everything was wet. We both keep spare clothes and shoes in the back room for dirty jobs, and his were missing. Whatever his emergency was, he must have been out in the rain for quite a while. His place isn't that far away from the gallery. Why would he go there for dry clothes instead of going home, unless for some reason he thought he couldn't go home?"

"That does sound strange," Roger agreed. Part of him wanted to just forget about Jason Beck, but even if wasn't inclined to take the job from Tate, there was still the little matter of the programming Beck was supposed to be doing on Big Trey. Much as he hated Beck, he hated the idea of Big Trey being taken over by some power-hungry low-life even more. "If you don't mind waiting here for a few minutes, Mr. Tate, I'll make a few phone calls."


"I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind," Dastun said to Tate. Roger hadn't wanted to go into detail on the phone, so he'd arranged to meet Sam Tate at his gallery. After introducing them and sketching out what information they had so far, Roger had left to pursue a couple of possibilities he'd thought of.

"That's no problem," Tate said. "Can I get you a cup of coffee, Colonel?"

"I'd appreciate it," Dan said. Tate put up a "Back shortly" sign on the door and locked it, and he and Dastun went into the back office. While the coffee brewed, Tate showed him the suit and shoes, and the wrapped items from the safe.

"Jason lives about fifteen minutes away, so it doesn't make sense that he'd come here just to change his clothes," Tate said. "I could see him coming in to use the phone to get a cab if he'd been unexpectedly caught in the rain, but I don't know why he wanted the briefcase."

"Do you remember the name of the officer you spoke with?" Dastun asked.

"Yeah, it was Parker, I think. Andrew Parker," Tate poured the coffee and sat down.

"Well, Andy was on the evening shift on Saturday, I'll have to check and see if he filed a report," Dan said. "I got the impression that you hadn't spoken to Beck for a few days. Had there been a problem?"

"I'm sure he thought there was a problem, but I didn't," Tate chuckled. "He hadn't been in for a few days, he'd bought a painting sight unseen that turned out to be a fraud. The boy has a good eye and good judgment when it comes to art, and I know he was humiliated to have been taken in. I'd figured on giving him until Monday to sulk, and then I was going to give him a call."

"You weren't upset?" Dastun asked.

"Not at all," Tate said. "It's a hazard of the profession, and Jason had been very lucky in his purchases up until that point. It took him down a peg, but that's good, it will teach him to be more cautious. He's made both of us plenty of money, an occasional stinker is just the cost of doing business."

"So he had no need to steal," Dan said.

"No, he'd collected quite a bit in bonuses," Tate said. "As far as I know, he was living pretty modestly, didn't do much carousing. I think he's shown up with a hangover once since he started working here, and that was the day after his birthday when a little excessive celebration wasn't unexpected."

"When did he start working for you?" Dastun made a few notes on his notepad.

"Quite a while ago, more than a year," Tate told him, "I'd had a problem and asked around for the person best suited to solve it for me, and his name kept coming up. I did a little research on him, and it turned out that we were both raised in the same orphanage. I don't really remember it, of course, any more than most people do, it's just that I kept good records and was lucky enough to be in my apartment during the Event. Oh, I get bits and pieces, little flashes where I know to do something even though I don't remember why I know to do it, and that seemed to come into play when I interviewed Jason. That sort of feeling is why I went in to take inventory immediately instead of just leaving it until the morning. I was sure he wouldn't betray me, for all that I was furious, and as soon as I found those notes, I knew something was wrong."

"He was someone we kept an eye on for a time," Dastun said, "but since he started working for you, he seems to have turned over a new leaf."

"That's what I'd hoped for," Tate said. "He's bright, that boy, but he had a severe shortage of common sense, and he was prideful as hell. That's a bad combination. He was interested in the art, so I saw no harm in encouraging it, and as it turned out, he has a real calling for it.." He drained the last of his coffee. "So what happens now?"

