As soon as the shareef was chauffeured outta there
The jet pilots tuned to the cockpit radio blare

As soon as the shareef was outta their hair
The jet pilots wailed …

An hour or more later, Control heard voices in his outer office. One, he was immediately certain, was Lily's. The others were male, three or four of them, and they were half-arguing, urgent and hushed.

Curious, he up and moved silently to his door.

An unlikely quintet was busily negotiating there: With Lily were Stock, Sterno, Jimmy and Teddy Roelen, who took up about half of the available space. The gist of the conversation seemed to be, 'I'm not asking him, you ask him.' Control folded his arms over his chest and leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. "Ask me what?" he inquired quietly.

Startled, the agents fell silent. Then as one they turned to look at Stock. "We, uh, we want to have a party."

Control shrugged a quarter of an inch. "So have a party."

"A … uh, a Company party. You know, for everybody. Field ops and office staff and everybody."

He raised one eyebrow. "Why not just have a photo shoot in front of the Soviet embassy?"

"I had nothing to do with this," Jimmy stated. "I said it wasn't a good idea."

"We'll take care of security," Stock answered quickly. "Somewhere out-of-the-way, concealed. That won't be an issue."

"All right. And?"

"And?"

"And why are you asking me?" Control pursued.

"We want to expense it," Lily answered brightly.

"I see." Control nodded, unimpressed. "You want the Company to pay for it."

"It's a Company party," Roelen provided.

"Yeah," Sterno added. "It's not like we'd socialize with these people under normal circumstances."

Stock glared at him. "You have to admit, Control, something like this doesn't happen every day. We deserve a little celebration. Nothing fancy, just, uh …"

"An open bar," Lily said.

"And lots of food," Sterno chimed in.

"And music," Roelen added. "Maybe a DJ, or a band?"

"And all of this should come out of my operating budget?"

Jimmy cleared his throat. "Well, none of us have an operating budget."

Control considered each of them in turn. Only Lily seemed unconcerned about his reply. "Loud music, excessive drinking, bad take-out food, all out of my wallet."

The assembled agents considered, and then nodded. "Yeah, pretty much," Lily confirmed.

"And you're the planning committee, I suppose."

"No," Jimmy protested, "we just came up with the idea …"

"You're the planning committee," Control repeated firmly. "Conditions as follows: No KGB photo ops. Nobody drives drunk. And I don't have to make any speeches."

The members of the newly-formed committee exchanged glances. "Deal," Stock agreed.

Control nodded. "When is this debacle taking place?"

Another round of looks. "We'll let you know," Roelen promised.

"And where, is the bigger question," Stock said.

"I might know a place," Lily answered. "Let me make some calls."

"I'll be in charge of food," Sterno volunteered. "I know a couple great places."

"Good," Stock said. "Then we're going to need music … I don't know about live music on short notice. What if we got tapes or something?"

"People," Control said quietly, "plan somewhere else."

None of them ever heard him. He went back into his office and shut the door.

She's totally committed
To major independence
But she's a lady through and through
She gives them quite a battle
All that they can handle

"Annie?"

She juggled the phone, finally managed to set down the bag of groceries. "Mickey? Are you okay? Where are you?"

"I'm fine. I'm in Berlin. You should come."

Anne Keller sighed. "I've tried, believe me. Every contact I could think of. There's no way to get there for the next three days."

There was a discernable pause. "Do you want to come?"

"Of course I want to. The pictures would be incredible." She shook her head impatiently. If she worked for a news service, or a network, she might have had a chance. As an independent, it wasn't happening.

"Get your stuff together," Mickey said. "I'll find a way to get you here."

Anne paused. "Are you allowed to do that?"

"Don't worry about it," he said, conveniently ignoring the question. "Just pack. And bring all the film you can carry, it's going to be hard to get here."

She grinned. "Really?"

"Really."

"I don't want to get you in any trouble …"

"Annie. Just pack. Gotta run."

The phone went dead. Bewildered, Anne put the phone down and stared at it. They hadn't spoken for three weeks – he never called when he was working, and the last time he'd been there they'd had a fight – no, she'd had a fight, he'd ignored it and gone home, as usual – and then this, out of the blue.

She was absolutely certain whatever he had in mind wasn't legal, or at least not completely legal.

But she was going to Berlin, and she was going to get the pictures of a lifetime.

She swiftly put away the groceries, then went to pack every camera she owned.

Step by step, heart to heart, left right left, We all fall down like toy soldiers. It wasn't my intention to mislead you, It never should have been this way. What can I say?

A quiet, firm knock at his door finally prompted Robert McCall to move. He knew that knock. As he stood up, stiffly, he ran a rueful hand over his chin. It was rough with stubble. His teeth felt slimy, and his breath smelled bad even to him. His clothes did not smell particularly fresh, either. But it did not matter. She had seen him in his morning splendor before. She would not care.

