Last year today seemed a long way away And ahead of me (the memory) A new face and street, people who meet you Instead of me (remember me) They bring you, they take you They own you, they make you

The Berlin Wall was ten feet high. It should have been difficult to climb to the top – even without the threat of gunfire. But there was nothing to it. Mickey grabbed Anne by the waist and boosted her up, and the people already on the Wall reached down and dragged her up. Then they reached back for him.

Kostmayer stood there a moment, just looking around. Of all the places he thought he might end up in his life, this hadn't even made the list. He was standing on the Wall. He was standing on the mother-loving Berlin Wall.

His whole career he had avoided or evaded this Wall. This Wall and all it stood for. Now the Wall was coming apart. There were people on the Wall, and people below, with hammers, tapping away little chunks of it. There was more heavy equipment coming in, jackhammers and cranes, bulldozers and dump trucks. The Wall was coming down.

Everything it had stood for was coming down.

Beyond the dust, Mickey could already see the clouds of new troubles. The unrest in the opened states. Ethnic rivalries, buried for decades. Grudges. Power vacuums and power grabs. The whole Eastern Bloc would go up like a tinderbox, if the Soviets folded too fast. It would become Eastern Hell. But right here, right now …

He turned, and realized that he'd been canting over the edge, that Anne had him by the belt, as he'd held her on the roof earlier. He caught his balance and caught her in his arms, kissed her thoroughly. "So, this is what I do at work," he said loudly.

"I like it," she yelled back. "Every day's a party."

"Well, some days are better than others." Somewhere a boom box started again, American rock, naturally. The crowd cheered, and began to dance. People on the edge fell off, but it didn't matter; the crowd below caught them and heaved them back up.

Anne got her elbows down and finally got her camera out. The people closest to her began posing, crowding each other to get in every shot, making faces, sticking their fingers in their ears, making bunny ears behind their friends. She obligingly took their pictures anyhow.

She moved along the Wall, through the crowd. Mickey followed her with some difficulty, sometimes falling behind, sometimes catching up. She glanced back. "This is great!" she shouted over the music. "These are going to be the best shots."

Mickey grinned. "I thought you'd like it."

"I love it!" She kissed him quickly, then turned back to the crowd shots.

"And me?" he asked, close behind her.

"What?"

"Do you love me?"

She glanced back again, distracted and a little confused. "What?"

"Do you love me?" Mickey asked again.

"Of course I love you." She turned again, her camera up.

Kostmayer caught her elbow with one hand, brought the jeweler's box out with the other the popped it open. He waited until she looked back again. "Will you marry me?"

Anne's mouth came open. "What?"

He grinned self-consciously, thinking that he might have found a quieter place to ask. "Will you marry me?" He stuck the box out towards her.

The crowd shifted and surged, and half a dozen partiers fell off the Western side, screeching in surprise and delight. Anne spun back around to shoot them as they fell, leaning out to capture the joyful catches below, the body surfing as the celebrators were set on their feet unharmed. She very nearly fell with them, and Mickey struggled to hold her up and keep his own balance.

She turned back, her eyes serious and sad. She reached for the box, but did not take it; instead, she snapped it closed and folded his hand over it. Then she answered his question. "No."

Let me hear your balalaikas ringing out
Come and keep your comrade warm.
I'm back in the USSR.

Lily Romanov moved along the top of the Wall carefully, weaving between the dancers. It would have been faster and easier to get to her destination on the ground, but she could not resist this chance.

"Beautiful comrade! Have some vodka!"

Lily barely glanced at the big Russian. She took his bottle, drank deeply, and handed it back, almost without breaking her stride. It was nothing, just strangers celebrating together, as were all the people of the divided city.

Another time, a quieter place, he could give her whatever documents he'd procured from the Soviet embassy. For the moment, the spies were off duty. He winked, as any man might wink at a pretty girl, and they went their separate ways.

Well, it ain't no fun
Staring straight down a forty-four.
Well he turned and screamed at Linda Lu
And that's the break I was looking for.
And you could hear me screaming a mile away
As I was headed out towards the door.