"First thing is to find out if he's in the system," Dastun said. "We know approximately what time he was brought in, so even if he didn't give his real name, we can find out if they turned him loose or put him in a cell. If they kept him, we'll try to track down exactly where they put him. I'm not sure he was booked, though, especially because you didn't see him brought before the magistrate on Monday morning. If he wasn't jailed, I'll open a missing-persons case because there's enough evidence to suggest that he didn't disappear of his own free will. If he did go into hiding, Roger Smith may be able to track him down, or at least get word to him."

"Do you need the suit?" Tate asked. "I was thinking of sending it down to the cleaners so he'll have it when he comes back."

"Nothing in the pockets," Dan said after a quick check. "I see no reason to take it--it's dry now, no matter how wet it was when you first found it."

"I wonder if it had anything to do with that pretty little android he goes to see," Tate said. At Dan's startled expression, he laughed. "Oh, don't look at me like that, you just gave it all away," he said. "Jason didn't talk to me about it, if that's what you're worried about. I knew something was up because I'm not blind and I'm not stupid. At first I thought he was chasing the girl--his heart's in his eyes every time he looks at her, although I'm not sure he realizes it. But then I found out that she was the one the town gossips were wagging their tongues over, and I also knew there was bad blood between him and Roger Smith, so it seemed pretty unlikely that she'd be socializing. Given the work Jason did for me when we first met, I realized it had to be something similar, so I didn't ask questions, and he didn't volunteer any information."

"He does have some rather specialized skills," Dan said cautiously.

"Specialized! Hah!" the old man cackled. "That's a nice way of putting it!"

Dastun grinned in spite of himself. "I'm just as happy he found a new calling," he admitted.

"That's what worries me, though, that it's related to that other knowledge," Tate said. "There's one last thing I need to tell you. About two weeks ago, someone came by making like he was a customer but asking a lot of questions about Jason. I played stupid, claimed I'd met him because he'd found some artwork and that it eventually led to us dealing together on a regular basis. He seemed to accept it and left, and I haven't seen him since. At the time, I thought maybe it was someone who was thinking about using Jason for an agent and wanted to check him out and make sure he was legit. But given what's happened... now I'm not so sure."

"I'm not so sure either," Dan said, finishing up with his notes and putting the pad of paper into his pocket. He rose and extended his hand. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Tate. I'll call you as soon as I have anything."

"Even if you don't, I'd appreciate a progress report," Tate said, accepting the handshake and seeing Dan to the door. "I'll call you if I hear anything."


Jason sat up with a jolt when the lights went out. He'd stretched out on his bunk and had been working on the program for Big Trey in his head as a way of helping to pass the time. There still hadn't been any food, and he was getting awfully hungry. Water wasn't a problem, there was a tiny sink next to the commode in the corner, although the tap only gave a trickle of liquid, probably to keep the occupant from flooding the cell. Were they trying to soften him up? He was fine for now, but he wasn't sure how he'd feel after a week or two.

There was one thing he knew. He'd rather die than be back in the position he'd been in when he removed Dorothy's memory. He hoped it didn't come down to that, but now that he'd had a real taste of the kind of life he'd always wanted, he had no intention of giving it up. He flopped back down on the bunk and went back to the program in his mind. He might as well get something useful accomplished, it would keep him from worrying.


"Did you have any luck?" Dorothy asked. They had gone up to the solarium after dinner and were discussing the day's events.

"It's like he dropped off the face of the earth," Roger said, wishing for a more romantic topic than Jason Beck. "Nobody's seen him at any of his usual haunts, he hasn't been hitting the bars with the people he normally spends time with, and although Big Ear warned us that someone was looking for information on Big Trey, he hasn't heard anything further. Whoever is behind this is either very discreet, or has their own ways of getting information."

"I hope he wasn't kidnapped for his knowledge of Big Trey" she said.

"He probably was released from the station and went on a toot to celebrate with some woman he met at a bar, with no idea everyone is looking for him," Roger said. "Give him a week or two, he's like a bad penny. He'll turn up."