He opened the door. "Good morning, Mira."

"Good Lord, have you been up all night?"

Robert nodded, gesturing towards the television. "I couldn't turn it off."

Mira smiled knowingly, took his hand and led him back to the couch. "I thought as much." She watched the flickering images. "It really is wonderful, isn't it? You must be so proud of yourself."

"Proud?" Robert wondered aloud. "I don't know that I have anything particularly to be proud of."

"You helped this happen."

He shook his head. "In some small way, perhaps."

"You're being too modest. It doesn't become you."

Robert sighed. This woman knew him too well, read him too well. "What I did, in the course of my career … may have helped this along. Perhaps. But there are so many other forces at work here. Economics, for one. The Soviet Union simply couldn't sustain its control, once it was overextended in Afghanistan …" He paused. There was no point in going into all of that, though Mira, of all people, would have followed the logic and history easily. "It is a great day for them," he agreed. "For all of us."

Mira studied him. "But?"

McCall shook his head, rubbed the back of his neck. "But there are many unresolved conflicts in the area, and I'm afraid many of them will emerge now that the Soviet control is breaking up."

"Are you saying we were better off with the Communists?"

"No, no. Of course not." He paused to consider. Perhaps that was true, but he could not admit that aloud, not ever. "I think it may be a professional hazard, Mira. For every positive event, I see a thousand possible negative results. It's nothing. I'm accustomed to seeing shadows where there are none."

Her eyes never left his face. "My specialty is Early American history, Robert, but I do know a thing or two about Central Europe. There are shadows there, and they are dark and deep."

"But they are not my problem any more," McCall answered firmly.

Mira allowed this dismissal of the topic, though she was clearly skeptical. She nodded towards the TV. "Are you going?"

"To Berlin? I think not. Large drunken crowds are really not my favorite venue." He considered. "Perhaps in a month or so, when things have quieted down. I think I would like to watch them tear down that Wall with my own eyes."

"You should go," Mira encouraged. "You deserve it."

"Will you come with me?" Robert asked impulsively.

"I … what?"

He grinned. The question had startled him as much as her. Their relationship had been wonderfully companionable, but thus far it had also been consciously casual. Traveling overseas together would change that. Take it to the next level, as it were. He had given this next step no consideration at all, but as soon as he'd spoken, he was sure of his decision. "Come to Berlin with me," he asked again.

Mira paused for a good thirty seconds. One of the things Robert was coming to like best about her was that she simply stopped to think about things, without apology, without pretense. She would even tell him, on occasion, 'Be quiet, I'm thinking.' He liked her forthrightness.

Thirty seconds, however, was plenty of time for him to wonder if he'd just irretrievably botched this new relationship.

Then Mira nodded. "All right. It sounds fascinating."

"Good," Robert declared, hoping he didn't sound too relieved. "We'll compare calendars over breakfast, shall we?"

"It's nearly lunch time, Robert."

"Is it?" He touched his chin again. "Well, that would explain why I'm so hungry, wouldn't it?" He stood up. "Give me fifteen minutes to clean up, will you? And then we'll go find something to eat. If you don't have plans."

Mira looked up at him, bemused. "My plan, Robert, is to spend the afternoon with you, unless you have other plans."

McCall grinned. He bent to kiss her, lightly, mindful of his breath. "That sounds like a most excellent plan indeed."

When you were young and your heart was an open book
You used to say live and let live
(You know you did, you know you did, you know you did)
But if this ever-changing world in which we live in
Makes you give in and cry
Say live and let die

The top of the sign in the elevator was hand-written in bold red marker. It read: 'What's James Bond Got That We Don't?' Below, in smaller blue letters, it continued: 'We know, we know – an endless expense account, hot and cold running women, and those wonderful toys – but besides that? A GREAT SOUNDTRACK! You want music at your party? Tell us what you want.'

There followed a half-sheet of blank lines.

Control rolled his eyes. The signs were everywhere, and filling up fast with musical suggestions.

This one, he noted with dour amusement, had been embellished with an asterisk, and a note which read, 'Don't forget, he also has a license to kill.' There followed a reply: 'Yeah, because in Britain you need a license for EVERY DAMN THING.' Control didn't know where the original note had come from, but the smart-ass answer was undoubtedly Lily's.

In an undistracted corner of his mind, he began to have grave apprehensions about this party.

There seemed to be no backing out of it.

He punched the 'stop' button on the elevator, and added his own suggestions to the list, carefully disguising his distinctive handwriting. It was just better, he reasoned, if his agents had no real idea how much modern music he'd been exposed to of late.

Satisfied, he put his pen away and let the elevator resume.