Kostmayer glided through the party that filled the streets of Berlin. He wanted to be angry, to be furious, but it wouldn't come. Instead, he was just cold and empty. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

He went back to the safe house because he didn't know where else to go. The door was locked, as always; he pushed aside the copper address plate and keyed the combination into the pad. As he opened the door, a wall of sound hit him – 'Dirty Deeds' played at a volume that threatened the plaster on the walls. Swearing, he crossed the front room and snapped the stereo off.

The silence was a little unnerving. "Hello?" he called softly.

"Hey," Romanov answered from the next room, "who killed the jams?" She appeared in the doorway with half a sandwich in her hand.

"That crap'll rot your brain," he answered. He went and took a bite of the sandwich. "Thought you'd be out partying."

"Yeah," she answered, "I thought I'd better soak up some of the vodka." She gestured with the sandwich. "Where's your woman?"

"Ain't got one," Mickey answered briskly. He took the rest of the sandwich from her. "She said no." He took another bite.

"Say what?"

He shrugged, chewing. "She said no."

"Why?"

"Don't know." A third bite, and the sandwich was gone.

"Did you ask?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Mickey wiped his hand on his jeans. "Cause I don't care."

"Okay," Lily answered. "I am suitably impressed by your muy macho show of nonchalance. Now give."

He shrugged, ran his fingers through his hair. "She says we never talk about stuff."

"You don't," Lily agreed. She went back to the kitchen. Mickey followed her. Lily opened the refrigerator, and they both gazed into it forlornly. Finally she took out a can of Coke, opened it, and took a long slug.

"We talk," Mickey said, taking the Coke.

Romanov eyed him. "Can I get you a snack, Kostmayer, or are you just going to steal all of mine?"

"Yours are better."

She sighed and went back for another soda. "So what don't you talk about?"

"How would I know?"

"You could ask Anne."

Mickey shrugged. "It doesn't matter. It's over." His voice was flat, emotionless.

"Uh-huh. So you had me enter a church, talk to a priest, scam Control and fly your girlfriend half-way around the world illegally, and now it's just over."

There was a flash of pain in Mickey's eyes and then it was gone, hidden. "Yeah."

"You are so full of shit."

"What do you want me to do, Lily? I can't just talk her into it."

"Have you tried?" she challenged.

The pain returned, and this time stayed. "You know I don't … I can't … I'm no good at dealing with people that way. I'm, uh, you know, the action guy."

Lily smirked. She opened the refrigerator again, but there was still nothing she wanted in there. "Were you two having trouble before this?" She shut the door, moved to the cookie cupboard.

Kostmayer hesitated. "Some, yeah."

"What about?" She took an Oreo from an open bag, squeezed it, found it mushy, put it back in the pack, and put the whole package back in the cupboard. She got an unopened bag and tore it open, handed a stack to Mickey and got more for herself.

He hesitated through the whole cookie operation. "About … how our lives fit together. Or don't. Between her going and me going …" He opened an Oreo and scraped the cream off with his top teeth.

"And you thought an engagement ring would fix that?"

"I thought it would … define the parameters of our arrangement."

Lily stared at him.

"I thought if we were married," Mickey explained desperately, "things would settle down."

"Ah." She took a big swig of Coke. "How?"

"What?"

"How are Mickey and Annie married different from Mickey and Annie dating?"

He shrugged, hesitant again. "I don't know. We'd live together, for one thing. You know, have dinner, wash the dishes, help the kids with their homework …"

"When you're both in town. What about when you're both gone?"

"Uh …"

"Does Anne even want kids?"

"Of course she does. She … uh …"

Lily gazed at him again.

"I think she does," he finished lamely.

"That's a deal breaker right there," Lily said. "One of a dozen I can see right off the top. You need to talk to her, Mickey."

"I can't," he protested sadly. "I don't even know how."

Lily reached out and cupped his cheek very lightly with her palm. "You talk to me, Mickey. How is it any different?"

"It's different."

"How?"