"Perhaps," Dorothy said. "However, if that's not the case, the delay could cost us dearly. We can't afford to wait."

"No, I don't suppose we can," Roger said. "I've done all I can for today. Tomorrow I'm going to try to take a quick look around his apartment, see if there's any signs of a struggle. Dan will work his end over at Headquarters. The cop who Tate spoke to is an honest one, as far as Dan knows, but I'll be keeping an eye on him, too."

"All right," Dorothy said. To Roger's dismay, she rose from the couch, clearly intending to go back downstairs. "I have some things to finish off if I'm to get to bed at a decent hour," she said. "I thought over what you said about doing too much, and you're right. I'm of no use to anyone if I'm falling asleep the minute I sit still."

Hoist by his own petard. He made an effort to hide his disappointment. "What do you have left to do?" he asked, hoping he could lend a hand and buy some more time.

"Nothing you can help with, unfortunately," she said, apparently reading his mind. "I have to go through a set of contractor bids."

"Contractor?" he asked. "Did you decide to get an office after all?"

"No, it's one of the projects the foundation is now sponsoring," she said. "There is a group that arranges to have the heat turned on in apartment buildings that have at least five occupied apartments. They make an effort to locate the original owner through the old Paradigm Corporation records, and if none is found, they help the tenants to fill out the paperwork to claim the building and provide seed money to do basic repairs It's a very effective program, it not only assures the tenants of a decent place to live, it also reduces crime and prevents fires like the ones we've had the last few winters when people were burning things to keep warm. The contractors were my idea, to help the group develop contacts with local workers. The idea is to have the contractors provide their services at a discount, and their company gets publicity for their work."

"That's a good idea," Roger said. "So you put out a request for bids?"

"Yes, and the bidding period ended two days ago so I have to go through them all, choose five, and write the appropriate letter for each," Dorothy said. "I don't expect to complete the job tonight, but I'd like to have made a good start. Usually the crews can work until the end of November, and if these bids are acted on promptly, they should be able to complete fifteen or twenty more buildings before the really cold weather arrives."

He nodded. There would, he reminded himself, be other evenings. "I think I'll catch up on some of my paperwork, since you're setting such a good example," he said, and followed her down the stairs.


Dastun was kept busy dealing with one crisis after another on Tuesday morning. It was nearly two when he finally cleared his desk enough that he could turn his attention to finding out what had happened to Jason Beck. The first thing he did was read Parker's report, which was short and to the point. Beck had been found in the office of Tate's gallery under suspicious circumstances, he'd been polite and cooperative and gone to the station with Parker without incident. He dug out Parker's home phone number from his address book--he hated to call his men at home, but he didn't want to wait until Parker came in at four. Happily, he didn't have to wake him.

"Yes, sir, I did take him in," Parker said. "To be honest with you, I found his story credible. There was no sign of forced entry, the alarm panel appeared to be working, and he was startled to see me standing there but not the least bit furtive. Had it been up to me, I would have waited until the owner got there to verify he was an employee, but HQ told me there was a possible warrant on him and asked me to bring him in for identification. Is there a problem, sir?"

"He's disappeared and we're trying to find out what happened to him," Dan said. "Did you do the intake?"

"I turned him over to Atwell, sir, then I went back to the shop to pick up my partner." Parker said.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this to yourself for the moment, " Dastun said. "There's something irregular here and I want to get to the bottom of it. Thank you for your time, I'm sorry to have had to bother you at home." The next step was to look at the weekend video tapes.

An hour later, he was even more certain that there was something very wrong. The tapes showed that Beck had been fingerprinted, photographed, and taken to a holding cell, which verified Parker's story, as did Parker's partner, who said that Andy had only been gone for about twenty minutes, just enough time to go to the station, drop Beck off, and return.

