"We're in briefing room one," Princess told Jason over the bracelet as he rode the elevator up to black section. "Waiting for you. Birdstyle required."

"Anderson knew exactly where I was and how long I'd take to get here." He knew it came out harsh. He knew, too, that she hadn't meant it like that. The point stood. Anderson knew, pretty much to the minute, how long it took him to get here from his trailer. It wouldn't have cost him anything to tell everyone else to turn up to the meeting five minutes later.

Both Anderson and Ivanov were in the meeting, which was unusual. Also present was a man he didn't recognise. That was equally unusual, but expected the moment Princess had told him to show up in birdstyle; it invariably meant that someone would be there who didn't need to know their real identities.

"Chief, Colonel," he acknowledged as he headed to his seat at Anderson's right hand.

"Commander," Anderson responded, without a hint of sarcasm or dig at his lateness, and Jason mentally re-evaluated. Maybe it was just that urgent. "This is Agent Nineteen, who normally works under Major Grant. You need to hear what he has to say."

"Agent," Jason said, leaning back. "What have I missed?"

"Agent Nineteen has been involved in an undercover operation investigating Spectran operations which concern our satellites. He's fairly sure something big is going down."

Jason frowned. "Chief, something big did go down. They tried to take Comsat Three and we splatted them."

"This would be what you missed, G-1 - if you'd just listen, please? It seems likely that the Comsat Three attack was a feint."

"But they -" Jason caught himself and stopped.

"We know that there were two attacks planned." Agent Nineteen spoke for the first time. He sounded - and looked - entirely unassuming, but Jason knew that these men were anything but. Behind the round, almost chubby face would be a sharp mind. And he of all people didn't judge people by how impressive their voices were. This man's voice was nearly as high and light as his own. "Both a feint and a real one, so that any intercepted communications or plans would be assumed to be associated with the feint."

"Maybe they abandoned the feint," Rick said.

The agent looked sideways at him. "G-5, the feint was to use expendable human personnel. The real one will use Spectrans."

"We did wonder what the point of the Comsat Three attack was," Princess said. "Rio seemed... it's a big city, but it's hardly a strategically important target. And that dish...am I the only one who thought it looked a bit, well, showy? Flamboyant? Not that practical?"

Keyop snorted. "Just like all other Spectran super-weapons."

"Maybe. Did the technical guys figure out what it was supposed to do yet?"

Anderson shook his head, his jaw set, and the agent continued.

"Grant suspected there was something going on up on Comsat Three, possibly infiltration at a high level. He wanted to investigate it himself, and taking your trainees up was an entirely plausible cover. I understand a Commander Jarrald took his place – is he available? Is there any chance he and Grant would have discussed it previously? Should he be here?"

"None," Jason said. "And no." The very last thing Mark needed to hear right now was that the Blackbirds he'd led the trainees against hadn't been real Blackbirds at all, and had been intended to lose. He wondered how that had been supposed to happen. Had Mark and the trainees not been there, Comsat Three would have fallen without a fight.

Tiny suddenly spluttered, sitting up straight. "So...Grant was looking for an infiltrator. We caught the guy who'd been on the inside - but that was easy, too. Why'd he stand up and say it was him, instead of staying undercover?"

"Because then we'd stop looking," said Princess. "And we did. We counted heads and we walked away."

"Grant suspected that there was more than one level of infiltration on Comsat Three," the agent said. "The operative who you picked up may not even have been aware of the others, and was almost certainly junior to them if he knew only about the feint."

"But now we know," said Tiny. "So we go up there and shut the whole thing down."

"That would cripple our early warning system." Anderson's tone was resigned and regretful. "In fact, it's entirely possible that scaring us into doing so is their aim. It's unlikely they know all our jump-communications are filtered through Comsat Three as well, but we can't afford to disrupt operations up there because intel says they're going to do the same type of attack twice. They've managed to plant false information before."

Tiny looked rather taken aback. Princess looked horrified.

"So," said Jason, having been quietly digesting the information, "what you're saying is that we either shut down our jump-comms and the early warning system, or we leave ourselves open to another Comsat Three type attack, oh and this time it might be run by people who know what they're doing?"