Five hundred little women
Are calling at their hero's door
Yes, their hero is working overtime
He's squirming on an empty floor
And the heads they are a rolling
Cause the conqueror is on his way

Hours more of dispatching agents, seeing to new communications lines, provisioning. The morning slipped by, devoured by details, interrupted by telephone calls, visitors, back-slapping, hand shaking. With meticulous planning, Control sent his lover on one more errand and then told her to go home. She did not argue. At lunch time, Control narrowly managed to escape.

He was reasonably certain that today, of all days, no one would be tailing him, but he took a circuitous route to her apartment anyhow. He was positively fevered with desire for her. But even now – especially now – he was careful.

She met him at the back door of the apartment, drew him in and locked the door. "I was hoping you'd get away."

Control drew her tight in his arms and kissed her fiercely.

"Are you hungry?" she asked when he finally lifted his mouth from hers.

"No."

"I got a really good steak, and Scotch … I could make a salad, if you want, it's heavy, for lunch, but I didn't know quite what the proper celebratory meal was …"

"No," he said again, quietly. He lowered his arms to her waist. Then he bent, moved forward, and stood up with the woman thrown over his shoulder.

Lily squealed, not in protest.

"No steak," Control announced, marching toward the bedroom. "Not now." He stopped at the side of the bed and half-dropped her onto it. He considered her for a moment, laying there, gazing up at him with her come-and-get-me grin. Then he went to the foot of the bed and turned on the small television.

He shut the blinds, and by the flickering bluish images of unfolding freedom, he both received and gave a proper hero's reward.

Nuclear Arms in the Middle East
Israel's attacking the Iraqis
The Syrians are mad at the Lebanese
And Baghdad does whatever she please
Looks like another threat to world peace for the Envoy

Lily Romanov rolled over slowly and gazed impassively at the telephone ringing beside her bed. It had been ringing at precise twenty-minute intervals for two hours. She had been too involved in other things to answer before, and the caller had not spoken to her answering machine.

She stretched indolently, enjoying the feel of the heavy cotton sheets against her naked flesh. The phone continued to ring, and she continued to ignore it. There was something deliciously indulgent, she mused, about spending your lunch hour in bed with your forbidden lover. Something even better about seeing your lover off to work and then falling back into bed.

The phone persisted.

If it was him, he wanted her to work. If it wasn't, it was nobody she wanted to talk to.

Unless it was someone calling to tell her he was dead in the street somewhere …

With sudden frantic haste, she snatched up the phone. "What?"

"About time. Did I wake you?" a man's voice purred. The connection was fuzzy, implying distance.

Lily sagged back against the pillows. "You did, actually."

"So you're in bed?"

"Yes."

"Are you naked?"

She giggled. "Yes. What are you wearing?" she leered.

He hesitated. "Uh … well, leather."

"Everywhere?"

"No, just a jacket."

"And nothing else?"

Kostmayer laughed. "Okay, you win."

"Whatcha' need, sweetie?"

"Big favor."

"You got it."

"Big favor," Mickey repeated.

Lily sat up in bed, arranged the covers over her lap. "I got it. Talk to me. Where are you?"

"Berlin."

"Ah. Good party?" She glanced toward the TV at the end of the bed, where the coverage continued.

"You would not believe how good this party is. You should come."

"It's tempting."

"I want to get married."

Romanov hesitated. "That's sweet, Mickey, but you know I'm seeing somebody else, right?"

"Not to you, smart ass. I want to ask Annie to marry me. Here, at the Wall."

"Is Annie in Berlin?"

"No. She's in New York. Which is why I'm calling you. I need you to come to Berlin, and bring Annie, and my mother's ring."

"I suppose you want it all today."

"Yep."

"Where's the ring?"

"My brother has it."

"Your brother the priest?"

"Only brother I got. I'll call and tell him you're coming for it. St. Christina's."

"You really expect me to set foot in a church for you?"

Kostmayer laughed. "You can do this, Lily. I have faith in you."

"Yeah. Anything else you want?" she asked dryly.

"That'll do it. I'll meet you at the safe house."

"You're assuming I can talk Control into this."

There was a discreet pause. "I'm sure you can persuade him."

"You're asking an awful lot here, Kostmayer."

"Yeah, like it would be such a hardship," he smirked.

"Well, one can hope. All right. Call your brother. We'll be there, some time."

"Thanks, Lil. I already called Annie, she'll be ready when you get there. And, hey, Lily? Don't tell her why she's coming."

"Duh. Go party. I'll find you."

"Thanks, babe."

"No thing."

Lily put down the phone and considered for a moment. Control first. On the phone or in person? Mickey was right; he wouldn't put up much resistance either way. Half the office has already left for Berlin. It was the party of all time, and also, from an intelligence standpoint, the opportunity of the century. Commercial flights would be booked solid, but she could work around that. Anne Keller was the sticking point. How was she going to justify dragging a civilian with her on this little junket?

She climbed out of bed and stretched again. Shower first, she decided. She always plotted better when she was awake.