As far as Dan could tell from the tapes, Beck never came out again, at least, not through the front door. Sunday's tapes were even less helpful--apparently the cassette had gone bad, and the video was too distorted and full of noise to give him any hint as to what had happened next. Atwell claimed Beck was still in the holding cell when he'd left, saying he'd checked it last around six am and saw the prisoner was sleeping, but Skip Johnson, the desk sergeant who'd relieved Atwell, insisted that the holding cell had been empty when he made his walk-through when he first came on-shift. Johnson told him there'd been no mention of a prisoner on the report and that Atwell hadn't said anything to him. either.

Either Atwell or Johnson had to be lying, and he didn't know either of them well enough to have a gut feeling one way or the other. When he went in search of the tapes from the camera at the back door, he found its Sunday tape had the same apparent problems as the front desk tape. This could be ominous, or it could just be that someone had reviewed the Sunday tapes at one point--they were reused each week--and had unwittingly damaged them. No one would have realized there was a problem if no one had needed to review them--the Military Police were currently spread too thin to spare a man to skim through the tapes each week.

He left a message for Roger with Norman, giving him the names of the two officers so that Roger could do a little investigating,

"Sir?" He looked up to see Parker at the door. The officer had several sheets of paper in his hand. Was it already four? No, it was only three unless his watch had stopped. "I came in a little early because I thought of something you might want to know about," Parker said,.

"Come in," Dan waved him to a chair.

After closing the door and taking a seat, Parker leaned forward and pitched his voice low. "This might be useful, sir, it has to do with Atwood and Hamilton. You probably haven't met him," he added at Dastun's blank look, "he's the night mechanic. Anyway, I didn't think of this until a little while ago. Hamilton was having an argument with Atwood early Sunday morning, just before shift change. I couldn't make out much of what they were saying, and my partner needed me to help him finish up the reports so I wasn't there long enough to hear much, but Hamilton was griping about releasing one of the unmarked cars for joy-riding--said if Atwood wanted to take one, he had to sign it out."

"I'll have to get the sign out sheets," Dan said.

"I have copies here, sir." Parker handed him the papers. "It looks like Hamilton won the argument."


"His apartment was ransacked." Roger stopped by Dastun's office after paying a visit to Jason's building early Wednesday morning. "I don't think they found what they were looking for, either, because it looked to me like some of the mess was pure destructiveness." At Dan's raised eyebrow, he grinned. "Don't worry, we didn't break any laws. Dorothy and I went over, and we made a show of knocking on the door several times. When there was no answer, Dorothy told the landlady that she was worried that he needed help and asked her to look in on him. Surprisingly enough, he's a good tenant, and she hadn't seen him for a few days and was worried too. She got her keys and opened the door, and saw everything all over the place. She was very upset, so we got her calmed down a little and had her call the police."

"I saw the report," Dastun said. "I spent my morning on the phone trying to find out if he was being held on the Island. They said there was no record of him. I asked one of the guards to go and physically check, and I'm waiting for him to get back to me. That of course assumes that the car that was signed out during the time during which he's unaccounted for did in fact go over to the Island and didn't stop and drop him off somewhere."

"Sir?" A young, uniformed officer knocked on the door jamb and stuck his head inside the open door. "There's a call for you on line 2 from the Island Jail. Sorry to interrupt, but I knew you were waiting for it."

"Excellent," Dan picked up the phone and fumbled with the buttons . "Dastun here."

Roger watched Dan's expression run the gamut from hopeful to resigned as he quickly scribbled notes on a pad of paper. "No news?" Roger asked as Dan hung up the phone with a sigh.

"Not the news we wanted," Dan said. "A prisoner was delivered to them early on Sunday morning. Apparently he was unconscious, so the guard on duty ordered him sent to the infirmary. That's where the trail goes cold, because he never made it there. The guard I spoke to said there was no one matching his description in the general population. and he said there's no one in solitary right now. Normally, that would be the end of it, but knowing we have someone on the take here at Headquarters makes me wonder if he's got a buddy over at the Island who's covering for him."