"You mean the Blackbirds up there didn't know what they were doing?" That was Rick.

Keyop chuckled. "Even the Raven took one down. Dead easy. Two at once, no problem for us. Not real goons, even. We said so, didn't we, Tiny?"

"Yup," their pilot agreed. "Christmas come early, it was. Fastest cleanup ever. Too good to be true, we said. Now we know it was."

Rick said no more, just folded his arms and sat back in his chair, and Jason felt a twinge of guilt. He'd noticed at the time, too. Had even considered calling the Kite to come get some hand-to-hand experience, and then had decided against it. It could have been a ruse or a trap, after all. He'd left Rick minding the Phoenix, as usual. Now he wished he'd brought him out and given him a piece of the action. Rick could certainly use the experience.

"When will Major Grant be back on his feet, or at least able to talk?" Princess asked. "This is bad. He should have had someone else who knew what was going on."

"He's still not well," Anderson said. "We've accessed his records. We're getting on top of it now - but you needed to know that there's a problem. That will be all for now, thank you, team. Dismissed."

"Commander, can I speak to you?" Rick asked as they left the room.

Jason sighed before he could stop himself. Right now what he needed was to get his thoughts in order, not to deal with a grumbling Kite. Sure, Rick needed combat experience. Rick knew that. He knew that. It seemed now like Comsat Three would have been the ideal opportunity. But making it happen at the time, without the benefit of hindsight...that was more of an issue. He needed to figure out how to make it happen, safely, without getting Rick killed. He didn't need Rick grumbling at him about it; not now, not ever.

"Later," he said bluntly.

"I'd really like to -"

"I said later, G-5." Jason let his exasperation show.

And Rick nodded and walked away, head down.

.

Half an hour later, Jason was sitting at the desk in his quarters at ISO, pile of paperwork in front of him. All of it was overdue mission reports, some of it considerably overdue. He was just working himself up to starting on it when there was a rustling sound from his door, followed by footsteps walking rapidly away. He turned to see a folded sheet of paper pushed under his door. He knew it couldn't be good - such things never were, since people with good news generally knocked in order to give it in person.

But he hadn't anticipated a resignation letter.

At that point, pride went out of the window. He was failing dismally here. He needed help, and he needed it now, and there really was only one person he could talk to about it. One other person who had been where he was now, who knew what it felt like to command G-Force. And who had, not so very long ago, told him to come talk if he wanted to. He'd do that now. He had very little choice.

Jason's plan to go discuss matters with Mark hit an unexpected snag at the first hurdle.

"He's not in this afternoon, sir," the NCO who assisted Mark at Team Seven told him.

"Are you expecting him?"

"No... I can call him in his quarters if you like?"

"Don't bother." Jason was turning away, cursing inwardly but still with just enough pride not to have it known that he was frantically searching for his friend all over the base, when he had second thoughts. "Remind me again where his quarters are?"

"Heron One, sir."

"Thank you." Jason was out and half way down the corridor before two things struck him. One: that Corporal Sanderson shouldn't have given out a senior officer's private accommodation address that casually - and two: that he'd been remarkably deferential to a junior lieutenant the best part of a decade younger than him. Someone else who knew who both he and Mark were, then.

He didn't know exactly where Heron was, but he did remember that the entire crop of new accommodation blocks built a few months back had been given bird names. He assumed it was one of them, and his guess proved to be correct. Once he was close enough that he needed to pick a specific building, there were signs. Heron was the furthest from the main building, and therefore the closest to the sea. Not a bad location, though it was a ghastly modern concrete construction. It had been a long time since ISO had worried about the aesthetics of any of its buildings.

How long had Mark lived here? Months now - and he'd never once come to visit. Jason felt a pang of guilt as he considered that. Had any of them come here? Not that he remembered them saying. After Mark's determination to get away from all things black section, he didn't think any of them had felt able to push their way into his new life. Jason had talked to him in his Team Seven office fairly regularly, had tried to make it obvious that he was welcome to come back to black section any time he wanted, no reason required. He didn't think Mark had been in the ready room since, regardless. He'd split their lives apart very efficiently and quite deliberately, and the rest of them had respected his choice.