Kostmayer sighed, covering her hand with his own. "Because I'm not in love with you. If we argue, I know you're not going to just leave."

"And you think she is?"

"I … guess so."

"From where I stand …" she stopped, studied his eyes for a long moment. They'd known each other for years. They'd been under fire together, run together, slept huddled together for warmth more than once – and he'd finished every sandwich she'd ever made in his presence. She knew this man. Action guy, indeed. There was a time for talk, and this wasn't it.

She drew her hand away gently. "C'mon," she said briskly, "I gotta find some body bags." She left the kitchen and trotted up the stairs.

Kostmayer frowned in confusion and went after her. "Why? You expecting casualties?"

"At the rate we're drinking out there? You better believe it." She went into the storage room, rustled around, came back out empty-handed. "I'm taking part of the Wall back with me, and I need something sturdy to pack it in."

Lily went into one of the holding cells. It was a stark little room, windowless, white, a steel-frame bed welded to the floor, a stainless commode and sink, a steel door. Properly prepared, the room was escape-proof, or very nearly so. But it hadn't been used in months. Spare linen was stacked on the foot on the bed, and boxes of supplies were stuffed underneath and piled against the wall.

"I don't think they're in here," Mickey gruffed.

"Yes, they are. They're still in the case." She flopped onto the floor and started dragging boxes out from under the bed. "Sit," she said, gesturing to the bed. "Talk to me."

Kostmayer sat down. "There's nothing to talk about. She said no. It's over."

"So you don't love her any more." She dragged out a long, flat box. "Ah-ha."

"Of course I still love her," Mickey protested. He fielded the body bag Lily tossed up to him, and then another.

"But not enough to try to talk it out."

"It's not that simple." He caught a third bag; their combined weight threatened to bury him. "How many of these do you need?"

"One more." Lily clambered to her feet. "Fold this." She threw the fourth bag at his head.

Mickey pushed it away, his hands tangled in the fabric, the other three heavy on his legs. He felt cold on his left wrist, a snap, and when he tried to move his arm away, he couldn't.

He shoved the body bag away and glared at the handcuff that bound his wrist to the bed frame, and then at Romanov, who had moved out of his reach. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, his voice crackling like ice.

"You need to talk to Anne," Lily answered simply.

"Let me go. Right. Now."

"Talk to Anne. Then she'll let you go."

Kostmayer yanked his arm savagely. All it did was hurt his wrist; the bed didn't even rattle. "Romanov," he growled, "you know this won't hold me." He yanked at the cuff one more time.

"I know." She backed away, toward the steel door that would hold him.

"Don't do this," he warned one last time.

She backed another step.

Kostmayer drew his gun and aimed it at her heart. "Unlock the cuff," he ordered, very precisely, "right now."

Lily's eyes never left him. "No."

"I will shoot you, Romanov."

She believed him; he could see it in her posture. But she didn't back down. "I love you, Mickey. You know that. But from where I stand, you're the one who always leaves. If you love her, if you want her, just this once, Mickey, don't leave."

"Romanov!"

"And besides, if you shoot me, who's going to make your sandwiches?"

She was two steps from the door.

"Lily!" Kostmayer bellowed.

Romanov turned and fled.

"God damn it!" he shouted as the door closed behind her. "I will catch you, Romanov! And I will break your neck!"

From outside, he heard the door's multiple latches lock.

Friday night they'll be dressed to kill Down at Dino's bar and grill

The drink will flow and blood will spill

If the boys want to fight, you'd better let them

Pete O'Phelan poured Robert a cup of coffee even before he reached the bar. "Are you going?" she asked without preamble.

McCall glanced up. The television over the bar, usually tuned to some sports channel, carried the on-going celebration at the Wall. "To Berlin?" He shook his head. "Perhaps in a few weeks when things settle down."

"To the party," Pete clarified. "Romanov called you, didn't she?"

"Yes," Robert sighed. "Also Stock, and Jimmy, and Charlie McGuinn. I think Charlie's afraid he'll be the oldest one there."