"You know, rank hath its privileges," Roger said thoughtfully. "When was the last time there was a surprise inspection?"

"Not for months," Dastun said, suddenly understanding. "You're right, the best way to be sure is to go and look ourselves." He hit the switch on the intercom. "Burke, I'd like you to bring the car around."


The tap wasn't working any more. Jason wanted to pace the cell, but knew he needed to conserve his energy. A man could live weeks without food, but water was another matter entirely. They were probably planning to let him get good and thirsty and then they'd make another offer he couldn't refuse.

He wondered if he could tough it out. If they really wanted what he knew, it was unlikely they would kill him--dead, he'd be no use at all. The question was how far they were willing to go.

A buzzing sound and then slam of a heavy metal door broke into his awareness, and he wondered if it would do him any good to call out.

He listened for a moment more and sat up, seized by a sudden hope. It sounded like more than one person, and somehow, he didn't think it had anything to do with rounds. Were they bringing a batch of prisoners in? He heard cell doors opening and closing and wondered if there had been a riot or something. "This one's locked," he heard an indistinct voice through the thick door.

"Open it up!" That almost sounded like Colonel Dastun, but why would he be here?"

He heard the rattle of the key in the lock, and then the door opened. "Never thought I'd be happy to see your face," he said to Roger Smith.

"I can leave if you'd prefer." Roger's response didn't have half of the usual rancor in it.

"Thanks anyway," Jason stood shakily, unsure if his lightheadedness was from hunger or sheer relief. "Does this mean I can go home now?"


The guards who had accompanied Dastun on the inspection were horrified when they found out he'd been there since Sunday. One of them guided him to the infirmary so the medic could give him a quick once over, while the other insisted on going to his locker to get his own lunch. Beck could tell that Dastun was bursting with questions, but to his relief, nothing was said until he'd gotten some food and water and had a hot shower. The clothes they lent him didn't fit very well, but they were at least clean, and Jason was happy to sit in one of the offices and sip a hot cup of coffee that tasted like heaven while Dastun barked orders and everyone else scurried to obey them.

By the time Dastun was ready to leave, Jason felt a lot better. "I've taken the liberty of calling Sam Tate," Dan told him. "He's very relieved we found you, and as long as you don't have any objection, he wanted us to bring you by."

"That's fine by me," he said. One of the guards had found his wallet and watch, and his identification was intact although the cash was missing. Now that he knew he had access to his money, he wasn't in any hurry to go back to his apartment. Roger Smith had confirmed his suspicion that it had been ransacked, and he wasn't in any shape to try to clean up a mess at this moment. After he talked to Tate, he intended to head straight to the nearest hotel, get himself a good dinner, and get some sleep in a nice, comfortable bed!

When they went out to the ferry, Smith didn't join them at the dock. Mr. Paradigm City Negotiator had apparently gone off to negotiate something. Jason was just as happy not to have to ride with him.

Dastun debriefed him on the way to Tate's, although Beck didn't have much to tell him that they hadn't already managed to piece together. "Nothing wrong with that plan, you just got unlucky," Dan said when Jason explained about seeing the two men lurking near the door of his apartment building, being chased, and his decision to go to the gallery before going to a hotel for the weekend. He described the man who'd visited his cell, promising to stop by to see the composite artist over the next few days. Dan told him about his and Roger's end of the search, and Beck was pleased to hear that the cop who had punched him, Atwood, was now sitting in the very same holding cell at the station. Dastun promised a full investigation. "Obviously, there was someone on the inside of the prison as well, so we'll have to do some housecleaning there. We'll get to the bottom of this," he assured Jason.

"I just want to stop at the bank, if you don't mind," Beck said. The matter of the missing cash was weighing on him, he didn't want to leave Tate short.

