Disclaimer: I don't own FMA.

AN: Hello everyone! Just a heads up, responses to guest reviews from the last chapter can be found at the end of this one. And now, part three!

The Paris Job (A Few Weeks Later)

It was mid-afternoon on a sunny Friday and Roy was leaning over his desk finishing paperwork. His jacket hung on the back of his chair and he'd rolled his sleeves up to the elbow, compensating for the warmth of the sunlight streaming through the office window. He was starting to feel the strain in his neck, but ignored it as he put a finishing touch on a report covering the counterfeiting ring his team had shut down.

Even as he closed other cases, the Loki investigation clawed at the back of his mind and he searched constantly for what they may have missed. Oh, how he wanted to put that team away after they'd had two years to work unchecked. If he did, it might mean the promotion that would give him the clearance to read his parents' file.

Unfortunately, there had been few developments in the Loki case over the past month. The group had done one more job they knew of during that time in Los Angeles, California. In that instance, Roy and his team only managed to arrive after the fact, examine the scene, and determine what happened. It appeared that the crew was able to pull a job and then disappear, seemingly into thin air.

His own team sent feelers out regarding a thief called Loki to various contacts he and his agents possessed, but had received no information regarding the robbery. They'd only managed to find the group in Baltimore after endlessly studying the past thefts, identifying possible targets, and selecting the most likely. In short, it was intelligent investigation with a sprinkling of luck.

Roy was unavoidably aggravated by the sheer versatility of the crew, which made it difficult to make better predictions of their moves. Unfortunately, there would likely be more thefts, if only because they simply needed more data. It seemed that each member was master of a surprising number of skills, which meant they could complete a wide variety of operations. And they could not stake out every potential crime scene.

The composite sketch of the woman turned out to be useless, and according to fingerprints found on the office safe she was George Clooney. Needless to say, having actually been on top of her for a short time, he doubted that. Even more surprising was that his friend Hughes could not find her in any Interpol database. According to technology, she did not exist, had simply never been caught, or happened to live completely off the grid. He was very seriously considering calling in some favors and trying to have the image run through fancy CIA databases, but that was a long shot.

Then a couple weeks ago, much to his irritation, he found a listening device affixed under the lapel of one of his suit jackets. The instant he saw it he recalled running into that 'nurse' in the hospital the day after they worked the museum. What with everything going on that day he had been lax, and he mentally chastised himself for it. Okay, Loki. Point to you. The device had already run out of power when he found it, but Breda recognized the bug and contacted one of his many technologically savvy friends who 'knew a guy' in Paris. At that point he brought Hughes in to make the investigation a joint effort between the FBI and Interpol. The waiting had begun.

He took a drink of water and raked a hand through his hair to move it out of his face, eyes focused on the document he was about to sign. When his phone rang he lifted the receiver to his ear, answering crisply, "Mustang."

"Hey, I've gotten word from my Interpol buddies," Hughes informed him.

Roy's eyes shot upward. "Hit me."

"According to the supplier of that little bug, his customer will be in Paris tomorrow."

"Do we have an ID? Or know the target?"

"Not yet, but I called Breda and had him start looking into what's happening in Paris during that time-frame."

"Good. Pack a bag. We're going to Paris."

"I could not be more in...But I have to call Gracia, so if I don't show up, it's because I'm dead."

He chuckled, picking up speed on his paperwork. "Oh, come on, you drama queen. She won't kill you…she'll understand."

"Yeah, she's pretty great. You know she…"

"I know, man," Roy interrupted what would have been a long-winded ode to Mrs. Hughes. "Yours is the best wife to have ever existed."

"Do I detect a note of sarcasm? If so, it's not appreciated. I will tell Gracia, and then she'll make you come for dinner when we get back." He could hear the smugness in his friend's voice, as if eating a well-cooked meal was actually a form of punishment.

"No sarcasm at all, my friend," Roy smiled. "I'll have Havoc text you the details once we find a ride."

"Thanks," he replied. Thoughtfully he added, "Ahh, going abroad...catching bad guys. Or bad ladies, in this instance. This will be fun."

"Please try to contain your enthusiasm." He signed page after page, the cramp in his hand making him wish he had one of those signature stamps.