"So? Are you going?"

"Are you?" Robert countered.

Pete shook her head. "I don't think so. I've been out of the Company for a long time."

"So have I."

She raised a knowing eyebrow. "I've been really out, Robert." She glanced at the television. "Still … I bet it'll be a hell of a party."

"A chance to catch up with old friends, at the very least." McCall considered the woman over his coffee cup. In his opinion, which he'd voiced on several occasions, Pete O'Phelan spent far too much time at the restaurant, and far too much time on her own. She needed to get out, to have some fun once in a while. This party was the perfect opportunity. But it was becoming obvious that, though she wanted to go, she wouldn't unless he did. "Rock music," he said ruefully, "punk agents, way too much drinking, far too many old war stories."

"True."

Robert sighed. "I'll go if you will."

Pete smiled, relieved. "I hoped you'd say that."

"I'll drive," he offered. "That way you can get irresponsibly smashed."

"Oh, won't that be fun?" she teased. "I'm sure Control will be glad to have us there, anyhow."

"Hmmm. Adult supervision." McCall nodded thoughtfully, sipping his coffee. Of course Control would be there; if nothing else, he'd never pass up a chance to see how his agents behaved when they were off the clock.

"Sundays are pretty slow for dinner," Pete said. "I could probably get out of here by eight, eight-thirty."

"I'll pick you up here then, shall I?" Robert offered. "Unless you want to go home and change first."

Pete shook her head. "I don't have the impression it's a dress-up sort of party."

"No," McCall agreed. "More like clothing-optional."

She laughed. "Now there's a visual that'll stay with me all day."

As she moved off to ring out a customer, Robert shook his head. He didn't want to go, really, but for Pete's sake … and perhaps it would prove entertaining, after all. McGuinn would be there, and he and Robert always had a good time together. Other friends, too, were sure to show up. It would be bearable.

If nothing else, it would allow him to see Control and Lily Romanov together in a social setting together. It had been ages since he'd even seen them in the same room. No doubt they'd both be on their best secretive behavior, but it intrigued him, anyhow.

He took a deep drink of coffee. It was dark, but not bitter. Pete O'Phelan made the best coffee in the world.

When he'd first learned of Control's affair with a much younger subordinate, Robert remembered, he had been furious. He'd assumed that his old friend was only using the girl for sex. It had taken time for him to believe that Control genuinely loved the young woman, and more time to believe that Lily wasn't the helpless debutante she appeared to be. When she was captured and tortured in Nicaragua –

Robert shook his head. He could not, he supposed, be entirely faulted for being rather protective of her. After what she'd been through, it was natural for him to assume that she was perhaps not quite as strong or self-sufficient as other agents he knew. It was deeply ingrained in his nature to defend the helpless. But it was more than that, he had to admit to himself. Every protective instinct he'd had came into play where Lily Romanov was concerned, even after she'd recovered. He had never, in his mind, quite put her on the same level with Mickey or Stock, Ginger or any of the others. He had always presumed that she needed a little extra protection.

He had never truly considered Lily Romanov an equal until she had unequivocally betrayed him.

She had proven herself every bit as ruthless as Control, or as Robert himself. McCall had had to admit to himself, once he stopped being angry, that he greatly – if grudgingly – admired her for it.

That admiration had been easier to acknowledge, of course, once Gustav Freda and his family were safely established in a home outside Chicago.

Two months after they'd smuggled him out of Yugoslavia, Austria had opened its borders. If they had waited, they could have just walked him out.

McCall shrugged. Given what the old man had known, given the hands that had waited to snatch him up, things were better as they had been. The warheads had been recovered, the bad guys were dead or in custody, and Robert and Lily were on a solidly even, if mutually watchful, footing.

Which did not, Robert thought firmly, mean that he completely endorsed her relationship with Control. Far from it. He was still convinced that someday she would take a bullet – another bullet – from one of his many enemies. Still, the relationship had been undeniably good for both of them.

Robert shook his head, finished his coffee. Whatever else, this party ought to be damned interesting.