And now Jason was standing outside the front door, delaying - because he simply had no idea whether he was going to be facing a Mark furious at having his privacy invaded, or one who had been desperate for someone else to make the first move.

Mark made the first move, he reminded himself. He told you to come talk, if you ever wanted to. Well, you don't want to now - but you sure as hell need to. So quit stalling and get on with it.

Apartment one was on the ground floor, at the far end of the corridor from the front door of the building, and was immediately identifiable even without the brass numberplate because of the extra low door handle. Even now, Jason hesitated. What if Mark told him to get lost?

He won't, his subconscious insisted, and with that he forced himself to ring the bell.

There was a long pause. Long enough that he was just starting to think that maybe Mark wasn't here after all. And then the door opened, and he was eye-to-eye with his former commander.

"Jason? What are you doing here?"

He just stared. Of all the things he might have expected to see, Mark on his feet was possibly the last one.

"Jason?"

He found his voice from somewhere. "Visiting you. Isn't that what you suggested?"

That was absolutely all he was prepared to say in public, but Mark knew what he meant, and pulled the door wider. "Come in."

He was in, and standing in the centre of the room, before it sank in that Mark was still over by the door. And that, while unquestionably on his feet, he was leaning heavily on the sort of metal frame more normally used by the extremely elderly. He'd progressed maybe two feet back from the door at a slow shuffle, and the effort was written all over his face. And then he looked up and saw Jason watching him, and flushed scarlet.

"Sorry. I'm still slow."

"Slow?" Jason stared again. "Mark, you're standing up. Consider me gobsmacked. Though, wouldn't you do better with crutches?"

Mark grimaced. "Yeah, one hell of a lot better. All upper body, just swing my legs through. But what I need is to learn to walk again. So I get to play geriatric grandad." He'd made it the extra six feet back to the closest chair as he spoke, and now lowered himself into it - somewhat gingerly, Jason thought.

"Hard work?"

"Piece of cake. So, you wanted to talk?"

And the moment of hope, and optimism, and good news, was gone. Jason passed over the folded sheet of paper he'd found under his door, sat down in the other chair, and waited.

Twenty seconds, and Mark's eyes lifted to meet his. "How much of that is true?"

"All of it."

A frown. "And how exaggerated?"

"Not at all." Jason felt his shoulders drooping, his image of competence fading...and he didn't care. "Rick's telling the absolute truth. I have been using him as a glorified autopilot. I haven't let him anywhere near hand-to-hand. I've only let him fly the G-1 when I've been certain he'd not encounter the enemy. As a result, he's alive instead of dead and he hates me. And then you used the Force Two trainees against the ComSat Three assault. I had him stay safe on the Phoenix. I think that was the last straw."

"You never let him out."

"Never. It was always safer not to."

"But long term -"

"Mark, I don't do long term. I barely do tomorrow. You were always the strategist." Jason looked down, biting his lip. "I'm a disaster as commander of G-Force. I just blew my civilian cover, my Team Seven persona's gone the same way. I can't do this any more. I'm only still here because the next in line for this godawful job is Princess and she'd be even worse at it than I am." There. It was said, and his energy was gone.

And Mark was looking at him, shaking his head. "You look like crap. What's up with your civilian cover? No, forget I asked. You working up to a migraine right now?"

Jason nodded miserably, wondering if it was that obvious to everyone these days.

"Then let me talk to Rick. See if -"

"It won't help. Like I said, he's dead right. He's better off out of it, and we'll all be a damn sight happier without him." Jason looked desperately at his old friend, unable to say any more. My life is in shreds and I need your help to fix it.

"But it sounds like he's not told Anderson yet."

Jason just shook his head. The nuances of the Kite's resignation letter were pretty much lost on him right now. His vision was starting to shift and blur despite the electrodes against his skull. He needed to curl up and sleep, without delay, before his head started to hurt in earnest, and instead what he had to do was go to Anderson and tell him G-Force was short a co-pilot. For the third time in his career.