Dastun laughed. "Guess I owe Sam half a dozen doughnuts," he said, leaning forward and asking the driver to stop at the nearest coffee shop. "He predicted you would ask to do that, and when you did, I was to tell you not to worry about it for the moment," he said, settling back against the seat again. "He said that you can settle up after you've had a couple of days to recover."

Jason nodded, feeling ridiculously tired for someone who had just spent the better part of four days sitting around in a cell. They stopped to pick up the doughnuts, but to Jason's surprise, they didn't turn towards the gallery. "I thought we were going to Tate's," he said.

"Yes, he's at home," Dan said. "He said he was going to close up early."

"I would never steal from him," Jason said. He figured Dastun knew, but he wanted to say it out loud.

"He knows that," Dan said. "If it weren't for him, we might not have found you--he was beating a path to Roger Smith's door first thing Monday morning when he didn't see you at the magistrate's session."

Beck was glad when the car stopped in front of Tate's building a moment later--he had the feeling that if he let himself dwell on the fact that the old man actually gave a crap about what happened to him, he'd break down and blubber like a little kid. It had to be the aftereffects of no human contact for four days, he didn't think he was going soft.

Tate met them at the door. "So you've finally turned up!" his voice was gruff with relief. "I see I won our little bet, Colonel."

Dan laughed and handed over the doughnuts. "I've got to get back to Headquarters," he said. "If you think of anything, just call the office."

"Will do," Jason promised. "Thanks for getting me out," he said. "No hard feelings." Honestly, he was too relieved to be angry.

"You're welcome," Dan said, looking a little surprised. "Don't hesitate to call if you see any suspicious characters."

"I'll have to take down all the mirrors or I'll be calling every ten minutes," Jason said. Dan grinned in spite of himself and offered a lazy salute as he headed back to the waiting car.

Jason sat down at the kitchen table and let Tate fuss over him for a while. He ate the bowl of soup the old man put down in front of him and tried to make conversation for a while, but his eyes kept threatening to close on him. "What you need now is a good night's sleep," Tate said in a tone that brooked no argument. "I made up the bed in the spare room. We can talk tomorrow."


The world looked a hell of a lot better when you were dressed in a freshly-cleaned suit and had a good breakfast in you! Jason stepped back and admired the horrible painting he'd bought, which had been hung in a place of honor next to several others in the back office. "Every time I start getting overconfident, I look at them to remind myself that I'm just as much of a sucker as anyone," Tate chuckled. Jason hadn't really thought about those paintings, he'd assumed they were unsalable ones that had been part of an estate or auction lot. He had no idea that they were Tate's own mistakes. "Even with all the knowledge in the world, boy, you're going to get taken now and then," the old man told him. "Sure, if it was happening once a week, we'd have to have a talk, but overall you've done real well. Your instincts didn't steer you wrong, either, you had a feeling something wasn't quite right. If you run into that situation again, call me at home. We'll decide together, and if we get taken, well, we'll be equally to blame."

Tate wouldn't let him repay the money either. "We'll file a claim with the Military Police. Believe me, they're so relieved that you haven't run screaming to the papers about being falsely imprisoned that they'll pay up gladly. You need your money, you're going to have to hire a security guard or move to a more secure apartment."

"The landlady was talking about getting a door man a while ago," Jason said. "Maybe I can offer to chip in for it or something. I kind of like the location, it's convenient, and she keeps things in real nice shape."

"That might be enough to get her to do it," Tate agreed. "You're welcome to stay for the next couple of days."

Jason's initial impulse was to decline, but until things were arranged, it was better that he not stay there by himself. "It's probably a good idea," he admitted. "I figured I'd stop by my place later to see how bad it was and get some fresh clothes."

"I'll go with you if you don't mind waiting until we close up," Tate said. "Or you can call the agency I use for when I've got to transport something really valuable. I'm sure you want to get over there just so you know what you're dealing with."

"Pretty much," Jason said. "What's their number?"


"I thought I would find you here," Dorothy had politely waited while the security guard announced her. She inspected the bruise on his jaw with interest. "Those are spectacular colors," she said.