"No, seriously. This Loki case is intriguing."

"I know, and I'm serious," he chuckled. "Sometimes your enthusiasm scares my team."

"Noted…but no promises."

"Of course."

"Later," Hughes responded, ending the call and no doubt already calling his wife.

Roy disconnected the call and dialed Havoc's number, listening to it ring a few times. A pleased grin blossomed on his face as he thought, Okay, Loki. Point to me.

"Havoc."

"Hey, man. I need a flight. We're going to Paris…tonight."

Havoc laughed. "You're joking, right?"

"Not even a little." He had a good feeling about their trip and could not stop smiling. They were going to catch her, he just knew it.

"Not that. I mean I was just gonna call to tell you we have to go to Paris."

He looked up from his desk surprised. "What?"

"Yeah, I got news from one of my contacts...Loki's crew is gonna hit the Louvre during an exhibit opening on Saturday."

"No shit." The Louvre was a major target, and he would thoroughly enjoy throwing a wrench into the thief's plans.

"Shit yeah." Havoc chuckled at his own joke.

"And this contact is reliable?" The thieves they were chasing seemed to be several moves ahead of them and he wanted to be certain the information was legitimate. He wanted to make sure they would catch the team unawares.

"Yeah, he's been a CI of mine off and on for years."

He nodded. "Alright. That gives me a bit more confidence in the intel."

"Yeah, he's as solid as a criminal can be." His friend paused, and he could hear the quiet clicks of a keyboard in the background. "Okay, I found a plane leaving tonight...wheels up at 1900."

"Get us on it."

"Will do. I'll inform the others."

"I want you, Breda, and Hughes for this…the others will stay here. Maes will be our liaison, but I don't want to piss the French off because we look like we're trying to take over."

"Good point. I'll send you all the details."

"Thanks."

"See ya."

Roy still grinned as he worked, suddenly feeling rather optimistic about the case. More so than he'd felt since they first connected the dots on all those unsolved thefts over the past few years. They could do this; those bastards would go to jail, and he would receive that promotion.

He momentarily wondered what his old partner would have thought about him taking down a thief like Loki, but quickly shook it off. His first partner was Special Agent Berthold 'The Hawk' Gavilán, not to mention his mentor and close friend. The man had trained him, showed him the ropes, and he had even told the Hawk about his parents: how they died, how he frequently saw flashes of when he found them, that it was a theft gone wrong, that he'd always wondered if that was true. Roy was justly dumbfounded when he discovered that the man was also none other than Zeus, the infamous and prolific thief. Gavilán had been brazen enough to attempt to steal a weapon, codenamed The Philosopher's Stone, right from under the FBI's nose. He died that night, killed by an unknown assailant after having shot Roy when he realized what was going on.

Shaking his head, he glanced at the upper right-hand drawer of his desk where he kept a unique medallion given to him by Berthold. His one-time partner had tossed it to him, with the strange words, "Make sure she gets this," just before shooting him. He never understood why they man would give him something before putting a bullet in him. Still, Roy had combed all records he could obtain without finding evidence that Berthold had any family or close friends. He kept the necklace as a reminder that he should be incredibly careful who he trusted.

And to this day, whenever he thought of the incident, it struck him as odd. Weapons had never been Zeus' style, and he was far too intelligent to try to rob a secure government facility with several FBI teams on site. He had always found something to be slightly off, but then he'd recall being shot and the anger would resurface.

Forcing his attention back to his work, he took another drink of water and hurried to finish up after another glance at the clock. Once done, he stood with a smile and gathered his effects, thinking that this was going to be a fantastic trip.

A couple days later, Roy sat at the hotel bar in Paris, thoroughly perplexed by the distinct lack of Loki and her crew at the Louvre event earlier that evening. He took a swig of beer and set it down on the dark bar-top with a bit more vigor than necessary, releasing a heavy sigh.

"We'll figure out what happened, Roy," Maes encouraged from his left, sipping his own drink.

"We had the intel...what the hell is going on?" He momentarily caught his reflection in the mirror behind the liquor bottles and noticed how exhausted he looked, which likely made his irritation more acute.