"I'd best -"

"You're doing nothing." That was Mark's command voice back. Not the professional administrator he'd insisted he was for the past few months, but his old self. No, this was the man upon whose decisions the world had depended. And Jason, the man upon whose decisions the world depended now, could do nothing but sag in pure relief that right now, this minute, they didn't.

"There's a perfectly good bed in that corner. You need to sleep off that migraine. I'll find Rick and see if there's anything to be done, anything at all. If you want me to."

Jason didn't answer, just pushed himself to his feet and walked tiredly to the bed, kicking his shoes off along the way. Right now he could have slept anywhere. A genuine mattress complete with pillows and bedding was pure heaven. He sagged into it, curled onto his side facing the wall, and closed his eyes with a sigh. He was vaguely aware of sounds he presumed were Mark getting himself into the wheelchair and ready to go out, but he was asleep before the door opened.

Mark didn't dare even sigh until he'd closed the door behind him. Man, what a godawful mess. And that was without whatever Jason had meant when he'd said he'd blown his civilian cover. That was going to need fixing too, and fast. For now, though, he needed to find the Kite and have a serious talk with him. G-Force couldn't afford for him to quit now. They simply couldn't. Rick had to be made to understand that.

He contemplated where to go looking while heading for the main building, and decided to let Rick come find him. From his Team Seven office he could put out a public request, and provided Rick hadn't followed his own example and left the ISO grounds entirely, hopefully he should show in a hurry. Not least because, if he wanted a non-G-Force job, the executive officer of his current non-G-Force posting was the logical person for him to ask.

He didn't even need to do that. As he went into the office, Todd stood up quickly from the chair behind the desk. "Lieutenant Shayler's looking for you."

"He is? When?"

"About thirty seconds ago. He -"

"Catch him for me? It's urgent."

Todd pelted out of the door, and Mark moved to the real chair in a hurry. Rick was significantly taller than him; he didn't much enjoy the thought of being inches still lower during this discussion. Though it was probably a good thing that Rick had come looking for him. It meant he hadn't walked out of the front door and kept going.

"Commander?" Rick stood in the doorway, his face a mask of uncertainty.

"Come in, shut that, sit down." Mark tried to project reassurance, wondering just when his role had become 'agony aunt'. He waited until Rick had done just that, and he'd turned on the outside indications that they were not to be disturbed, before continuing. "I should tell you that I've just spoken to Jason."

Rick's expression was bleak. "That saves me some explanation. Then I'll be blunt. I'm a damn good pilot. Any chance of a transfer to Team Three?"

"Can we back off from that a bit?"

Rick shook his head, eyes downcast. "I'm not going to make a scene. I'll go along with any cover story Jason wants to use for people with black section clearance. But I'm not a security risk, and I'd like to do something useful."

You, me, Don Wade... This time, though, he was going to try to put things right properly. Rick wasn't handicapped, physically or psychologically. He shouldn't be leaving a team which needed him. Making it work, though...this was so much easier when it was the enemy he was trying to manipulate and only short term consequences mattered.

"I've heard Jason's side of the story. How about you tell me yours?"

The other never glanced up, hands clenched into fists. "What's to tell? I tried, Commander. I really tried. But they don't want me there. They won't let me do anything. I've spent nine months on the Phoenix as a glorified autopilot - if that. If Jason wants something remotely complex done, he'll send the Owl back to fly her. Last week? You had the Kestrel out there being useful on Comsat Three. A fourteen year old kid who's been in birdstyle for a month and a half. Jason left me on the Phoenix, just like he always does. All I'm doing is causing tension. Believe it or not, I'm not doing this for me. I'm doing it for G-Force. I simply can't keep on sitting there without losing my temper. Whatever Jason said I've done...dammit, I was provoked, and not just once. I'm only human. And I know I'm finished there."

"Jason said pretty much what you have," Mark said simply. "And came to me because he knows he's screwed up, big time. I'd like to see you two talk about this before you walk away."