Jason ignored her. He was looking mournfully at his desk, which was lying at a strange angle due to the two front legs having been snapped off. "My desk... they broke it!"

"I'm sure it can be repaired," Dorothy knelt and examined one of the broken off legs. She hunted around on the floor for a minute and came up with the chunk that had split off the side of the leg. "This is real wood, which means they can glue it back together, sand down the seam a little and put some fresh finish on it. It will be good as new."

That made him feel better. He was fond of that desk, it was the first piece of furniture he'd ever purchased, and he'd paid quite a bit for it. "Where would I get it repaired?" he asked, looking around for the other leg. Dorothy rattled off a name and number and Jason laughed. He found pen and paper and had her say it more slowly so he could write it down. "So what brings you here today, Miss Wayneright?" he asked.

"I wanted to talk to you about Big--" she began, but Jason quickly cut her off.

"The big mess?" he asked said, making a cut-off gesture with his hand. "What, are you here to help?"

"If you wish," she said. She looked puzzled but helped him to pick up the bureau and set it back where it belonged.

"I think I'm going to need a new bed" Jason said when he saw that the mattress cover had been slashed and the springs were sticking out of it. They'd been nothing if not thorough. "Here, help me take this out back," he said. They wrestled the mattress down the stairs and leaned it against the dumpster. "All right," he said, looking around. "Talk fast."

"Why didn't you want to talk in your apartment?" she asked.

"Because they may have done more than rip the place apart, they may have planted a bug or two," Jason said. "I'm not going to discuss anything in there until I've had a chance to go through it carefully. What did you want to tell me?"

"I have the override codes," Dorothy said. "We can test again as soon as you've had a chance to take care of things."

"Monday," Jason said. "Can you meet me over at the garage at three?"

"That's fine," Dorothy said.

He was surprised when she followed him back up the stairs, but he was glad of the help. They worked for another forty-five minutes before she said "I have to leave now. Would you like me to come back tomorrow?"

"I think we've gotten the worst of it," Jason said, looking around. "Now that the furniture is where it belongs, I can start putting things away. Better get home before Crow-Boy gets all huffy about you being here without a chaperone." He looked at her and grinned at the definite quirk to the corners of her mouth. He walked her to the door and watched as she started down the stairs. "Oh, by the way... thanks!" he called down after her. She nodded acknowledgement and continued on her way.

He went back inside and looked around. The unexpected help had made it possible to get a lot more done than he'd planned. He definitely wanted to take care of his desk today. He went and found the drawer with the false bottom and was pleased to discover his notes just as he had left them. The seller had assured him that it was so cleverly made that even someone who knew it was there might have trouble finding it, and he was glad the merchant had been correct.

He folded the papers and put them in the inside pocket of his jacket, then neatly stacked the empty drawers next to the desk and put the broken legs and pieces of wood into the drawer on top of the pile, then got the piece of paper with the repair shop's phone number.

The person who answered the phone said they could pick up the desk in an hour, so Jason concentrated on putting his bureau back together. There were a few things that needed to be washed, stepped on, most likely, but most of them just needed to be shaken out and refolded. By the time the truck arrived to pick up the desk, Jason had put all his clothes away and packed an overnight bag with some spares. He was right about his stash being gone, but they'd missed the small roll of twenties he'd stuffed into one of his pairs of socks, which at least meant he could order a new bed and mattress tomorrow, and offer to spring for dinner tonight. What he really wanted was a good steak!

Too bad he hadn't thought to ask Dorothy to clean out the refrigerator for him. He held his breath as he loaded all the spoiled food into a bag and got it outside as quickly as possible. That was enough for today. Tomorrow he'd go to a department store to replace the lamp and a few odds and ends that had been damaged beyond repair. Hopefully his landlady would be home so he could talk to her. He called a cab, and a short time later, he and his body guard were headed back to Tate's place.