Their plane had touched down in Paris at approximately 0400 their time, which meant that in their current location it was 1000. Roy tried his utmost to sleep during the flight, but that was never one of his greatest talents, especially on a military cargo plane. Thus, with a stiff neck and much in need of coffee, he disembarked with Havoc, Breda, and Hughes. Their first stop was the Parisian Interpol office, where Hughes established their presence and met with an agent he'd already spoken to about their arrival.

After catching some rest at the hotel they had dressed and gone to the party, fully prepared to stop a theft. Only as the night progressed...nothing happened. Breda, working from the hotel close by, found no evidence of a comm frequency. He also was comparing their sketch of Loki to every single person in that museum. No matches were found.

"We can go over the list of guests again, look a little more closely," Maes added optimistically. "It's possible we missed them."

"No," he shook his head. "They checked everything at the museum and nothing was reported missing." After another swig he gestured with the bottle, "We've been on their trail. They could have fed us the Louvre information to throw us off."

"And they would just happen to know who Havoc's contact was?" Maes dubiously asked, toying with his rum and coke.

"Why not?" Roy grumbled with a shrug. "There's a reason they went unnoticed for so long…they're skilled." And that fact was starting to vex him further.

"True, but you noticed what no one else did. So think, if they're in Paris, what might they hit?"

He looked at his friend, wracking his brain. On impulse, he took out his cellphone and dialed the number for the hotel room they were using for a base. When it was answered, he said, "Breda, find out if any other high profile or unique event or item is in Paris right now. Keep your eyes open, it could be anything."

"Alright, Boss. I'll let you know what I find."

"Thanks." At the instant he replied, someone walked past his chair, brushing against him lightly in the crush of bodies. As he turned to look, he caught the mild scent of lavender and saw it was a woman. The room was dark, so he could not see her well, but he noticed a slim, fit frame. Dark eyes found his gaze and she uttered a soft, 'Pardon' in French, giving him a small, not quite coy smile. He felt his own lips curving in return and, as she walked away, he saw that blonde hair cascaded over one shoulder. As his eyes followed the slope of her back he discerned the hint of a tattoo near her right shoulder blade, where her top dipped slightly.

Roy's gaze lingered for a moment where she disappeared into the crowd before returning his attention to his friend, who was commenting, "I've never seen a hotel bar so busy."

"Me either. But the Louvre did just have a big event." He tasted his beer again, glancing at the mirror behind the bar to scan the room, and suddenly his lips formed a line as he shook his head. "Son of a bitch." He quickly checked his pockets and felt over his shirt for anything planted before spinning in his seat to search his jacket. When he found nothing, he grabbed Hughes' coat and gave it the same treatment.

"Roy? What the hell?" His friend was watching him like he'd just lost his sanity entirely.

"Check your pockets and clothes, man." Roy stood, feeling his pants pockets and examining the bar, the floor nearby, anywhere something could have been left for him to find.

"What am I looking for?"

"A bug, a phone, a snarky note, a tiny vial of poison...I don't know, anything."

Maes gave him a puzzled look and stood as well to better access various parts of his person. "Do you mind explaining just what the fuck is going on?"

"Hold on." When he was sure nothing was there, he turned to search the crowd, though he knew that if the woman had dropped anything on them she was already gone. After one last survey of the room he resumed his seat, taking a disappointed swig. "Dammit...Sorry, Maes. Someone brushed past me and I thought they might have planted something."

"Well, after you found that bug I can't blame you. But I didn't find anything."

"Me either." He shrugged, raising his beer bottle again. "Maybe I'm getting paranoid." He certainly felt paranoid, now that he was using the mirror to constantly scan the bar. If the woman came back, they would have a little chat.

"No, you're learning from past experience, keeping an eye out. That's a good thing."

"I guess you're right." He paused, trying to quell his anger and take the suspicion down to a normal level. "Anyway...you were saying?"

"I was? Oh, right, I was gonna say that I wish I could have brought Gracia. She would love Paris."

"Probably," he assented. "Except for the work part. Take her on a second honeymoon or something." Maes and Gracia were freakishly great together as well as wonderful people; they deserved a vacation.