Rick did glance up at that. "So he can feel better about it? I guess this is where I should refuse and stand on my pride. Not going to, though. He's the commander of G-Force. Galaxy Security needs him functioning a whole lot more than it needs me. Tell me what he needs to hear and I'll say it."

Mark stared. "You're really serious, aren't you? You'd do it. Whatever is best for G-Force."

"Yup. I wanted the best solution to be the Kite as part of the team...but if it can't be that, then anything else I can do. Now, always. Go on, laugh."

"Laugh?" Mark considered the man in front of his desk. A year ago Rick had been the Team Seven prankster, renowned for practical jokes involving computers. That was gone now, lines of strain replacing the easy relaxation on his face. Rick might be saying he'd do anything for G-Force, but this was hurting him, no question. "No laughing here. Just trying to figure out if there's any way I can put this mess back together again."

Rick shook his head, some of the lines clearing. "I don't think so. They never wanted me. I don't think they ever wanted anyone. Except you, of course."

He'd do anything for G-Force. While I've steadfastly refused to go near that control room. Mark suddenly found it hard to meet the other's eyes. And here I am trying to push him back into a situation where, he's right, he's simply not wanted. Even if he is needed.

"Look, Rick, I know it's been hell. All I'm asking is for you to sit on this for a while. Right now Jason's crashed, sleeping off a migraine. Otherwise I'd haul him in here right now and see what we can thrash out. If you still want Team Three, we can probably arrange it for you. But let's not go there just yet."

Rick's face shifted into a mask of resignation. "If you say so, Commander."

Poor guy. He'd see that Rick did get that Team Three place, if that was what he wanted...but couldn't they put things right without going that far? G-Force desperately needed someone in that co-pilot's chair, and Rick was far and away the best qualified candidate at the moment.

You could do it, a little voice said inside him, and he forced it back. Sure he could, just as long as things were going well and all he had to do was sit in the chair. The very first time they had to abandon ship, he was dead.

And without Jason, that was about all he could do for the moment. For that particular problem. "Has Jason said anything to you about his civilian cover being blown?"

Rick's eyes widened. "No. That's not good."

"It's not. Can you give me anywhere to start?"

Rick frowned. "I didn't see him at all today. So -"

"He'd have been at ISO Racing. Is Dave O'Leary about?"

And the colour drained from Rick's face. "He's next door. I wasn't paying much attention - but he had an audience. Something about drug cheats."

Mark swore. "Get him in here now."

This was the time when he most resented needing the wheelchair. Simple, stupid things. He wasn't asking for super fitness - but what he needed right now was to be able to stride into the common room and silence the rumours with a look of sheer intimidation. Instead he had to sit and wait while Rick jumped to his feet and did it for him.

Rick did leave the door open, and it was only moments before his voice rose over the relaxed chatter from next door.

"Dave, Commander Jarrald wants to see you."

"One minute, Rick. And then -"

"Now." There was more command behind that than Mark had believed the other capable of. Not only that, but he followed it up with, "and the rest of you stay here until Commander Jarrald's spoken to you."

"And who put you in charge, Lieutenant?" a voice he didn't recognise asked in a decidedly sarcastic tone.

"I'm passing on a direct order from your superior officer. Dave, you need to come with me."

There were sounds of chairs scraping on the floor, some somewhat disconcerted murmuring, and what Dave must have presumed was an inaudible whisper. "Hell, Rick, what did I do wrong this time?"

"Just come." Rick paused just outside the door and waved O'Leary inside. "Commander...?"

"Come in and shut the door. Dave, sit down."

He was amused to see the position Rick took up: leaning casually against the wall next to the door, legs crossed at the ankles and arms folded. Not quite Jason's intimidating presence, perhaps - but, given his six foot four height, not someone you'd take lightly.

"Commander?" There was distinct nervousness in O'Leary's tone.

"I need to hear this tale you've been spreading." Not much of an excuse, and he could see O'Leary frowning: for this he hauls me in here? but it was true, and he did have the rank to insist.