"That's not a bad idea. When we got married we couldn't afford a big trip." With a raised glass he added, "You're not too bad, Roy."

"I can give advice, I just can't follow it for shit." As evidenced by his ridiculous love life.

"Don't I know it," Maes agreed. "That girl in college…Emily? I told you to run screaming in the opposite direction." His friend pointed at him with his drink to punctuate the admonition, eyebrows so far raised they were practically joining forces with his hair.

Roy chuckled. "Yes, you did. But I didn't listen."

"No, you didn't. And she set your goddamn car on fire."

"Never a dull moment," he laughed with a shrug.

"I think you need someone much less interesting than that...with the crazy dialed way down."

"You're one to talk. You are at least mildly psychotic when it comes to Gracia."

"Now you're just being mean," Maes retorted, feigning indignation before changing the subject. "So, now that I'm officially on the Loki case, what will our next move be?"

"There are some thefts in various countries I'd like you to look at that I believe can be attributed to Loki." He paused. "There are quite a few that I have a hunch on, but there's so little evidence we'll never be sure." His phone rang and he held up a hand to his friend to apologize for the interruption. "Yeah, Breda, what do you have?"

"Here's what I found most interesting: a private collection of Egyptian antiquities, a shipment of valuable and rare gems arriving at a premier jeweler's tonight, and some rich kid that calls himself the Duke has three 17th century rings going up for auction tomorrow. This last one I find particularly interesting because, based on the Interpol file on him, he is also suspected of dabbling in arms dealing."

Roy thought for a moment. "See what else you can find out about the Duke…that sounds just like our girl's type. Several of their marks have been crooks."

"Yes, sir."

He ended the call and slipped the phone back in his pocket saying, "Sorry about that….anyway." He held up a hand to order another drink as the bartender approached, watching as the patron next to him handed the barman a phone. His French was rusty, but it seemed like the customer had found the phone in their jacket pocket, and Roy's eyes narrowed.

"So, these jobs you want me to look into, they contain similarities that you believe mean it was the same crew?"

"Correct," Roy replied, returning his attention to the bartender when the phone began to ring, the opening guitar riff from Stevie Wonder's 'Superstition' just audible over the bar's music. He and Maes shared a look, watching to see what happened.

The barman looked at it oddly, and then shrugged. "Allô?" The man's brow furrowed and he began to scan the patrons sitting at the bar. He stopped on Roy and lowered the phone to ask, "T'appelles-tu Roy Mustang?"

He eyed him and then nodded, curiosity and indignation fighting for dominance since something had been left for him, he just did not find it. "Yeah, that's me."

"It is for you, sir."

The man's accent was heavy, but he was still able to understand. He took the proffered phone and shared another look with Hughes before greeting the caller curiously. "Hello?"

He waited until an instant later a woman's voice said, "Are you enjoying your trip to Paris, Agent Mustang?" The voice sounded friendly and conversational.

His eyes flew up to Maes when he recognized the speaker and he covered the microphone to whisper, "It's her." This was an unexpected move on her part, and he felt a jolt of satisfaction since it meant they'd been getting close.

"Loki, how kind of you to call," he smoothly responded, throwing money down for their drinks before he and Hughes grabbed their jackets and raced for the elevators to find Breda. "My trip has been…educational," he continued. "And yours?" He wanted to keep her on the phone, hoping that they might be able to locate her. They reached the bank of elevators, jumping into one just as the doors were closing.

"Oh, you know," she casually replied. "Late breakfasts in cafés, shopping, the usual. We're sorry we missed you at the Louvre. And after you came all this way."

He chuckled as the doors finally opened on their floor after what seemed like an eternity, and they sprinted toward the room. "Don't worry about it, I'm sure we'll find each other." He heard a light laugh from her end. Covering the mic once more, he whispered to Breda, "Trace this call, it's her, and get that Duke's address. I want people over there asap."

"By the way, how is Agent Havoc? Fully healed I hope." Her interest in his partner's condition sounded genuine, and that surprised him.

He responded, "He's in great shape, thank you for asking. Speaking of, I'm a little pissed that you shot my friend." While he spoke, he waved off Havoc's whisper of, 'I think she likes me.'

"Only a little." He thought he discerned a smile in her voice.

"On that subject, I hope my bullet didn't hurt you too badly." Breda handed him a hastily scrawled note: She's at the Louvre. Looking up, he mouthed, 'Let's go.' Hughes held up his own phone to indicate that he would call his Interpol contact in that city to have law enforcement converge on that location.

Riza glanced down at her other phone when the screen lit upon the arrival of a text message. Fuery: On their way to Breda. She grinned as she slid herself underneath the grand piano in a fashionable Parisian mansion. It was owned by an extremely spoiled young Frenchman who enjoyed calling himself the Duke. She had the thought that he likely did not even play the piano.

"Oh, you know," she replied, wearing earbuds connected to a burner phone. "Late breakfasts in cafés, shopping, the usual. We're sorry we missed you at the Louvre. And after you came all this way." She simultaneously removed a portion of the false bottom of the instrument to reveal a relatively thin lock-box concealed therein.

He chuckled, and she could hear movement on his end of the call. "Don't worry about it, I'm sure we'll find each other." His voice was pleasantly deep, and he kept it well controlled despite everything that was likely happening around him.

"By the way, how is Agent Havoc? Fully healed I hope." Riza slipped a lock-picking set from her pocket as Rebecca lay next to her and whispered, "They're tracing the call." She nodded that she understood.

"He's in great shape, thank you for asking. Speaking of, I'm a little pissed that you shot my friend." She could vaguely hear the whispers of his team in the background, and his voice was now tinted with anger.

"Only a little." She jiggled the tools in the lock, waiting to find certain grooves, and Rebecca nudged her, mouthing something to which she responded with a shake of her head.

"On that subject, I hope my bullet didn't hurt you too badly." There was increased activity around him after that, and she assumed they'd identified her location as the museum. This was confirmed hardly an instant later by a text from Fuery: They're heading to the Louvre.

"No lasting harm done. It was only a flesh wound." She laughed as Rebecca nudged her once more and added, "Freya would like you to know that you have an incredibly sexy phone voice." Riza glanced at her friend, eyebrows raised, as the lock clicked open. In fluid synchronization, she opened the box and the other woman fit a small object in a groove to complete the circuit before the alarm was triggered.

He laughed again, and she could hear the amusement in his voice when he said, "Ahh, thank you, I guess."

"Freya likes to share her opinions." She began removing the Duke's accounting books for his arms dealing business from the box, along with a few valuable rings about to go up for auction. Meanwhile, Rebecca checked her watch and at an established time started a song playing on her phone, which Mustang and his men would also happen to hear at the Louvre. Fuery: They're searching the Louvre.

"Clearly." He paused, continuing incredulously, "Are you listening to Journey? During a robbery?"

"Ooh...five points to our fearless pursuer," Riza rejoined with a grin. "But it's alleged robbery, if you don't mind, and if you can name the song I'll give you five more." She closed the now empty lock-box and secured it as Rebecca packed the newly retrieved items into a bag.

"You don't think you're a bit overconfident?" His exasperation was more evident, and she began to hear the song from his side of the call along with footfalls as they surrounded her presumed position.

"Perhaps…but then, things aren't always as they seem, Agent Mustang." Riza replaced the false bottom and gathered the tools she had used, returning her lock-picking set to her pocket.

"Shit," he sighed in annoyance. "It's a fucking phone. You've been toying with me."

"Yes…unfortunate, but necessary." Her team had set up this little ploy since Agent Mustang had proven to be unexpectedly resourceful, and intuitive. First they'd found out about Paris and then, when nothing happened at the Louvre they started looking into the Duke. A distraction had become necessary. She eyed her watch, counting down until she would have to end the call to avoid their true location being discovered. "You knew we would be in Paris, we had to improvise…This is where I leave you, Agent Mustang. I've enjoyed our chat."

Ending the call before they could trace it, she removed the battery from the phone for good measure. While she extricated herself from underneath the instrument, Rebecca commented, "He'll be ticked if he finds out you're the one that dropped the phone on him."

Riza laughed. "I doubt he'll ever know." She straightened a few items, ensuring nothing was out of place. "Anyway, what is it you always tell me?"