"Sir, I was telling them about the drug bust at ISO Racing. Alouita admitted to taking drugs."

"What?"

Dave looked anywhere but at him. "He came right out and said it. He's been cheating. They've got a new testing system in place and he got caught. I always wondered why he had such a high dropout rate. I guess it was times he knew he wouldn't pass the tests."

"And he admitted it?"

"Yes, sir. In front of four other people, including me."

Mark sagged back in his chair. What the hell was Jason playing at? Deny everything and let someone else sort it out, that was what they'd been told right from the start. Admitting it made it hellishly difficult to explain away, and admitting it in public was even worse. He needed to put a lid on this, right now, and get black section on it as soon as possible.

"I want you to stop talking about it. That's an order."

He saw Dave swallow hard. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Go ahead."

"Mark, I'm sorry. I know you two are old friends. But you can't keep this one quiet. Commander Nykinnen has to know, and this has to be dealt with properly. It's a major issue. Security officers aren't allowed to take those drugs any more than race drivers are. I can't stand by and watch you sweep this under the carpet."

"And you'd do what, precisely?" Mark put a good deal of ice into his voice, and watched the other squirm in his chair. Behind Dave, Rick was frowning, obviously uncertain as to where this was going. Truth be told, Mark wasn't sure himself. But this might well have reached the point of no return.

"I'd go talk to Commander Nykinnen and tell him everything. Please don't let it come to that."

"And if I ordered you to keep quiet? Told you this was all a misunderstanding?"

"I don't think you can." O'Leary put his hands flat on the desk - open, trusting. He'd paid attention in at least one lecture, then. His body language was spot on. "I can't work with someone who's admitted to taking that sort of drug. Not here, not on the track. It's dangerous for everyone. I would report it, and I'd report you for trying to hide it. And the same goes for Commander Nykinnen too, if he tried to cover it up. Not sure who I'd go to over his head, but I can find out. Mark - don't do this. I won't let you no matter how hard you make things for me. In any case, it'll be all over the press in a few days from the ISO Racing end. Failed drug tests go public in racing - they think it keeps the rest of us honest. Jason's won enough that it'll be regional news at the very least."

Mark dropped his head into his hands, only vaguely aware he was doing it. O'Leary was dead right - discovering his immediate superior was covering up something like this was cause for going higher up, and he was entirely justified in being suspicious about the demand for secrecy.

"Mark, you have to tell him," Rick said. "This hits the papers in a few days? It's a disaster."

Rick hadn't said what he had to tell him, of course, had left it open for him to come up with a clever cover story...but he simply couldn't think of one. There was a group of people sitting and waiting in the common room who he knew a whole lot less well than he knew O'Leary, and he couldn't sort this out alone. Not in five minutes. No, Jason had burnt his own damn boats when he admitted to drug-taking in front of Dave. He'd have to live with Mark making a decision on which of his friends were trustworthy.

"Can we trust you?" he asked.

Dave shrugged. "To protect Jason from the consequences of being a drug cheat? No, you can't. Not for any reason."

"Jason's not a drug cheat."

"He admitted it. Straight out, in front of a bunch of people who trusted him. If he didn't take drugs, why the hell would he say he did?"

"Because he couldn't tell the truth." Mark glanced round the room, looking for inspiration that didn't come among the shelves and files. "Jason can't afford any sort of investigation into why he drops out of races or why his bloodwork's odd."

Dave made to get to his feet, his eyes wide, and instantly Rick was behind him, twisting an arm behind his back painfully enough to make him gasp and collapse back into his chair. "Sit down and listen, Dave. This is serious."

Mark could only imagine what was running through the other's mind right now - Jason was Spectran, maybe? He'd stumbled across a whole cell of infiltrators, and maybe the entire command structure of Team Seven was involved? Certainly the look on his face was pure horror, and Mark didn't keep him waiting any longer.

"Jason's the Condor. What's screwed his blood tests is interstellar jump."

Dave's jaw just about hit the floor, and Rick released him, since he patently wasn't going anywhere.

"Of course, we could just be saying that," Rick said, and fished in his pocket. "Needing more proof than Mark's word, Dave?"