"That you have the lightest hands in the business," the brunette resignedly supplied, still giving her a look. "I suppose outside help would have been an unnecessary risk."

"Don't worry. Other than to meet my eyes for a second, his were not focused on my face." She recalled how fatigued he'd looked at the bar, and that his eyes were so dark she could not even determine their color. After a quick survey of the room she added, "Do we have everything?"

"Yes," her friend replied as they moved everything back into its rightful place. The Duke would
be arriving at his Paris home in several hours, and they wanted to be certain that he would have no idea anyone had been there until it was too late.

"We'd better move. He probably already sent people our way."

"Very true. I'm ready."

"So am I."

The two women exited onto a patio, silently closing the door behind them. They navigated the petite lawn until reaching the stone wall that surrounded the historic property, which they scaled. Two sets of boots found purchase in the alley beyond, and Riza met her friend's gaze for an instant when sirens could be heard. The police were closer than they liked.

"What do you think?" Rebecca asked, keeping her voice low. "We could commandeer a vehicle."

"I think we could more easily disappear on foot. There's a popular shopping and dining area a couple streets over."

With a shared nod they made for another alley, maintaining a casual pace to avoid arousing suspicion. They did what they could to blend in before reaching the line of shops quickly, finding the street busy with diners, evening shoppers, and people simply out for a stroll. Careful to avoid cameras, the pair meandered with the crowd, finally stopping to hail a cab and take their seats in the back.

When the phone in her pocket buzzed, she removed it and held it so Rebecca could see the screen as well. Fuery: They arrived at the Duke's mansion. How the hell did they figure that out?

She and her friend both shrugged lightly as she responded: We're clear. He's good...got a feel for us somehow. ETA 15. There were innumerable possible targets in Paris at any given time and she had to give Agent Mustang points for selecting the Duke. In Baltimore she thought the FBI team had been lucky, but tonight had to be instinct on his part paired with what was at least a decent knowledge of her teams past missions. Very clever, Agent Mustang.

Overall, she got the impression that their adversary was well-aware of his looks and of the fact that he was a talented agent. Despite that, rather than the over-confident mien she'd expected, that night she'd discerned no haughtiness. He actually seemed discouraged, like he cared deeply about what he did, and she briefly wondered what drove him.

Riza was still watching the lights of Paris flit by when her phone vibrated in her hand.

Rebecca Catalina: So, our hotel? Or theirs? ;)

She shook her head and chuckled. Are you really texting me right now? I'm sitting right here.

RC: I'm being covert...thought you'd like it. We should do the hide-in-plain-sight thing. They'll never look for us at their hotel.

RH: No, we stick with the one across the street. Becca gave her a sad puppy look.

RC: Come on. It just takes the fun up a notch, ya know?

RH: No.

RC: We just had a really nice evening. Why are you so bitchy?

RH: Why are you so annoying?

RC: I'm not annoying, I'm persistent.

RH: Oh, good. I love the semantic nuance game.

RC: I know! Me too!

Laughing, Riza returned her phone to her pocket and paid the driver when he stopped at the address they had given him. The women found the sidewalk and strolled in the direction of their hotel, which was two blocks south and three east. She inhaled deeply, relishing being back in Paris and looking forward to enjoying the city now that their work was done.

Roy stormed into his hotel room, still seething and finally able to let it out. Not only had the Louvre been a dead end, but by the time the police had reached the Duke's mansion, no one was there. Throwing his phone down on the hotel bed he moved to stare out the window, furious with himself for having fallen for Loki's trick. Leaning on the sill, he stared out at the city and shook his head, disappointed in himself. He wanted it too badly and should have slowed down to think about the situation more carefully. For starters, he should have sent officers to the mansion at the same time they went to the museum. He fucked up.

He could almost hear the Hawk's voice in his head: You know better, Roy. You've got a brain...use it, goddamit. He certainly ought to have known better and his mistake cost them.

"Well played, Loki," he muttered to himself. "Well fucking played."

AN: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and have a great day! :)

Response(s) to guest review(s):

123: Glad to hear you came back to check out chapter two, and that you liked it. Thanks for reading!