The other swivelled in his chair, a slow flush spreading. "You know I do. You've sat through Infiltrators 101 the same as I have. What is this, some sort of test? Yeah, yeah, what I do is go along with it, let you believe I'm convinced, and go right to Nykinnen the moment I can. Except that I don't believe you'd trash Jason's reputation over something like this. If this is a loyalty test, it's a damn convincing one. And I don't want to take this out of this room, because I've no idea what Nykinnen knows either."

"Not as stupid as he looks," Rick said, an edge of humour in his tone, and he reached forward to place something on the table in from of Dave. "Take a good look."

As he pulled his hand back, Mark realised he'd presented the other with his bracelet. And this time, Dave laughed out loud. "You? You have to be kidding me."

Rick snatched the bracelet back as if he'd been burned, his face scarlet. "Yeah, sure. I'm walking around with a fake G-Force bracelet in my pocket to see who I can fool. Believe what the hell you like. I'm done trying to make it easy for you. There's a nice cosy cell in black section you can sit in for the next couple of years, because I sure as hell don't care."

The door to the passageway closed behind him with a slam that ruffled the papers on the desk, and Mark passed a hand across his face before meeting the other's horrified eyes.

"Commander?"

"He wasn't kidding you. Rick is the Kite. Lieutenant, you really do need to learn to think before you open your mouth. Now, if you need proof, I recommend those official reporting procedures you mentioned. Start with Commander Nykinnen, and the appropriate person above him is probably Major Grant in black section if you think people are impersonating G-Force operatives without authorisation. Aside from that, you keep your mouth shut or I'll call black section security in on it myself. I don't have time for this."

Dave gulped. "Yes, Commander. I…don't think he was kidding me. Bad choice of words. I'm sorry. But...those people I just talked to, that Rick told to wait for you? You want me to go out and tell them I was leading them on and you've torn strips off me for it? Because you don't do this sort of thing, secret interviews and all, and they're going to think it's real odd. Odd's bad, right? Me, though - it wouldn't be the first time I've been caught embroidering. I've tried real hard not to do it any more, but they don't know that."

Mark sat back, considering. Not a bad idea, but it wouldn't work. Like Dave had said earlier, chances were this would hit the press, and at that point any kind of yes-he-is-no-he-isn't havering over Jason's guilt would be decidedly out of character, both for him personally, and for anyone involved in ISO Security. The temptation to pick up the phone, dial his own number, and tell Jason to get down here and sort out his own damn mess was strong. He so wanted to get back to deciding whether to blow the mecha up now or later.

What to tell them, though? Time to fall back on the old favourites. A half-truth was always better than a lie.

"You can tell them I've torn strips off you for spreading rumours...but it's happened because Jason's been involved in a medical trial here at ISO. He knew he wasn't allowed to talk about it to anyone, so when he was told he'd failed the drug test he panicked. It needs to be kept quiet for security reasons and that means they don't discuss it any further with anyone, including one another. Anyone who won't buy it can come talk to me - but not just now. I need to go to black section and sort it out from this end."

Dave nodded slowly. "That'll work. You want to do some yelling?"

"Since this office is fully soundproofed when the doors are shut?" He caught the other's eye, holding it until he was sure Dave was aware that what was coming next was serious. "I just trusted you with information that could destroy G-Force. Don't let me down."

"No, sir." Dave took that as his hint to leave, but as he reached the door to the common room he paused and turned, his hand on the handle. "Mark? Can I ask a question?"

"Sure."

"Who are you?"

He should have known it was coming. Dave was no fool, and at the point that Rick showed his bracelet, anyone would have wondered why Mark appeared to be more senior yet. A week ago he'd have said he was an administrator with a high security clearance, here to help Rick and Jason maintain their cover. Now, though? He'd had enough of paperwork, and he was so much more than this.

"I'm the Eagle."

And Dave didn't look shocked, didn't as much as glance at the chair, didn't express disbelief. He simply nodded, threw a salute sharper than Mark had believed him capable of, and left.